#(They are in the same coding class but they still don’t understand)
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matthias helvar was not a nazi, he was a boy built like a weapon and left to die trying to be human
i am so unbelievably tired of people calling matthias a nazi or white supremacist (????) like they skimmed six of crows with one eye and a twitter filter and decided to cosplay moral literacy.
you want to understand drüskelle? look at vikings. look at central asian nomads. look at mongol military doctrine. not fucking gestapo. fjerdan language is literally scandinavian rooted, the culture is a cold, norse coded polytheistic pantheon, a divine warrior class, and sacred wolves, tribal theocracy. they literally do not give a single fuck about being superior and think that others are subhuman for being different. all they talk about is grisha are dangerous but not because they’re lesser but because they’re threat.
matthias was not raised on supremacy. he was raised on vengeance. his family got murdered, he was conscripted as a child. not brainwashed like it’s a class he could skip; groomed, militarized, stripped of softness, molded into a holy weapon by a state that demanded obedience and called it righteousness.
you think this is a redemption arc? it’s not. it’s a ghost story.
he doesn't know how to be a human. nina tells him -literally textually, not subtextually- he doesn’t know the difference between a good man and a good soldier. he gives her the same oath he gave fjerda. that’s not romance. that’s structural damage. this boy has no idea how to want something for himself without filtering it through violence, duty, or sacrifice.
he doesn’t even have a personality. not really. not until right before he dies
when he, jesper, and kuwei escape from the dime lions, and for the first time in his entire life, he thinks "i’ll find nina. we’ll change the world."
that’s the first moment he thinks like a person. not a soldier. not a legacy. a person.
and what does he do?
he tries to help a boy.
and he dies.
not because he “paid the price for his past.”
he dies because he was a half-built soul making a full-hearted decision with no idea how to survive it.
he still thinks like a twelve year old boy who accepted losing blood for trassel
“i won’t hurt you even if you hurt me.” // “you don’t want to hurt me. i was like you once.”
he still acts like “doing good” means dying for it. because that’s the only model he’s ever had.
this isn’t justice. it’s unfinished. it’s unfair. it’s textually written to be a scream cut short.
and you reduce that to “nazi boy dies lol”?
be fucking for real
matthias didn’t get a redemption arc, he was learning how to be a human and we were going to read his redemption if he didn't fucking die.
matthias helvar was not evil.
he was barely even alive before he met nina/crows
and he dies the moment he starts to imagine he could be more.
ps. also, no, he didn’t get shot by his "past self." matthias never would’ve shot a man who was unarmed and willing to cooperate. joran was 14 when he killed matthias. matthias was 12 when he risked losing his arm to save trassel. he didn’t even scream when his bone was about to break.
he was the same 12 year old boy who thought he could gain the trust of the aggressive opponent by being kind. that’s why he died. because he never got to grow up fully.
#matthias helvar#six of crows#nina zenik#kaz brekker#inej ghafa#jesper fahey#wylan van eck#crooked kingdom#six of crows spin off#i'm at the edge of losing it#if i see this idiotic discourse one more fucking time#helnik#fjerda#drüskelle
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<!DOCTYPE html> <html> <style> p {color:rgb(005,225,225);} </style> <body>
<p> <p style="font-family:system-ui, -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, 'Segoe UI', Roboto, Oxygen, Ubuntu, Cantarell, 'Open Sans', 'Helvetica Neue', sans-serif;"> <br> <br> Hello!
<br> <br> I’m going to start to draw more. <em> (TRUST ME, IM TRYING BUT ARTBLOCK…) </em>
</p> </body>
</html>
^ Just a little HTML practice. I haven’t learned much, but I’ve memorized most of it! (I think)
This was from memory, so I might have messed it up like once or twice. Also I DON’T memorize RGB numbers. <3
THIS IS VERY MUCH JUST ME YAPPING LMAO (if you understand html you will hopefully understand 😊)
#Html#html code#I practice in Replit lol#or just write it down#(I have 10+ pages of practice on this that I wrote from memory)#I love explaining HTML to my friends who don’t understand it#(They are in the same coding class but they still don’t understand)#HHEHEHEH#i love html and javascript#Code#coding#I still gotta memorize some more#Not much#just around 24 lines of code I don’t understand#I’ll search up the meanings if I don’t understand it lmao
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✨Classic✨
Summary: Ben is cocky, relentless, and completely fixated on you, especially the curves he can’t stop staring at. His teasing turns shameless, his comments indecent, and his obsession with your boobs impossible to ignore.
-Requested-
Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader
Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language
Word Count: 11512
A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨
The bell above the diner door jingled, and you didn’t look up right away. It was just another busy Saturday shift at Carter’s Diner, and you were already juggling too much—balancing college classes during the week and working here on weekends to make ends meet. But a nudge at your side broke your focus, and you glanced over to see your boss, Lindsay, standing next to you, wide-eyed and biting her lip like a schoolgirl with a crush.
"He’s here", she whispered, leaning in conspiratorially.
You frowned. "Who?", you asked, finishing the note for table five’s bacon-and-eggs special.
Lindsay didn’t answer right away. Instead, she nodded toward the booth at the far end of the diner. Your gaze followed hers, landing on a man sliding into the cracked leather seat like he owned the place. His supe suit was unmistakable—green and gold, hugging his broad shoulders and chest. He wore it like armor, and the confidence radiating off him made it clear he knew everyone in the room was watching.
"That’s Soldier Boy?", you asked in disbelief, keeping your voice low.
Lindsay nodded, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "He’s been coming here for months. Loves the chili and fries. Looks even better in person, doesn’t he?", she said, nudging you again with an elbow.
You wrinkled your nose and shook your head. "Ugh, I don’t like supes", you muttered under your breath. "And him even less. I’ve only heard bad things about that guy".
Lindsay gasped, pretending to be scandalized. "Oh, come on, you don’t know him. And he’s got that old-school charm. They don’t make men like that anymore".
"Yeah, because that’s probably for the best", you replied, grabbing the coffee pot. Lindsay was still watching you expectantly, her grin almost infectious.
"Be nice", she called after you as you made your way toward the booth. "You know, he tips well!".
You didn’t bother answering her. Instead, you tightened your grip on the coffee pot and walked toward the booth, your heart beating faster with every step.
Ben had been coming to Carter’s Diner for months now. It was the only place in the city that felt like a time capsule—the cracked tiles, the faded wallpaper, and the smell of cheap coffee and sizzling grease. Nothing here had changed since the ’80s, and for him, that was the point. The world outside had moved on in ways he didn’t quite understand, and this place was his escape from it.
As you walked up to his booth, coffee pot in hand, he didn’t look up at first. His gaze was fixed on the laminated menu, though he didn’t really need it. The same chili-and-fries combo was always his order. But then you spoke.
“Coffee?”, Your voice was soft but confident, with a natural warmth that cut through the background hum of the diner.
Ben’s eyes flicked up, and for a moment, he just stared.
Damn.
He hadn’t noticed you before—must’ve been new. But now, seeing your face, he couldn’t look away. There was something about you, something fresh and untouched by the world’s grime. His gaze lingered a second too long, taking in your bright eyes and the slight curl of your lips. He felt a twinge deep in his chest, a strange mix of curiosity and desire, like a spark catching fire.
And then his eyes dropped lower.
The tight uniform you wore did little to hide the curve of your chest. Those big, perfect tits stretched the fabric just enough to make it clear that whoever designed the diner’s dress code hadn’t thought about women like you. Ben shifted in his seat, his jaw tightening as a familiar heat stirred in him. The slight twitch in his pants was unmistakable, and he shifted his legs, adjusting to keep himself in check.
He leaned back in the booth, his lips curving into a sly, knowing grin. “You new, sweetheart?”, he asked, his voice a low rumble that was equal parts charming and cocky.
“Just here on the weekends”, you replied, your tone polite but clipped. “College bills don’t pay themselves”.
Ben arched a brow, his grin widening as he tilted his head, studying you like you were the most interesting thing he’d seen in years. “College, huh?”, he said, the rich timbre of his voice drawing more attention than you’d have liked. “Smart girl. What are you studying?”.
You sighed, already regretting answering his question. “Literature”, you replied curtly, tapping your pen against the edge of your notepad. “Anything else you’d like to know, or should I just take your order?”.
Ben didn’t answer right away. His gaze had drifted, dropping shamelessly to your chest again, where the snug diner uniform strained over your curves. His smirk grew, slow and wicked, as if he didn’t care one bit about being caught.
"Literature", he said finally, his voice laced with amusement. His eyes flicked back up to meet yours, the intensity in them making you stand a little straighter. "Didn’t peg you for a bookworm, sweetheart. But I guess I shouldn’t judge a book by its…cover". His eyes dipped again, lingering for just a second too long, making the double meaning of his words painfully obvious.
Your jaw tightened, and you resisted the urge to dump the coffee pot in his lap. Instead, you gave him a tight smile, your pen scratching furiously against the notepad as you scribbled down his order. "Chili and fries, right? Got it. I’ll put it in".
Before you could turn away, his hand shot out, gently brushing your wrist. It wasn’t enough to hurt, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks. "Hey, take it easy", he said, his voice softer now but still laced with that maddening confidence. "Didn’t mean to piss you off. Just…appreciating the view".
Your eyes snapped to his, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. He looked at you like he was daring you to respond, his smirk still firmly in place. It was infuriating—he was infuriating—but there was something disarming about the way he held your gaze, like he wasn’t used to people calling him out and maybe even liked it when they did.
"Well, maybe next time you can ‘appreciate the view’ without making it so obvious", you shot back, pulling your wrist free and stepping back. "Enjoy your coffee, Soldier Boy".
Ben chuckled as you walked away, the deep, rumbling sound following you all the way back to the counter. You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, but you didn’t look back. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
"Well, that was something", Lindsay teased, leaning against the counter as you slapped the order slip down. "You might be the first woman to ever give him a hard time. Most girls would’ve melted into a puddle by now".
"Yeah, well, I’m not most girls", you muttered, reaching for the coffee pot again, trying to ignore the way your heart was still pounding.
Lindsay grinned, watching as you busied yourself with anything to avoid glancing back at the booth. "No, you’re not", she said knowingly. "And that’s exactly why he’s gonna keep coming back".
You didn’t respond, but deep down, you had a feeling she might be right.
The next week, like clockwork, the bell above the diner door jingled at the same time it had the week before. You were wiping down the counter, trying to get through another weekend shift without running yourself ragged, when you glanced up and froze.
There he was. Soldier Boy—Ben—strolling in. The grin on his face was unmistakable, and the moment his eyes landed on you, it only widened. You cursed under your breath. Of course, he’d come back.
“Guess who’s here”, Lindsay whispered, nudging your side as she passed with a tray of plates. Her smirk was infuriating, but you ignored it, grabbing the coffee pot like it was a shield.
He walked straight to his usual booth, sliding in like he hadn’t thought twice about it. You could feel his eyes on you the entire time, but you kept your head down, busying yourself with meaningless tasks to delay the inevitable. Finally, though, there was no excuse left. You straightened your apron, took a deep breath, and walked over to him.
“Coffee?”, you asked, keeping your tone as neutral as possible.
Ben’s grin widened the moment you reached his booth, and he leaned back against the cracked leather like he didn’t have a care in the world. "Sweetheart, you already know the answer to that", he said, his voice dripping with playful arrogance. "Keep it coming. Best damn coffee in the city".
You rolled your eyes, pouring the coffee without a word. He didn’t take his eyes off you for a second, his gaze heavy and lingering, making you hyperaware of every move you made. As the coffee filled his cup, you caught his smirk out of the corner of your eye, and it made your stomach twist—not from nerves, but from irritation. At least, that’s what you told yourself.
"Chili and fries again?", you asked, pulling out your notepad and pen, eager to cut the interaction short.
"Of course", Ben said, his tone smug. "A classic, just like me".
You raised an eyebrow, glancing up at him. "Sure", you replied dryly, scribbling the order down. "Anything else? Or are you sticking with ‘just like you?’”.
Ben laughed, the sound rich and deep, like he found you genuinely amusing. It annoyed you that it was… a little charming. "Oh, feisty today, huh?", he said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table. His grin didn’t waver. "Gotta say, I like that. A little spark keeps things interesting".
"Glad I could keep you entertained", you muttered, stuffing the notepad back into your apron.
Ben wasn’t done, though—not even close. "You know", he began, his tone slower now, like he was letting you in on a secret, "most girls would be falling all over themselves to get a chance to talk to me. But you? Nah, you’re all business. It’s… refreshing. Kinda cute, even".
Your jaw tightened, and you shot him a pointed look. "And yet, here you are. Same booth, same order. I guess I must be doing something right".
His eyes lit up at that, and he let out another laugh, his head tilting back slightly. "Oh, you’re good. Real good", he said, pointing at you as if you’d just told the punchline to the best joke he’d ever heard. "I like you, Y/N. You’re sharp. Makes me wanna stick around and see what else you’ve got".
"Thrilled to hear it", you replied flatly, turning on your heel. "Your food will be out in a few".
As you walked away, you could feel his gaze on you, practically burning a hole through your back. You set the order slip on the kitchen counter with more force than necessary, muttering under your breath. Lindsay caught your expression and sidled up beside you, smirking.
"He’s got you riled up, doesn’t he?", she teased, crossing her arms. "I don’t blame you, though. Guy’s a piece of work—but he’s hot".
"Yeah, well, he’s also full of himself", you muttered, refusing to look back at the booth. "Bet he thinks the whole world revolves around him".
"Doesn’t it?", Lindsay quipped, winking.
You sighed, trying to shake off the irritation. But when you snuck a glance toward Ben’s booth, you caught him looking straight at you, his grin still firmly in place. He raised his coffee cup in a mock toast, like he knew exactly how much he was getting under your skin.
Damn him.
Four weeks had passed, and like clockwork, Ben showed up every Saturday. Same time, same booth, same order. But something had shifted. By now, you couldn’t help but notice how his flirtation had gotten bolder with each visit, his comments dirtier, his gaze lingering longer than was polite. He made no effort to hide the way he looked at you, especially when he thought you weren’t paying attention.
And while you hated to admit it—even to yourself—you found yourself looking forward to it.
Still, there was a growing frustration simmering beneath the surface. For all his swagger, all his cocky charm, Ben hadn’t actually made a move. Not a real one, anyway. Sure, he called you “sweetheart” and let his eyes wander far too much, but he hadn’t asked you out. And while you’d never admit it out loud, it bothered you. Part of you had started expecting it, even wanting it.
Today, however, things were different. You’d been called into work earlier than usual, and with your shift almost over, you were trying to juggle your plans for the evening. There was a book you desperately needed for Monday’s class, and the bookstore was closing in twenty minutes. You didn’t have time to change before leaving, so you’d come to work in the clothes you planned to wear out: a tight, ridiculously tight, fitted top that clung to every curve and accentuated your chest more than you’d usually allow.
Ben noticed the second you walked back out onto the diner floor. His gaze locked onto you like a missile, and for the first time in weeks, he seemed genuinely thrown off. He didn’t even bother hiding it; his eyes dropped to your chest and stayed there, his jaw tightening slightly.
“Fuck me”, he said, his voice lower and slower than usual as you approached his booth with his bill. “Is that what you’ve been hiding under that little uniform all this time?”.
You rolled your eyes, but you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “Don’t start”, you warned, trying to sound unaffected, though his reaction was already flustering you.
Ben grinned, leaning back in the booth as his eyes roamed over you, lingering far too long on your chest. “No, seriously. I think I deserve a little heads-up before you walk in here looking like… that”.
“Like what?”, you asked, setting his bill down on the table.
“Like that”, he repeated, gesturing to your top with a wave of his hand. His eyes gleamed with mischief, but there was something darker in them too, something raw. “I mean, fuck, sweetheart. You trying to kill me or what?”.
You crossed your arms over your chest—mostly to shield yourself from his gaze—but that only made his grin grow wider.
“Can you hurry? Please?”, you said, forcing your voice to stay even. “I’ve got somewhere to be“.
“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”, he asked, sitting up straighter, suddenly interested.
“Bookstore”, you replied, already turning to leave. “Closes in twenty minutes, and I’ve got to grab something for class”.
Ben was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced back, his gaze was still firmly fixed on you, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
“You’re not walking there dressed like that, are you?”, he asked, his voice laced with something between amusement and possessiveness.
You blinked, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”.
Ben shrugged, sliding out of the booth and standing up, towering over you with that cocky grin still plastered on his face. “I mean, a girl like you, dressed like that? You’re gonna turn heads. Might need someone to keep the vultures at bay”.
“Let me guess”, you said dryly, crossing your arms once more. “You’re volunteering?”.
Ben tilted his head, his grin softening into something a little more genuine. “Damn right, I am”.
You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the clock above the counter. The bookstore was closing in less than twenty minutes, and you knew there was no way you’d make it on foot. You didn’t own a car, and even if you bolted out the door right now, you’d still be too late. Frustration bubbled up, and you let out a small sigh before turning back to Ben, who was now watching you with an annoyingly amused expression.
“Do you even have a car?”, you asked bluntly, crossing your arms as you fixed him with a questioning look.
Ben arched a brow, clearly enjoying your sudden shift in tone. “Sweetheart, do you really think someone like me walks everywhere?”, he replied, his grin widening. “Yeah, I’ve got a car. Why, you need a ride?”.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny the obvious. “The bookstore closes in twenty minutes, and there’s no way I’m making it in time on foot”.
Without hesitation, he was pulling a few crumpled bills from his pocket and tossing them onto the table. The motion was casual, like money meant nothing to him—which, you figured, it probably didn’t. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he extended a hand toward you.
“After you”, he said, his voice dropping into that rich, teasing tone that made your stomach twist in ways you refused to acknowledge. Then he leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “Big, bad Soldier Boy is saving the day”, he murmured, his voice low and deep, sending an uninvited shiver down your spine.
You stiffened, refusing to let him see how much his proximity affected you. Shooting him a sharp look, you brushed past his outstretched hand, deciding to ignore the theatrics entirely. “Let’s just get this over with”, you muttered, heading for the door.
Behind you, Ben chuckled, the sound rich and amused, and you could feel his gaze following you all the way out to the parking lot. As you reached the sidewalk, you heard the unmistakable growl of an engine starting up. Turning, you saw him pulling up in a sleek, black muscle car that looked like it had been pulled straight from a vintage car show. He rolled down the passenger window, leaning an arm casually against the frame as he looked up at you.
“Get in, sweetheart”, he said, his grin widening. “Clock’s ticking, remember?”.
You hesitated for half a second, contemplating the wisdom of climbing into a car with Ben of all people. But the clock was ticking, and your options were limited. With a resigned sigh, you opened the door and slid into the passenger seat, the scent of leather and faint aftershave filling your senses.
The door shut with a satisfying thunk, and Ben shifted into gear, the car roaring to life beneath you. He glanced over, clearly pleased with himself. “Now, hang on. This baby’s got a little kick”.
“Just drive”, you said, ignoring his grin as you buckled your seatbelt.
Ben smirked, gunning the engine as the car peeled out onto the street, the tires screeching slightly against the pavement. “Yes, ma’am”, he said, throwing you a quick wink.
You sat back, gripping the edge of your seat as the world blurred past the window. Ben handled the car with practiced ease, weaving through traffic like he owned the road. You hated to admit it, but there was something thrilling about the way he drove—something confident and controlled, yet just on the edge of reckless.
“So, what’s the rush?”, he asked after a moment, his tone teasing. “Don’t tell me you’re actually this dedicated to your homework”.
“It’s not homework”, you replied, shooting him a glance. “I told you. It’s a book I need for class. And if you’d quit talking and drive faster, I might actually get it before they close”.
Ben’s grin widened, and he pressed down harder on the gas. “Your wish is my command”, he said smoothly.
You turned back to the window, hoping the rush of the ride would drown out the way his voice lingered in your mind. The bookstore came into view just as the minutes ticked down, and Ben pulled up to the curb with a flair that was entirely unnecessary but undeniably his style.
“Made it”, he said, throwing the car into park and turning to you with a satisfied grin. “Told you I’d save the day”.
You rolled your eyes, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Don’t expect a medal”, you shot back, opening the door and stepping out.
Ben leaned across the console, calling after you. “Come on, Y/N. Admit it—you’re impressed”.
You turned, giving him a look that was half-annoyed, half-amused. “Stay here. I’ll be right back”.
When you came back to the car, clutching the book you’d rushed to get, Ben was still lounging in the driver’s seat, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel. The headlights illuminated the quiet street, casting long shadows, and the faint hum of the engine added a low, steady background noise. As you climbed back into the passenger seat, he raised an eyebrow at you, an expression somewhere between amused and incredulous.
“So”, he said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness, “you just assumed I’d wait around to drive you back, huh? Didn’t even bother asking. Gotta admit, sweetheart, you’ve got some nerve”.
You shot him a sidelong glance, unfazed by his teasing. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”, you replied, setting the book down on your lap and clicking your seatbelt into place. “Figured that meant you didn’t have anywhere better to be”.
Ben smirked, leaning back and studying you with those sharp green eyes that always seemed to see a little too much. “Fair enough”, he said, his tone slow and easy. “But what makes you think the Soldier Boy’s personal chauffeur service is free?”.
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “Oh, come on. What do you want? Gas money? A thank-you? Fine. Thanks for the ride. Happy?”.
Ben laughed, the sound low and genuine, and he shook his head as he shifted the car into drive. “Nah”, he said, glancing over at you with that cocky grin. “I think I’ll just take the pleasure of your company as payment. Call it even”.
You tried not to let the comment rattle you, but the way his voice dipped on the word pleasure sent a flicker of heat through your chest. Clearing your throat, you turned your gaze out the window, watching as the city lights flickered past.
The car ride to your apartment, not back to the diner, was quieter than you’d expected, but not uncomfortable. Every now and then, Ben would make a comment—a sly remark about your book or a teasing question about your weekend plans—and you’d give him a sharp but good-natured reply. It was a strange kind of rhythm you’d fallen into, like sparring partners who secretly enjoyed the match.
When he finally pulled up in front of your building, he put the car in park but didn’t move to turn off the engine. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, watching you expectantly. “Well?”, he said, tilting his head. “Aren’t you gonna invite me up for a drink? Or at least offer me a cookie or something for my trouble?”.
You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “You expect me to reward you for doing the bare minimum?”.
He chuckled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Not a reward, sweetheart. Just… hospitality. I did just save your ass, remember?”.
You sighed, debating for a moment. Part of you wanted to tell him off, to end the the afternoon here and shut the door on his relentless teasing. But another part of you—the part you were trying very hard to ignore—didn’t entirely hate the idea of spending a little more time with him.
“Fine”, you said finally, opening the door and stepping out. “But don’t get comfortable. One drink. That’s it”.
Ben grinned, killing the engine and climbing out of the car. “One drink”, he echoed, his voice laced with amusement. “Scout’s honor”.
As you led the way up to your apartment, you couldn’t help but wonder what exactly you were getting yourself into.
You unlocked your apartment door and pushed it open, flicking on the lights and stepping inside. Ben followed close behind, his boots heavy on the hardwood floor. You glanced back at him, already regretting your decision.
“Make yourself at home”, you muttered sarcastically, setting your book down on the kitchen counter.
“Oh, don’t worry”, Ben said with a grin, already looking around the room shamelessly. “I planned on it”.
He didn’t wait for an invitation to explore, his sharp green eyes scanning every corner of your apartment. His casual arrogance was impossible to ignore, the way he carried himself like nothing and no one could challenge him. You busied yourself grabbing a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine, figuring it was the easiest option for “one drink”. But when you turned back, you caught him standing by the laundry basket in the corner, something lacy dangling from his fingers.
It was a bra. Your bra.
“Seriously?”, you snapped, setting the glasses down with a clink. “Put that down”.
Ben didn’t listen, of course. He held the bra up, inspecting it with a cocked eyebrow and a smirk that made your blood boil. “This yours?”, he asked, his tone mock-innocent. “Didn’t peg you for the lacy type, sweetheart. Looks… sturdy. But then again—”, his gaze dropped deliberately to your chest, lingering in a way that was anything but subtle. “—guess it’d have to be, huh?”.
Your cheeks burned, and you crossed the room in a few quick strides, snatching the bra out of his hands. “You’re unbelievable”, you hissed, shoving it into the laundry basket where it belonged. “What is wrong with you?”.
Ben laughed, completely unbothered by your anger. “What? I’m just making an observation. Don’t get so bent out of shape, sweetheart”.
You glared at him, fists clenched at your sides, but his smug grin only deepened. He leaned against the edge of your couch, arms crossed over his chest, watching you like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. “Relax”, he drawled, his voice dipping into that lazy, cocky tone that drove you insane. “You’re the one who invited me up here. You should’ve known what you were getting into”.
You opened your mouth to retort but couldn’t find the words. He was infuriating. Absolutely, undeniably infuriating. And yet, the way he looked at you—bold and unapologetic, like he couldn’t get enough of you—made your heart race in a way you didn’t want to admit.
“I’ll pour the wine”, you said finally, spinning on your heel and heading back to the kitchen before you could say something you’d regret.
As you reached for the bottle of wine, you heard Ben's voice cut through the air, dripping with disdain.
“Wine?”, he asked, his tone laced with mockery. “Do I look like a fucking pussy to you?”.
You froze, bottle in hand, and turned to see him, still leaning against the edge of your couch, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised. He looked genuinely offended, like you’d just suggested he trade his supe suit for a tutu. The cocky smirk was still there, but now it was edged with that signature Soldier Boy arrogance.
“What’s wrong with wine?”, you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “It’s easy, it’s quick, and I’m pretty sure it won’t kill you”.
Ben scoffed, pushing off the couch and striding toward you. “Sweetheart, I don’t do wine”, he said, his voice low and rough as he leaned on the counter, his eyes locking with yours. “I’m a whiskey man. Always have been, always will be”.
“Of course, you are”, you muttered under your breath, setting the wine bottle down with a bit more force than necessary. You crossed your arms and stared up at him, trying to ignore how close he’d gotten. “Well, sorry to disappoint, but I don’t keep whiskey stocked for uninvited guests”.
Ben tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Uninvited? Funny, didn’t feel like that when you practically begged me to give you a ride home”.
Your jaw dropped. “Begged?”, you repeated, your voice rising. “I asked. There’s a difference”.
“Sure, sweetheart”, he said, clearly not buying it. “Whatever helps you sleep at night”.
You glared at him, and he just chuckled, reaching out to pluck the wine glasses off the counter. “Guess we’re slumming it tonight”, he said, holding them up with a theatrical sigh. “Pour it, then. Let’s see what all the fuss is about”.
You stared at him for a moment, torn between kicking him out of your apartment and pouring the wine just to shut him up. Finally, you grabbed the bottle and poured, slapping the glass into his hand with a little more force than was probably necessary.
“There”, you said, your tone sharp. “Enjoy”.
Ben raised the glass, swirling the wine with an exaggerated flourish. “Cheers, sweetheart”, he said, his grin widening. “To my first and last glass of this shit”.
He took a sip, his expression immediately souring. “Yep”, he said, setting the glass down on the counter with a clink. “Tastes like regret. You actually drink this crap, or is this just for decoration?”.
You couldn’t help it—a laugh escaped, despite yourself. “It’s not that bad”, you said, smirking at the way he was glaring at the glass like it had personally insulted him.
“Not that bad?”, Ben repeated, shaking his head. “Sweetheart, life’s too short to drink wine. Let me guess—you don’t even have a bottle of Jack around here, do you?”.
“Nope”, you said, crossing your arms again. “Like I said, I don’t keep whiskey for uninvited guests”.
Ben grinned, leaning in closer. “Guess I’ll have to bring my own next time”.
The implication hung in the air, bold and deliberate, and you felt your cheeks flush. “Who says there’s gonna be a next time?”, you shot back, raising an eyebrow.
Ben just smirked, his green eyes glittering with mischief. “Oh, there’ll be a next time”, he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “Trust me”.
And damn it, the worst part was that some small, traitorous part of you wanted to believe him.
Ben leaned in closer, his towering frame dominating the small space of your kitchen. His voice dropped to a low whisper, smooth and teasing, as his gaze shamelessly dropped to your chest, lingering in a way that was anything but subtle.
"So tell me", he murmured, his lips curling into that infuriating smirk as his eyes flicked back up to meet yours. "How do you handle these?".
He licked his lips slowly, like he was savoring the thought, and you felt your breath hitch despite yourself. The heat of his gaze was tangible, burning through the fabric of your too-tight top, and you could feel the tension crackling in the air like static electricity.
Your cheeks flared hot with indignation, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. "Excuse me?", you said sharply, crossing your arms over your chest once more, as if that might block his view.
Ben chuckled, unbothered by your tone—or by anything, it seemed. He leaned one elbow on the counter, his posture casual, but his grin was wolfish. "Come on, sweetheart", he drawled. "You walk around with those—", he gestured vaguely toward your cleavage, "—and you’re telling me you don’t notice the way every guy looks at you? Hell, I can’t even blame them. They’re… impressive".
Your jaw tightened, and you glared at him, trying to channel all the irritation you felt into your voice. "You’re unbelievable", you snapped. "Do you seriously talk to every woman like this, or am I just lucky?".
Ben shrugged, the motion impossibly smug. "Only the ones who can handle it", he said, his grin widening. "And you, sweetheart, you’ve got fire. Makes me wanna push a little, see how far you’ll go".
You were seething now, but his words sparked something else beneath the surface—something you didn’t want to acknowledge. You’d dealt with his cocky comments before, but the way he looked at you now, like he was imagining exactly what he’d do if you let him, sent a shiver down your spine.
"Push all you want", you shot back, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. "You’ll find out real quick I’m not like those other women who swoon every time you flash that stupid grin".
Ben’s smirk softened into something darker, more deliberate, and his voice dropped even lower. "Oh, sweetheart", he said, his eyes locked onto yours. "I already know you’re not like the others. That’s why you’re so damn fun".
The air between you felt impossibly thick, the tension humming like a live wire. He was standing so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off him, his scent filling your senses.
"Tell you what", he said, his voice smooth as honey but laced with that familiar edge of cockiness. "You pour me another glass of that fucking awful wine, and I’ll stop staring at your tits". He paused, his smirk turning downright wicked. "For at least five minutes".
You wanted to yell at him, to throw him out of your apartment and slam the door in his face. But instead, you grabbed the wine bottle and poured, your hand steady despite the fire simmering in your chest.
"Five minutes", you said, sliding the glass across the counter toward him. "That’s all you’re getting".
Ben chuckled, lifting the glass in a mock toast. "Deal", he said, his green eyes sparkling with amusement. "But don’t blame me if I break it".
The five minutes turned into ten, then twenty, and before you knew it, you were pouring from a second bottle of wine. The two of you hadn’t even left the kitchen. Ben leaned against the counter like he belonged there, his grin widening with every teasing jab and witty comment you threw his way. To your surprise—and mild annoyance—you were actually enjoying yourself. The tension that had been crackling between you all evening hadn’t disappeared; if anything, it had grown thicker, heavier, like a storm waiting to break.
“You know”, Ben said, swirling the wine in his glass like it was whiskey, his voice low and drawling, “you’re a lot more fun than you let on, sweetheart. All that fire, all those little comebacks… you’ve got a hell of a bite”.
You smirked, taking another sip of your wine. The alcohol had loosened your tongue, making you bolder. “And here I thought a big bad supe like you couldn’t handle a girl with a backbone”.
Ben barked out a laugh, setting his glass down on the counter. “Handle? Sweetheart, I live for it. Most people don’t have the guts to talk back to me. You, though…”. His eyes raked over you, lingering for just a second too long. “You’re something else”.
You rolled your eyes, pretending his words didn’t send a jolt of heat through you. “Is that your idea of a compliment?”, you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m not impressed”.
Ben’s grin turned downright wicked, and he stepped closer, invading your space with an ease that made your heart race. “Oh, I think you’re a little impressed”, he said, his voice dipping lower. “I mean, look at you—two bottles in, still here with me. If you really hated me that much, you’d have kicked me out by now”.
Your jaw tightened, but before you could fire back, he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against the hem of your top. The move was casual, almost absentminded, but his fingers lingered, teasing the fabric like he was testing your reaction.
“Speaking of backbone”, he said, his tone shifting to something darker, more deliberate. “This little thing can’t be doing much to support these”. His eyes flicked down to your chest, and then back up, locking onto yours with a gaze that was equal parts cocky and predatory.
Your breath caught, and your hand shot out, grabbing his wrist before he could go any further. “Ben”, you warned, your voice low but unsteady.
He didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in closer, his lips curling into a slow smirk. “What?”, he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Am I wrong?”.
Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, the wine-fueled heat bubbling inside you erupted. “You’re impossible”, you muttered, and the next thing you knew, you were shoving him—not hard, but enough to make a point.
Ben laughed, catching himself against the counter, but instead of backing off, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you toward him with a surprising amount of force. His other hand went straight to the hem of your top, and in one swift, fluid motion, he tugged it over your head, leaving you standing there in your bra.
“Ben!”, you gasped, your cheeks flaming.
"You’ve been teasing me all day, sweetheart. Figured it was time I got a better look”, he grinned, completely unrepentant, his eyes dropping shamelessly to your chest.
You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him, but he just leaned back, his gaze burning into you. “Damn”, he murmured, his voice low and rough. “Even better than I thought”.
The tension between you was unbearable now, thick and electric, and you weren’t sure whether you wanted to slap him or—well, do something else entirely. Ben seemed to sense it too, his grin softening just enough to make your heart skip a beat.
“So”, he said, his voice dropping into a whisper as he stepped closer again, his hand brushing lightly against your arm. “You gonna kick me out now? Or are we finally gonna stop pretending we don’t want the same thing?”.
The air between you felt hotter, heavier, and his gaze dipped again to your chest, lingering there shamelessly.
Your breath hitched as his hand moved to hover just near the edge of your bra strap. His fingers didn’t touch it yet, but the heat of them against your skin was enough to make your pulse quicken. You tried to steel yourself, to glare at him like you always did, but his words, his tone—it was all so… intense.
“Ben”, you said, your voice shaky but firm. “Back off. Now”.
But Ben didn’t move away. If anything, he stepped even closer, his broad frame towering over you, his green eyes dark with something primal. “Back off?”, he echoed, his lips twitching into a wicked grin. “You sure about that, sweetheart? Because you’ve been making this real hard for me all night—literally”.
Your eyes flicked down instinctively—his words leaving little to the imagination—and he laughed, low and deep. “Yeah, that’s what I thought”, he said, his confidence only growing. His hand lifted, his knuckles brushing lightly, teasingly, against the curve of your cleavage.
“Fucking shit”, he muttered, almost to himself. “These… I mean, I knew they’d be good, but seeing them up close? Sweetheart, they’re fucking perfect”.
Your face burned, and your hand shot up to shove him away, but he caught your wrist easily, his grip firm but not painful. “Oh, no”, he said, his voice dropping an octave. “You don’t get to hide now. Not after teasing me like this. You think I didn’t notice the way that little uniform clung to you every time I walked into the diner? Or how you cross your arms just high enough to—”. His thumb brushed lightly against the swell of your breast, and you inhaled sharply. “Yeah. Exactly”.
“Ben”, you said again, this time quieter, though you weren’t sure if it was a warning or something else entirely.
His smirk softened slightly, but his eyes never left yours. “Relax, sweetheart”, he said, his voice low and soothing, though the hunger in his gaze hadn’t dimmed in the slightest. “These—”, his hand finally settled just under the edge of your bra, the pads of his fingers brushing against the soft fabric, “—are driving me fucking insane. You know, I like them big".
The admission was so brazen, so shameless, it left you speechless. He chuckled at your stunned expression, his other hand sliding along your waist, his fingers curling just slightly against your skin. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he murmured.
You swallowed hard, torn between fury and something you didn’t want to name. His thumb traced a slow, deliberate circle just above the fabric of your bra, his touch featherlight but maddeningly deliberate. He was testing you, pushing you, and the worst part was that you weren’t stopping him.
“Just say the word”m he said, his voice dropping to a whisper as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t…”. He let the sentence hang, his fingers inching just a little higher, grazing the edge of the fabric.
Your heart was pounding, and every nerve in your body felt like it was on fire. He was insufferable, arrogant, and completely out of line. But the way he looked at you, the way he touched you—it was consuming, overwhelming, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to stop him.
And Ben, always the bold one, seemed to know exactly how much power he had in this moment. "So", he murmured, his breath warm against your skin, "what's it gonna be, sweetheart?".
Ben's grin widened when you didn’t pull away or tell him to stop. The heat in his gaze turned molten as if your silence was all the confirmation he needed. Without hesitation, his large, rough hand caught yours, holding it firmly but not unkindly. His other hand moved to his belt, undoing the thick, gold clasp of his supe suit with practiced ease, the sound of metal clinking filling the tension-filled air.
Before you could even process what was happening, he pushed your hand inside the waistband of his pants, guiding your palm to lay flat against the heated, throbbing length of him. Your breath hitched sharply, and your fingers instinctively flexed, brushing against him. He hissed through his teeth at the contact, his grip tightening on your hand as if to keep you there.
“Fuck”, he growled low in his throat, his voice rough with need. “You feel that, sweetheart? That’s what you do to me”. His hips shifted just slightly, pressing himself harder against your palm. The sheer size and heat of him were overwhelming, and despite yourself, your hand twitched again, drawing another guttural sound from him.
His other hand didn’t stay idle. It slid up your back, deftly finding the clasp of your bra. The snap of it coming undone was almost deafening in the charged silence of the room. He pulled the straps from your shoulders with deliberate slowness, his calloused fingers brushing against your bare skin and sending shivers down your spine.
“Shit”, he murmured, his voice thick with admiration as he let the bra fall to the floor. His hand moved to cup your now-exposed breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak. “Even better than I imagined”, he muttered, his green eyes dark and heavy-lidded as they drank in the sight of you. “Fucking perfect”.
You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat when his thumb circled your nipple, sending a jolt of sensation straight through you. His grin grew, cocky and triumphant, as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “That little gasp?”, he murmured. “Music to my fucking ears”.
Still holding your hand firmly against him, he began to move it, guiding your touch along the length of him, slow and deliberate. “You feel how hard I am for you?”, he asked, his voice husky, tinged with raw desire. “That’s all you, sweetheart”.
You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His words, his touch, the sheer presence of him—it was all too much, and yet not enough. Every nerve in your body was on fire, every ounce of your self-control teetering on the edge.
“Tell me to stop”, he said again, his voice low but firm, his hand still guiding yours as his thumb teased your nipple. “Say the word, sweetheart, and I’ll back off. But if you don’t…". His lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re mine tonight”.
Your hesitation didn’t go unnoticed, but it wasn’t long before your fingers started to move—tentative, unsure at first, but enough to draw a sharp, satisfied hiss from Ben. His hand flexed around yours briefly before letting go, allowing you to stroke him at your own pace.
His fingers pinched your nipple, rolling the sensitive peak between his thumb and forefinger with a roughness that made your breath hitch. “That’s it”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, vibrating with approval. “Good girl. Just like that”.
Before you could fully process his words—or the way they made your stomach twist with something both infuriating and exhilarating—his hands were on your hips, lifting you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. The cool surface pressed against the backs of your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off him as he stepped between your legs.
Ben didn’t waste any time. His hands moved to your chest, cupping both of your breasts with an almost reverent hunger. His thumbs dragged across your nipples, teasing the already sensitive peaks as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your skin.
“Damn it", he muttered, his eyes fixed on your chest as though it was the most captivating thing he’d ever seen. “These… Fuck sweetheart. You’ve been hiding these from me all this time?”. He let out a low, almost feral groan, his hands squeezing your breasts gently before his mouth descended on one of your nipples.
The moment his lips wrapped around the sensitive peak, sucking firmly, you felt a sharp jolt of pleasure that made you gasp. His tongue flicked against you, slow and deliberate, sending waves of sensation coursing through your body. He groaned deeply, the vibration of it against your skin making you squirm, and his hands tightened on your breasts, kneading them as though he couldn’t get enough.
“Perfect”, he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled but laced with raw need. “Fucking perfect”. He switched to your other nipple, giving it the same attention, his teeth grazing lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. His groans deepened as he sucked harder, his hands squeezing and molding your breasts as though they were made for him.
“This”, he said between licks and sucks, his voice breathless and rough. “This right here? This is what drives me crazy. Big, soft, perfect tits. Fuck. And yours…” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and filled with something primal. “Yours are fucking unreal”.
You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak. His mouth on you, his hands kneading and teasing—it was overwhelming in the best way. Every nerve in your body was on fire, and the way he worshipped your chest with his hands and mouth sent your mind spinning.
Ben pulled back for just a moment, his lips glistening as he smirked up at you. “I could stay right here all night”, he murmured, his hands still massaging your breasts, his thumbs brushing your nipples. “Sucking these perfect tits of yours, hearing you moan like that. You like it, don’t you, sweetheart? You like how much I’m into these”.
You didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. Instead, you reached for him, pulling him closer, and the cocky grin on his face turned triumphant as he lowered his head again, his mouth latching onto you with renewed intensity.
Ben's mouth was relentless, his lips and tongue working over your sensitive nipple as though he were starved for the taste of you. The low, guttural groans he let out against your skin sent vibrations rippling through your body, making you arch into him. His hands, however, weren’t content to stay idle.
While his mouth stayed latched to your chest, one hand moved with deliberate purpose, sliding down to the waistband of your jeans. You gasped as his fingers deftly unbuttoned them, the sharp pop of the button lost in the haze of heat and sensation. His hand tugged at the fabric, pulling your jeans down over your hips in one smooth, impatient motion, taking your panties along with them.
You squirmed on the counter, trying to adjust to the sudden exposure, but Ben wasn’t giving you a moment to collect yourself. His mouth was still firmly on your nipple, his teeth grazing it lightly before his tongue soothed the sting. The combination of pleasure and roughness made your breath hitch audibly, and he pulled back just enough to look up at you, his lips curling into a wicked grin.
“Sensitive, huh?”, he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, thick with desire. “I like that”.
Before you could respond, his free hand moved between your legs, cupping you possessively. The roughness of his palm against your bare pussy made you gasp, and his grin widened at your reaction. He didn’t move his hand yet, just held it there, his fingers brushing lightly against you as his thumb circled idly along your inner thigh.
“You’re already so fucking wet”, he murmured, his tone somewhere between teasing and awe. His lips returned to your other nipple, sucking firmly as his fingers began to explore, slow and deliberate, teasing just enough to drive you mad. “All this from a little attention to these perfect tits, huh? Sweetheart, you’re too fucking good to be true”.
His words, his tone, his touch—it was all too much. His fingers slid against you, finding your most sensitive spot with infuriating precision, and he chuckled darkly as your body jerked in response.
“Fuck”, he muttered against your skin, his lips still working over your nipple. “You feel so good, sweetheart. So soft, so warm. Bet you’d feel even better clenching around me”.
His grin was pure arrogance, but the way his fingers teased you left no doubt—he was going to make good on every filthy promise in his eyes.
Ben didn’t give you time to answer. His mouth found your nipple again, sucking hard enough to draw a moan from your lips while his fingers worked you with a skill that had your head spinning. He wasn’t just teasing anymore; he was taking his time exploring every reaction he could pull from you, his rough, calloused touch a sharp contrast to the way his tongue rolled over the sensitive peak of your breast.
“God, you’re so responsive”, he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “It’s like your body was made for me”.
His hand between your legs pressed more firmly, his fingers sliding through your wetness with a groan that sounded almost guttural. “Look at you”, he muttered, pulling back just long enough to meet your gaze, his smirk replaced with something more primal. “So wet for me. Fuck, sweetheart, you’ve been driving me crazy for weeks, and now… now I’ve got you exactly where I want you”.
He slid a finger inside you, slow but deliberate, and you couldn’t help the sharp gasp that escaped your lips. His mouth returned to your chest, sucking and nipping at your nipple as his finger moved, curling slightly to find the perfect spot. He chuckled against your skin as your hips bucked against his hand, your body reacting on instinct.
“That’s it”, he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Let me feel you. Show me how much you like it”.
He added a second finger, thrusting into you slowly at first, then with more confidence as he felt your body respond. His thumb found your most sensitive spot, circling it with just enough pressure to make your legs tremble.
“All this”, he said, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke, “just from my hands. Can you imagine what it’s gonna feel like when I finally give you all of me?”.
You didn’t answer—couldn’t answer. Your breath came in short gasps, your mind clouded by the overwhelming sensations he was pulling from you.
“You’re mine tonight, sweetheart”, he whispered, his voice a low growl. “And I’m gonna make damn sure you don’t forget it”.
With a single, decisive movement, Ben’s large hand pressed against your stomach, guiding you back onto the kitchen island. The cool surface sent a shiver up your spine as it met your overheated skin, and your legs dangled helplessly off the edge, his sheer strength keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
He towered over you, his cocky grin sharper now, a predatory gleam in his green eyes as he admired the view in front of him. “Look at you”, he muttered, his voice low and rough, filled with unfiltered hunger. “Spread out for me like you were made for this”.
Before you could gather your wits to respond, Ben moved with swift precision, his hands going to his pants. He shoved them down without hesitation, the material of his supe suit pooling at his thighs. When he finally freed himself, your breath caught in your throat.
He was big—thicker and longer than you’d expected, his cock hard and already flushed with arousal. It stood proud, twitching slightly as if straining for you, and the sight alone was enough to make your heart race. He caught your expression, his grin widening into something shamelessly smug.
He stepped closer, the heat of his body overwhelming as he loomed over you, his free hand sliding down to your thigh. His grip was firm, rough, as he spread your legs wider, making room for himself between them. He didn’t rush—he wanted you to see everything, to feel every second of anticipation building like a firestorm inside you.
Ben dragged the tip of his cock against you, groaning deeply at the contact. “Fuck”, he muttered, his eyes darkening as he watched the way your body reacted to him. “So wet, so ready. You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?”.
You opened your mouth to retort, but any words you might have had were stolen the moment he pushed forward, pressing just the tip of himself inside you. The stretch was immediate, intense, his size forcing you to take a deep breath as your body adjusted. He growled low in his throat, his fingers gripping your thighs tightly as he held himself there for a moment.
“Feel that?”, he rasped, his voice thick with desire. “That’s just the start, sweetheart. You’re gonna feel every inch of me, and you’re gonna take it like the good girl I know you are”.
Without waiting for a response, Ben pushed further, sinking into you inch by inch with a roughness that had your back arching off the counter. His hands held you firmly in place, his strength undeniable as he buried himself inside you, groaning deeply when he finally bottomed out.
“Fuck”, he growled, his head dropping for a moment as he fought to regain control. “So tight, so perfect. You’re squeezing me like you don’t want me to leave".
Ben’s groan deepened as he thrust fully into you, his hips flush against yours. His large hand splayed across your stomach, his palm pressing firmly against the soft skin just above your belly button. His eyes darkened as he stilled for a moment, letting the intensity of the moment settle between you.
“Fuck”, he muttered, almost to himself, his voice low and thick with awe. His hand flexed slightly, pressing into your stomach, and his cock twitched inside you, buried to the hilt.
His hips moved again, drawing back just enough to thrust forward, slow but deliberate. His eyes never left yours, and his hand stayed firmly in place, feeling every inch of himself as he filled you. The way his cock moved inside you, the way his hand pressed against your stomach to feel his own movements, was overwhelming—intimate in a way that sent heat coursing through your entire body.
“Do you feel that?”, he rasped, his voice rough and breathless. His hand pressed down again, emphasizing the sensation. “That’s all me, sweetheart. Deep inside you, stretching you, filling you. You’re taking all of me”.
His hand stayed on your stomach, his palm rough and unyielding as he pressed harder, clearly enthralled by the sensation of his cock moving inside you. His thrusts were slow but deliberate, each one forcing you to take him fully, and the slight wince that escaped your lips only seemed to spur him on.
“Too much for you?”, he asked, though the smirk on his face said he already knew the answer. “Yeah, you’re feeling all of me now, aren’t you? My dick’s got you squirming, huh?”.
You tried to glare at him, but your breath hitched again as he thrust even deeper, the strength behind each movement a stark reminder of just how powerful he was. Your body arched beneath him, your legs trembling as he set a relentless pace, his cock pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.
Ben’s attention shifted to your chest, his free hand sliding up to cup one of your bouncing breasts. “Look at these”, he muttered, his thumb brushing over your nipple as it peaked from the movement. “Fucking perfect. Watching them bounce while I fuck you—fuck, sweetheart, it’s like you’re made for me”.
His hips snapped harder, making the counter beneath you creak slightly, and you let out a sharp gasp, your hands gripping the edges of the kitchen island for stability. The combination of his hand pressing against your stomach and the sight of his cock disappearing into you with every thrust was overwhelming, a heady mixture of pleasure and the faintest edge of pain from the sheer force of him.
Ben's focus honed in on your chest again, his green eyes dark and filled with raw hunger.
He leaned down, his mouth finding your nipple again, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. His teeth grazed the sensitive peak before his tongue flicked over it. The dual sensations—the roughness of his mouth and the deep, relentless thrusts of his hips—sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, your back arching off the cool surface of the counter.
"You’re close, aren’t you?", he murmured against your skin, his lips moving to your other breast. His thumb slid down, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, adding another layer of sensation that made your thighs tremble. "I can feel it, the way you’re clenching around me. You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you? Gonna let me feel it".
You whimpered, your nails digging into the edge of the counter as the tension inside you coiled tighter and tighter. Ben growled against your skin, his lips wrapping around your nipple again as his fingers worked you, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, hitting just the right spot with a precision that left you breathless.
"Come on", he muttered, his voice rough and commanding. "Let me feel it, sweetheart. Let me feel you fall apart while I’m buried inside you".
His words, his touch, the relentless way he worshipped your chest—it all pushed you closer and closer to the edge. His teeth grazed your nipple again, and the sharp, pleasurable sting was the final push you needed. Your body tensed, your head falling back as the orgasm tore through you, every nerve in your body lighting up with overwhelming sensation.
Ben groaned deeply, feeling the way your body clenched and pulsed around him. His hand pressed harder against your stomach, emphasizing the intensity of it, and his hips slowed slightly, grinding against you to draw it out as long as possible.
"Fuck", he muttered, his voice filled with awe as he pulled back just enough to watch your face. His hand still kneaded your breast, his thumb teasing your nipple as you trembled beneath him. "That’s it, sweetheart. So fucking beautiful when you come".
Ben’s breathing was ragged, his thrusts slowing but no less deliberate as he pushed you to the brink of overstimulation, but then he suddenly pulled back, his cock slipping out of you. You barely had a moment to react before his strong hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter.
"Stay right there", he growled, his voice low and commanding, as he adjusted your position. Before you could protest—or catch your breath—he hooked an arm under your waist, lifting you effortlessly, leaving your legs dangling off the counter while your back pressed against the cool surface.
With one hand firmly supporting you, his other hand dropped to himself, stroking his thick, throbbing cock with a rough, practiced motion. The sight of him, his broad chest heaving, his jaw tight with restraint, and his green eyes blazing as he looked down at you, left you utterly breathless.
“Fuck”, he groaned, his grip tightening as his strokes became faster. “You’re a fucking dream, sweetheart".
You tried to steady your breathing, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your body still trembled from your orgasm. But Ben wasn’t done. His hand shifted its grip on your waist, pulling you just a little higher so that your chest was perfectly positioned in front of him. His gaze was fixed there, dark and hungry, as he stroked himself harder, his hips bucking slightly into his own hand.
With a low, guttural groan, he finally tipped over the edge. His hand tightened around himself as he came, thick, hot ropes spilling out, painting your chest in a way that made his breath hitch. His groan turned into a growl, his grip on your waist tightening as he held you steady, his other hand pumping himself through every last pulse.
"Fuck, sweetheart"m he rasped, his eyes fixed on the mess he’d made of you, your tits glistening as you lay sprawled out on the counter. “That’s a fucking sight”.
You blinked up at him, still catching your breath, your body limp against his hold. His chest was heaving as he slowly released his grip on himself, his hand sliding back to your waist to hold you securely. His thumb brushed against your skin, a small, almost tender gesture that contrasted with the intensity of what had just happened.
Ben pulled back, his smirk widening as he watched you struggle to regain your composure. Gently but firmly, he set you on your feet, his large hands gripping your waist to steady you. The moment your feet touched the ground, your knees buckled, unable to support you after the intensity of what had just happened.
He caught you instantly, one arm slipping around your waist, holding you up effortlessly. His cocky grin didn’t falter for a second as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.
“Careful there, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing. “Didn’t mean to wear you out that much”.
You couldn’t respond—your breath was still coming in short gasps, your body trembling in his grasp. Your legs felt like jelly, and your mind was a haze of pleasure, heat, and disbelief. You barely registered his hand moving to your chin, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.
Ben’s smirk grew wider as he took in your disheveled state—your chest still glistening from him, your legs trembling, your face flushed with heat. He kept his arm firmly around your waist, holding you steady, but his free hand drifted down to brush lightly against the mess he’d made on your chest.
“You might wanna clean this up”, he murmured, his tone dripping with teasing arrogance, his thumb smearing a line across your skin. His eyes followed the motion, dark and hungry, like he was admiring his own handiwork. “Can’t have you walking around like this, sweetheart".
Your breath hitched, and your cheeks flared with fresh embarrassment. “You’re unbelievable”, you managed to mutter, your voice still shaky but laced with irritation. You swatted his hand away, but the smug look on his face didn’t waver for a second.
“What?”, he asked innocently, his grin turning downright wicked. “Just stating the obvious. Though…”. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Part of me likes the idea of you keeping it. Little reminder of who you belong to now”.
Your stomach flipped at his words, and you clenched your jaw, refusing to let him see how much he was getting under your skin. “You’re a real piece of work”, you shot back, your voice gaining a little more strength.
Ben chuckled low, the sound rumbling deep in his chest as he watched you with that insufferable smirk plastered across his face. His hand moved lower, sliding down your back with deliberate slowness until it reached the curve of your ass. Without warning, he gave it a firm pinch, making you yelp and swat at his hand.
"Hey!", you snapped, spinning around to glare at him, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.
“Thought you might need a little reminder to be more grateful”, he said, feigning innocence, his hand lingering dangerously close to where it had just been.
You rolled your eyes. “Grateful? For what, exactly?”.
He leaned in again, that cocky grin widening as his lips brushed against your ear. “For me”, he murmured, his voice dripping with arrogance. “For the ride, the fun, and that little gift on your chest. Figured I’d at least get a ‘thank you’, but no. Instead, I get sass”.
You huffed, trying to pull yourself together despite the way your body still trembled from him. “You don’t deserve a thank you for that”, you shot back, though your voice wasn’t nearly as steady as you’d hoped.
Ben’s hand slid back up to your waist, pulling you closer so your bodies were pressed together. The heat of him was overwhelming, and the mischievous glint in his eyes made your stomach flip. “Oh, I think I do, sweetheart”, he said, his grin turning wicked. “I think I deserve a lot more than a thank you, after the way I just made you scream”.
Your cheeks burned hotter, and you shoved lightly at his chest, trying to put some space between you. “You’re insufferable”, you muttered, but he didn’t budge.
Ben chuckled again, his hands tightening on your hips as he leaned down to look you square in the eye. “And you fucking enjoying it”, he said simply, his confidence unshakable. His thumb brushed over your hip, sending a shiver through you despite your best efforts to stay composed. “Now, come on, sweetheart. Be a good girl and say it”.
You glared at him, lips pressed into a thin line, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
“Still nothing?”, he teased, tilting his head. His grin widened, and his hand slid lower again, giving your ass another playful squeeze. “Guess I’ll just have to try harder to earn it then”.
Your breath caught, and his laughter followed you as you tried to pull yourself together. But the heat of his touch and the intensity of his gaze made it clear: Ben wasn’t done with you yet.
———————————
A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰
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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373
#jensen ackles#soldier boy#the boys#soldier boy x reader#soldier boy x female reader#soldier boy x y/n#soldier boy x you#soldier boy fanfiction#the boys soldier boy
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circuit breaker 🔬🌌 (part one)
tutor!jayce talis x reader, modern college au
content: reader is forced to take gen ed classes in order to graduate college. this unfortunately includes physics for which you desperately need a tutor for...jayce talis happens to need community service and is available to help. (references to adhd/neurodivergence in this chapter, that’s all)
notes: hiii. as i am on my indefinite break from golden boy, i wanted to start something else bc the yearn for jayce content can only be filled as long as i work to preserve him myself... so here’s my first official series!! double note, while this is modern, i still want to keep hints and references to the show/characters so they’re believable! so if you see viktor talking in a way that seems unnatural with dialogue, its just my smarty pants bf being his smart self with vast vocabulary. 🤍
word count: 1.5k
series masterlist here
。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆ 。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆
The absolute worst part of college is being forced to take the general education classes simply to graduate. You were an arts major, there was no reason for you to be cramming your brain with math equations so many years after high school—and yet here you were. Unfortunately, you waited until later in your university career to take on the required course load, and now you were stuck in one of the only classes with availability that worked with your schedule—physics. The thought of the class alone made your head hurt. The only upside was having it with a friend, albeit much more skilled at the subject, Viktor was always welcome company.
“I hate these weekly quizzes, I genuinely cannot afford to fail another one.”
Viktor chuckled, “The subject matter isn’t that difficult…”
“We can’t all be geniuses, Viktor.”
“Yes, some of us are more skilled than others, I’d say.” He moved to gather his books, the class having ended.
You mirrored his action, packing your bag as you spoke to him. “Natural skill or not, this shit is actually dumb…makes me feel dumb.”
“You are not dumb,” he reassured you, “It can be a lot to comprehend.”
You shuffled through the aisle, following behind Viktor as he moved toward the exit. “It’s these gen ed classes…why do I need to understand physics for liberal arts. Granted, I know the school is more tech based…but I changed my major! I should be free of the shackles of math by now.” You wiped a hand over your face, clearly exasperated.
You matched Viktor’s steps, picking up a bit to open the door for him. The slight breeze of the outside air brushed over you—cooling the heat that you didn’t realize was there. A breath left you, exhaling the bubbling rage in you.
Viktor reached a hand toward your shoulder, grasping it with a firm encouragement. “You will conquer physics. Natural skill…or not.” He smiled again, a teasing tone on his voice.
“Viktor!” You swatted his hand away, “I hate you! Could you at least offer a solution? These quizzes are literally every week. What’s the point of checking my comprehension if I know I’m gonna fail-“
“Listen, you will not fail. In fact,” he paused, “I have a solution for this little conflict.”
“The solution being?”
He stopped walking, an obvious look on his face, “Get a tutor.”
A scoff, “Yeah right. I’m not in middle school. I don’t need a tutor, Viktor.” You started walking again, “Besides, why can’t you just help me—you’re all the tutor I need!”
“I have quite a bit on my plate this term already. I have two labs, recitations, and work-“
“Which is just code for find time to see Sky, got it.”
He didn’t reply to that, not directly. But the way he blushed and looked away was indication enough. Viktor explained before that he and Sky have known each other practically their whole lives. They always saw each other around; the fact that they ended up at the same school was purely by fate, or chance, Viktor would say. That was, despite the relatively high probability with there being so few state schools.
He changed the subject, leading you across the street. “I know someone who would be willing to help. He mentioned needing community service.”
“Fine, I guess…”
“Good, because we’re here.”
You looked up, the student resource center labeled clearly in front of you. The prospect of walking in was already daunting. You loved independence and it often came at the expense of feeling incompetent when you had to ask for help. You confided in Viktor about that before. He figured the best way was to just show up, not giving you the opportunity to get yourself worked up and find an excuse to not go.
He opened the door, tilting his head towards the inside. “You got this.”
You shook your head, the idea making you nauseous. He returned the motion, this time shaking his head. You can do this.
It took a second, but you finally walked in, Viktor slightly on your trail. “He should be here, he told me he would be.” He continued as you nodded silently, “Oh, there he is.”
His back was to you, speaking to a woman he seemed to be friendly with. His shoulders were wide, making her barely visible to you from this angle—but she was undoubtedly stunning. You couldn’t help but acknowledge the way they so enthusiastically spoke. You didn’t want to interrupt, that would be embarrassing, torturous, even. Instead, you turned to the desk, eyeing the receptionist. She seemed to be close to your age…which somehow made you even more nervous—gosh.
“Hi…” You cleared your throat, “Hi, I wanted to ask about tutoring? Like for physics?”
Viktor nodded behind you, proud of the seemingly small gesture. He knew this was actually an immense step for you.
The receptionist greeted you back, “We do have physics tutoring available! There are a few student volunteers, but we usually assign according to those with a more free schedule…” She looked to her left, pointing to the QR code that faced toward you. “You can register here, it’s fairly quick and someone…” she locked onto the man across from her, still mid conversation. “Someone should be able to help you get started today actually…Jayce!”
You turned to see the man pause his conversation, a brow raising at his name being called. Recognition flashed in your direction as well, “Oh hey, Viktor.”
“Hello, Jayce.”
The man walked up to the counter, a more annoyed tone and body language accompanied him, then. It wasn’t genuine, but rather one out of familiarity, like he and the receptionist had known each other a while. It was quite jovial, actually. “What do you want, Cait?”
She rolled her eyes at that, “Someone needs a tutor,” she smiled at you before looking to him with a grimace, “You’re a tutor, correct?”
He shrugged, “I need community service.”
“Great, so you two are a match, then.”
Your phone suddenly became rather interesting—the simple intake form immediately became numerous pages long and excessively tedious. You felt his eyes on you, though, and saw a hand out towards you in your peripheral. “Nice to meet you…Jayce.”
You looked up finally, reaching to shake his outstretched hand. The only thing that came to you was your name—first and last, simple.
He half smiled, echoing your reply, “Jayce Talis. I like the formality.” He chuckled, dropping your hand.
You looked back silently at Viktor, a sort of terror on your face. He spoke then, “I should be going. Shouldn’t these two have their introductory meeting now?” He observed your twisted facial expression, looking towards the desk for a reply.
She nodded, “Great idea! It’s a short one, just getting to know one another and scheduling for later. You can use that room right there,” she looked at the computer in front of her for confirmation, “It should be empty for a few more minutes!” She motioned her hands for you two to hurry along. The man, Jayce…Jayce Talis…walked over and spoke to the woman he’d been talking to before. You couldn’t hear them, but observed the way he rubbed her arm before reaching for a hug. You tried not to stare, but you weren’t entirely familiar with the resource center and he was supposed to be leading you, you thought.
You trailed behind Jayce, turning back to see Viktor. He stood with a hand on his cane, the other with a thumbs up to you. You nodded, rubbing your hands awkwardly at your sides. You watched as Jayce opened the door, stepping back to let you in first. That was nice. You held a tight smile, a pleasantry you’d grown accustomed to displaying in uncomfortable situations such as this one.
Both of you sat down, a brief silence filling the room. Jayce spoke first, “So what brings you to tutoring?”
You swallowed, “I am not great at physics…I’m pretty bad at it actually…and Viktor said you could help.”
He nodded, “You two are friends?”
“Yeah, we met a while back. How do you know each other?”
“Lab partners, same major, rest is history.”
“Right…” A huff from you and the shuffle of Jayce reaching in his pocket were the only sounds in the room.
“So,” he scrolled on his phone, “You noted you have a hard time focusing. Is it just this class?”
“Not just physics, no. I have a hard time paying attention in general. Bad memory, disorganized brain, the works. Makes retaining the information really hard as you can imagine.”
“I get that, but we can work on that…find things that help you remember a bit better…make it more interesting.”
You could only blink as a response. This was the first time you could recall, besides with close friends, that someone didn’t make you feel extremely weird for not being able to stay focused. You often skipped from one topic to the next, forgetting your starting point. Conversations would float away from you, or you’d get too emotionally invested. People would call you loud, random, even. You appreciated that Jayce replied simply, concisely, offering a solution. Sure, it was his job…kind of…but it felt pretty good.
“Thank you.”
“Sure.”
He went over a few more questions with you—referring to the intake form you’d filled out on your phone. In no time, you had set a meeting time for the following day.
Both of you stood, collecting your bags.
“See you tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow.”
part two
#jaggedamethyst#circuit breaker#angst#jayce talis#arcane jayce#jayce talis x reader#jayce talis x you#arcane#arcane x reader#jayce x reader#jayce league of legends#jayce talis arcane#jayce arcane#jayce x you
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Story Mode 5 | Mystic Academia: Sero Hanta's Route
⋆ PAIRING: hacker!sero x fem!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: slight angst ⋆ WORD COUNT: 697
A/N: it's been a minute but i finally found some time to finally work on this! i only have about 3 more weeks of classes before finals so i will try my best to update as much as possible before then
NOTE: credits to @eraserhead-transparents for the sero cap
Mystic Academia: Sero Hanta's Route Masterlist
It was getting late and a little over a day had passed since the hacker broke into the office. Sero still hadn’t actually spoken to you and you felt as if you were going to lose your mind.
You opened the door out of the bathroom, getting ready to go to bed for the night and you saw Sero by the sink, his back to you. He was filling the same glass you had given him earlier.
You parted your lips to ask if he had eaten but pressed your lips together, stopping yourself. Sero had made himself clear multiple times that he didn’t want to talk to you, for whatever reason, and you didn’t have the energy to continue to try with him.
You walked past the kitchen, moving towards the couch which was your makeshift bed.
Sero set the glass down, glancing over at you and watching your back as you walked away from him. “Y/N.” He called out.
You froze in your step, turning to him slightly as if you couldn’t believe that he had called your name. You turned around completely, and he did the same, facing you as he leaned against the sink, the glass of water on the counter.
He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes even more prominent. He definitely still hadn’t gotten any rest or sleep and you knew this.
“Do you know how dangerous my job is?” Sero asked.
You were taken aback. Out of all of the things he could have said, you didn’t expect him to ask you such a question. “Um, a little? I think the others told me a little bit about how secretive your job is.”
“I’m asking because I need you to understand whatever you heard about my job, times it by ten.” He paused as he sighed. “This job could get me killed if I’m not careful and I can’t let anything happen to you or anyone else in M.F.A. because of me. That’s why I want you to stay away from me.”
You stared at him. What he was telling you made sense but it also didn’t. Why was he warning you about his job? He came to the office willingly to help you and now he was telling you to stay away from him?
“Is this about Unknown?” You questioned. He was already talking to you; might as well see how much you can get out of him.
Sero hesitated but he inhaled slowly before finally answering. “Yes. This is about… Unknown. It was obvious, huh?”
You nodded. He ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly. “I don’t even know his real name. But I know him. He worked for my organization.”
You nodded again, able to put two and two together especially with the way Unknown and Sero interacted with one another.
“He went by a code name when he worked under the organization. I’m not telling you because I don’t want to put you in danger so we’ll just keep calling him Unknown.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “He’s extremely talented and dangerous and all I really remember when I worked with him was that he was… terrifying.”
You nodded once again, but slower as you processed this information. You knew Unknown was dangerous just from everything he had done to target M.F.A., you, and the office but hearing Sero verbalize how terrifying he was sent chills down your spine.
“Thank you for telling me about him, Sero,” you said sincerely. You could tell there was more he wanted to say but he refrained from doing so. He was already wary of telling this much.
“If it’s okay with you, I think we need to tell the rest of M.F.A. what happened with Unknown. I mean with him breaking in and all.” You braced yourself to be turned down.
Much to your surprise, Sero nodded. “Yeah I think we should do that. I’ll take care of it tomorrow and tell them.”
He checked the time briefly. “Get some sleep, it’s late.”
You nodded and told him ‘good night’ and watched as he walked back upstairs.
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Why I Dislike PbtA Games, and How Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is Their Opposite
@tender-curiosities
It is no secret that I hate PbtA games.
Though due to a recent misunderstanding regarding another post, I’m going to preface this post by saying that this is going to be a very opinionated post and
I do not seriously think that PbtA games are inherently bad, though I may sometimes joke about this.
While I do often question the taste of people who make and play PbtA hacks, I do not think poorly of their moral character.
While I am going to call for PbtA to be used less as a base for games in the future, I’m not saying that the whole system and all games based on it should be destructified. It’s good for what it’s good for, but unless you’re doing that, I really think you should use something else.
Now that that is out of the way, here’s what I have to say about it.
My first experiences with PbtA games were pretty rough. Monster of the Week was not the first, but it was one of the first ‘indie’ TTRPGs I played after having previously played mostly only D&D3.5e and 5e. I really appreciated that the use of 2D6 over a D20 meant that the dice results would be more predictable, and I really liked the various “classes” I was seeing. (At this time, I didn’t really understand that they weren’t really “classes” at all, though I think I can be forgiven for this because many people, even people who like PbtA games, still talk like “classes” and “playbooks” are interchangeable.)
I was very enthusiastic to play, until it came time to start actually “making” a character, and found that I couldn’t “make” a character. I wanted to make a nuanced, three-dimensional PC who was simultaneously stereotype-affirming and stereotype-defying, with a unique backstory and dynamic with the other characters—but when I went to actually fill out the character sheet for basically any “class”, I found that most of the backstory and most of the personality for my character was being set for me by the playbook. It felt like the only thing about the character I really had a say in was their name, and that two PCs of the same playbook would actually turn out to be almost identical characters. At the time, I thought this was very restrictive and very bad design.
Later, now that I understand the design intent behind it, I still think of it as very restrictive, but I think of it as very bad design for me, not inherently bad.
When I play a TTRPG, I want more freedom in who my PC is. That doesn’t mean I want less rules, in fact having more rules can often increase freedom, but that’s a different post. I want to create original, unique characters, that I won’t see anywhere else. If it’s a class-based system, I want that class to barely touch the details of my character’s backstory or personality, so that I can come up with something original and engaging for why and how this “Fighter” fights. This means that two level-1 Fighters, despite having almost the same mechanical abilities, will potentially be very different people.
PbtA games don’t let you do that. In a lot of PbtA games, you’re not playing your own original character, you’re playing someone else’s character, that every other player that has picked up the same playbook before you has played. It’s more like “character select” than “character creation.” I think I could liken it to playing Mass Effect or The Witcher. Every player may pick a few different dialogue choices in those games that change the story, but we’re still all playing Shepherd or Geralt. No one is going to experience a new never-before-seen story in Mass Effect or The Witcher, which is very much a factor of them being video games and not TTRPGs, and therefore limited to the amount of code, writing, and voice-acting that can go into them.
This anonymous asker who sent a message to @thydungeongal seems to feel pretty similarly to me about PbtA games, and @thydungeongal's response is a very good response about how people find this appealing.
I have more respect for PbtA now than I did, but I still don't like it because to me it seems to play so much against what I consider to be the strengths of TTRPGs as a medium, much like how video games like The Last of Us and David Cage games play against the strengths of the medium of video games, and I will never like it. But other people clearly do, so to each their own.
Then another reason I don’t like it is because I think it’s oversaturating the TTRPG space. I’ve referred to PbtA before as “indie D&D5e”, and i do think that’s a reasonable comparison, because in much the same way that you always hear “D&D5e is a system that can do everything”, I think a lot of people seem to be under the impression that the PbtA system is a system that can do anything. It’s kinda the système du jour for indie TTRPGs right now, and many iterations of it make it clear that many designers do not consider how PbtA differs from more traditional TTRPGs, and how it is specialized for different types of TTRPG gameplay. Just like how I feel PbtA isn’t playing to certain important strengths of TTRPGs, I think that many—maybe even most—PbtA hacks don’t play to the strengths of PbtA. But this isn’t really PbtA’s fault, that comes down to any individual indie TTRPG developer on a case-by-case basis. And the cure for that is something I’m always saying: If you are going to be a writer, you have got to read lots of books. If you are going to be a director, you have got to watch lots of movies. If you are going to be a video game developer, you have got to play lots of video games. And if you are going to be a TTRPG designer, you have got to read and play lots of TTRPGs. That and you have to understand that TTRPGs are specialized. Even "agnostic" systems like PbtA are somewhat specialized, and therefore might really not be a great fit for the game you’re trying to make.
That and, to get more subjective again, there’s like an ocean of them, and I don’t even like the ones that are actually good.
Now that I’ve talked about how I don’t like PbtA games, I’m gonna talk about a game I do like: Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy. Obviously, I like it because I’m the lead writer for it, but I would also like it even if I wasn’t the lead writer for it, because it’s just my kinda game. Eureka is the opposite of a PbtA game. I wrote it to play to what I feel are the strengths of the TTRPG medium.
Eureka’s character creation uses personality traits as a mechanical element of the character, but it does so in a deliberately freeform way. You build your character’s personality out of a list of traits, so who your character is is very much linked to what your character can do, but we aren’t just handing you a pre-made character.
Eureka is designed to incentivize organic decision-making by the PCs, most often by the mechanics of the game mirroring the world they live in. Every mechanic aims to create situations wherein “what will the PC do next?” is a question whose answer can be predicted - it doesn’t need to be ordained by a playbook.
One of my favorite examples of this is, rather than a “Fear Check” forcing the PC to run away if they fail, or “Run Away from Danger” being a “Move” on their character sheet, Eureka opts for the Composure mechanic. The really short version is that one of the main things that lowers a PC’s Composure is encountering scary stuff, and the lower a PC’s Composure, the more likely they are to fail skill checks, and the more likely they are to fail skill checks, well, the less brave they and their player probably feel about them standing up to this scary monster. So if the PC has low Composure, they are more likely to choose to run away. The lower their Composure, the better idea that will seem.
This system really really shines when it comes to monster PCs in Eureka. Most monsters benefit a lot more from having high Composure, but have fewer ways to restore Composure than mundane PCs. Their main way to restore their Composure is by eating people. The rulebook never says “your monster PC has to eat people”, but more likely than not, they’re going to be organically steered towards that by the game and world itself. Sure, they could decide to be “one of the good ones”, and just never eat people, just like you reading this could decide to stop eating food. You technically could, but when your body starts to fail, how long would you? (This is a big part of the themes of Eureka and what it has to say about crime, disability, mental illness, and evil. People don’t just arbitrarily do bad things, it is often their circumstances that leads them down that path until they see little choice for themselves in that matter, and “harmful” people are still just as deserving of life as people who “aren’t harmful”, but that really deserves its own post.)
It has been said that Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy actually arrives at much the same end as the PbtA game Monsterhearts, and I actually don’t disagree, but it gets there from an entirely different starting point and direction. The monster PCs in Eureka are very likely to eat people and cause drama, but it won’t be because they have “Eat People and Cause Drama” as a “Move” on their character sheet.
Monsters in Eureka have a lot of abilities, which they can use to solve (and create) problems as the emergent story emerges organically.
(Oh and Eureka is about adult investigators investigating mysteries, and sometimes those investigators are monsters, not about monster kids in high school, to be clear. The same “end” that Eureka and Monsterhearts reach is that of the monsters being prone to cause problems and drama due to the fact that they are monsters, though this isn’t the sole point of Eureka, just one element of it.)
You can pick up the free shareware version of this game from the download link on our website, or the full version for $5 from our Patreon.
And don’t forget, Eureka is fundraising on Kickstarter starting on April 10th, 2024! We need your support there most of all, to make sure we hit our goals and can afford to make the best version of Eureka we can make!
Interested in branching out but can’t get your group to play anything but D&D5e? Join us at the A.N.I.M. TTRPG Book Club, where we nominate, vote on, and play indie TTRPGs, all organized by our team with no strict schedule requirement! Here's the invite link! See you there!
We also have merchandise.
#eureka: investigative urban fantasy#ttrpg#rpg#roleplaying#eureka#tabletop#monsters#coc#allied forces#monsterhearts#pbta#powered by the apocalypse#motw#monster of the week#motw ttrpg#motw character#d&d 5e#d&d#dungeons and dragons#dnd#dnd5e#d&d5e#fighter#indie#indiegames#indie game#indie games#indie designer#ttrpg design#ttrpg community
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Fuck Everything, But Mostly Fuck You - Part 4
Previous Chapter, Next Chapter. Masterlist
Summary: You have never, EVER, in a million years hated anyone the way you hated Felix fucking Catton. ...Well, maybe you also hated Annabel Williams as much - but you'd be damned before you let a drunk girl out in the hallway without helping her.
Warnings- MDNI 18+, Sex, Felix doesn't make an appearance (but still mentioned), Reader is a girl's girl, Annabel has an epiphany, Michael hates everyone BUT Reader, Farleigh is Farleigh, alternating POVs between characters, and author has spent too much time researching Oxford crap for this mess for a crack fic to be a crack fic. Also Oliver is barely in this chapter, but who cares about that asshat?
Author's Note: I am so sorry for the prolonged hiatus! It was not intentional! My classes have upped the ante in how much HW they gave me, and I got distracted by reading my old GOT fanfics and got ideas for it. BUT - thank you all who've been reading this fic and sharing wonderful comments! They really help push me to become a better writer!
You were caught in a bit of a pickle – granted, it was a voluntary pickle, but a pickle nonetheless.
…Okay, so quick recap of the events that transpired this week:
Regularly-scheduled Annabel tormenting you
Got sexually-harassed by Catton
Had a self-pity session at Bowin
Got found by Mikey Gravy
Olly, the psychotic backstabber/bootlicker, tried to pimp you out to Felix Catton.
You almost committed aggravated homicide of said pimp before Michael dragged you away.
You went to the movies to drool over Johnny Depp.
You and Michael decided you would crash in his dorm room for the night…leading to your current predicament.
Right now, you were dragging an unconscious Annabel, who was drunk off her ass, with one arm flung over your shoulder as you tried to make get any information of where her dorm was out of her. It was a sad picture – mascara running down her cheeks, vomit from her mouth, and lipstick messily smeared across her face. The smell of vomit mixed with cheap booze was almost enough to make you want to drop her on the ground and leave her there if you hadn’t pitied her so much.
When you realized that you weren’t going to get anything out of her that didn’t involve projectile vomiting, you just decided to bring her to rest up in your dorm.
“I still don’t understand why you’re helping her,” Michael grunted.
Oh, yeah…and Michael was helping you, too.
“Because girl code, Gavey–” you grunted, lifting Annabel’s arm higher when you felt her slipping “–no man left behind – or well, no woman left behind in this case.”
“That’s the Geneva Code.”
“Same difference,” you groaned out. Fuck, how was this girl so heavy?
Michael’s face was getting flushed from the sweat running down his forehead. “So, girl code dictates that you have to help the bitch who’s been making your term hell?”
“Girl Code,” you huffed, “wait, hang on - she’s slipping - okay, there we go. ‘Girl Code’ is more of an honor code expected to be followed by all sisters on their journey to womanhood. And one of the most sacred rules in that honor system is that – fuck, she’s heavy – that if you see a sister drunk and unconscious, you make sure she gets home safe.”
“Or your matchbox dorm room, in this circumstance,” your friend grumbled.
You tiredly nodded. “Exactly! Besides, regardless of how heinous she is, it’s the right thing to do.”
“(Y/N), you realize she won’t be getting hypothermia, right?” Michael frustratingly groaned. “It’s late spring.”
“But that doesn’t mean there aren’t people out there who won’t take advantage of her in her current state. They’d say, ‘Oh, she was asking for it,’ or ‘she’s just imagining things, do you remember how hammered she was?’ And then it’ll be their word against hers.”
You went silent for a bit. “I don’t want that to happen to her. No one should have that happen to them – girl or guy, bully or friend.”
“Well, in any case,” Michael started as the two of you finally arrived at the beginning of your dormitory. “It’s lucky that your dorm is so close to mine. Are you sure you want her in there? There’s still the chance she’ll vomit all over your carpet if she misses the bucket or even your covers.”
You opened the door with your ID card. “I’ll just have to take that chance, I guess. Look, I’ll try to wake her up long enough to see if she remembers any of her friend’s numbers. If any of them pick up, I’ll tell them to pick her up.”
Michael looked at you with heavy doubt in his eyes. “And if they don’t? Pick up, I mean?”
“Then I guess we’ll be having a sleepover,” you sighed as you reached your room at the end of the hallway. “And then we’ll never have to see each other ever again when morning comes.”
Michael loudly snorted while you clumsily reached into your back pocket for your keys. “Don’t jinx yourself. With your bleeding heart, you’ll probably end up donating your liver to her if she doesn’t die of alcohol poisoning first.”
You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come one. Have a bit more faith in me – SHIT!” you exclaimed after you dropped your keys.
You quickly scrambled to the floor while Michael guffawed at your misfortune. You shot a quick glare at him to get him to shut up. The bespectacled bastard didn’t stop laughing until…like, three minutes passed. In response, you dropped Annabel’s arm from your shoulder to focus on finding your room key. You chuckled to yourself when you heard Michael curse to himself as he tried to balance the drunk girl’s weight without getting her too close to him. When you finally found it, you inserted it into the lock. You sighed in relief when the door opened. You were even more relieved that your roommate had decided to spend the night at her girlfriend’s dorm. You really didn’t want to have to explain to her why you were voluntarily helping the vile witch bitch who was actively trying to make your college years hell. Meanwhile, Michael grimaced and groaned as he held Annabel away from his body at arm’s length.
“Is sluttiness contagious through touch?” he asked.
“Unless pre-Sith Anakin suddenly pops into this hallway, I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that,” you snorted as you opened the door to let Michael drag the unconscious girl into the room.
Michael scoffed at your choice of Star Wars beefcake. “Bitch, please. Young Obi-Wan Kenobi was far superior.”
He went to the center of the room and released Annabel from his grip to let her unceremoniously fall on the floor, and her body made a soft ‘thump.’ You wrinkled your nose and grimaced at the pathetic nature of tonight. She looked less like the glamorous Oxford party ‘IT’ girl and more like one of those sad groupies who OD’d in their favorite rockstar’s pool from a house party. You didn’t know what the hell her story of tonight was – but it still didn’t mean she deserved to be left alone, slumped against a wall in a dirty hallway with vomit all over her.
You turned to Michael. “Okay! Off you trot!”
Your favorite bespectacled blonde nerd gave you a look of complete bewilderment.
“Seriously?” he asked. “Not even a thank you? I literally dragged her body here from my dormitory and risked being the first victim of a new STD contracted through skin contact.”
You rolled your eyes at his dramatics – if he weren’t such a numbers genius, he would have been the perfect theater kid.
“Don’t be such an incel,” you admonished. “It’s not a good look on you. And I carried more of her body weight than you, dumbass. If I left it up to you, we’d never get anywhere with your twiggy arms.”
You poked his arms in emphasis and snickered when he pouted. He crossed his arms and was about to leave when you pounced on him. A bit of Annabel’s “Britney Spears Fantasy” spray perfume soaked into his shirt, but other than that, he still smelled like himself. The scent of fresh laundry, freshly mowed grass, and spearmint toothpaste made you feel safe. His scent, combined with his body heat, enveloped you in comfort.
“Thanks, Mikey,” you whispered. “I know you didn’t have to help me, but you did anyway.”
Gavey wrapped his arms around you as he rested his chin on your head. He usually hated contact with anybody save his family, but you were always the exception. Michael should probably have warned you that the rotten and acidic odor from Annabel’s puke would ruin your shirt, but he just let himself replace her cheap perfume with your fragrance. The scent of your favorite honey and jasmine conditioner in your hair mostly covered the faint traces of turpentine and linseed oil on your skin.
“Of course I did,” he softly replied. “With your shit sense of direction, you would have ended up in the bottom of the ditch.”
You gasped and lightly pushed him away. “Uhhh, way to ruin the moment!”
Michael snickered at the way your jaw had dropped in shock and betrayal. You then resorted to mockingly punching him in the stomach as he did nothing to stop you. He couldn’t help but look at you in total and utter fondness as he continued to ‘beat him up.’
But in all honesty, Michael didn’t mind helping you. He loved it. He’d rather get Crucio-ed than say it, but you were his favorite person in the whole world. In a desert of fakes and masks of insincerity, you were like gentle rain with your genuine vibrance and rare honesty. He loved how endlessly kind and empathetic you were to others. He just hated it when you granted acts of kindness to the plebes unworthy of you. You’d give the benefit of the doubt to the worst of the worst on campus – Annabel being a case in point.
Remembering the drunk elephant in the room, Michael grabbed your fists and stared at you thoughtfully.
“Seriously, though,” he began, “why are you helping her? I know you told me about ‘girl code’ and all that. But is that seriously it?”
You thumped your head against his chest. “Look, I get it. Annabel is a horrible person, and with how awful she treated me – she doesn’t deserve my kindness, my help, or my pity. But that doesn’t change that it was the right thing to do. And if not us, who knows who would have picked her up? If another guy other than you ‘helped’ her…you do the math.”
A groggy voice broke the two of you apart. “Are you two going to shag? Because I can leave.”
You and Michael jumped apart as you watched Annabel lift herself from the floor and stagger to her feet. Her legs wobbled briefly before giving out, and then she fell to the floor. You turned to Michael and gave him one final hug before seeing him out. He looked disgusted at the girl sitting on the cheap carpet before turning to you, concerned. Mikey asked if you were confident you didn’t need him here to help you.
“I’ll take it from here,” you reassured him. You flexed your arm – 80s jock bully style. “I’m a tough girl. I carry my canvases and textbooks and everything, after all.”
“Okay,” he dragged out the last syllable. “But if you end up putting her down, give me a call, and I’ll help you bury the body.”
“Um,” interjected Annabel, “you know I’m right here, you arse.”
“Hey,” you admonished, “he did help carry you here. He could have left you in that hallway alone.”
“Whatever,” she scoffed. “Probably did it so he could cop a feel, the slimy wanker.”
“Please,” Michael sneered, “as if I’d ever willingly touch someone with a higher body count than Dahmer and Bundy combined. I’m only here because I wanted to help (Y/N) – she’s the one who was worried about your sad self.”
Ugh, this was going to be a long night. You turned to Michael with apologetic eyes and reassured him that he wasn’t a wanker. You promised you’d make it up to him by buying all the Crunchie bars he wanted. Mikey’s eyes softened at your sincerity as he began to walk down the corridor to make the trek to his dorm.
You softly closed your door so as not to cause any further disturbance. When you turned around, you were startled by the dead stare Annabel was giving you. You looked down at your feet as you shifted uncomfortably in your spot. You cleared your throat to try and break the tension.
“Um, soooo…I’m glad you’re awake. You were sitting so still in that hall, I was worried you OD’d,” you nervously joked. But all she did was continue to stare at you. “So, do you have your phone with you? I figured it would be best if you called one of your friends. I’m sure they’re really worried about you. I know I’d be going out of my mind if one of my friends–”
“What kind of fucking game are you playing here?” she snarled. Her large, doe-brown eyes narrowed in anger as you stopped talking.
“Uhhh,” your mind was coming out blank. “Wait, I don’t – I don’t know what you mean?”
Annabel rolled her eyes. “Oh, don’t play stupid. Why’d you help me? Did you want to take pictures of me drunk and unconscious?”
Your jaw fucking dropped. “What?! NO! I just–”
“I’m sure that would’ve made some fucking good blackmail material,” ignoring you and continuing, “I can see it: ‘Annabel Williams drunk in the hall after trying to shag fucking sad Ollie.’ You’re so obvious.”
You tried to explain yourself. “Okay, look- I think there’s a big misunderstanding here–”
“Or maybe you want to show the pictures to Felix, not that he’d care or anything. You got him all wrapped up in your little Yankee finger, you know that? It’s so pathetic and sick – it makes me want to–”
“HEY!” you yelled – finally making her just shut UP. You closed your eyes and took deep breaths to calm down. “Look, Michael and I were walking to his dorm when we saw you were sitting in the hallway. I tried to ask you if you had your phone on you and if you wanted me to call anyone, but you were out cold. And I couldn’t just leave you there, okay? That’s dangerous! And I didn’t know where you lived – you know, considering that you hate me–” you cut off your rambling with a deep breath “–so he and I dragged you to my dorm.”
The silence that followed was so stifling you wanted to open a window. Maybe if you let some fresh air in, it might calm the girl down. It would also help diffuse some of the puke odor stinking up your room.
“…Anyway, if you don’t have your phone on you right now, I can always call them myself. Do you remember their numbers? I know you and India are close. Do you think she’s available right now?”
More silence.
You began fidgeting. “I mean, you can stay over if no one is available? I don’t mind since my roommate is sleeping over–”
Annabel interrupted you again. “You’re so full of it. You just wanted to help me? For what? For the sake of being the goody-two-shoes kiss-ass, you’ve always been? Did you want me to bow and worship you?”
“Annabel,” you groaned, “it’s been a really long night, okay? And I don’t feel like arguing when you aren’t sober and in your right mind.”
“Oh yeah,” she bitterly laughed. “Be a pushover, and get everyone to love you. Tell everyone how much of a ‘heinous’ bitch I am. Play the victim – that’s all you’ll ever be. Just go back with your pathetic little nerd friend and be invisible and boring like the goody-goody who thinks she’s better than the rest of us.”
The quiet in the room was surprisingly loud. Shock and disbelief morphed into fury as your fists clenched so hard that your nails left red welts on your skin. Your body trembled in anger as your tongue felt too heavy to express everything you wanted to say.
‘Pushover’ she called you? ‘Play the victim,’ she said?
Who the hell was she to have any right to judge you? Did she have any idea what you’ve sacrificed? How much have you suffered and left behind? Could she even have the slightest decency to understand what you’ve been through? Of what she put you through?
…You know what? …Fuck her. Fuck Annabel Williams and all of Oxford’s elite. They were proof that Michael was right – that doing the right thing meant nothing to them.
Your voice was cold, and your eyes were numb. “…I’m going to take a shower,” you grab a towel and your shower buddy. “I want you to get the hell out of my dorm by the time I get back. Call your friend or don’t? Do whatever the hell you want. I don’t care.”
You slammed the door on your way out.
“Finally,” Annabel thought with some relief, “she’s gone.”
When you left, the room felt ten degrees colder the way the door slammed, and Annabel felt goosebumps form on her arm. This was the worst night of her life. She had never felt so humiliated.
Her mummy told her she was just born blessed because God knew she was exceptional, and she always believed that to be true. For her entire life, she was the girl every boy wanted to bed and the girl every girl wanted to be. She never had to fight for anyone’s attention. Her parents gladly bought her the latest versions of top-of-the-line technology. Her closet here and at her parent’s townhouse in Kensington was filled with designer-brand exclusives and limited-editions. She had everything.
For people like her, life was supposed to be easy. She was born at the top, so she would be there till the day she died.
So why was she losing to you?
When she came to Oxford, she figured it would be as easy as most of her life. She’d spend her time partying and networking with the right people. If she had to blackmail a nerd to take her classes or blow a teacher to give her an “A”? Who would say otherwise?
But then she met Felix Catton and finally felt she had met her match. Finally, there was someone who checked all the boxes: rich, tall, handsome, and fun. That part made Felix the golden sheep who stood above the rest of the flock – he was fun. Not only did he know how to have a good time, he knew how to properly fuck a girl, too.
She was so drunk off the taste of his lips and the feel of him around her – so much so that she broke her golden rule.
“Never fall first.”
Annabel felt herself falling hard for Felix Catton. She thought they were exclusive. He was her boyfriend, and she was his girlfriend. But then…he became distant. He stopped calling he and ignored her when they returned to campus after the break. But then he and she left the bar at Kings’ Crossing, and she was so happy! She wanted to cry when he kissed her hard and ripped her 100 quid top in half.
It didn’t matter if she wasn’t wet when he entered her. It didn’t matter that he didn’t wait for her to adjust when he started to thrust. It didn’t matter when she tried to moan his name; he would cover her mouth with his giant hand to shut her up. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t close to finishing when he came inside her. It didn’t matter when her windpipes were almost crushed when he fell on top of her after finishing.
They were together. He chose her! Annabel and Felix – Mrs. Felix Catton, she could see it now. They’d have a wedding in his house at Saltburn. She would have to meet his parents, but she wasn’t worried – all her flings’ parents loved her! They would be together forever, and nothing would ever–
“(Y/N),” Felix whispered above her – and Annabel’s world completely fell apart.
She immediately shoved his body off hers and hurriedly dressed before getting the hell out of his room. Annabel didn’t bother putting on her shoes before running with tears down her face to her dorm. And when she returned to her single, she flung herself to her bed and cried to sleep. She didn’t bother attending class that week – not when her heart broke.
Felix had been thinking about you – you. He called out your name after finishing. Was he imagining your naked body when hers was under him? Had he been imagining you every time he fucked her?
Annabel smelled Felix’s aftershave and wanted to rip the skin off her body. God, she never felt more like a whore in her entire life.
“God,” she thought, “I was so pathetic! How could I be so stupid to fall for Felix Catton? Why did I trick myself into hoping that we would be together?”
Felix wanted a good girl—like you—the American scholarship student who wanted to paint pretty pictures and was at the top of her classes. The lovely New Yorker who hung around losers and still held your head up high despite every professor thinking you were in over your head to come here. Some pushover bitch who was so pathetic and actually–
The door slammed open again, and Annabel’s pretty sure she’d scream if she weren’t so fucking tired. You came storming in with your towel and shower caddy in your hands, and your eyes were a raging storm while your lips were pursed like you had sucked a lemon. Your nostrils are flaring as you angrily breathe through your nose. Annabel was about to open her mouth, but you menacingly pointed at her with your pointer finger. It felt like forever until you finally opened your mouth.
“Look! We don’t have to be friends and I don’t expect us to be friends – but you know what? YES, I WOULD LIKE A THANK YOU! I dragged your unconscious ass across campus, and you REEKED of vomit and bad perfume! And not to body shame, but you are WAY TOO SKINNY to be healthy to be as heavy as you were when I carried you!”
“Excuse me?!” Annabel sputtered. “Who the fuck–”
“Oh! I’m not done!” you shouted. “I don’t know if you being horrible and a bitch is supposed to be some power trip or some shit, but it’s so cliché! Are we in Mean Girls? Are you Regina George? No, am I Janice from Lebanon? NO! And on that – I have a few bones to pick with you…MISSY!
I–” You pointed to yourself “–am NOT a pushover, okay? I fucking beat your stupid manwhore boy toy like it was goddamn ‘Whack o’ Mole’ for ruining my painting! Pushovers don’t do that! FURTHERMORE – me calling you a ‘horrible person’ or ‘heinous bitch’ isn’t me ‘playing the victim’! You HAVE been a HORRIBLE person to me, alright? And what’s worse – I don’t have the slightest idea why! Was it something I said to you last term? Or were you born a spoilt princess who never had to work for anything in her life because mommy and daddy will always give you everything you want so you could forget that they would probably instead work than deal with their brat? Seriously – what is it? Because you’re driving me CRAZY!”
When you were done, Annabel sat on the floor, completely silent, and stared at you unblinkingly. She hadn’t expected you to come back so quickly – let alone to scream at her. She stared at your huffing and shallow breathing in awe and slight amazement. Your hair looked frazzled from your outburst, and your (e/c) eyes were bright with wild impulse.
Annabel felt her bottom lip quiver and stared at an ugly stain on the carpet. She didn’t want to show any more of herself than she had already. But what the hell? You already saw more of her than most of her so-called ‘friends.’ What was a little more? If she had to show more of the ugliest parts of herself, why not show it to someone she already hated?
Before she could stop herself, Annabel felt her shoulders sag and shake as sobs tore through her petite frame. Tears and snot were running down her face as she furiously tried to wipe them away – if nothing but to try and save some shred of dignity. Annabel was crying so much that she didn’t see the surprised look on your face morph to slight guilt since you thought you may gone too far with your rant. You reached out to tap her shoulder when you heard her speak.
“Why doesn’t he want me?” she sobbed. “What do I have to do to get him to love me?”
If you were taken aback by her crying, you were completely caught off-guard by her questions. You walked over to your desk and grabbed a box of tissues before crouching on the ground. You handed her a few tissues from the box and waved to her face to present them. Annabel noticed how you tried hard not to see how much her hand trembled when she reached forward to grab the tissues from you.
“Who?” you softly asked her. “Are you talking about Felix?”
Annabel blew her nose into the tissue hard. “Who else?! I mean…look at me! Everyone wants me! Everyone – boys, girls, teachers! Do you know how many of my past flings gladly emptied their pockets so I might wank them? But he wants you! What do you have that I don’t?”
Concern and pity shifted to confusion before realization kicked in, and you were so done with this conversation already. Maybe you were a slightly horrible person for this, but you felt so disappointed when Annabel told you that her entire drama with you had been over Felix Catton.
“…That’s why you’ve been tormenting me this entire term so far?” you flatly asked. “Because of Felix Catton?”
“He called out your name–” she gasped a heavy sob “– while he was fucking me! Do you have any idea how that feels?”
“Okay, wow,” you thought, “that’s actually really shitty – fuck.”
“Do you know how humiliating that was for me? He was still inside me, for fucks’ sake! I felt him shrink!”
Okay – that was so much more information about Annabel’s and Felix’s sex life than you ever wanted to know.
You coughed into your hand as your face flushed red. “Oh, um–I’ve never really…done it before. So…I wouldn’t really don’t know how that feels.”
“Ugh, of course, you’re a virgin,” she groaned. “Don’t tell me you don’t drink either.”
When you remained silent, Annabel let out a bitter laugh. “Damn, you think you’re hot shit and everything. But you really are a goody-goody. What – you saving yourself for God or some shit?”
“HEY! Just because I like to keep my head down and not a party and get plastered every five minutes doesn’t make me a goody-two-shoes. I just don’t like the taste of alcohol, and increased chances of lung cancer doesn’t exactly spell out ‘fun’ for me.”
But Annabel ignores your outburst and continues to dismiss you. “Yeah, right. I bet you call your mommy and daddy every night. Do you tell them that you miss them and want to go home? Or do you wish to bake cookies with your mummy as daddy watches the telly?”
Annabel’s taunting is only responded to with silence as she grows confused by your melancholic expression.
“…I can’t call them at all,” you respond. “International calls are too expensive. The best I can do is email or Skype. And planned calls can hardly be reliable since my parents’ schedules are always all over the place with their jobs.”
“When–” Annabel’s voice cracked “– when’s the last time you saw them? In real life?”
“I was supposed to see them during Christmas Break,” you bitterly explained, “but then Felix crashed into me when I was on my way to deliver it. He ruined my painting, and I had to redo it completely, not to fail and completely flush my parents’ money down the drain.”
“I thought you were here on scholarship? Doesn’t that mean you don’t have to pay to come here?”
“I’m here on a partial scholarship,” you explained. “It covers a good part of my tuition, but not all of it – and definitely not for housing and meal plans. Travel expenses alone were so expensive, so I had to leave alone. Mom cried so much at the security checkpoint, and Dad almost didn’t want me to go. I didn’t even want to go. But they wanted me to experience more of the world while I still could.”
“…Do you miss them?” Annabel asked. She felt silly asking a question with such an obvious answer. But, hearing how you talked about your parents crying their goodbyes to you compared to the simple wave she got hers after they dropped her off campus made her feel a deep longing.
You let out a shaky sob. “More than anything. You never realize how much you miss your home and family until an entire ocean separates you.”
Annabel uncomfortably shifted in her spot as she noticed your eyes getting misty. She couldn’t remember the last time she cried over missing her parents and felt that you were being overdramatic. Annabel spent her entire break with her parents at their house, but she couldn’t remember the last time they ate at the same table unless it was for one of her dad’s dinner parties. What did it feel like – to miss and love someone so much after not seeing them for a year?
What did it feel like – to have an entire lifetime of that kind of love?
Does having that kind of love make you?
“…Why did you help me?” Annabel finally asked. She couldn’t bear the tension anymore. “You could have just left me there. Why help me and bring me here of all places?”
“…Because it was the right thing to do,” you explained and shrugged. “You were drunk and vulnerable. Maybe it was fear of being a potential bystander if someone tried to take advantage of you – but I was scared something was going to happen to you. Regardless of my feelings toward you and yours toward me, no one should ever find themselves in a position where if they’re telling the truth, it’s someone else’s word against theirs. I’ve seen it too happen many times already.”
“What do you say in response to that?” Annabel thought to herself – shocked by how genuinely you answered her question. Since you were honest with her, she figured she could at least be honest with you.
“If it were you,” she began, “I wouldn’t have done for you what you did for me.”
“Yeah,” you agreed, “you probably wouldn’t – but that’s neither here nor there. Because I’m me, and you’re you.”
“…Are you really not interested in Felix?” Annabel asked. She was surprised by your disgusted groan.
“Oh my god–” you put your face into your hands and loudly groaned “–I don’t understand why everyone has an obsession with this guy.”
Annabel raised her brow. “Seriously?”
“Yes! He’s so gross – I studied in an empty classroom last week. He sat next to me, basically propositioned me, and then put his hand on my thigh! Does that sound like someone I would want to date?”
“You know he’s just doing it to get your attention because he likes you, right?”
You scoffed at her input. “Pffft– and that makes it alright of him to invade my personal space via sexual harassment? I hate how everyone makes excuses for him – and why? Because he’s richer than God and has an ‘alright-looking’ face? So what?”
“Oh, believe me,” snickered Annabel, “he’s more than just ‘alright-looking’ and he fucks as good as he looks.”
You sagely shook your head. “A person like that has nothing to offer himself. He desperately clings to his family’s wealth and the benefits of his status so tightly – and he pretends not to enjoy it, but he’s the type of person to love leeching on someone’s misfortune to feel better about himself.”
You shuddered as you remembered Felix’s constant leering at you since the term began.
“He’s like a vampire – I’ve seen enough of them in high school to recognize them from miles away.”
Annabel was utterly silent at your analysis of Oxford’s Golden Boy. She never considered the possibility of someone out there who didn’t absolutely covet and revere him. She assumed that you were purposely playing ‘hard-to-get’ to get his attention, but maybe you were sincere in his disgust by him.
“Plus, he looks like the type to be absolutely shit at foreplay and only knows how to stick it in.”
Annabel was so caught off-guard by your statement that she immediately burst out laughing. You were surprised by her reaction and started to laugh, too. She was laughing so hard that tears started rolling down her cheeks, and her stomach started to hurt.
“HE IS!” she agreed while nodding. “He does the bare minimum! I’ve been giving him constant blowjobs, and I can count the number of times he’s eaten me out with one hand! The only type of prep he knows how to do is finger me!”
“Oh my god! EW!” you guffawed. “Why did you put up with him for so long?!”
Annabel shrugged. “He’s the most popular guy on campus – even the upperclassmen adore him. I was always the popular girl throughout primary and secondary prep. It just made sense.”
“My parents told me college was all about discovering new things about yourself,” you said. “Maybe…you could do that for yourself.”
Annabel looked wistful before nodding. “Yeah…you know this doesn’t mean we’re friends, right?”
You rolled your eyes. “Please, tonight’s the last night I’m willingly dealing with a demon like you. I’ll stick to forcing Michael to watch my favorite Johnny Depp movies—thank you very much.”
Annabel watched your eyes soften at the mention of your friend…Michael Gravy? Was he the guy who left the two of you together after snarking at her?
…Oh god, it all made sense now.
“Are you and Gravy fucking?” she bluntly asked. She huffed in amusement at how red your face became as you began to sputter.
“WHAT?! No-NO! We’re friends!” you exclaimed before getting all shy.
“You were awfully protective of him a bit ago to be ‘just friends,’” Annabel countered. “Spill it – what’s going on between you two?”
“He’s my best friend,” you explained to Annabel. “He let me stay with his family after I finished repainting my assignment – which was really amazing of him.”
She watched how you smiled when continuing to talk about him.
“I know he can seem a bit odd and rude at first,” you continued. “But Michael is one of the best people on campus. He can be really sweet when you get close to him – especially when he talks about his family. His little sister, Lily, is so adorable! He’s a total nerd but a complete sweetheart when you get to know him.”
Annabel bemusedly watched as you gushed about your ‘best friend.’ It was almost sweet how gone you were for the nerd. You didn’t even realize how gone you were for him. For a bit, Annabel could see why Felix was so enamored with you.
“Well,” she interrupted as she stood up, “I guess your obliviousness to your feelings isn’t any of my business or whatever. Thanks for…helping me – it was really nice of you.”
You warmly smiled at her. “Sure! Do you have to meet anyone tomorrow morning?”
“Uh, no?”
You walked to your closet and grabbed a towel, a worn T-shirt, and old sweats. You handed them to her as Annabel looked at you in confusion.
“Since you’re here,” you began, “and it’s already like…3 a.m. – you might as well shower and stay over since tomorrow’s Saturday.”
“…Why?”
“You still have puke all over you,” you explained, “and it’s getting really hard pretending it’s not extremely gross. Plus, I can’t imagine you’re comfortable right now.”
“What’s with the clothes?”
You shrugged. “Well, I can’t exactly have you sleep in your dress and ruin my sheets! You can shower and sleep on my bed while I sleep on my roommate’s. Now, are you going to take them?”
Annabel hesitated before she took the bundle from your hands. You then opened the door. While holding it, you looked at her as if expecting her to follow you. What confused her most was the way she did exactly that.
While in the shower, she didn’t even mind that you didn’t have any of her usual hair products. Your conditioner looked like it was bought at a cheap dollar store – you didn’t even have a loofah. But when she exited the shower stall before drying herself with your towel and changing into your baggy clothes, she felt calmer than she had these past few weeks. As she crawled under your sheets and comforter, you turned off the night and wished her good night.
Annabel stared at the ceiling for about an hour before she grabbed her phone. She managed to find it while digging through her dress pockets. She was going to wash it when she got back to her dorm. Opening it, she rolled down at the dozens of messages from India and their girlfriends. Her eyes slightly widened at the soft *ping* her phone let out when she got a new message to show it was from Felix.
To her surprise, she didn’t feel anything. She didn’t care he messaged her that he had forgotten their plans. Staring at her screen, she just felt…nothing. So she did the very thing she should have done weeks ago.
She deleted Felix Catton’s number from her contact list.
Annabel slept better that night than she had all term.
After that night with Annabel, life simply went on. She and you weren’t ‘friends’ per se, but she no longer went out of her way to torment you like she had done before. She even told off some of her friends when they talked about you behind your back.
You two weren’t friends, but you hoped that there was at least some fraction of mutual respect. If you couldn’t be friends, then at least you two didn’t have to be enemies – you were happy to settle for being a ‘frenemy.’
You found yourself sitting by yourself at one of the tables in the library. Michael had to meet with one of his teachers about an essay but promised to meet with you as soon as he finished. You were repeatedly listening to Carrie Underwood’s “Before He Cheats” when you heard the chair next to you being pulled out.
Fully expecting it to be Felix, you were ready to tell him to fuck off and bother some other poor soul that needed saving, but you were surprised to find that the person sitting next to you was his cousin, Farleigh Start. He introduced himself by stating his name and giving you a firm handshake. There wasn’t much you could do but reciprocate.
“Quite the save you gave our Annabel,” Farleigh grinned. “Very magnanimous of you, especially considering how she treated you.”
“What do you want from me?” you blurted out. “I’m busy, and I would appreciate it if you just left so I can continue studying.”
You weren’t normally so rude, but this was Felix Catton’s cousin – and if this was a ploy to get you in his pants, you wanted no part of it. But your skepticism only seemed to please the boy sitting beside you more. His wry grin curled into a wide Cheshire Cat smile as he continued to stare at you with eager fascination.
Farleigh started to lean toward you, and you instinctively leaned away from him. You eyed him with extreme caution as if he were a mad scientist and you were a paralyzed specimen. And his eyes looked like he couldn’t wait to cut you open.
“I like you,” he stated. “Let’s be friends.”
Tagging: @ethereal-athalia, @arcielee, @valeskafics, @asa-do-your-thing, @aphroditesmoon, @axelsagewrites, @the1999kid, @poolnoodlerescuer, @aemondsbabe, @winterblu2, @abaker74, @whereismymindno, @agustdeeyaa, @iamavailablesstuff, @bonnieblue0606, @st-eve-barnes, @nyxthoughtss, @immyowndefender, @ilovemydinoboi, @ahristata, @cxp1d, @jinsoulorbitzen12, @temptation-waits, @bollzinurmouth, @jcngw0ns, @seababehh, @destinydestnation, @lankyboi4, @mindless-rock, @cassavacakes, @paradisepoisons, @pansexualpamandabear, @erikasurfer, @lissamans, @cookielovesbook-akie, @thesmutconnoisseur, @izzyisstuff, @lariisouz
Reblog if you liked reading this chapter and want me to continue! Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist!
#saltburn x reader#saltburn#saltburn crack#saltburn au#michael gavey x reader#felix catton x reader#farleigh catton#farleigh start#venetia catton#oliver quick#michael gavey#saltburn 2023#saltburn movie
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maestro’s muse 💿 interview no. 13
PREVIEW. Has HYBEHAX always been this… unserious?
FEATURING. lee jihoon x gn!reader, various non-idol!hybe groups & reader GENRE(S). coming of age, fluff, some angst LENGTH | WC. <10min | 2.2k words EXPLICITS. soonyoung is chaotic. & i guess one (1) curse word
JAY’S MUSINGS. prologue (part two) for maestro’s muse, the series. not every part will be written in screenplay, just like how not every part will be written in smau format, just like how not every part will be written in prose, etc etc... just havin’ fun writing (: enjoy!
www.hybehax.tech/interview
THE INTERVIEW FADE IN.
A cozy dorm room lined with comforting trinkets. The digital clock sitting on a neatly stacked shelf indicates it's almost half past seven o'clock. It’s quiet in the shared bedroom, and YOU (college freshman, music fanatic, prospective HYBEHAX organizer) sit at the desk, nervously tugging on your bottom lip with your teeth.
A monitor shows the join feature of a Zoom call. YOU stare back at yourself through the small camera screen displayed.
There’s a soft ping from a notification. A pause, and then YOU take a deep breath and click the join button.
On the screen, SEUNGCHEOL (college junior, President of HYBEHAX, mutual acquaintance of YOU) smiles at you from his impressive HD face-cam.
SEUNGCHEOL Hello, we’ll get started in just a minute. Soonyoung is having some difficulty logging on.
Shuffling noises sound from another screen. JIHOON (college sophomore, Internal Vice President of HYBEHAX, music theory classmate of YOU) grumbles under his breath.
JIHOON (irritated) You’d think with this being his thirteenth interview he’d have gotten the hang of it now.
SEUNGCHEOL (warning) Jihoon.
JIHOON mumbles a sorry and mutes. A minute passes and SOONYOUNG (college sophomore, External Vice President of HYBEHAX, friend of YOU) pops up on-screen, face grainy from bad internet.
SOONYOUNG Hi! Nice to see you!
YOU (warmly) Hey, Soonyoung. Still doing alright in your math classes?
SOONYOUNG (groaning) Not the same without you, man. You actually carried me through calculus.
YOU Aren’t you just in business statistics now? How hard can that be?
SOONYOUNG Don’t ask.
There’s a few coughs from SEUNGCHEOL. Conversation dies down and SEUNGCHEOL moves his camera to center himself on screen.
SEUNGCHEOL Alright, hello and welcome to your HYBEHAX organizer interview! Thank you for taking the time to apply; we were impressed by your application. Now that we’re here, think of this as a time for us to get to know each other, and for you to ask us any questions you have.
SOONYOUNG (interjecting) It’s really lowkey, don’t worry.
SEUNGCHEOL clicks his tongue. SOONYOUNG giggles and mutes.
SEUNGCHEOL We’ll start with a round of introductions. I’m Choi Seungcheol, a rising senior and double major in computer science and mathematics. I’m also the current President of HYBEHAX. I run pretty much… everything? Let’s see… uh, I’ve been an organizer of HYBEHAX since I was a sophomore, but I’ve been involved with hackathons since I was fifteen. I actually remember trying to code my first project in that 24-hour period. Even though I barely had any idea what I was doing, all the organizers and my teammates were so nice. Made me feel really welcomed.
YOU (smiling from ear-to-ear) Fifteen? That’s some serious dedication, I respect it. What drew you to want to be HYBEHAX’s President?
SEUNGCHEOL’s lips part in an ‘o’, like he’s surprised YOU asked a question.
SEUNGCHEOL Well… I guess you can say I’ve grown attached? The people that I’ve met and grown with through HYBEHAX have really made my college years worth it. That, and I want to be able to keep organizing a space that made me feel as safe as I did as a kid.
YOU Yeah, I understand. That’s really admirable, congratulations!
SEUNGCHEOL Thank you, that means a lot. I really hope I can continue to make this upcoming hackathon worthwhile to attend, especially since it’ll be my last year being an organizer.
SOONYOUNG unmutes.
SOONYOUNG And it’s our 10th year!
SEUNGCHEOL (laughing, albeit stressed) Yeah, that too. Ah… how could I forget?
A tense silence falls on the four. YOU shift your focus to SOONYOUNG to alleviate the tension.
YOU Wanna introduce yourself next?
SOONYOUNG Oh! Yeah, I can. You already know me, but I’m Soonyoung, EVP of HYBEHAX. I manage all the external affairs, like talking to building managers for renting and university officials for fundings of our hackathon. I’ve been organizing for awhile too, like Cheol-hyung, and I’m super excited for this year!
YOU (joking) You, trusted with money?
SOONYOUNG (mock offense) Yah, I’m literally a business major!
YOU Yeah yeah, whatever. What’s been your favorite part?
SOONYOUNG’s eyes light up.
SOONYOUNG Shopping!
YOU Shopping?
SOONYOUNG For the hackathon! I’m in charge of it.
SEUNGCHEOL (exasperated) With my card.
YOU watch JIHOON snort silently. He unmutes.
JIHOON You get reimbursed by the university, at least.
SEUNGCHEOL (sulking) But does he have to do it with my card?
SOONYOUNG You’re the president!
JIHOON rolls his eyes and scoffs good-naturedly.
JIHOON Hey, we’re in an interview right now.
SOONYOUNG (dismissively) So what? We all know them, and they know us. We worked with them last season when they were a volunteer.
YOU raise an eyebrow.
YOU Shouldn’t we at least try to maintain some formality though? Just for record’s sake?
SEUNGCHEOL …they have a point. Jihoon, go ahead and introduce yourself and we’ll actually start asking questions.
JIHOON Hi. My name is Lee Jihoon, I’ll be your Internal Vice President. Rising junior, computer science major. I work specifically on the inner-running logistics of HYBEHAX.
YOU nod and go silent at his lackluster introduction. SEUNGCHEOL chuckles.
SEUNGCHEOL Ah… Jihoon-ah is what keeps this club running. Think of him as the maestro conducting the orchestra—his back is to you but he’s secretly doing all the work.
SOONYOUNG (laughing) You’re making him sound like he does more than you.
JIHOON presses a palm to his face. His facecam slightly lags, blipping the view for a second.
SEUNGCHEOL (clearly enjoying the teasing) Well, at this point he basically does. Once I graduate he’ll be first runner up for President.
SOONYOUNG grins. His camera goes slightly out of focus as he rocks back and forth in his chair.
YOU Well, it’s nice to meet you Jihoon.
JIHOON Likewise.
There’s a beat of silence as YOU and JIHOON stare each other down via webcam. His gaze is sharp, meticulous. Yours is relaxed with a hint of a smile.
SOONYOUNG So formal. Why don’t you go next?
YOU Alright… hi everyone! Thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I’m a computer science major with a focus in front-end development, but I hope career-wise to go into front-end regarding data science. I was a volunteer this past fall for HYBEHAX and I really loved helping with the event, so I want to try my hand at organizing this year.
SOONYOUNG You were running around like crazy during the event. I think I saw you like, twice?
YOU (laughing awkwardly) Yeah… the last Marketing Team lead kind of recruited me. I ran around with them a lot getting pictures.
SEUNGCHEOL (amused) I specifically remember you during the welcoming speech. The President and I were trying to talk into the mic and you kept telling us to move slightly to the left ‘cause it looked better on camera that way.
YOU Hey! Because of me we had great shots. We can use these for marketing this time around.
SOONYOUNG Oh? You sure you don’t wanna be a part of Marketing Team?
YOU Oh, hell no.
SEUNGCHEOL and SOONYOUNG burst into laughter. The corner of JIHOON’s lips crack open to reveal a small smile.
SEUNGCHEOL Relax, the Marketing Team Lead from last year left. Our Lead this year will be a lot better.
YOU Glad to hear that.
SEUNGCHEOL Are there any questions you have for us before we get into the specifics of your role?
YOU No, not that I can think of.
SEUNGCHEOL Sounds good! If there are any questions you have along the way, feel free to ask.
SOONYOUNG (raising his hand, not unlike a too-excited kid in school) I have a question!
Metaphorical lights dim. YOU fidget with the hem of your shirt. JIHOON bites his lip to fight a smirk.
JIHOON Yah, you’re the EVP, not Pres.
SEUNGCHEOL (skeptically) No, go ahead Soonyoung.
SOONYOUNG What made you choose Design Team instead of Tech? You’re a CS major, aren’t you?
YOU smile, as if expecting this question.
YOU I did briefly mention this in my application, but I feel like the integration between the arts and technology is so important to cherish and understand these days. Bridging that gap between two worlds that are seemingly unrelated is what I want to do—technology can be used to create art, and art can be used to create technology. It’s all relative, I feel.
JIHOON nods along appreciatively to your words. SEUNGCHEOL is listening intently.
SEUNGCHEOL As an organizer, you’re expected to specialize in your team’s work. You, on the other hand, have experience in multiple aspects—marketing, tech, design. Like Soonyoung said, we all saw how hard-working you were last season as a volunteer. We’d love for you to join us as a proper organizer for our 10th year.
YOU Thank you, that's very sweet of you. I'd be honored!
SOONYOUNG Oh, right. You said you’d be interested in being a Team Lead, too—are you still interested in that?
YOU Yeah, I think it would be fun. What specifically does Design Team Lead do?
SOONYOUNG You’ll be in charge of designating tasks to the members. Last season we only had, um, one member on Design Team. It was a lot and incredibly overwhelming and they quit. Understandably. So having someone who oversees everything would be preferable.
SEUNGCHEOL Yep, things like the sponsorship packet that goes out to sponsors, merchandise for the organizers and participants—those tasks wouldn’t necessarily be completed by you, but you would be in charge of making sure they’re getting done on time and in a professional manner.
YOU That sounds doable. If I’m being honest, I’d feel better managing tasks. I feel like I’d be pressured a lot to go above and beyond if I was just a regular organizer.
JIHOON Do you have experience in leadership?
YOU Only a little bit, but I’m definitely open to learning more, of course. I lead an outreach organization for my scholarship program.
SEUNGCHEOL (nodding along) Impressive.
SOONYOUNG We can call it, right? They’ll be our new Design Team Lead?
YOU Hey, I’d be down if you guys are down. This interview is more relaxing than I thought; barely even one at this point too.
JIHOON (shrugging) Only because we know you from the previous season.
YOU smile at him and JIHOON breaks eye contact.
YOU Question.
SEUNGCHEOL Yeah, what's up?
YOU Has HYBEHAX always been this… unserious?
SOONYOUNG Yes—
SEUNGCHEOL, JIHOON (simultaneously) No.
YOU Well. Glad to join the team anyways.
SOONYOUNG excitedly claps his hands. His screen lags.
SOONYOUNG Does that mean it’s a yes?!
YOU ‘Course. Anything for my calc buddy.
The man pumps a fist into the air and his webcam freezes. JIHOON audibly sighs.
JIHOON We’ll send you the contract via email soon. It just goes over more generalized rules about being an organizer—attending weekly meetings, making sure you keep up with your team, the usual.
SEUNGCHEOL Happy to have you!
YOU Thank you guys so much. I’ll be sure to not disappoint!
SOONYOUNG’s frames cut back into view. He’s peering at the camera and making gibberish noises.
SOONYOUNG Hello? Hell-oo? Can you guys hear me?
JIHOON (mumbling to himself) …and this is why he’s the EVP and not on Tech Team.
SEUNGCHEOL (exasperated fondness) Yes, Soonyoung, we can hear you.
SOONYOUNG Awesome! We’ll send you the paperwork right away so you can officially become an organizer!
JIHOON I already said that.
SOONYOUNG pouts and begins to whine, to which JIHOON huffs at. SEUNGCHEOL forcibly mutes them both.
SEUNGCHEOL
Anyway, I’ll also send you the Discord link to the server with the contract. That’s our main way of communication. As for the contract, it’s a PDF—you can sign it by like, opening it up in Adobe and using the pen tool. No need for fancy formalities.
YOU (laughing) Alright, sounds good. Thank you guys again for this opportunity!
SOONYOUNG is making cringey aegyo hearts at his camera. Your laptop begins to whirr softly from overheating.
SEUNGCHEOL Thank you for being interested in joining us. Details about our first meeting will be out soon. See you then, okay?
YOU See you then! Have a good night!
SEUNGCHEOL beams at YOU. YOU note his barely there dimple and fight back a smile.
On the other hand, JIHOON types a ‘Have a good night, thank you’ before promptly leaving the call. SOONYOUNG waves goodbye for an eternity before being kicked off by SEUNGCHEOL.
YOU wave and press the leave button. The call drops and your laptop quiets down. It’s suddenly silent in the bedroom, and YOU let out a yawn as YOU stretch your arms above your head.
YOU Welp. Design Team Lead, here I come.
FADE OUT. END.
#seventeen#lee jihoon x reader#woozi x reader#seventeen x reader#seventeen fluff#seventeen imagines#lee jihoon imagines#lee jihoon fluff#woozi fluff#🏆 hybehax#maestro’s muse 💿 ljh#🐈⬛ ppyopulii's spotify
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hello I am really curious about ur thoughts on what makes Jaster a military dictator.
I'm ngl my knowledge of him is the very limited stuff we saw in the comics he was in and then a whole bunch of fanon so I'd love to hear ur thoughts 👀
To be honest I mostly meant it as a joke but—
Well, first we have to start from a simple fact about Jaster: we do not actually know what he truly stands for.
That is what's truly difficult in understanding Jaster, for me. The information we have about him is always too vague to actually figure out a proper moral or honor code for this guy, we could ask ourselves “would he believe this?” or “would he hate this?” and every answer would be pure speculation because we do not really have a base to understand what he would truly believe in. But let’s get into my thoughts:
What would make Jaster a military dictator?
He thinks Mandalorians should strive to be mercenaries/highly-paid soldiers.
This one is pretty simple in my opinion, ofc we do not know to what extent this belief goes, if he thinks that all all mandos should be paid soldiers and go fight in other people’s conflicts, or if he thinks only a certain class of mandos should.
But if we go with the first, the idea that all mandos should be forced to be soldiers, not warriors, not people who know how to fight, but soldiers, and so one of the many gears of a very organized machine of death, and they also get no choice in the matter- well it does not paint the prettiest of pictures now does it.
He has a whole paramilitary group that responds to him.
This one is probably the most “military dictatorship” coded of the points, and I don’t think I have to explain why what is basically a Head of State having a private army, that responds to him, only him and no other than him, is generally a very bad bad idea.
He has “reworked” the Resol’nare.
Now for this one we have to go into a phase of pure speculation, since we do not actually see how he reworked this Resol’nare.
He could have made it more modern, he could have used an even more ancient version of the one commonly known, he could have gave it a purely personal twist- but we don’t know.
But, if we look at what the common Resol’nare, it has a point saying “Rally to the cause of the Mand’alor” - which again, on paper it seems innocuous enough, but it could be very easily twisted into an “Obey your Mand’alor” kind of thing, which starts to smell a bit totalitarian (since it does not seem to give you a choice in the matter) and could easily be used as an excuse from the Leader to make the people do whatever he wants. So yeah, who knows, maybe he could have given the Resol’nare a more authoritarian twist.
He is described as honorable.
Which could mean, literally everything and absolutely nothing at the same time.
What does honor even mean? It’s a word whose meaning changes so much between cultures and individuals, you could be the best person alive and call yourself “honorable”, or be the worst motherfucker out there and still call yourself “honorable”, and in both cases who could really tell you which one is right and which one is wrong?
Hell, here in Italy not so long ago it was legal to kill your wife if she was cheating on you so that you could protect your “honor”.
Honor most often than not leads to very fucked up morales and ideals, so I do not see how the figure of Jaster would be safe from this.
He could even look a kid in the eyes and say “it is actually very honorable to get yourself blown up for your people, go out there and try it” while giving him a bomb, whatever it means for Jaster to be “honorable” is purely up to speculation, but it could mean he is the best guy alive or the worst motherfucker out there (but just a little step better than Tor).
He is described as pious.
Again this one is murky as fuck as a point to me. Pious is a very religious word which does not simply mean “faithful”, since you can be faithful to a lot of things, to a code, to a person, to law etc. while pious is specifically about religion, and mostly used in Catholicism.
So either this is the confirmation that the actual space-Catholics were the Mandalorians all along, or someone didn’t really think too much at the implications of giving a character such an adjective.
Jaster could be religious, and very devoted to this religion. But what is this religion even about? Is it the old Mandalorian religion of the Three Gods? A new Mandalorian religion he is helping in spreading around? Maybe a religion from Concord Dawn? A whole other religion from another culture he just so happened to be very passionate about? A whole other religion he invented to make himself appear more important than he actually was?
Who knows.
BUT- using faith to make yourself appear as the “Chosen One” or the “Rightful Heir” and to keep the people in check and too afraid to rebel against you is a pretty common trope after all (the monarchy, the Pope etc.) so he could just use the same trick for all we know.
Anyway, am I overthinking all this? Oh absolutely yes.
But I still think it would still be very cool to explore this instead of the “Jaster is the rightful ruler and is the best and all his morales and ideals are always the right kind and every single one of the good guys agrees with him because he is just so right about everything” I tend to often see especially in fics lol.
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you had enough. there was only so much you could endure. you loved him so much, but it was clear his love didn't extend the same way back to you. you decided to end it after a year. winter break of your 4th year to be exact. it was by far the most emotionally taxing relationship you had ever been in. you had him blocked on everything. imessage, instagram, snapchat, facebook, twitter, your fucking upenn email address. everything. you deserved better, you told yourself. it was hard to distance yourself from someone who played a huge role in your life and was so heavily involved in your social circle. he tried to reach out, of course he did. but you were done. done with the mixed signals. done with the lies. done with feeling like you’d never be enough. it was hard, but it was for the best. you told yourself it would be the last time on a number of occasions, but you always went back. he would come to your house with pre rolls, you two would avoid the issue, get high, have sex, he would be gone again, and pull the same shit again. an endless loop. it would be impossible to ignore him. he was always right there, at every function, get-together, frat party… always there, always staring with the same look in his eyes. other men knew not to talk to you out of respect for some bullshit bro code over a man who refused to even label your relationship. luigi ruined your life. you were going 2 months strong no-contact, successfully shutting down every possible route luigi took to try and get back with you.
sophie had been at brian’s that night, and you were working to finish a thesis. frantic banging on your door startled you. you shuffled out of bed and opened the door to your dorm to find him. dishevelled - rough looking. his eyes had a red gleam to them, but it wasn’t weed. you know your boy. “i’m so fucking sorry. i love you so fucking much and i dont deserve you—” “what do you want, luigi?” you cut him off. “please baby, just hear me out. i cant fucking live without you.” he jumbles his words together, frantically. “no. you don’t get to come and ruin my life every chance you get. i said i’m done. fuck you, luigi. leave me alone.” you scream at him. silence fills the space and a pang of regret hits you after. the look on his face killed you. “i’m sorry. i understand. please know how much i love you.” he says with teary eyes as he turns to walk away. “wait.” you call out. he turns around. “come in. you have 10 minutes.”
10 minutes turned into 3 hours. tears, apologies, and i love you’s. from both sides. luigi tells you everything. his health struggles, family life, his pressures. everything. you finally understand his mind & motives. he tells you he wants to make it official, you tell him you need time. time to figure everything out, and decide if he even deserved to be back in your life. he said he understood, and left with a hug. life moved on after that. luigi remained a constant. walking you to and from class, helping you with your homework, and free weed of course. you still loved him, no matter what. time heals all, as they say. by the time spring break rolled around, you and luigi had another sit down. you told him you were ready. you also gave him a list of conditions, and told him if he broke any, you wouldn't hesitate to leave. for good. he said he understood. the first kiss after was unforgettable. so many unspoken emotions in one action. you broke the news to your friends after, they were all so happy for you two. luigi proved to be the best boyfriend ever, defying all your expectations. graduation came soon after. your group had a celebratory smoke sesh. you sat comfy in luigi’s lap, excited to build a future with the man you loved so much.
-gymrat anon <33
omg omg thank you for blessing us with this saga 😫 love this dynamic sm like
blocking him on the upenn email address STOP after u get an email from [email protected] asking if u guys can just talk that day after he holds his ta office hours lmfao
every time he’d come over he’d tell u it would really be different this time asking “why don't u believe me” w/ his full chest and ur just like uhhh “why would I?”
“other men knew not to talk to you out of respect for some bullshit bro code over a man who refused to even label your relationship.” UMMMMMMM just the idea of a guy trying to flirt w u at a party and lu is staring u down a few feet away and the guy is like "uhhh do u know him?"
when he finally shows up at ur apartment in the early hours of the morning, u want to shut the door in his face but ur starting to get upset and louder and u dont want ur neighbors to wake up so u pull him in
and when he takes his hood off u can see how messy his hair is, how his eyes are red with dark circles underneath, his jawline sharper...
and he hoarsely opens up to u like just spills out of him he tells u abt all the treatments and doctors appointments he's secretly been to, how graduation, getting his masters, and job hunting were all culminating to make him retreat entirely into himself
after ur early morning talk u guys have of a weird but needed and nice vibe of just being friends in a way you never really had been before, rebuilding trust etc
omg omg wait during spring break imagine going on a trip with ur friend group and sitting out by the beach alone at night as the sun begins to set and that's when u tell him ur ready??!!!
the sex that night too… stfu
AND GRADUATION... throwing ur caps in the air together during the ceremony, all the like official coupley things like pictures ur parents insist on taking arghhh
omg and he'd tell u the most ridiculously romantic shit when he's high too just no filter and incredibly earnest making u melt ughghh
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Wait holy shit, anon from 2 seconds ago, hi!, I suddenly had another alpha-17 thought, imagine comforting him after his capture by Ventress and again a few weeks later after being wounded by Grievous. He puts up an impenetrable front but behind it he’s in pain and filled with self doubt and you remind him that it’s all worth it, he’s worth it in the end.
As You Are
Summary: After being tortured by Ventress, and then badly wounded by Grievous, Alpha-17 is confined to a bed under your care. Badly injured and convinced that he’s about to be Decommissioned for being unable to continue his duties, he’s lashing out at everyone trying to help him. Luckily, you’ve never been a shrinking violet.
Pairing: Pre Alpha-17 x F!Reader
Word Count: 775
Warnings: Medical stuff, but not detailed
A/N: I'm still not sure if this was a request, but I turned it into one because it's Alpha, lol.
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“Doctor,” You pause, your hand hovering over the door panel to Alpha-17’s hospital room when you’re stopped by one of your nurses. She’s an older woman, much older than you, and she seems to be fretting over something.
“Something wrong?” You ask.
“It’s…well,” She motions to the door you’re about to pass through, “He’s in a foul mood.”
You arch a single brow, “Well, yes. I would be too if I had been tortured, and then badly wounded. How are his cybernetics?”
“I…well, I’m not sure. He wouldn’t let me check.”
Your other brow raises to join the first, “He wouldn’t let you.”
“No, Doctor. When I tried he snapped at me.”
“So he’s probably in pain then.”
She shrugs, “Perhaps we should leave him to the Kaminoans?”
You shoot her a look dirty enough that she flinches away from you, “Thank you, Nurse. I can take it from here.”
“Uh…Yes, doctor.” You wait until she hurries away before you type in the door code and enter the room.
“I hear you’re terrorizing my nurses.” You announce as the door slides shut behind you, “Knock it off.”
“I don’t want your medical care.” Alpha bites out, pinning you with a fierce glare.
“Tough shit, you’re getting it anyway.” You walk over to him, and glance at the monitors to check his vitals, “How’s your pain?”
“Awful.”
“I need a number, Alpha.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Thanks, it was covered in medical school between cardiology and pulmonology.”
He shifts in the bed and winces, and you frown at him, “I’m fine.”
“Alpha, you currently have cybernetics running the length of your spine that will allow you to walk. You’re not fine.” You place a gentle hand on his shoulder, knowing that he’s going to hate it, but also knowing that he won’t lash out at you. “Let me take care of you.”
“Why bother?” He grouses, “They’re just going to decommission me.”
You sigh heavily. “They are not.”
He scowls at you, “I’ve known the longnecks my whole life—”
You hold up three fingers, “Point 1, Shaak Ti has forbidden decommissions. Point 2, even if she didn’t, the Kaminoans don’t decommission Alpha class clones. Point 3, even if you ignore those two points, they never would have allowed me to put a multi-million credit cybernetic system in you if they were going to decommission you.”
“...how many credits?”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re not paying for it.” You lightly tap his shoulder, “Anyway, will you let me take a look now?”
“I’m fine.” He repeats.
“Why are you being so difficult?”
A muscle in his jaw clenches, “What if I can’t do my job properly even with the cybernetics?”
“You will. As I understand it, Shaak Ti wants you training ARC Troopers.”
He scoffs, “So I can’t fight anymore.”
“Training the ARCs is an important job, Alpha.” You remind him, “They are the best, after all.” You step around the bed so you’re able to get a look at the cybernetics implanted in his spine.
“It’s not the same.”
“It is important though.” You lightly touch his skin and frown when you see the skin is inflamed. Quickly you put in an order for more antibiotics, and then you scan the cybernetics themselves, “Do you think lesser of Commander Colt for being an ARC trainer?”
He scoffs but doesn’t answer.
You walk back around him so that he’s facing you, “You just have to remember, this is all worth it in the end. It has to be.”
Alpha scans your face for a moment, “No one is going to thank you for this, you know that right?”
“I don’t do this for the accolades, Alpha. I do it because it’s the right thing to do.” You flash a wry smile, “Before all else, do no harm.”
Alpha sighs and sinks his head into his pillow, “I’m not worth all this.”
“You are to me.” You reach out and take his fingers in your hand and you squeeze them gently, “Will you let me help you?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and then he squeezes your hand, “Yeah, I guess. Just you, though.”
“Spoiled.” You chide, “But fine, I’ll make a note that you refuse all medical care unless I’m the one giving it.” You untangle your hand from his and make a note in his chart, “Now. Are you in any pain?”
“Yeah, and my back feels hot.” He admits.
“Thank you, Alpha.” You turn your back to grab some pain medicine.
“I love you.” He mumbles.
“What was that?”
“I said you’re annoying.”
You laugh softly, and favor him with a warm smile, “So are you.”
@imabeautifulbutterfly @n0vqni @bad4amficideas @justiceandwar98 @Mira-Loves-Star-Wars
@tiredbi-peach @dukeoftheblackstar @trixie2023 @kimiheartblade @padawancat97
@falconfeather23435 @etod @bb8-99 @kiss-anon @continous-mistakes
@yoitsjay @liz-stat @cc--2224
#star wars#tcw#alpha-17 x reader#star wars fanfiction#x reader fanfiction#f!reader fic#answered asks
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Have you seen transformers one? If so what did you think of it? I saw it twice!
I JUST came back from watching it, so uh, residual high but
It’s amazing? Like goddamn they did so much with what time they were given? The characterisation, the voice acting, the plot, not to say it’s twists and turns, it’s completely what you expect and still they managed to surprise me.
For once in modern iterations, they listened to some of the gripes fans had about the way Optimus Prime is depicted and actually did him RIGHT.
Prime comes from the SAME STATION as Megatron, he sees and experiences the injustice firsthand. He’s not a conflicted cop enforcing a system or a pacifist librarian sheltered from it, and god bless, both iterations were interesting to explore, but it positioned him as ‘above’ the dregs Megatron had to slave in and automatically made him more obtuse to class oppression/made us initially more sympathetic to blue collar-coded Megs. He’s not speaking from a place of privilege. The pain of the underclass is HIS pain too.
Prime is the DYNAMIC one in this duo. He’s the one who starts shit, the one unwilling to accept his lot in life and the one who bucks against protocol for sake of his friends.
Prime is the RADICAL as opposed to Megatron who starts out as more of a follower until he finds out the truth about their system. Prime questions the system far earlier than Megatron ever does, and Prime choosing hope and mercy over wrath and vengeance is framed as his strength, not a naïveté or weakness.
Prime and Megatron start out arm in arm, best friends suffering the same injustices, and what defines them is what they choose to do about it once they’re given the power and ability to enact changes; Prime wants a better Cybertron for everyone, Megatron just wants to burn everything in bloody revenge because HE was lied to and he doesn’t care how many die in his path to get there. He also makes it very clear that he doesn’t intend to fix the system—he simply perpetuates it with a different hierarchy, one which his newly-gifted strength places him on top of.
This Prime is a hero because of his actions from the first scene, not because we, as an audience, are told that is what he is just because he’s Optimus Prime.
You understand why he was chosen even if he didn’t ask for or seek the Matrix out for himself (the only reason he initially seeks it out is as a way to restart the natural production of energon on Cybertron so miners don’t have to slave underground their whole lives anymore. He seems wholly unaware or dismissive of the power it could give him, he doesn’t pine for it for anything other than what it can do FOR OTHERS, because per Faramir’s words: “I don’t love the sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness nor the warrior for his glory, I only love that which they defend”)
THIS IS THE PRIME WE DESERVE and I am so glad the writers GOT IT SO RIGHT
I’m planning a second watch for sure! I unfortunately had to escape the cinema to the loo during Alpha Trion’s big reveal and I wanna watch a second time just to catch every detail I missed.
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What are your thoughts on Lily? I think she recieves too much hate. I get that she’s a flawed character but the way people are discussing her is like she’s a complete bitch and has been thhrougout her friendship with Sev, which I don’t agree on.
Thank you for asking this question. I had written a long meta about the relationship and friendship between Severus and Lily, but it became so lengthy that I wasn’t sure how to post it. Now, I've separated the parts that focus more on Lily’s character and written them here.(Yes, it's still long but it's shareable now)
I enjoy Snily fanfics and absolutely love Lily’s characterization in them, but I have different feelings about canon Lily. I’m not anti-Lily, but I don't think she holds any significant moral superiority or special virtues compared to other characters in the books.
Most of what we know about Lily comes from when she was 15. Yes, it’s admirable that she sacrificed her life at 21 to save her child, but that doesn’t necessarily say much about her character. Many mothers of any age and from any part of the world would do the same for their children. We don’t know how much she matured or grew as a person. We don’t know if she was satisfied with the choices she made as a teenager or what her feelings toward Severus were in her final days. That’s why I base my judgments on 15-year-old Lily.
I see her as a warm, charming, and somewhat immature girl who, coincidentally, really enjoys positive attention (though not to the extent that James does).She tries to be kind to everyone to be liked, yet feels that other girls don’t really like her and are envious. Unlike her son, she doesn’t have a complex moral code, she tends to see the world in black and white like her sister Petunia. To her, you’re either on her side and therefore her friend, or you’re against her and her enemy. She’s the type of person who can easily attract people at first glance but struggles to form deeper, more meaningful connections with them.
I think part of the reason people dislike her is that they see her as more than what she is and have high expectations of her. Fanon often portrays Lily as a girl from a high-status, wealthy family, a feminist, strong, and independent woman, which makes people expect her to have been able to solve many of the issues she faced. However, in canon, she clearly doesn’t have any of these traits. We don’t even know if her family was rich or poor, but since she lived near Snape, it doesn’t seem like there was much of a class difference between their families.
Yes, canon Lily is lively, smart, and kind, and she gets good grades, but that’s different from being ambitious, powerful, or having feminist or progressive views.
Lily marries and has a child immediately after finishing school, before she truly reaches intellectual and emotional maturity. In canon, we don’t see her play a significant role in the war, undertake any special missions for the Order, or even hold a notable job or career before having Harry. She fits more into the traditional role of a wife and homemaker. I think if she had survived and the war ended, she would have lived a life very similar to Molly Weasley (though not with as many children). She’d be a loving wife and warm mother. Of course, she would likely spoil her child more than Molly does, letting him off the hook easily. Like Petunia, she would overlook her child’s mistakes unless it involved dark magic.
I understand that most people in the wizarding world marry young, but we have characters like Minerva McGonagall, who remains independent, even refusing to change her surname after marriage. In Fantastic Beasts, we see women who, despite the war, maintain their roles as strong, independent individuals whose identities aren’t solely tied to being someone’s wife or mother. So, Lily isn’t an exceptional character in this regard. She’s more like the average woman of her time. When we view her as a very average woman, rather than the amazing, powerful, modern figure seen in fanfics, her behavior becomes much easier to understand.
As for her marriage, I can imagine what was going through her mind: everything with James Potter was easier, simpler, and more stable because, from birth, everything was handed to him. He doesn’t need to work hard for happiness or a future, as his high social status and vast family wealth are guaranteed. He probably promised Lily a successful marriage and a sweet and happy family, perhaps even on their first date, filling her with hope for what was to come. It’s only natural that a teenage girl like Lily, who sees the world in black and white and has a fragile social standing in the wizarding world, would quickly decide that marrying someone like James Potter — who is at the pinnacle of her moral scale ( he doesn’t use dark magic) — was the best choice for her future. This pattern of marriage reminds me of Petunia. She marries her boss, who is also much older than her because he can give her the stable, normal life she dreams of, with a secure income.
Sometimes I think the way Lily chose James and how Snape chose Voldemort are similar. Both were teenagers who made these decisions to secure their place in the wizarding world and cover their insecurities. Lily is fortunate to have an easier life than Severus, and as a woman, she can rely on the support of a wealthy and pure blood man. Snape, on the other hand, didn’t have Lily’s privileges. He had to work hard to secure his place, offering his life and loyalty to Voldemort, who promises him acceptance, security, and protection in return.
I also disagree with the idea that Lily is responsible for all of Snape’s problems or that if she had stayed friends with Severus, he wouldn’t have joined Voldemort:
Snape’s life was far more complicated and difficult for Lily’s presence to magically fix everything. Rowling says Snape sought acceptance, security, and peace. Clearly, Lily couldn’t provide those things for him (after all, she was just 15). Snape needed a strong, father-figure type of support at that age. Teenage Snape, contrary to those who want to portray him as obsessed with Lily, had a proud and independent personality. He didn’t base his entire life around Lily’s presence or absence. Yes, he apologized for his mistake, but when Lily threatened to leave him, he didn’t make any effort to change his circumstances. That’s why I don’t believe the people who say Snape only switched sides because of an obsession with Lily. His love for her lit the path for him later in life, but it was Snape who gave that love the power to guide him and help him grow.
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What aesthetics do you think the outsiders characters would be if they existed now
my first ask!!! oh ho ho, I have answers 🙃
Pony - grunge-ish, like moody ahh 2000s emo music (think Green Day, mcr, panic at the disco, mb some mitski, etc.) kinda Billie Eilish coded. jeans, dark colored hoodies, earbuds/headphones in ALL. THE. TIME. Blasting music so loud he’s gonna damage his ears. 100% has a tumblr. Wrote the first half of the NGCS poem on his converse and wrote the other half on Johnny’s.n
Soda - Sweatpants, hoodies, shirts, all from Nike, he’s either wearing Nike sneakers or slides bro does not gaf 😭🙏 has a horrible TikTok addiction, sends the gang SO MANY random ahh clips from tt or yt, Dally is ready to commit murder. Eats hot Cheetos/takis more than any other food. Uses gen alpha slang at a horrific level, Darry can’t understand what he’s saying but like, no one older than five really can. Played/plays basketball, used to play with Steve.
Darry - basically the same as in the og timeline, jeans, dark colored t-shirts. Was also a Nike guy in high school, mainly uses Facebook but does have Snapchat so he can text the gang, doesn’t use it aside from communicating, “if Life360 has no users I am DEAD” idk I don’t have much for him 😭
Johnny - Grunge/emo aesthetic, baggy jeans, cargo pants, oversized shirts and hoodies, depresso espresso. 100% would listen to mitski and the crane wives, draws on his converse (pony’s written the second half of the NGCS poem on his) him and Pony share Spotify playlists.
Dally - I have no clue 😭 also a Nike guy, only wears sweatpants, lazy af. Basic white/black t-shirts with sweatpants, has pj pants on 99% of the time. Listens to rap/the dirtiest music known to mankind, srsly everyone else is disgusted by his music taste, aux cord privileges permanently revoked. (and mb he also listens to Taylor swift, who knows) only wears slides and crocs, teachers hate him. Highest grade is a C-. (He’s very proud of it)
Two-bit - Disney merch, Disney merch, Disney merch. ANYTHING with Mickey on it, mainly Disney hoodies/shirts and jeans or sweatpants. Wears Yeezy slides, never at school but still somehow passing most classes. (Passing as in Cs and Ds) also listens to mostly rap music, before he turned 18, any time an older than 18 Darry would go near him he would scream “IM A MINOR” and run away. Now that he isn’t a minor anymore he just screams “HES TOUCHING ME 😱” and Darry’s standing there like “Kieth pls I’m on the other side of the room”
Steve - Same as Soda, js wears converse more than Nike. Will NEVER wear a sweatshirt/long sleeves, he’s either in a tank top or t-shirt. The kinda guy to wear shorts in the middle of December (soda is too tbh) played basketball with Soda at one point but quit bc he felt like he was too short. Follows celebrity gossip like a madman and gossips with Soda all the time. Watches those kiddie yt family channels in his free time, treats them like reality tv. Watches keeping up with the Kardashians (also with Soda)
BONUS:
Cherry: Lululemon girlie, tennis skirts, t-shirts, athleta leggings, uggs. Gets Starbucks all. The. Time, owns like 5 of those Kendra Scott necklaces, listens to Sabrina Carpenter, Chappell Roan and Lana del ray, was a huge swiftie when she was younger, wears sodas hoodies all the time too. Socs have a running investigation on whose hoodies she’s wearing, they never get it right lol.
Ty to @colequette for the ask!
#the outsiders#ponyboy curtis#dallas winston#darry curtis#johnny cade#sodapop curtis#steve randle#two bit mathews#cherry valance#cherrycola#the outsiders headcanons#asks
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Your Vampire: Chapter Six
The Boy Next Door
(Max Phillips x f!reader)
Words: 1,159
Summary: this is a flashback chapter, sorry (not sorry)
Warnings: college aged Max, several references to musicals, reader has no y/n but has the nickname Garland, mild angst
Check out masterlist here
As long as you’ve known Max Phillips, he was always seen wearing a suit. He was always one to make a good first impression and on his first day of college, he made one. But he wasn’t just a pretty face in a second-hand suit, he was also smart.
Everyone liked to talk in quotes to show off how much of the reading material they had memorised. You didn’t participate in this as you preferred to understand the material. Max liked to quote other things and one day you recognised one.
“Moses supposes his toeses are roses. But Moses supposes erroneously.”
You replied with, “Moses he knowses his toeses aren’t noses. As Moses supposes his toeses to be.”
The two of you stared at each other for a moment before Max said, “Are we going to break into a dance number?”
“Not with my clumsy feet.”
He shrugged, “We’ll just be friends then.”
The two of you spoke in code which was easy to decode if anyone watched any movie musicals.
While everyone else was out partying, the two of you made PowerPoint presentations of various musical themed topics. Max lost his topic of ‘Eliza should have ended up with Freddy’ to your ‘Micheal Crawford was the worst Phantom’. But he realised that he should have spoken with more passion so next time, he won on the same topic against your ‘If I Were King of the Forest added nothing to The Wizard of Oz’.
“So why are you into movie musicals?” you asked one day.
“I grew up in the city, so I had ample opportunity to visit the theatre. But my family didn’t have the money for that so, like you, I absorbed movie musicals. And I find it amusing that anyone could just burst into a musical number. I always wished we could do that in real life.”
“It would be fun.”
“It was when I saw a clip of Clark Gable singing Puttin’ On the Ritz that I realised there’s something debonair about the ones where men wear suits.”
“Classy and romantic.”
“It’s what I aspire to.”
Looking him up and down, you said, “I can see that.”
“My dad said he’d kill me if I got into anything musical, so I decided to become very rich instead. Then I can pursue any kind of musical pursuit.”
“Performing or producing?”
“Hm,” he raised a quizzical eyebrow. “I could do both. But I’ll definitely go see all the musicals I want. And you can come with me.”
“Really? You’d think we’d still be together then?”
“Sure,” Max coughed something that wasn’t in his throat, then asked, “So how did you get into them?”
“I grew up in a small town. Super small. My musical experience came from doing background work in my high school ones. Then I discovered movie musicals, and I just absorbed as many as I could.”
“That’s a nice way to spend your time.”
“You know, everyone says you’re only nice to me because I’m the only girl in class.”
“I’d be offended if I wasn’t so humble. No, I’m nice to you because you’re the only one here not full of grandiose bullshit. And you’re smart and kind of pretty.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
“Not as pretty as me,” he raised his eyebrows, pulling at his suit jacket.
You gave out a small snort, “Let’s just say I’ve grown accustomed to your face.”
The nickname came about due to a misunderstanding when Max misheard where your hometown was.
“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Garland,” you corrected him. “Oh shoot, sorry. You just look like Dorothy to me.”
Looking down at your attire, you’d say you were more Jo Stockton from Funny Face than Dorothy Gale from Kansas. It could have been the braids.
“If I’m Dorothy, then you’re the Tin Man.”
“What? I have a heart.”
“You can’t be Scarecrow because you have a brain, and I don’t think you’re the Cowardly Lion.”
“Fine. I’ll be Tin Man.”
But the nickname stuck which you didn’t mind. It was better than what he was calling everyone else.
One person he hated as much as his roommate was another classmate. He loathed Jacob with a seething hatred. He was so obvious he hadn’t read the material, but he was somehow able to bluff his way through the course. Being nice, you offered to help out but quickly, you ended up doing his assignments. Max wanted to give him a few words about him taking advantage of your kindness, but he got distracted with his own studies.
The year might as well have been a musical, the time went by so quickly. Before you knew it, exams and come and gone and now the whole class was celebrating. The bar chosen to celebrate had a karaoke booth in the back. Everyone ignored most the music being performed as they were more focused on getting as drunk as possible. Like Max, you preferred eating the food and listening to the music.
“Oh, I know this song!” you exclaimed.
“You do?”
“We did Chess my final year,” you jumped up and looked at him. “It’s a fun duet.”
He noticed you were looking at him, “You want me to sing it with you?”
“Why not?”
“I hate karaoke,” said Max.
“It’s with me so it’ll be fun,” you ran off to sing it, not looking back.
“Looking back, I could have played it differently. Won a few moments, who can tell?” you felt lonely there all on your own but you continued on nonetheless.
But it took time to understand the man. Now, at least I know him well. Wasn’t it good?”
“Oh so good,” in jumped Jacob.
“Wasn’t it fine?” you replied back, stunned.
“Oh so fine.”
Max was almost fuming seeing that leech of a man sing with you. He could see the joy on your face. He left the bar and didn’t look back.
“Isn’t it madness, he can’t be mine? But, in the end he needs a little more than me.
He knew there and then that he had sabotaged the perfect moment. There would never be another perfect moment. It was stolen because he was a coward. He further sabotaged himself by making some stupid mistakes. His roommate’s girlfriend always had a small crush on him so as soon as he saw her in his room alone, he threw caution to the wind and slept with her. Then he got caught so his roommate got revenge and Max got kicked out of college due to false cheating allegations.
He knew for sure he would never see you again, but luck seemed to be on his side. You had joined the company so he thought he would maybe have a chance at a perfect moment. But then he saw the ring on your finger, and he knew his moment would never happen.
Or so he thought.
Luck gave him a break this time.
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Lovingly tagging @chaithetics @cevans-is-classic @galaxyedging @letsgobarbs @peepawispunk @missladym1981 @kirsteng42 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @ericamarie093 @yorksgirl @popcornforone @allthe-ships @clowncummiess @permanentlydizzy @readingiskeepingmegoing @elegantduckturtle @ellenmunn
#pedro pascal#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#max phillips#max phillips x reader#max phillips x you#max phillips x f!reader
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Your osdd!goro au is so very interesting I'd be happy to see more *kisses you on the forehead*
I'm so glad to hear that! It's been my baby for almost a year now. Actually, have a 1.5k post-canon one-shot (below the cut) for you. Do note that it has not been edited beyond cursory checking for spelling errors.
Content warnings: talks of mental health, spoilers all way to the true ending of persona 5, talks of violence. The subject matter does not get darker than the darkest points of Persona 5
**
Due to the nature of Goro’s condition, it’s not very common that they see much of the other facets, with the exception of the Detective Prince, who is almost always present when in public. They still don’t have an official name for the condition, at least not on paper, but after intense research on the subject it’s more or less agreed upon that it’s an identity-altering, dissociative disorder, since that also matches up with what Maruki had told them.
They’d actually sat down with him following the reality altering, after he’d been defeated to get the answers out of him and also to get some closure.
“There’s something about you,” Maruki had said to Goro. “I noticed the same in Akira, actually. You seem to experience high levels of dissociation. Pardon me for asking, but you didn’t happen to have a Palace prior to the collapse of the Metaverse, did you?”
Goro had stared at him, hard and still.
“You tell me, doctor,” he had said so flat it would almost sound polite if you didn’t see the expression on his face. “You saw it fit to tamper with my brain and you saw how much it fucked me up. I had to go through a sixth Awakening thanks to the stress you put me under. So why don’t you say what’s actually on your mind and show me the research you did to attempt to make me fit into your disgusting ‘perfect reality’. Really, doctor, I think it’s the least you could do. Even if you feel no remorse for what you did to me, don’t you think it’s particularly cruel that you re-traumatised Sakura-san, Okumura-san and Nijima-san after they had finished processing the death of their parents? I think it was.”
Maruki shifts uncomfortably on his couch. “Of course, Akechi-kun. You’re of course right. Excuse me a moment.”
And with that, Maruki vanishes down the hallway of the apartment, presumably to a home office of some sort.
Goro turns to Akira with a frown. “I want to get my hands on the only copies of whatever papers he has on me and then get out of here. My head hurts like a bitch.”
Akira agrees easily. To be entirely honestly, he doesn’t want to be here either, he’s been feeling hazy all morning, possibly a side effect of the new medication. But school starts again next week and they want this chapter of their life closed off before returning to classes.
They’ll be out of here in a bit.
Maruki comes back a few minutes later, two folders in hand. “These are all the papers I have on the two of you. You’re free to look over them here and ask any questions you may have. The language is quite dense and full of codes, I’m afraid.”
To no one’s surprise, Akira’s file is noticeably thicker than Akechi, containing summaries of all of their meetings, emails sent between him and Tae (understandable, as Maruki had actually been his therapist), notes on potential diagnoses and treatment plans should he ever need more acute or intensive care.
One section stands out to him. F48.1:V.
“What does this mean?” he asks Maruki. Maruki peers at it for a moment but shakes his head.
“Sorry, I don’t recall off the top of my head. One moment, I’ll retrieve the book and you can read it for yourself.”
Half a minute later the small header stares up at him. F48.1 Depersonalisation-derealisation syndrome. Well, that’s what about Tae had told him with an added disclaimer that she wasn’t a mental health specialist.
“It’s a stress disorder,” Maruki explains. “The ‘V’ next to it means that it’s suspected. I never diagnosed either of you, or any of the others formally. It’s not something I should or could do without your and a guardian’s consent. It’s not in any of your official paperwork.”
“And the disorder?” Akira ask. “I really appreciate that you never formally filed it, doctor, but I really would appreciate it if you’d get to the point so we can look through Goro’s file and leave.”
“Oh — yes, of course,” Maruki says hurriedly. “The short of it is that you have main symptoms. Depersonalisation is when you don’t feel real in relation to your surroundings and derealisation is when your surroundings feel real in relation to you. Reduced ability to feel your emotions, dulled sensory input or feeling like you’re acting out a role in a series as opposed to acting as your own person are ways this can present as. It may also be accompanied with forgetfulness and memory loss, but it’s not required.”
Akira shrugs. “Sure.”
Goro makes a sound next o him. “When did you work on this file of me, exactly?”
Maruki looks away. “I think I started it after the school summer break. Akira mentioned you in a few meetings. No personal information, just that you were acquainted.”
“I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to lessen the guilt of hanging out with you despite knowing that my friends didn’t like you,” Akira says quietly. It sounds stupid now, in retrospect. “There are no secrets between us, doctor. You can tell him about anything I discussed during our meetings.”
“It mentions some of my televised appearances,” Goro says with only a minute expression of distaste on his face. “Some notes from your meetings, Akira. And that random meeting on Christmas Day.”
Goro looks up at him. “And with only this information did you see it fit to stitch my brain back together with zero regard for how that might affect me. Tell me, doctor, aren’t you wholly unequipped to deal with people like me? Did it not worry you in the least when I broke down? Did you not wonder for a moment why my brain works the way it does? That it might just be a very essential protective mechanism?”
Maruki looks stricken. “I must admit that I didn’t realise at first. Genuinely, I thought you had let the façade play on too long and then the source of your pain was due to the inability to consolidate the real you with the ideal you. I knew the moment I attempted to change your cognition that I’d messed up and I was about to undo it when you broke out of it entirely on your own.”
Goro snarls, freezes for a few seconds before something truly terrifying takes over his face. Akira had expected it, but Maruki clearly hadn’t, based on his brief look of concern.
“He broke out of it ‘all on his own’ by Awakening for the sixth fucking time, okay,” Loki spits. “He was around for the other five. You only did it once. Can you imagine doing it multiple times? He still has nightmares bout it. What you did almost killed him, doctor.”
“I understand,” Maruki says, doing a remarkably good job at appearing entirely unaffected by the outburst. “I realised. It was what lead me to question if my pursuit was as just and noble as I originally thought.”
“And yet we still had to fight you,” Akira says. He’s so tired. “Why?”
“It was a hunch that that was how it was supposed to go. As you may imagine the power and energy I held within me, Azathoth and Adam Kadmon, was immense. It was almost trapped within me. I literally could not let go of it on my own. When you defeated me … I don’t know where it went. Hopefully not to any one individual. No one should have that much power.”
“I know I have some,” Akira confesses. “Goro, some. Maybe other Wildcards. I donated as much of it as I could to Igor, leaving it in his hands for the next world-ending apocalypse.”
Goro’s breathing heavily next to him and when Akira hazards a look at him his expression is pinched. The headache, then.
“And what’s your verdict, doctor?” Goro bites out. “Now that you feel you have all of the facts.”
“Dissociative Disorder,” Maruki says. “Unspecified type. You appear to struggle with sensory intrusions, whether that be feelings, voices, touch or feeling like you’re being possessed. Does that sound about right?”
Goro shrugs, but doesn’t look all too surprised. “Don’t you ever attempt to stitch me back together and certainly not without my explicit permission. It is this way for a reason.”
Maruki nods (they’ve really been doing a lot of nodding today, haven’t they?). He truly does look apologetic though, Akira has to give him that. “I know,” Maruki says quietly. “I really, really understand. If you ever wish to talk to someone to help with symptom management, I’d be more than happy to recommend someone.”
They leave pretty quickly after that.
“Ah — Akira,” Maruki stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “One last thing. I’ll come by Leblanc sometime next week to drop off the files on your friends. They’re the only copies of the files that exist. I will work through Yoshizawa-san’s file with her and her father directly so they can be transferred to her next therapist. She may express an interest in having you there to mediate in regards to Metaverse matters, but that decision is yours. Please be well, Akira, Akechi-kun.”
#asks and answers#anon !!#persona 5#goro akechi#akira kurusu#persona 5 protagonist#my writing#osdd!goro tag
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