#HOPE IT WORKS THO LMAO

[aimixx]

wip poll game!!

rules: make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner got!!

ty for the tag @spiriteddreams @baeshijima

tagging; @keqism @lilikags @arkhammaid @verxsyon

[madootles]

happy october third!

[midoristeashop]

Long car trips mean hunch over my ipad and film dumb stupid videos in restaurants at 11pm 😍 (future me screw u idk if it’s shaky also do not perceive me)

(That one vine)

Also have the things

[luuxxart]

so anyway I’ve been making hot milkies in my college’s dining hall

[dapper-lil-arts]

DAMN!! NOW THIS IS A TRIAL!!! Happy birthday to Kid icarus uprising, one of my favorite games! Here's to my favorite boss fight in the game, the Great Sacred Treasure -v-

[miasmaghoul]

miasma i have been yearning for mean rain and the most well-behaved mountain you have ever seen. (he's on his knees.) will you indulge me? )

oh man rain's real mean you guys :(

(cw for slapping, spitting, a little blood, piss and rough oral. all consensual, dont worry, mountain is SUPER into it)

It's an ache Mountain can't describe that brings him here.

On his knees in Rain's room, fully dressed with his legs spread as far at they can go. He keeps his arms folded together at the small of his back and his eyes forward, watching dust motes float through the beam of silvery light pouring from an open window. The sun had been up when he first knelt, but Rain's space was meant for moonlight.

Mountain doesn't know how long he's been here, truth be told, and it doesn't matter. That ache demands he stays put regardless, forces him to stay still and silent. It makes him wait for something he can't put words to. Makes him yearn, makes him itch in a place he can't quite scratch. It makes him want.

And so, he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

When the door finally creaks open, he thinks it's the holiest of hymns.

Rain slips into the room with a fluid grace Mountain could never hope to replicate. He moves like water, his lithe frame draped in the gauzy fabric of a flowy white top he'd no doubt stolen from Cirrus. It suits him just as much as the skin-tight black pants he's paired with it, as stark a contrast as his dark, loose curls are against his pale skin. Bathed in moonlight, he looks like something out of a dream.

Mountain would worship him always, if he could get away with it. Would lay himself bare for Rain to observe, to inspect. He'd endure agony, ecstacy and everything in between if it meant earning Rain's touch, his attention. If it meant pleasing him however Rain saw fit. He'd give anything, give everything.

Rain closes the door, and does not acknowledge him.

The ache grows.

Mountain doesn't move. Doesn't dare to so much as breathe too loudly, lest Rain become irritated and shove him out the door. He can't risk it, not with the singular sort of need that's been eating at him all day. He listens, though. Tracks Rain's careful footsteps as he makes his way across the room. He's in no rush, ever casual as he clicks on a bedside lamp and rifles through a drawer.

Mountain's cock stirs in the confines of his jeans. He's gone from soft to hard and back again more times than he can count during his endless wait. If he glanced down, there would probably be a stain on the light denim. He couldn't help it, but he knows Rain won't approve.

Hell, that's half the reason he wore these particular jeans.

"How long have you been here?"

The words cut through the silence like a razor, smooth and sharp. Mountain shivers with them, hungry ears finally blessed with the first hint of what he's been craving. He shrugs, eyes still locked on the bedroom door. He can practically hear Rain's eyebrows scooting upwards.

"You don't know?"

Mountain shakes his head. If he had to say, it would be something between five hours and a hundred years. He'd wait a thousand, if Rain asked him to.

Behind him, Rain hums. It's a pondering sound, as though he's wondering whether or not Mountain is worth his precious time. It makes his stomach hurt. He wants to beg Rain to let him stay, wants to plead with him to soothe the ache in his gut. Wants to grovel at his feet until Rain sees fit to relieve him of his need.

But Rain hasn't given permission to speak, so he doesn't.

Again, Mountain waits. Stoic at a statue despite the stiffness in his jeans, the stabbing pain in his knees and the tension in his back. Everything hurts.

He hopes Rain makes it worse.

It's ages before Rain moves again, before his boots thud against the hardwood and the other ghoul reappears in front of him. Mountain keeps his gaze resolutely forward, his eyeline even with Rain's torso. The fabric of his top sways in a nonexistent breeze, more than a few of its buttons popped to expose the creamy skin of his chest. It's speckled with bites and bruises, evidence of what, exactly, he'd been busy doing while Mountain waited his turn.

"Have you been just like this?" His tone gives nothing away. If anything, Rain sounds...bored. "On your knees for me?"

Again, Mountain nods. Rain hums once more, that same sound of almost dismissive contemplation. He brings both hands up, idly twists one of his rings, and the rustle of his shirt brings with it the scent of the lake on a summer evening. It's accompanied by a waft of spiced woodsmoke, and Mountain knows exactly who had been busy fucking up Rain's perfect skin.

"Are you growling?"

Mountain mutes himself immediately - he hadn't even realized he'd started. He didn't mean to, he swears it, but even if he were allowed to speak he knows Rain wouldn't want to hear it. He chews on the inside of his cheek and hopes his remorse is evident in the way his shoulders sag just a hair.

"Let me guess," Rain lilts, reaching out to fiddle with a loose lock of auburn hair by Mountain's ear. Even the ghost of his touch is electric. "You need me."

He makes it sound like a taunt, and Mountain's stomach burns. He nods again, slow and deliberate. Squares his shoulders again before Rain can chide him for his posture. The other ghoul huffs out a sigh.

"How pathetic," he chides, and oh does it sting. "Sitting here for hours when you could have been making yourself useful."

Long fingers cup his jaw and Mountain lets his gaze be guided upward. He finds Rain watching him with mirthless cerulean eyes, his mouth set in a hard line. Mountain gulps even as his cock throbs, and before he can stop himself,

"I'm sorry -"

He hears the slap before he feels it, a sharp backhand that makes his head spin and his chest tight. The sting hits soon enough and Mountain bites his lip, hoping to draw blood that he can offer in penance. Rain grips his chin in that same cruel hand, guides him back, and Mountain can already feel the fuzz creeping into the edges of his mind with the look on his stunning face.

"Lucifer, you're pathetic," Rain scoffs, dragging his other hand through his own stylishly disheveled curls. "And here I thought you were going to be good for me."

I will, Mountain wants to scream. I'll be good, I'll be so good, please -

"I suppose I'll just have to put you in your place."

Mountain can't help the way his eyes slip shut at the merciless tilt to Rain's voice. The one he only uses when he can tell exactly what sort of cruelty Mountain craves, when he wants to belittle and shame. It settles heavy in his gut, makes him just dizzy enough that Rain has to give him a little shake to bring him back.

"Eyes on me," he orders, and it's an easy command to obey. Mountain may be edging towards hazy, but focusing on Rain keeps him grounded enough to maintain his pose. The hand on his jaw threads into his hair instead, grips a nice handful. "Show me your tongue."

Mountain does - of course he does - despite how dry his mouth feels. He opens wide and lets that pink appendage hang down over his chin. Rain's hum carries more weight now, the slightest hint of approval enough to make Mountain throb. Rain yanks him back by the hair, makes him suck air through his nose, and leans over him, eyes sparkling.

"You look thirsty."

Mountain can't hold back the groan that bubbles up in his chest when Rain spits directly onto his tongue.

"Don't you dare swallow," Rain threatens before Mountain can so much as move his tongue. He wasn't going to. He knows better.

It's tempting anyway.

He curls his tongue instead, makes a nice little home for Rain's generous gift. Rain releases his head with a derisive snicker, standing back with his arms crossed.

"I think you enjoyed that a little too much," he admonishes, eyes squarely fixed on the wet spot Mountain can feel on his thigh. Less than an inch from the head of his sore, ignored cock.

He's so hard. Always is, for this. Rain probably won't even let him cum, if experience tells him anything - or maybe he'll make him cum over and over until he's empty and weeping. Either way, the suffering is what matters.

Mountain twitches when the toe of Rain's boot presses into his thigh, a hair's breadth from his throbbing length, and it's work not to swallow the mess on his tongue.

"Someone's excited," he taunts, nudging the swollen ridge of the head less than gently. Mountain gives a fervent nod. "You were messy before I even walked in, weren't you?"

He applies more pressure and Mountain pitches forward just enough to accidentally drool Rain's spit onto his own shirt.

Oh shit.

Rain's next slap is expected, and somehow all the worse for it. Same cheek, same hand. It cracks through the room with a sick echo, and Mountain tastes iron.

"Useless," Rain sneers, unceremoniously shoving two fingers into Mountain's mouth to wrench out a gag. When he pulls them back they're tinted pink, and watching Rain lick up his blood and saliva makes every inch of him sing. "All you're good for is making messes, isn't it?"

Mountain sniffles, eyes wet at the corners, and nods. Rain rolls his eyes.

"Use your words," he says as though Mountain is very stupid. His cock spits against his thigh.

"S-sorry Rain, I didn't -"

"Sorry who?"

Mountain shudders.

"I'm s-sorry, Sir," he breathes, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to make a mess, I -"

"Liar," Rain interrupts, and Mountain gives him a bewildered look. "I know you came here because you want to be a wet, filthy mess."

Mountain can't stop staring up at him. He doesn't want to.

"In fact," Rain croons, reaching for his belt, "I think you want me to make you one."

His intention is clear as crystal, and the moment it settles into Mountain's skin he bites his tongue. He swallows thickly, trying his best not to sway as he watches Rain slip his belt from its loops and toss it aside. Silently, Mountain hopes Rain plans to use it on him later. He grips his own arms tight behind his back while the other ghoul unzips, every inch of him twitchy and quivering in anticipation.

"What do you say?" Rain asks, low and sultry over the splash of his own piss.

Rain's only half hard when he pulls himself out, maybe less, but it doesn't matter - any time he gets to see Rain's cock is a blessing, as far as Mountain is concerned. Rain gives himself a few languid strokes, pushes and pulls his foreskin the way he knows Mountain likes best. Makes him drool. He fattens up so quick, gets nice and stiff right where Mountain can see but can't touch. Anyone else would want to stay soft for this, but Rain?

Well, there are advantages to being a water ghoul.

Rain cants his hips just enough to slap the head against Mountain's cheek once, twice, three times. Enough to leak a little bead of pre and leave a sticky spot behind.

"Say please," he commands. Mountain feels so very dizzy.

"Please," he manages to slur, barely a whisper. Rain snorts.

"Say it properly," he smears the tip over Mountain's lips just because he can, and Mountain's eyes roll back at the scent of him.

"Please, Sir," he breathes, staring up with heavy lidded eyes, "please...please get me wet. Get me messy."

Rain offers an unkind smirk, milks out one more bead of pre that slides onto Mountain's lip. He doesn't lick it up. Hasn't been told he's allowed. Rain pulls back, takes a deep breath, and aims.

"Whore."

The first drops hit Mountain's knee, impossibly hot, and then a perfect golden arc hits him square in the chest. It forces a wave of the deepest sort of shame through him, makes his stomach flip and his balls tighten up. Mountain gasps when it really starts to soak in, and he can feel real tears gathering in his lashes when Rain smiles down at him.

"Th-thank you, Sir," Mountain gasps, fighting every muscle in his core that's trying to make him pitch forward. "Thank you."

Rain hums, pleased, directing the stream wherever he likes until Mountain's shirt is well and truly drenched. He feels like he's burning from the inside out, like his brain is leaking out onto his thigh and soaking into stained denim. He's panting by the time Rain's done, watching in a daze as he pushes out the last few squirts, lets it dribble out to speckle Mountain's thighs.

"Open," he orders, and like the good boy he is, Mountain does.

Rain shoves his still-leaking cock down his throat with no hesitation, and Mountain chokes on it just enough for the tears caught in his lashes to track down his cheeks. Rain purrs, smearing them all over with mean thumbs.

"Gonna put this mouth to good use," he drawls, "and you're gonna take it."

The way he says it is completely at odds with the punishing pace he sets. Brutal thrusts that stab at the back of Mountain's throat, sure to leave a bruise. Every one answers the call of that singular ache, and in no time at all he's floating. Lost in the gross, wet sound of Rain taking his pleasure and the slap of his balls against his chin.

Maybe later Rain will sit on his face and he can well and truly drown.

Mountain hopes he does.

[pepperpixel]

“Can't remember when we walked past the O.R. sign!

(sur-ger-y!)

Can't remember passing out with her hand in mine!

(my-my-mind!!!!)

I remember waking up with my mind repaired.

(A-OK! ^^)

I remember when I realized, she wasn't there...”

Amnesia was her name….. is. so. horrifically. sadly fitting for these two in literally every single line. And I’m gonna NEED ALL OF U GUYS TO GO LISTEN TO IT NOW OK… THIS ISNT A DRILL GO GO GO GO!!!

Anyway… uhh. the fact Betty “blessed” this guy to like. An eternally long lifespan w THIS FUCKED UP OF A MENTAL STATE IS SO SCREWED UP GHGH- Like poor Simon god damn…! u kno he’d rather just keep on not sorting out his baggage and trauma forever too cuz it’d be too complicated… too much… force him to admit things about himself and about BETTY that he really really doesn’t want to… better to just leave it all unexamined.. pack it all into lil boxes so he can just try to ignore it and pretend it doesn’t exist… HE GOTTA LIVE FOREVER W IT THO… *ME BANGING ON SIMONS DOOR AT 3 IN THE MORNING*: “SIMON U GOTTA ACCEPT URSELF!!!! LOVE URSELF!!!! ACKNOWLEDGE N ACCEPT EVEN THE “BAD” PARTS OF URSELF!!!! SIMON PLEASE!!!!! SIMON EVEN PPL WHO LOVE YOU AND WHO YOU LOVE CAN HURT YOU!!!! ACKNOWLEDGE IT!!! ACKNOWLEDGE THE HURT AND ACKNOWLEDGE UR FEELINGS!!!! AND URSELF!!!!! SIMON!!!!” anyway… gGHGH YEA, SRRY. SIMON PETRIKOVS MENTAL ILLNESSES MAKE ME FEEL LIKE IM GONNA EXPLODE. ANYWAY HAVE SOME ART. W a bunch of diff versions cuz I’m indecisive!

[burninlovebutler]

Just an Intern // Part 3

pairing: austin x makeup artist!reader | word count: 8.7k-ish

warnings: angst, smut, FLUFF???, confusing arrogant asshole!austin, one bed, alcohol, hot tub 👀, fingering, play fighting, lots of dialogue, fries lore lol, truth or dare, name calling, physical altercation, yelling, screaming, crying, i am so sorry (but not really), 18+ MDNI

summary: while the set of Bikeriders remains buried under snow, you're imprisoned at the nearest ski lodge, in the last vacancy with none other than your arch nemesis. as the novelty of a packed resort wears off quickly, you find yourself on a drunken adventure led by an unexpected partner in crime... literally.

PART 1 | PART 2 | see my masterlist for all other fics ♡

vibes: just an intern spotify playlist ⛓️

Let's cause a little trouble Oh, you make me feel so weak I bet you kiss your knuckles Right before they touch my cheek

But I've got my mind, made up this time 'Cause there's a menace in my bed

Can you see his silhouette?

A glaring white morning light lulled you from your slumber. You were so warm and comfortable…. too warm and comfortable. Your eyes shot open and your body stilled completely the minute you sensed a heavy arm that was wrapped around your waist and a body pressed against your backside.

What the fuck

Last night’s events raced through your mind, remembering your transgressions with the actor vividly, but the end was quite fuzzy. All you remembered was going to shower then coming out to a completely dark room with Austin sleeping at the far edge of the twin sized bed, facing away from you. Then you slipped into bed, turned the opposite direction and fell asleep.

How the fuck did you end up being little spoon to the man that told you he’d rather rot in hell than sleep next to you. You stared at the wooden wall, following each swirl as if it would give you the answer to get out from this death trap of impending doom. You decided to take the plunge and try to slip from his grasp. A slight sleepy groan rumbled behind you made your eyes squeeze shut, like you were expecting a bomb to go off.

You knew exactly the song and dance it would ensue – some furious accusation and an insult.

Much to your surprise you felt him freeze just as you did then try to escape quietly. The realization hit that he perhaps didn’t know you were awake either. I mean realistically what would he reprimand you for? He was wrapped around you, what was he going to claim? That you forced him to play big spoon?

You chose to keep your place, taking advantage of the predisposition that you were still asleep. Besides it would give you just a sliver of peace before you had to go back to his ‘Intern’. There was a slight tug of sheets, then a cold emptiness when he pulled from the mattress.

He let out another hushed grunt then, “Fuck.” He mumbled to himself silently. You curiously opened one eye to observe him. He rounded the bed going to the dresser, tapping his fingertips across the top like he was looking for something. His hand landed on a pair of black rimmed glasses you hadn’t noticed when you went to bed in the dark. You couldn’t help but prop up a subtle brow.

Wanting to savor this little secret you stumbled upon, you decided to ‘wake up’ giving a performative stretch before cocooning yourself in the duvet. “Glasses huh?” You held back a ‘caught ya’ smirk, then a stifled giggle when you noticed him jump a tiny bit at the surprise.

He turned at the startle and instantly rolled his eyes. He hadn’t been awake not even 5 minutes and he was already annoyed with you. “Yes, I wear glasses, big whoop.”

“Well, I just didn’t know.” You tugged your bottom lip in trying not to laugh at his obviously embarrassed reaction.

“There’s lots of things you don’t know about me, Intern.” He spat back, turning to the phone ringing – to the tune of… Burnin Love? by Elvis? You were learning more about this man than you cared to know. He snatched his phone so fast, before it even got to the ‘hunka hunka’. Another thing he was clearly embarrassed about.

“What’s up?” While he spoke into the phone you found yourself distracted by the muscular lines of his bare back, just then noticing he was shirtless. His skin was golden and was toned like a swimmer. You followed the curvatures of his body down to were they met small dimples in his lower back then disappeared into blue stripped pajama pants.

His evidently aggravated groan snapped you out of your expedition down his body.

“Fucking great.” Bringing his hand to both temples. “We’re still fucking snowed in. We’re stuck here until tomorrow at least.”

Fuck

“I take it there are no other rooms available?”

“No Intern, obviously not, the roads are closed. Nobody can fucking leave.”

You both went your separate ways and you couldn’t have been happier, finally getting a moment to breathe and relax. There was a tiny café within the resort that you hid in most of the day taking time to catch up on the book you had been neglecting. The snow outside continued to pile up with no end in sight. Your odds of escaping Austin weren’t looking very promising. While it was what you wanted, there was a part of you – the machoistic part of you – that didn’t want it to end, just yet.

Before you knew it, it was evening and you were trying to avoid the hotel room at all costs, not wanting to risk running into Austin. So, you found yourself at the same bar from the Landon incident yesterday. You pressed your palms against the bar ledge that was littered with your coworkers, including Landon out of the corner of your eye. He sent a chill up your spine, but he seemed distracted by some giggly extra.

“Vodka soda please.” You ordered from the rather attractive bar tender. Maybe you could end up in someone else’s bed that night, maybe it would stave off the remnants Austin’s touch left on you. Regardless you had a mission - getting fucking wasted. How else were you supposed to deal with the confusion clouding in your head?

About 2 vodka sodas in, an aggravated sigh came from your left, “You would be here.” Said the exact voice you were trying to elude.

“What the fuck does that mean?” You rolled your eyes turning to him. He wore a plain black shirt that hugged his toned arms, tight dark denim jeans and leather boots.

He shrugged, “You just would.” Evading the question. “I guess I don’t blame you, there’s nothing else open in here at night.”

“Exactly.” You agreed taking a sip of your third drink, sending a warmth through your veins, then down to your core at the sight of his skilled fingers wrapped around a half-drank bourbon on the rocks.

“Last call!” Boomed from the tattooed bar tender.

“What?” You questioned, surprised. You tapped your phone screen to wake the time, “What, it’s only 12?”

“Bar closes at 12 on Sundays.” The worker informed, beginning his closing duties by wiping down the counter.

“Augh.” Austin groaned easily downing the remainder of his drink and harshly landed it on the bar. Without another word he was already out the door, likely at one of the cast’s room parties that had been going on.

You were in no rush to be alone in a hotel room but after a stroll through an uneventful empty lobby you decided to call it a night.

Opening the door to your room you noticed something that had been hiding behind a curtain, a wide open door. Being under the impression that the actor would be in some room party, you hesitantly tiptoed across the room. Your mind ping-ponged between the possibilities.

Maybe a resident had found the wrong room

Maybe you found the wrong room

Maybe the door hadn’t been locked and was swung open by the vicious snowy winds

Maybe it was a ghost

Finally at the door you peered through it from the edge to find… a hot tub? The jetted pool sat on a wooden platform covered by the room above’s balcony. And there sat the asshole right in the middle with another full drink in his grasp.

“Where have you been!” The blonde called out in a playful tune, the alcohol evidently taken over his body. “Did you know we have a hot tub?” His voice almost excited.

“Uh…” The entire scene threw you completely off, you’d never so much as seen this man smile and now, he was lightly playing in the water. “Am I hallucinating or are you actually having a good time?”

“C’mon get in here.” He gestured to join him hurriedly, ignoring your question.

“Austin it’s fucking freezing, you’re insane.” You thought he was even crazier when you realized that he was shirtless, because what else would you wear in a jacuzzi. “I’m not getting in there.” Shaking your head vehemently.

“It’s warm in here c’mon.” His gestures even more exaggerated through the steam that brewed above the water.

You shifted from one foot to another and chewed on your lip weighing your options. What else were you going to do? And who were you to turn down a hot tub?

“Augh fine.” You huffed, peeling your shirt over your head and unzipping then dropping your jeans. A blast of cold wind hit your bare body, covered only in a bra and panties. Your arms immediately wrapped around yourself shivering as you shuffled across the wood slats and up the short stairs.

You let out a relieved sigh once your shoulders were below the warm water across from him. “You’re fucking crazy.”

He gave you his signature eye roll, “Loosen up will ya? You’re always so stiff.”

You couldn’t help but let out loud scoff, “Me? Nah, that’s all you Actor.”

He let a chuckle as he lulled his head back, his arms resting on the edge of the tub. “Yeah, I guess I could stand to loosen up a little.”

“That’s a fucking understatement.” The edges of your lips tied into a smile.

“Hey,” He furrowed his thick brows at you, his face only illuminated by the blue tone of the pool. “That’s not very nice.” A light flick of water propelled at you from his fingertips.

“Hey!” You dodged the attack, “That wasn’t very nice.” Splashing warm water back at him.

“Oh, I don’t think you wanna play this game, Intern.” He brows propped up throwing another wave of water at you.

“Oh, I think I do Actor.” Swimming diagonal from him giving you a new angle to battle him with a rush of water.

He feigned surprise, “You’re goin’ down.” Mimicking your actions, getting you good that time, soaking you completely.

A giggle left your mouth as you attempted to swim in the opposite direction splashing him back once more. You heard another foreign laugh from him matching yours. “No, you’re goin’ down buddy.”

In some miscalculation you ended up near him and mid splashing war you felt familiar sizable hands take hold of your waist pulling you into his lap.

What kinda twilight zone were you in when this menace was play fighting and giggling with you?

After the initial stun of the move, you caught your breath your eyes meeting his. The ebbing waves from the tub reflected into his aqua eyes, the ripples of the water seemed to swim in them.

Silence fell between you both as the laughter had dissipated and the only communication was in your stare. You tried to place his thoughts by analyzing his eyes. At that point you had gotten fairly good at reading him though this sight was new, and you had no clue at what was behind it.

His eyes flickered between yours and your lips, the proximity of him now very apparent. The scent of bourbon laid thick on his breath. Your own air lodged in your throat as you took in the sight of him. Under the glow of the moon, he looked so soft, a lens you’d never seen him through before. He was so exquisite like that - flushed rosy cheeks, drunken glossy eyes and all.

Your entire body froze when his lips met yours, his arms wrapping around your torso. Whether it was the alcohol, the moon or your genuine desire, something let yourself melt into it fully. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you deepened the kiss. You expected him to escalate it with his tongue the way he did before, but he didn’t, his lips just took yours in completely.

You decided to take the plunge and slide your tongue against his bottom lip asking for entrance and he complied. His hands slid up your sides pulling you closer and your hands tangled into the little curls at the nape of his neck. The entire experience was different than any other time you’d hooked up with him, it mirrored his current demeanor – soft, gentle. He wasn’t groping and squeezing like he normally did, he just held you as your tongues danced together.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and found a not surprising prominent bulge beneath you. A groan rumbled in his chest when you pressed your panty-covered warmth against his boxer-covered erection.

As you grinded against him, the feeling of his tip nudging your bundle made you so desperate to relieve the rampant buzzing in your core. It was making you weak and was distracting you from the kiss. You reluctantly pulled from his soft lips and fell onto his shoulder letting out tiny whimpers as he rocked his hips against you.

He pressed full kisses in the curvature of your neck causing a churning in your tummy that wasn’t arousal, but something different. Something familiar but you couldn’t quite place. “You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He mumbled into your shoulder, his voice deep and dripping in liquor.

A short breathy whimper involuntarily escaped you, “You think so?” Your inner voice taking no time in reprimanding you for seeking validation from such a douchebag. His names for you weren’t normally so kind, nevertheless a compliment.

“Mhm,” He hummed against your shoulder, his hand tangling in your hair as he peppered kisses across your skin. “The prettiest.” He whispered below your ear, unleashing a kaleidoscope of butterflies throughout your chest, your ribcage locking them in. You knew it was the alcohol talking but you clung to every word.

You were so needy for him that only small moans left your mouth, “Please Austin, I need your cock.” You breathed out, your heart beating so hard you thought it might pop out. Your hips rutted against his length the wet material of your panties allowing your lips to part around his shaft, teasing him with your entrance. “Please?” Exaggerating your whine.

He groaned at your actions, fingers harshly digging into your thighs. “No.” He said simply, his touch now gliding up your thighs, “Let me take care of you.”

His response took you by surprise, “W-what?” You stuttered but didn’t pull from him. A hand drew up your inner thigh, scorching the skin it passed, then fingers up your panties.

“Let me take care of you baby.” He repeated, his fingertips easily pulling your panties to the side and rolled the pads of his fingers around your clit. A gasp left your lips at the sudden pleasure.

“Fuck.” You faintly muttered against his neck and leaned into his touch. “Please. I need you.” Your right hand tugging at his hair and the left curling into his shoulder.

“I wanna try something, do you trust me?” He asked, the question throwing you off, both at what he could possibly be thinking and whether you knew the answer. It occurred to you that it was the second time he’d asked you that impossible question, the first time in the saloon on set. You wondered on what planet he was living on where he had given you any reason to trust him. If anything, he should be the last person on earth to trust. And yet, you lied, “Hm- Yes.” Curious to find out his idea.

He purred against your shoulder and gently lifted your hips off of him then placed you across his lap. With one hand he slid your panties down your legs and draped it over the edge of the pool. You held onto him by an arm around his neck as his hand slid up your thighs again and spread them wide.

The pads of his fingers once again found your core, rounding your swollen nub then down dipping into your entrance. “Fuck.” You breathed out as his digits curled into your sweet spot. You let him float you to the edge of the tub, it was unclear to you why until you felt the strong stream of water from one of the jets. A sharp gasp fell from your lips at the immediate pressure.

“Oh my god,” Your chest was heaving, and your nails dug into his back. While the jet took care of your clit, his fingers were taking care of your core, fucking you in a way you never thought fingers could. It was rhythmic like a choreographed dance, every pump into your pussy landed in a curl into your g-spot and you never knew you could feel so much pleasure from so many areas at once. Your heart was thumping in your throat with a tight knot in your stomach threatening you to unravel already. “Oh my god Austin.”

“I know baby, I know.” He continued his plight on your neck, trailing passionate kisses all over it. “Feels good doesn’t it?” He asked.

“Y-Yeah- Fuck.” You could barely hear him over the pounding in your ears. His little experiment with you was overriding every nerve, waves of tingling pleasure washing through you, even causing your toes to curl. “Fuck Aus, I’m close I’m so fucking close.” You whined, squeezing your eyes shut barely holding on to your sanity. The bliss was practically numbing your brain, every thought was him, only him. His eyes that could make you wet with just one look, his plump lips that stamped kisses all over you, his skilled tongue against your own and even better on your clit, the curve of his neck and collar bone where you’d place your own kisses, his agile hips that allowed him to drill his perfect fucking cock into you. Right then you could’ve sworn he was some Greek god from the insurmountable euphoria that possessed your body.

His mouth pulled your skin into a suck while his tongue swirled over the darkening spot. “Let it out baby c’mon, cum for me.” His deep voice rumbled against your neck. That and a perfectly synchronized hit of the jet stream on your throbbing bundle and his fingers curved into you, set off your climax. The height of your orgasm ripped through you so violently that your moans were completely silent – which you we’re grateful for because you knew your coworkers were just above you. Your nails dug into his shoulder and your thighs clamped around his hand and you heard him let out a sort of entertained chuckle. If you weren’t underwater your juices most definitely would’ve soaked his thigh completely.

Once fully spent, you fell limp on his chest, heavy breaths flowing into his neck, “Fuck.” You murmured. His arm curled around your waist, pulling you closer against him. The act was so intimate compared to… well any other interaction you’d had with him. He was always so cold and rigid, now he was tender and warm. You blinked up at him, his focus on the stars above you. Even his moonlit features were soft compared to his normal sharp edges. “You sure like to use water fixtures as sex toys huh.” You tugged a lip between your teeth hoping the joke would land.

He took a moment to respond, his brows scrunching together before looking down at you, “Huh?”

You let out a tiny giggle, “Because the faucet on set-“

“Oh oh, yeah!” He boomed a drunken laugh straight from deep in his chest, “Yeah, I guess I do.” Looking down at you, for a moment you couldn’t tell the difference between the stary midnight sky behind him and the twinkling navy in his eyes. “Did you not like it? Because it seemed like you did-“ His voice sounded almost insecure, as if he was worried about disappointing you. The hint of insecurity echoed the one from earlier in the hotel room, about his glasses.

“No, no I definitely do.” You laughed, pulling yourself up to wrap both arms around his neck, straddling him once again. “I’ve just never been with someone so… innovative.” Your lips pressed together to stifle a chuckle.

The joke earned you another hearty laugh from the glowing blonde, which made you realize you’d barely heard him laugh before, nonetheless smile. And right now, he was a grinning mess, and he hadn’t even cum. From the lack of stiffness beneath you it seemed that the alcohol had taken its toll. Under any other circumstances, if there was a more competitive game at play, you would’ve tried your hardest to return the favor. But he was giggly and touchy and the nicest you’d ever seen him, you didn’t want to cut it short, so you laid against his shoulder again just taking in his breathing.

“You’re pretty funny.” He said once he caught his breath from laughing.

“Yeah?” You blushed and a giant grin pulled at your lip’s edges, for some reason you felt embarrassed and hid further into his neck. “I’m glad you think so.” You whispered beneath his ear and molded your body further around his, taking advantage of his warmth. He reciprocated, wrapping you up in his arms.

Silence fell for what felt like an eternity and you thought for sure the moment was about to end, and this unicorn version of asshole actor would disappear. But he surprised you yet again.

“I’m hungry.” He stated simply, “I want fries.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, “What?”

“I want fries!” He repeated, matter-of-factly. “We should go get fries.”

“Austin, where the fuck are we gonna get fries? The kitchens are closed and it’s not like we can DoorDash in a snowstorm.” You stated the obvious, sitting up in his lap.

You watched the gears churning in his head as if it was a difficult equation before the most mischievous playful smirk spread across his face. Immediately you knew it couldn’t mean anything good. “Austin,” You warned, propping up a cautious eyebrow, “What are you thinking.”

He practically threw you off of him, landing you to be floating alone in what now seemed like a giant empty ocean without him in it. He scrambled quickly into the hotel room, dripping water across the carpet, only in some plaid boxers. Once the blur of the action caught up to you, you followed suit, nearly flying out of the tub into the freezing cold air. “What are you doing!” You called after him as he hastily dried off with a towel and changed into sweats and a hoodie faster than you’d ever seen anyone move.

The mischievous smile never left his face in his hurried actions and stayed focused on his mission. In that moment you realized you were now babysitting a drunken toddler. Like any good caretaker, you matched his speed but soon remembered your limited wardrobe choices. He was already halfway out the door and the only reasonably warm and accessible choices were another hoodie and pair of sweats from his duffle.

“Austin!” You first shouted loudly after him, stumbling out the door trying to slide fully into your sneakers. Then in a more hushed yell, not wanting to wake the entire lodge at 2 am. “Where are you going!”

“Fries!” He threw over his shoulder as he booked it down the stairs.

“Hey! Slow down!” Taking a moment to catch your breath before following him down the two flights of mahogany stairs. “You couldn’t have taken the elevator at least?”

Finally, you caught up to him, standing in front of the restaurant that hosted the rotating buffet during the day. You leaned over attempting to catch your breath gripping your chest, reminding you that maybe a weekly gym day wouldn’t hurt. “They’re clearly closed Aus.” You huffed out, gesturing your arm at the darkened restaurant. The way it was laid out was that the floor was open so the buffet serving areas and seating were open, but the kitchen was locked. He was bent over eyeing the lock. “You’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking, are you?”

“Hmmm.” He hummed and stood up to face you, he held his tongue between his lips as he seemed to analyze you, then reached into your damp hair and plucked out a bobby pin you had forgotten was in there. He went back to his crouched position, unfolding the metal accessory in his sizable hands.

“No no no.” You whispered, “Austin you’re gonna get us in trouble what are you doing!”

“I’m opening a door that we found, already open y/n, obviously.” He slid the pin into the keyhole and wiggled it around.

“Oh god you’re really doing this aren’t you.” You brought a hand to your temple.

It didn’t take long for the doorknob to click open, probably because the hotel didn’t think patrons would be breaking in. “Aha!” He proclaimed, flinging the door open and turning on the blinding overhead lights. Relief washed over you when you didn’t hear immediate alarms blaring.

“I fucking can’t believe you’re doing this.” You exasperated, dropping your arms at your sides, “You know there aren’t going to be just magically fresh fries right?”

“Relax Intern,” His mission stayed focused on pillaging the stainless-steel industrial kitchen for his desired snack. “I know what I’m doing.” Waving you off.

“Oh,” You placed both hands on your hips, “You break into kitchens often?”

He shot you an unimpressed look, “No, if you must know,” He somehow miraculously found the frozen fries. “I used to work in a kitchen, I know how to make some pretty fuckin’ dope fries.” He inspected the knobs of the deep fryer and clicked it to a high setting.

“Oh, you mean before you were just an actor?” You sassed, crossing your arms across your chest and popping out a hip.

He rolled his eyes at you, “Believe it or not I was once a struggling actor.” The fries sizzled in the oil when he dunked an obscene amount of into the appliance.

“Ah, I see the humbleness didn’t stick around.” You teased back, walking over to the wall and flipped off 3/4ths of the blinding fluorescent lights, leaving only the one’s above the counters.

He shot you another glare, “Keep talkin’ like that and ya aren’t gonna get any fries.”

You contemplated continuing your defiance but ultimately decided the midnight snack was more important. They were already in the fryer after all, might as well follow through.

He drew the fries from the oil, threw them into a giant silver bowl, and salted them like a pro, tossing them in the air and everything.

You ended up on the floor of the dark kitchen, sat across from him binging on the perfectly golden fries and a random wine bottle you’d found. For someone who was evidently wasted, they were beyond impressive. “Damn, you weren’t lying, these are so fucking good.” You complimented then shoved a handful of salty fries into your mouth. On a first date, you’d never eat like that in front of anyone, but this wasn’t a first date, this was a drunken adventure with an asshole.

“I told you.” He went for another fistful of salted potatoes. “I was the best damn line cook that surf and turf place had ever seen.” He sassed, waving a fry for extra attitude.

Your eyes rolled involuntarily, “You so would work at a surf and turf restaurant.”

He feigned insult with a dropped jaw, “What is that supposed to mean!”

You giggled and shrugged, taking a sip from the wine bottle. “You just give that typa vibe.” You teased, covering your mouth to hide the chuckle that threatened to erupt.

“Well, that’s not very nice.” He picked up a fry and tossing it at you. He shot a smirk at you then stole the wine bottle, taking a long swig. His plump lips molded around the bottle opening, his adam’s apple bobbed with his swallow.

You gasped, “You’re not very nice.” You plucked a fry from the heap and hurled it back at him. His gaze turned to a playful one, moving slowly to the bowl scooping a bundle of fries and heaving them at you.

“You’re a fucking child you know that?” Your tone serious but gasping an equal bit of fries while he was focused on your expression, throwing it right back at him. First the water fight and now this? Who the fuck abducted Actor and who was sitting across from you?

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that.” He sat up on his knees, taking a fistful of your improvised dinner and aimed a bit too close to your face. Your hands immediately covered your eyes, “Ow!” You whined, sitting back on your legs, “You hit my eye!”

Instantly you heard him move the bowl and wine out of the way to cross the gap between you. “Oh my god I’m so sorry.” The hands that normally had been so rough on you, now delicately holding onto your wrists.

“It really hurts.” You whimpered, not moving your hands from your face.

“I didn’t mean to y/n, I swear.” He said softly then gently tugging at your hands. “C’mon let me see, we can wash out your eyes or something.”

A mischievous smirk spread across your lips beneath your hands, taking the fries that landed on you and smushing them into his chest. “Ha! I gotcha!”

Utter shock softened his face once he realized he’d been played. “That’s not fucking funny, I thought I- that I had-“ He struggled to find his words amidst the swirl of competitiveness and deception. It seemed as though his thoughts had halted as he watched your expression. The silence bounding around the industrial kitchen was haunting, unsure as to whether he was actually upset or if he would counter your move.

While you were attempting to decipher his motives, he abruptly took your cheeks into his large hands and pulled you into a kiss. The way his lips felt pressed against yours sent flutters down into your tummy, but they were different than the usual flurries of desire he gave you, these almost made you sick.

It took no time for your own hands to find a home tangled his hair. He inched forward indicating that he wanted you to lay back and you obeyed the silent request, slowly leaning back to land flat against the thankfully freshly mopped floor.

The kiss was tender, not hungry or ravenous, not even pushing to enter your mouth. In that moment, he wasn’t looking for anything more than that.

Your lips stayed locked for what seemed like a lifetime. A part of you almost grew uncomfortable at the intimacy, reflexively wanting to deepen the kiss. That’s all he’d ever wanted before after all, wasn’t it? You’d never had just a kiss before, with no ulterior motives. Why would he?

So, you wanted to fast forward to the part you knew was coming, not wanting to linger in a meaningless moment longer than necessary. You couldn’t afford to hold onto a fantasy, nor did you want to. But every muscle in your body ceased to function. His hands held your face and drew the pads of his thumbs across your cheekbones gently while your fingers traveled through his hair like a maze.

He was the exactly that - a maze, a human embodiment of one. You followed each path of his thinking you figured the way out, only to find you had no idea what you were doing or where you were going. You were trapped within an impossible labyrinth you never meant to enter.

His lips struggled to demagnetize from yours and hovered above your face. His navy eyes swirled reluctance, seemingly lost in some maze of his own. “I uh-“ He sat back on his legs, scratching the back of his head and eyes diverting from you. “We should probably head back to the room.”

And just like that, you reached another dead end in his labyrinth.

When you woke the next morning, the bed was empty. At first it took you by surprise, then a pit formed in your stomach. It was naïve of you to think that your drunken adventures with a rare Austin would change anything, foolish to think that version of him would stick around in the sober daylight. You wanted so badly to believe that wasn’t the truth, but you knew it was.

It dawned on you, why did that pit even form? This was the shithead that tormented you at work, treated you like shit and called you insufferable. In what twisted reality should you be sad that the illusion of a decent human fueled by alcohol didn’t stay for breakfast. At what point did you decide you wanted that version of him to stay? That’s not really what you want, was it? Of course not.

You brought your palms and pressed them into your eyes in a feeble attempt to clear out the thoughts swirling in your head. In a swift fling of the thick bedding, you unglued yourself from the bed, shuffling over to the window to check on the snow status. Thick snow still coated every surface, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as before, which meant that you’d probably be freed from this prison in the next day or two.

“Thank fucking god.” You mumbled to yourself, instinctively tucking your arms into your sides when you felt a chill. It was only then that you realized that you were still wearing his clothes. For whatever reason, you did a quick scan of the room as if someone would see you pulling up the collar of the hoodie taking an inhale. It smelled like him mingled with his cologne, a woodsy musk. You mentally scolded yourself when the tinge of longing filled your chest. Why the fuck would you miss him?

Then the memory of you sitting with him on the kitchen floor flashed across your mind pulling a giddy grin across your lips. “Fucking stop it.” Smacking your palm into your forehead. You shook your head trying to shake out whatever fucked up disease had taken over your mind, that was the only explanation for what you were feeling. The best way you could think of trying to remedy this ailment of yours was to take a long, hot shower. Maybe it’d wash it all away.

Once in the bathroom you let out a groan when you noticed all the towels were used and thrown about. “Fucking men.”

You headed down to the lobby and got the attention of a clerk. “Hi sorry to bother you but could I possibly get some more towels?”

“Sure of course! It’s no bother sweetie.” The middle-aged attendant sweetly smiled before heading into the back office.

She returned with a tower of fresh white towels. “There you go hon.” Placing them on the granite counter in front of you, “Your boyfriend use ‘em all?” She questioned in a joking tone.

You reflexively scoffed, “He’s definitely not my boyfriend.”

“Hm.” She pressed her lips together as if she had more to say but didn’t want to divulge.

“What?” You asked curiously, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Well it’s just- well I remembered you both from the night the snowstorm first hit so-“ She seemed to be trying to piece together some pieces of a puzzle in her head.

“…Mhm?” You urged on curious as to where this could possibly be going.

“So, when we had a vacancy open up yesterday, we called and asked him if he wanted to take it.” You knitted your brows together as you now tried to piece together the puzzle. “And well… he declined. So, I just assumed…”

“He turned down a room to himself?” You repeated for clarification, which was met with a timid nod, obviously feeling guilty for sharing personal information. “I uh, I have to go.” You stated shortly, snatching the tower of towels, “Thank you so much!” You thanked while you quickly made it back to the room.

After your much needed long, hot shower you decided to roam the all-inclusive resort. The only perk of being there was that there was decent amount of things to do during the day. From bars to in house casinos, arcades, spas, even a bowling alley. While you told yourself it was because you were bored, in the pit of your tummy there was a part of you that hoped you’d bump into your…enemy?

You wandered around the wooden halls of the resort with a pamphlet of all your options. Each corridor, room and lobby were decorated in typical lodge décor, animal heads on the wall, buffalo print everything, luxurious fireplaces. Everything except the deer heads was stunning, if you visited under different circumstances the mini vacation would’ve been a tranquil little getaway.

Since Austin supposedly hated you, Landon was a creep and Tom had his own friend group, you were alone. There was a door at the very end of the hallway that intrigued you. Once you peered in you saw a much cozier den-style bar, a huge square sectional couch facing a stone fireplace. On the opposite a very quaint bar. As you scanned the room for possible acquaintances you landed on a group of familiar faces.

“Y/N!” Called Tom, “You’re just in time. We’re just about to play truth or dare!”

What we were in 6th grade?

You locked eyes with your resident tormentor, because of course he’d be there. There was a split second where you thought things would be different after last night but when he gave you a warning look to decline the game offer, you knew it was a pipe dream. That gentle, playful man from the hot tub and the kitchen was gone, just like that. Then, the hatred you’d always felt before piped back into you, like a coffee pot filling with molten hot caffeine. Keeping eye contact with him the edges of your lips curled into a cocky smile, “Sounds great.” You sauntered over to the place next to Tom that faced opposite of Austin.

A few rounds of the game ensued, nothing too juicy at first but the game soon heated up when the group had downed a fair number of drinks. It was a stagehand’s turn to dare Austin. The brunette male, who had been working near many of your interactions together, gave him a playful smirk, “I dare you…” His eyes landed on you, “To make out with y/n.”

How fucking juvenile

You weren’t sure why the absolute jarring panic settled into your stomach, but Austin’s expression of immediate disgust didn’t help.

“I’m not doing that.” He said sternly, his tone oddly irritated.

“Oh, c’mon dude, it’s just a kiss.” The stagehand, Ryan, prodded jokingly.

“No. I’m not fucking doing it, give me a truth.” His brows low and knitted, eyes dark and mean.

“Fine.” Ryan, clearly annoyed and drunk, matched his unnecessarily angry tone, “Have you fucked the intern?” The question hushed every person around the fireplace, an uneasy tension filled in the air.

Blood rushed to Austin’s face and a vein pulsed in his forehead. He was trying to restrain his anger, squeezing his fists to stave it off. Your own steaming coffee pot was on the verge of overflowing.

Whether it was the tequila or something else that fueled you was unclear but you balled up your own fists, and before you could stop yourself, the words flew out, “I’m not a fucking intern!” You boomed out louder than intended and shooting you straight up on your feet.

Austin rolled his eyes, sharply pushing off from the couch, “I’m fuckin’ outta here.” He scoffed, headed for the doorway.

“Answer the question you fuckin’ pussy!” Called a way too far gone Ryan. “We already know the answer.” He added in a cocky snide.

Any sinister look you’d ever seen on Austin didn’t compare to the one that bore into Ryan. You were surprised his fist wasn’t bashed into his face already, if there weren’t so many witnesses he probably would’ve been pummeled to a mush.

 “Let’s get this fucking straight.” He hissed, his eyes locked on Ryan, never once glancing at you, like you weren’t even in the room. “I have never and will never put my hands on such a low budget, low level, filthy whore nobody of an Intern.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor at his words, a consequential dagger speared right through your intestines. You knew he hated you, he called you insufferable. You knew he hated you, you knew it even after last night, but you never expected him to say such vile words about you. A lump formed in your throat and tears welled in your eyes, but you couldn’t cry there – not in front of all your coworkers, not after being completely and utterly humiliated. Every ounce of alcohol in your bloodstream fueled your stomp over to him and didn’t even realize what you had done until you felt your palm stinging like a bitch from landing on his face. His hand instantly reaching to cover his newly red cheek from your slap, his eyes wide in disbelief, then narrowed with furious realization.

“Fuck you,” You attempted to hide the quiver in your voice, “You fucking rotten, disgusting, repulsive human being.” Your teeth clenched, you knew your little outburst could very well get you fired but there was too much rage and liquor in your body to care.

He did nothing, not a brow raise, not a twist in his face, nothing. Perhaps he’d never had someone talk back to him like that. Without further explanation he just pushed past you, knocking your shoulder back with his weight. The gravity of what just happened settled into your chest, having such a cruel intimate moment in front of all your colleagues was probably the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you. Something you’d never be able to forget, something you could never forgive. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you felt all eyes on you and your heart began to race feeling the purest form of ‘flight’ mode you’d ever had in your life.

When you escaped there was no sign of Austin in sight. You knew he had to have gone back to the room, hopefully to pack his shit and leave. And if he wasn’t then you would, even if you had to beg to stay in someone’s room. All the way up the elevator your heart thumped against your rib cage, shaking out your hands and taking deep breaths mentally preparing yourself for confrontation.

You unlocked the door and found him standing there, looking like he got there just before you did. The anxiety of the confrontation dissipated the moment you laid eyes on his hardened face. “Get out.” You stated harshly, brushing past him yourself mimicking his actions from before.

“Intern there’s nowhere for me to fucking go.” His voice already raised and ready for battle, “I’m not fucking happy about it either but-“

Your brows scrunched together downwards, steam practically pouring from your ears. “You’re a liar! A filthy fucking liar! Get. Out.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not lying-“ He began but his incessant voice was driving you more livid by the minute.

“I know about the fucking vacant room Austin.” You growled, using his name and not Actor to let him know how serious you were. Just from how he opened his mouth to speak you could tell he was about to lie again so you beat him to it. “The front desk lady told me. Tell me Austin, if you hate me so goddamn much then why didn’t you just take the room? To fuck with me? To take me on some stupid drunken adventure to trick me into thinking you actually have a heart?”

He stayed silent, which only made you angrier. You just called him out on his bullshit, and he couldn’t even react. “Actually no, you know what? I’m the fucking liar. Because out there I called you a human being, but you’re too fucked up to be a human, you’re a fucking cockroach – I try to stomp you out but you keep fucking coming back.” When the words left there was an immediate sense of release, everything that had built up in your system spilled out.

“Oh, I’m a cockroach? If I’m such a cockroach, then why do you keep coming back for more huh?” He hissed, his arrogant scrunched face pissed you off even more. He had no right to talk to you like that after what he did. “I didn’t hear you complaining when I was making you cum.” Purposely using jarring sexual defenses to hurt you.

You thought lava was about to start seeping through your skin, what made it worse was that you didn’t have an answer. “Augh!” You grunted, pacing in a short lap, your fingers curling around air. “You are so fucking infuriatingly heartless it’s nauseating!”

He scoffed, “Well, I may be heartless, but you’re fucking naïve.” He snarled. “Naïve to think I would ever actually enjoy your company outside of your body.”

Your jaw dropped, tears pricked your eyes again realizing how senseless you were to have thought he was anything else but the arrogant, cruel man you met that first day on set. The building rage turned your tears into a terrifying laugh, “Oh, my body huh? That’s funny because out there you said you’d never touch me, when in there” Pointing to the back door leading to the hot tub, “You touched me with nothing in return for you. You were the one who wanted to ‘take care of me’, you held me, you called me pretty!” The ending sounding so pathetic, instantly regretting the vulnerability knowing it would be used as ammo.

He cackled, “Oh c’mon Intern you can’t be serious, nobody ever taught you not to believe the things men say when they’re drunk? It didn’t mean anything, I was drunk, I lied.”

The words sliced like blades and every ounce of restraint drained from your body. “You are by far the worst person I’ve ever had the disgrace of knowing. I wish I never fucking met you. If I could go back in time, I would turn down my apprenticeship. My apprenticeship, because I’m not and have never been a fucking intern!” Your voice raised into a yell, “I would throw away my entire career if it meant I could avoid ever crossing paths with you.”

A few moments passed and he was still there, silent and blank. You couldn’t read him at all, if he was angry or sad or insulted. He could’ve easily turned it on you, but he didn’t. He just stared at you.

Everything from the first day on set to the day of the snowstorm, yesterday and everything in between, compounded in your mind. Every insult, every backhanded comment, every accusation replayed in your head. No one had ever made you feel as low and as shitty as he did. The lump from before reclaimed its place in your throat and tears began to pool in your eyes, finally needing real answers. “Why do you treat me like this huh? Why do you say the horrible things you say to me? Call me all the vile names you do? What did I ever fucking do to you?” While you were holding back tears your voice remained furious and combative. “Why do you fucking hate me!”

His brows furrowed and his sharp jaw noticeably clenched, “You’re just fucking infuriating and annoying and it- it just drives me fucking insane!”

“What does! What the fuck do I do that bothers you so fucking much!” You nearly screamed out.

“You- just-“ He was grasping at straws, “No matter how much I try to hate you I fucking can’t!” His words darted from his tongue faster than he had time to process. His widened eyes gave away how much he regretted his slip up.

“W-What?” You stuttered out confused, that being the last thing you expected him to say. The rapid thumping of your heart accelerated, allowing only short breaths and you even felt a little lightheaded. You were overloaded, angry, confused, hurt, heartbroken, embarrassed. The small bit of control you had left was gone and the tears made their full appearance.

The minute he noticed the tears streaming down your face, Austin’s twisted face softened right before your eyes, even softer than the night before. “I-“ He stepped towards you but you immediately winced and recoiled from him.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You cried out wiping the tears from your face in an attempt to halt them.

In true Austin fashion, he didn’t listen, and his hands found your own on your cheeks. In an even stranger turn of events, he leaned down and placed a long kiss on your lips. Then he gently pulled your hands from your face, you looked up at him with watery puzzled eyes. You instinctively smacked his arm to push him away, but his strong arm didn’t budge.

He cupped your cheeks in his hands and placed a tender kiss under each stream of tears. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly after each kiss. Every single action he did was like a twisted turn on rickety rollercoaster ride. He returned to your lips, pressed another kiss followed with, “I’m sorry.” He whispered, an extra pillowy light kiss, “I’m sorry.” He repeated, another kiss, another apology. He trailed his lips down to just below your ear, stamping additional kiss there, “I’m sorry.”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he pressed another sloppy kiss below your ear, “I’m sorry.” No matter how furious you were didn’t stop the butterflies in your tummy. A longer, sloppier kiss further down your neck with a raspy, “I’m sorry.” Sent a buzzing through your chest and directly to your hips.

Maybe it was the same for you, no matter what horrible things he did or said to you, no matter how much you tried to convince yourself you hated him, you couldn’t. Maybe you were just as fucked up as he was.

“I’m sorry, let me show you how much.” He muttered against your skin, his fingers delicately smoothing down your sides like he was plucking a harp.

The shift from abhorrent to sweet gave you whiplash, not knowing which one was genuine. You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing any tears out, the salty liquid dripping off your chin. “Austin, I can’t.” You breathed out, the panic attack-like heaving never left. “Austin, you literally just humiliated me in front of everyone. You called me a filthy whore nobody, in front of everyone.” Reluctantly pulling from his grasp. His once venomous eyes now soft and apologetic, but that’s exactly what he did wasn’t it? He’d wrap you back in his hold like prey, constrict you until you were blue in the face, still hypnotizing you with snake eyes. You were a rat and he a cobra trapped in a 10 gallon tank, and he was still convincing you that he wasn’t trying to consume you whole. “I just can’t. I just- I respect myself too much. And I need you to go. I need to be alone.”

He stepped towards you once more, his fingertips ran down the back of your arms reaching your hands, taking them tenderly into his. “I’m so sorry y/n. I won’t do it again. I promise.” He bargained in a tone so quiet you’d think he was paranoid of people hearing him from behind the walls. “I’ll never talk like that ever, ever again.”

“Austin, I don’t know what you want from me.” You slipped from his hands, “But there won’t be another ‘again’. You were right the other day on set, this shouldn’t have happened.” Your voice cracked, “I need you to leave. Now.”  

His look faltered, a look you’d only ever seen on the faces of defeated Olympians. “Okay.” He said lowly, stepping forward and cupping your face then pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His misty blue eyes looked down at you, “If you ever wanna cash in that apology, you know where to find me.”

Without another word he gathered his things and left to find the other room. The minute he was out the door, every emotion you had suppressed from the event took over. You doubled over gripping onto your stomach as you heaved, rivers of tears pouring from your eyes. Tight twists and knots wrapped around your abdomen, constricting you like the snake he was.

You stumbled to the bed and fell in it, wrapping the sheets around you and like a 15-year-old with their first heartbreak, you wailed into the pillow. You never felt so worthless, so pathetic, so stupid. You were so fucking stupid for letting him slither his way into you the way he did. How could anyone talk about someone like that? Someone who just last night was so sweet and gentle with you. Someone who said they didn’t mean any of it but then wanted to apologize so tenderly?

It made you sick to think how you let such evil into your body. You weren’t even able to say that you missed the red flags, you didn’t, you saw them clearly and raced past them. He showed you exactly who he was, and still let yourself believe he was something he wasn’t.

Yeah, your house was now haunted, but you were the one who invited the demon in.

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If you'd like to be tagged in a potential Part 4 please comment 💗

author notes:

thank you all SO much for all the love and support on this story, it has truly been overwhelming. i know my numbers aren't as big as others but they're big to me - appreciate EVERY comment, message, ask, etc. i love you guys so much - i never expected this fic to get that much attention so again, thank you xx

if you enjoyed this story/my writing pls consider giving my main fic, Forever Winter, a read - if you like angsty sad smutty you’ll probably like it lol

also pls consider giving this a like, comment or reblog ♡

[why-the-heck-not]

got a new laptop, feeling like a kid on christmas eve & I’m learning to use notion bc idk it fits the agenda of today (which is to transfer my life onto this one now)

[hyakunana]

That Sword wailing like a banshee seeking vengeance, carrying the weight of thousands of lost souls.

Bonus:

Me: Although it would be nice to see Elsie with Lament, I also understand the sword was designed by her grandfather to his own exo version and so it's something she shouldn’t—

Fortnite collab, basically:

[sheepydwagondraws]

"You must embrace that as a part of yourself and continue to live positively."

(Anime comparison pic + rambles under the cut)

Rewatched all of s1 and s2 Mob Psycho 100 so I could watch s3 as it aired and naturally the brainrot seeped in LMAO

Formulated a whole mp100 x Deltarune crossover in my mind,, will definitely be posting more art of it, but rendering my beloathed </3

This drawing of human Spamton tho... my babygirl, my malewife, my ideal gender presentation

Also I feel like I shouldn't have to say this but just in case: spamton/kris and reigen/mob shippers will be blocked on sight yall are not welcome here gtfo

[doodlebug-aboo]

This is a Steddie confession scene I wrote and then changed the one-shot I was writing it for so much that it doesn’t fit anymore. Rather than scrap it entirely, I thought I’d post it here. Enjoy!

“No,” Steve says. “I just… I had a realization tonight that didn’t help the other situation, I don’t think.” Eddie slowly nods, leaning more towards Steve, but only slightly. “What kind of realization?” Steve feels a pit open up in the bottom of his stomach, and he wishes it would get big enough to swallow him from the inside out. “That maybe I don’t mind getting hit on by guys. That maybe I like it.” He intends to stop there, but apparently Steve’s mouth has other plans, and suddenly he’s spilling out words he so desperately wants to keep under wraps. “That maybe I want to take them out, see their bands play at shitty gigs, listen to them talk about Lord of the Rings and D&D, watch them hang out with the kids and be the good cop to my bad cop.” Steve puts his head on the steering wheel again. “Maybe I want that, Eds, and maybe that scares the shit out of me.” The car goes silent once again and Steve wishes for nothing more than for Eddie to just get out of the car so Steve can drive away and forget this all happened. He can feel the all-too-familiar feeling of hurt and rejection in his chest. It feels like heartburn, and his chest feels tight. “Steve.” Eddie says finally. Steve doesn’t move. He can’t move.

“Stevie, look at me.”

Steve can’t avoid this forever. He lifts his head up slightly and turns to look at Eddie. He just wants this to be over with. Maybe he’ll just let him down gently and then they’ll never see each other again. That thought alone, though, causes another kind of hurt to soar through Steve’s chest. He shouldn’t have said anything, he doesn’t want to lose Eddie. Eddie, surprisingly however, cups Steve’s face in his hands and forces him into a proper sitting position once again. “I’m gonna need more than a maybe, Steve.”

Steve furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?” Eddie’s face stays serious. “Do you maybe want this? Or do you actually want this? I need more than a maybe.” Steve’s eyes widen a little as he takes everything in and processes it. Eddie’s cupping his face, he doesn’t seem upset about the fact that Steve basically confessed his feelings for him. If anything, Eddie looks maybe… hopeful? Steve stares into Eddie’s eyes for a moment and he thinks. He really thinks. Is this something he wants with Eddie? Does he want to keep Eddie by his side? Does he want to get out of Hawkins with Eddie someday, start a life somewhere else? Does he want to still have him when everyone else has left? Does he really, really want to kiss him right now? The answer comes easy. “I want this, Eddie. I want… you.”

[musings-of-a-lovesick-fool]

Hi! I’d like to make a request 😄 I love fics where enemies take care of each other, so how about one where the gender neutral reader/deputy is injured or sick and they show up at John Seed’s ranch. John is surprisingly concerned about them and takes it upon himself to nurse them back to health. Thanks for considering my request!

I am a big fan of these types of fics too! I'm splitting this into parts so I can post some of this finally, thank you for requesting and I hope you like this first part!

Title: Dusk Till Dawn Part One

Warning(s): Descriptions of stitching and cleaning an open wound, canon-typical violence

Words: 8.1k

The sun was slowly settling behind the trees, tinting the skyline with pinks and oranges as that familiar deep blue bled across the sky in the wake of its absence. John inhaled deeply, the smell of wet earth and the candles he'd lit meeting his nose and filling him with a sense of serenity he hadn't experienced since the reaping began. He had been preoccupied cleaning up after the ever troublesome deputy who seemed insistent on leaving a trail of destruction through his valley; but surprisingly they'd been MIA for a few days now. Something John was almost glad about.

Until his mind got the better of him, that is.

Even now, standing on the back porch of his ranch; sipping idly on a steaming mug of coffee and basking in the changing sky he could feel a trickle of worry on the back of his neck. It was infuriating, being worried about someone who was hellbent on knocking down everything he'd worked for; someone whose stubbornness and unwillingness to listen to his point of view further wedged an invisible barrier between them. He wasn't sure what was worse, the fact that he was worried something had happened to them or the fact that if the roles were reversed they wouldn't lose a wink of sleep over him being gone.

And lose sleep he most definitely had. His eyes droop with the sun as it finally disappears behind the trees, allowing for the moon's soft glow to bathe over the landscape. Each day the deputy was missing was another night John failed to get a full night's rest and it was starting to impair his work. Sighing he mulls over the day and how he'd snapped at a few of his Chosen who were simply doing exactly as he asked—they just happened to be doing it far too loudly and far too close to his open window.

He'd have to apologise, if only for crowd control; it wasn't very unifying for the herald of Holland Valley to be snapping and being irate at project members. Running a hand down his face John heaves out a heavier sigh, this wouldn't be a problem if the deputy was just where they were supposed to be. There were only so many places one could go off the radar in the County, they really couldn't be that far.

Rustling in the bushes pulls John out of his pondering and he feels his spine go rigid, he'd asked for some privacy so all the project members usually stationed at the back of the ranch were at the front and that fact left John a bit more vulnerable than he'd like. He takes a cautious step back, figuring he could probably make it inside before whatever was slinking around in the bushes could reach him. 

But then he catches the sight of familiar eyes, a familiar face covered in blood and dirt stuck in a grimace and he feels his heart stop.

"Deputy."

He mutters the title under his breath, as if trying to assure himself he was really seeing them and not a sleep deprived hallucination. They fall to their knees, one hand clutching their bloodied side as they stare up at him with conflict raging in their eyes. He could tell this wasn't their ideal choice of destination but taking in the state of them, beaten and looking close to death, they obviously didn't have much of a choice.

"John," 

They choke out his name and his blood runs cold from how weak they sound. The deputy always had a tone of confidence, brazen and fiery and doused in a shameful amount of pride; it was jarring to see them like this. That worry that had been fogging John's mind was now an encompassing flurry of panic, his limbs moving before his mind could catch up and he was on his knees beside the deputy in seconds. His tattooed hands flutter about around them for a moment, hesitant to touch them in their fragile state yet desperate to check on their wounds and tend to them.

He doesn't have time to question his own desire to help what some would consider his sworn enemy, as the deputy falls into his chest, their shoulder digging into his sternum and temple resting on his collar bone. The contact urges him to wrap his arms around them and keep them from falling any further. Manoeuvring them to their feet is a struggle, having a near miss of their elbow in his face and a slip of their feet nearly sending them both tumbling down to the ground again. He manages to get their arm around his shoulder and his around their waist, leading them inside as fast as their injured body would allow. 

Each grunt and hiss of pain pricked at John's skin, he found himself wincing as if he were the one injured.

He considered laying them down on the couch but the chance of his chosen walking in and seeing them was too high, so despite their whine of protest he dragged them towards the stairs. They both make it up without falling but the deputy's breathing only grows more ragged as they reach the second floor and John can feel his heart hammering against his ribcage as they stagger onto the balcony. Luckily the stray project members are distracted with each other so he gets the deputy into his room without being spotted and lays them down on his bed as quietly as he can manage. 

They don't say anything as John rushes in and out of his ensuite, a medkit in his hands as he returns to their side. John unbuttons the deputy's shirt hastily and their lack of resistance does nothing to ease his anxiety, the blood staining their stomach and deep gash in their side worsens it even more so. He wasn't a doctor, far from it, but even with his limited knowledge he could gauge it was a pretty serious wound. If they were lucky  there would be no internal damage but that wasn't something John could tell just from looking at it. 

John doesn't waste any time, pouring disinfectant on the wound to clean it; doing everything in his power to ignore the agonised noises that escape the deputy's hoarse throat as he wipes the area clean. This isn't exactly how he'd planned his night to go and he assumed it wasn't in the deputy's planner either. He tried to take in the wounds and assess how they got them, maybe a judge or cougar got a good swipe at them, or a project memeber got them in the midst of a fight. It probably didn't really matter. He could hear the chatter of project members out the front and he prayed the music they were playing would drown out the deputy's rising voice.

"You might not be happy about this deputy but i'm afraid you're going to need stitches, I don't have any—"

"Just—do it," The deputy cuts him off and for a moment he finds himself lost in that flickering fire burning deep in their eyes. Even on the verge of bleeding out in their enemies bed they still managed to be as stubborn as ever. Ready to grit their teeth and bear the pain wrought unto them. John couldn't help but smile; he'd almost forgotten how impressive their grit was. He quickly takes out the needle and sutures from the med kit. The deputy squeezes their eyes shut as he threads the needle, and he watches their body tense as the metal makes contact with their overheated skin.

He tries to be quick while also being as meticulous and careful as humanly possible, each time the needle pierces their skin the deputy writhes under his hands. Seeing their attempts to keep from screaming bloody murder is almost impressive, but he was also worried if they kept tensing their jaw like that it would snap. He didn't really have anything to offer as an alternative however so he just kept his head down and focused on closing up their wound.

Under any other circumstances he'd tell them they'd gotten what they asked for; if you set a house on fire while you're still inside what do expect to happen? But with the blood still gushing out of their wound and coating his hands he simply couldn't find it within him to be any kind of teasing or condescending. It was odd, the tension in his shoulders and hammering of his heart against his ribs. He couldn't quite understand where all this anxiety had come from, or why he was feeling it over the deputy who he'd done his fair share of damage to at the point. Well maybe not drawn any blood as of yet but still.

By the time he's done and cutting the thread the deputy is all but unconscious, eyes fluttering and chest heaving as they try to keep themself from succumbing to the exhaustion and pain anchoring them to John's bed. John watches their face for a moment and stands, wandering back to his ensuite almost robotically to dampen a hand towel. He pauses as he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, his shirt and hands coated in the deputy's blood, hair out of place thanks to their less than graceful journey to his room and eyes shaken and pupils dilated.

What on earth was he doing? Hadn't he been begging for someone to put a bullet in the deputy's head and save him from their ruthless disruption? Maybe he had been, but maybe he had also been hoping they'd come to their senses and come to him under different circumstances. This was less than ideal but still presented an opportunity. Maybe he could work with this—If they could find it within themself not to succumb to death in his bed.

A groan from the bed steals his attention again and he briskly walks back into the bedroom. The deputy watches him weakly as he folds the hand towel and wipes the freshly stitched wound, being careful not to drag too much over the fresh sutures.

"Thank you," 

John's hand stutters for a moment, shocked by the words they just croaked out. They close their eyes and he's not sure if it's because they truly can't keep them open any more or their weak attempt to avoid holding his gaze. Perhaps the genuine expression of gratitude was embarrassing and they didn't want to see the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Either way, he goes back to wiping the blood and grime from their skin and bites back any comments he could make on their docile attitude. He'd rather enjoy the moment while it lasted instead of sour it in any way.

Bandaging their wound is tricky as they seemingly passed out as soon as they closed their eyes but John manages; tying it off and then throwing what he could of the quilt half underneath the deputy over them. It's then that it sinks in that his perfectly well kept bed is drenched in the deputy's blood as well as covered in dirt and who knows what else. He cringes knowing he'll have to throw a majority of it out, blood did not come out of silk easily enough to bother trying to save it. The quilt he would make an attempt on however; when it was free of the deputy's beaten and bruised body of course.

He stands there, looking down at the deputy as their breathing evens out and their expression relaxes. They almost look peaceful and even more vulnerable than they did bleeding out in his bushes. As he himself was coming down from the adrenaline he slowly mulls over what just happened, cleaning up the med kit and disposing of any rubbish he idled around his bed. What should he do now? He could easily have the deputy taken to his bunker, placed in one of the many rooms to await confession. Their current condition might make them more susceptible to talking.

He could alert Joseph, see what he wanted him to do. But John didn't really want to do that—Not yet. He wanted to prove he could break the deputy on his own, get them to see the truth without any intervention.

He runs his eyes over the deputy once more, the menace that had been haunting him day and night without stopping was finally right in front of him. And he didn't feel how he expected too. He felt relieved. Relieved to see they were alive, albeit very badly injured, they were still breathing and he was thankful for it. He couldn't really understand why, or why he was so ready to help them but what is done is done. 

Slowly he walks closer to the bed and sits on the edge of it, tracing over every feature of the deputy's face with his eyes as if trying to find an answer in the curves of their jaw or slopes of their eyelids. He was coming up with nothing, nothing besides his heart picking up a new pattern to beat too. Completely unrelated to being so close to the usually distant and far away time bomb of a human being before him he was sure.

He reaches out and caresses their temple, dragging his thumb down to their cheekbone. Their skin was soft, still ablaze and covered in a layer of sweat and grime, but soft. The last time he'd been this close to them they were tied to a chair in his bunker, being prepared for confession for the first time. He could still remember the look in their eyes as they glowered up at him, gnashing their teeth like a wild animal as he regaled his tale of finding his path to salvation. He wanted to pull from them their own, learn what had broken them and help them put themself back together. They couldn't see it that way, calling him crazy and cursing him to hell at any chance they got.

The memory brings a small frown to John's face and he retracts his hand, instead running it through his hair as he stands and steps away. If he was lucky, the fact they came to him meant something. And maybe they would actually listen to him for once, with the option of fleeing no longer being viable in their current condition. Maybe…

The next morning John is alerted to the deputy waking by the sound of his bed creaking and their low pained groan that runs along the floorboards. He hurries to finish off what he was doing, tossing the dirty frying pan in the sink and putting the plate of what he would call a successful attempt at eggs benedict on a tray. He hums as he places a glass of juice beside it along with a fork and lastly a napkin.

He decided it best not to give them a knife for the time being, for his own safety. 

It was a spur of the moment decision to make breakfast, John didn't usually cook for himself let alone others but he was feeling particularly chivalrous this morning. And with his surprise guest in the condition they were in he thought it only polite; and perhaps his show of kindness would make them more inclined to follow his lead. Plus showing another side of himself may help the deputy come around to him, there was a disconnevt he was sure was created solely from distance and unfamiliarity. If he could bridge that gap he would get through to them, he knew it.

Climbing up the stairs and heading to his room John carefully nudged the door open with his shoulder, walking in only to be immediately met with a gun pointed at him. His gun to be in fact. Lovely. He forgot to take it from the bedside drawer while they were passed out, good grief he was losing his touch. He'd blame it on the mess of a night, being thrust into playing doctor and lack of sleep had thrown him off his game is all. He would be more careful going forward.

"Good morning deputy, I hope you slept well." He greets, continuing inside as if they weren't pointing his own weapon at his head. If he played it calm and collected surely they'd understand he wasn't a threat to them right now, or at the very least stop pointing his own gun at him. They falter, eyeing him and the tray in his hand. Their brows knit together, clearly suspicious of him, but they lower the gun by a small margin and lean back against the pillows. Their body is still tense and index finger still hooked around the trigger so John keeps his movements slow and careful. The last thing he wanted was to get shot for trying to do a good deed.

"What are you doing?" They ask warily as he sets the tray down on the bedside table, wiping his hands on his jean clad thighs as he steps back. Giving them their space and allowing them to inspect the tray with a distrustful gaze. Like a wolf sniffing at bait in the forest.

"After a person loses that much blood they've usually got quite the appetite, am I wrong?" He asks, tone almost casual as he eyes their bloodied clothes and bruised skin. In the morning light their injuries were much more obvious, aside from the gash he'd stitched up the night before their skin was littered in cuts and the bruises painting their skin could almost mimic a very muddied galaxy. Not to mention the blood and grime covering them from head to toe—they'd most certainly seen better days. 

"You… Didn't cook that, did you?" They ask after a moment of eyeing the plate of what John would personally describe a very delicious looking breakfast. The deputy lowers the gun to their lap and glances at him for confirmation.

"I hardly think you're in the position to be picky about your food deputy, it's not poisoned if that's what you're thinking. I wouldn't let you ruin my sheets just to kill you in the most unsatisfying way I could imagine," John scoffs, somewhat offended they would think he'd do something so plain. He was more creatuve than poison for fucks sake. They roll their eyes gently and push themself up more, tentatively reaching out and grabbing the fork on the tray. They very carefully take a bite, as if one wrong move would leave them choking and fighting for life. All the while they watch John from the corner of their eye as they slowly chew and eventually swallow; his expression remaining pleasant as he watches them. 

It was funny in an odd way, they were behaving like a feral dog brought in from the wild and given food for the first time. He'd be best to keep that thought to himself though, if only to avoid having his gun pointed at him again. He didn't want any holes in his walls or himself for that matter.

"Well look at that, you survived. Not the most awful thing you've tasted, hm?" He asks after a moment and they eye him for a second in silence before nodding begrudgingly.

"No,"

"Good, eat all of it, you need it. I'm sure you'll regale me about how you ended up in my bushes half alive and bleeding out when you're feeling better," He hums, flicking his hand in the air in a dismissive motion as he turns to look out the window.

"I feel fine now," They mutter and John huffs out a short laugh. He highly doubted that.

"Oh is that so? Well by all means you're free to leave, deputy, don't let me stop you," He smiles at them over his shoulder, waving towards the door he came through as they glare at him.

"Really, you'd just let me leave? Just like that?" They ask, distrust clear in their voice.

"Well you may find my chosen a bit hard to walk through outside but I won't alert any of them if you really think you can successfully sneak out in your condition," John smirks, raising a brow as they glance past him to the window. Honestly he'd be interested to see if they could, they'd pulled off seemingly impossible tasks before with much greater risks and disadvantages involved.

"They don't know I'm here?" They ask incredulously, voice hushed now as if they were worried about being overheard. John almost feels embarrassed for a moment, it was definitely a confusing choice not to let his family's followers know he had the catalyst of the apocalypse in his bed  especially when they posed a very real threat to John's life. He'd thought about all of that, he knew there was a chance this could go south and all his hopes were for naught. But he still decides to risk it. There was no success without risks after all.

"No and I assume no one else does either?" He muses, watching as their face morphs through multiple emotions before settling on unease. They had just inadvertently trapped themself with their enemy and despite John's good intentions they weren't privy to his inner monologue and regret danced in their eyes as clear as day.

"This is quite the predicament isn't it deputy? What compelled you to come to my doorstep of all places I wonder," He can't help but taunt, turning back to face them and wandering to the end of the bed with a small smirk on his face.

"I wasn't really thinking straight, blood loss will do that to you," They mutter bitterly, glaring down at the food he'd given them as their shoulders sag slightly. Not from defeat but perhaps a resignation to their current situation. John decides not to poke them any longer, the stress and fatigue woven into their features causing a heavy weight to wash over his chest. He was trying to be civil and amicable and failing miserably. They could go back to their hostile back and forth quipping when they felt better.

"So i've heard—I'll leave you to your breakfast deputy," He utters quickly, ducking his head as he swivels on his heel and makes his way to the door. He can feel their stare burning into the back of his skull like a magnifying glass zoning in on an ant. That was good, in a way, their usual intensity was back which meant they were already much better off than they were last night. Hopefully the food would help and after that he could offer them the antibiotics he'd dug out of his medicine cabinet earlier that morning.

When he returns about ten minutes later the deputy is laying back against the pillows, cradling their stomach with their eyes squeezed shut. John makes sure they hear him coming and their eyes fly open and zero in on him as he approaches. He holds out a glass of water and the antibiotics as they point his gun at his chest, eyes guarded as they frown gently.

"I'll need to move you to another room for a moment, you did make a mess of my bed and I'll need to change it if I plan on sleeping in it anytime soon," He informs them as they push themself up, caustiously sitting on the edge of the bed and taking pills hesitantly, other hand still protective clinging to the gun.

"You're… Letting me stay?"

"Letting is one word for it," John hums, tilting his head to the side as they pop the pills in their mouth and take a sip of the water after taking the glass from him. He was surprised they didn't ask what he was giving them, seeing as they were so on guard.

"Keeping me captive then?" They prod further, eyes glancing up at him and John feels himself get winded for a moment. The food had obviously helped as that fire was starting to dance in their captivating eyes again, the flames cutting through him as they watched him with caution.

"Like I said, you're free to leave as soon as you can do so on your own two feet," John turns his gaze to the empty plate as he speaks, anything to avoid being swallowed by their inferno. Had their eyes always been that distracting?

"Why?"

The question hangs in the air and John furrows his brows in confusion.

"Why what?"

The deputy scoffs and leans back, holding their arms out and nearly spilling the water in their hand.

"You've been hunting me down for months, this is like your big opportunity to squeeze a confession out of me isn't it?" They ask, brows raised incredulously. John mulls over their words for only a second, trying not to let his rush of eagerness show as he nods down at them.

"If you wish to confess I am all ears deputy but, you came to me in your time of need. You could have gone to any of those little heretics you run around with but you came to me; call it what you want but I believe this is a step in a new direction for us," He smiles, placing a hand on his chest as he speaks. He reaches out and places a hesitant hand on their shoulder, their body goes rigid at the touch and they glance from his tattooed hand to his face. But they don't try to move it.

Once again their face twists through different emotions, settling on frustration as they shake their head and heave out a sigh.

"What does that even mean?" They ask, voice strained and tired as they raise a hand to grab his wrist. Their fingers wrapping around him sends jolts of electricity up his arm but he tries to ignore it, clearing his throat and tightening his grip on their ragged shirt.

"It means you will give me your confessions willingly, in time, and until then I will be patient and I will give you your time," John elaborates earnestly, squeezing their shoulder and offering another smile; this one much more giddy. He was so sure he was right, he could feel it deep within him. Just them being here was proof enough for him that they were edging closer to what he was saying. They would come around and see what he'd been trying to tell them, he knew they would. He just had to wait.

The deputy watches his assured expression, takes in his words slowly and removes his hand from their shoulder much to his disappointment.

"You're gonna be waiting a long time," They mutter, not bitterly, not even begrudgingly. They sound unsure, hesitant, and it only makes that spark of hope in his chest grow.

"Then so be it, but I have faith in you deputy; this is proof you have the ability to come around," John retracts his hand, missing the feeling of their skin against his immediately as he drops his hand to his side.

"Whatever makes you happy John—let's just get this over with," They sigh and John takes the glass from their hand. He places it on the bedside table before holding a hand out to them, they look at it like it's an iron rod ready to brand them, but they take it all the same. He eases them up onto their feet, his other hand resting on their abdomen to steady them. He notices they had left the gun on the bed, he chooses not to comment on it lest they reach for it and bring it with them.

John wraps his arm around their waist, just like he did last night; except this time they're fully conscious and not searing hot to the touch. They're skin is still warm and as their arm slings over his shoulder he can now fully appreciate how soft their skin feels against his. Their aroma leaves something to be desired, dried blood and sweat was never a good combination. He'd think about running them a bath once he was done, they were still weak but he knew they'd refuse if he suggested helping them bathe. A pity, he muses for only a moment, side eyeing the deputy's face as they slowly shuffle out the door. 

The deputy cringes as the sun blinds the both of them, and they duck further into John's side as they bow their head to hide from the offensive light. The contact sends shivers up John's spine but once again he tightens his jaw and tries to ignore it. He slowly guides them to the guest bedroom, he sees them glance down at the yard and look back at him with confusion knitted into their expression and he chuckles gently.

"I sent them away, only for an hour. Just enough time to clean up and get you comfortable," He explains easily, opening the door and leading them inside. It was smaller than his room, with a single bed, two bedside tables and a small round table and chair tucked away under the far window. The deputy doesn't comment on what he said, they just nod and let him lead them to the table and chair tucked away in the corner. He helps them into the chair, they grunt with the effort and wrap a protective arm around their stomach as they curl in on themself.

John rests a comforting hand on their back, rubbing gently despite the warning sirens in his head telling him not to be so bold and familiar. They do nothing to stop him so he keeps his hand there. He almost doesn't want to leave, seeing them in such a pitiful state had a foreign feeling flooding his chest and the thought of leaving them made him feel ill. But he also needed somewhere to sleep and the longer he let the blood soak his bed the longer it would take to clean. 

The mattress was going to be a nightmare he realises, perhaps he could get a chosen to clean it. He's sure he could come up with a believable enough story about the blood, one that didn't involve the deputy hunched over in front of him right now.

"I'll be right back, feel free to read any of those books if you get bored," John mutters quietly, motioning lazily to the bookshelf by the table before letting his hand fall from their back.

"Right."

They all but cough the word out, not looking up at him as they glance toward the books. Admittedly they were mostly law books but there were a few others thrown in there, surely something could appease them. If they read, he wondered if they actually liked books. What kind of books did they enjoy if they did, did they prefer fiction? What was their favourite book? Author? John leaves the room with a whirlwind of pointless questions filling his mind, in due time maybe he'd be able to ask them. Maybe they'd answer.

John walks back to his room and frowns at the sight of his bed. Without the deputy there he could see the full extent of the damage, a hauntingly large blood stain clung to the material and he shuddered to think what state the mattress beneath it was in. He looked down at his watch, sighing and rolling up his sleeves. It takes him a few trips to get all the bedding to the laundry and a few times he almost trips down the stairs but he manages to get the bed stripped. And lo and behold, the mattress looks like a murder scene. 

He does his best to scrub the top layer of blood off of the material before dousing it in disinfectant and laundry detergent—surely that would do something? It would be enough for now before he decided on what poor soul was going to clean this for him. He might need a new mattress, not that it would be easy to find a queen sized mattress laying around at the moment. He runs a raw hand through his hair, he'd worry about that later, right now he had a guest waiting for him in the room over.

He steps out onto the balcony, breathing in the fresh air deeply and allowing it to wash out the strong smell of chemicals. He stands outside his door for a moment, running his blue eyes along the landscape and taking in the mountains in the distance. He wondered if the deputy ever stopped to appreciate the scenery, with how much they ran around the county he could only imagine they had to stop every now and then to at least catch their breath.

He turns and steps toward the guest bedroom door, twisting the knob and nudging the door open slowly. The deputy's eyes are on him immediately and John smiles at the sight of an open book in front of them on the small table.

"You took your time," They say quietly after a moment of the both of them staring off silently, turning their gaze back to the book. John scoffs gently and steps further into the room, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorframe.

"Well deputy, I don't know if you know this but you bleed quite a lot and blood stains are not that easy to remove," He says, watching as the deputy shoots him an unimpressed look.

"Oh I'm so sorry, I'll try to bleed less next time." They say, the sarcasm dripping from their words an absolute delight to hear and John can't help but grin.

"That would be greatly appreciated thank you," He teases, grin widening as they roll their eyes at him. It felt so—friendly—normal. It felt good. Talking with them like this, like they were friends and not enemies—it felt right. Like it's how they were meant to be. A small ache echoes in the hollow of John's chest as he remembers that's not what they were, not yet at least. 

"Do you have a shower in that fancy ensuite of yours?" The deputy pulls him away from the nagging thought and he nods in response to their questioning gaze.

"I do but I believe a bath would be better suited considering…" John trails off, waving his hand in a sweeping motion over the deputy's form, still very battered and bruised. And very dirty. 

"I think i'll manage," They press their lips into a firm line as they decline his suggestion and he shrugs gently.

"Alright deputy have it your way, if you need my help—"

"I won't." 

Their words are firm. They sting a bit and John has to swallow the spark of annoyance it causes. It's not like he was helping them already or anything, no, patching them up, letting them sleep in his bed and making them breakfast couldn't possibly count as that. He bites his tongue, something he seemed to be doing quite a lot. He'd have to tread carefully lest all his unsaid comments accumulated and burst out in a fit of frustration. Not that his dear deputy was going to make that an easy task.

It would be worth it, just a bit longer, he could do it.

"Then I suppose you can hobble to the ensuite yourself hm?" 

He could be a small bit petty as compensation, it was only fair. 

The look of irritation that flashes across the deputy's face is rewarding to say the least. But then they're standing, holding themself up on the table and staring him down with that steely determination in their eyes. John watches as they stagger towards him, their legs almost giving out halfway across the floor and face twisted into a look of pain as they pass the bed.

Forever impressing him with their mere grit they stop in front of him, breath ragged from the effort of dragging their body across the room. John drags his gaze from their booted feet to their face and he smiles, reaching behind him and pulling the door open for them.

"You are something else deputy," He muses, stepping out and holding the door open for them. They grip the doorframe and stagger past him, grunting with the effort. They steady themself on the railing of the balcony and John glides to his door, swinging it open and keeping his eyes trained on the deputy as they hobble in his direction. It was cute, in a weird way, like watching a fawn take its first steps. A very angry, stubborn fawn glaring at him like he was forcing them to walk on their own. He would help but they would have to ask first. Nicely.

They make it into his room and pause by the doorway as their leg almost gives out again. This time John catches them by the elbow, they lean into his side as he guides them back up and despite himself he wraps one arm around their waist again. He'd love the satisfaction of having them ask for his help but he knows that won't happen and they'll just end up standing in the doorway all day. They don't utter a single word as he helps them the rest of the way to the ensuite. He could rub in the fact they do need his help but then they would no doubt become twice as difficult and he'd rather avoid that. 

Plus, it was much sweeter to bask in their semi-defeated silence. 

John lets them go and they lean against the sink, their scrutinising gaze running along the tiled walls before landing on him through the mirror. 

"Think I got from here," The mutter, eyes fluttering down to the sink. John nods but doesn't move, eyes transfixed on the way their eyelashes fan over the top of their frike covered cheeks. They look criminally soft, even from a distance. The deputy glances back up and he straightens up abruptly, inhaling sharply and turning with another small nod.

"Alright—Well if you need anything i'll be right outside,"

"Comforting,"

John shuts the door behind him as he leaves, rolling his eyes and letting his hand fall to his side. It would be comforting if they had more faith in him. He wasn't an animal, he wasn't going to attack them while they were already down. Not only would it not be rewarding it would go against all the work he'd done trying to get them to break their icy walls. He hears shuffling behind the wooden door, no doubt the deputy undressing and he feels a mismatch of feelings stir within him at the thought. His enemy was getting undressed in his bathroom and was about to use his shower. 

A stray thought of them falling and needing him to rush in and help ran across his mind and he swatted away as quickly as it came. 

He listens to the sound of the running water with a frown etched onto his face. He runs his thumb along his bottom lip as he stands there lost in thought, the project members and his chosen would be back in thirty or so minutes and he had until then to make up his mind about what he was really doing here.

While the deputy had done everything in their power thus far to blow his plans up into smoke they did provide a challenge he hadn't faced before. A challenge he wanted to win. He was sure he could get away with having them here for a week without any problems, if they decided to stay that long anyway. And if anything it would be beneficial to the project, they were the main cause of disruption thus far and having them out of the picture would make room for repairs and getting back on track.

If anyone found out the deputy was here, he could explain it that way and he was sure no one would question him. He could also take this time to try and ease them into their atonement, maybe having a moment of rest would let them see some reason. It would probably be easier to hold conversation now that they couldn't really run away or shut off their radio and ignore him.

Yes. Alright. There it was then, he'd made up his mind.

"John,"

He jumps at the deputy's voice through the door. Fuck, he hadn't honestly stood their that long had he? He hadn't gotten lost in his thoughts like this for a long time. He hears them repeat his name again and for a moment he considers staying silent just so he can hear it roll off their tongue one more time—but he decides against it.

"Yes deputy?" He clears his throat and answers as evenly as he can.

"Kinda gonna need some clothes," 

Ah right. Of all the things to forget.

"Right, One moment," He walks over to his dresser, picking out a shirt and sweatpants and placing them on the edge of the bed. He steps back, running his hands down his jeans as he glances at the bathroom door.

"I'll leave them here on the edge of the bed, unless you'd like some help?" He calls through the door, tacking on the suggestion as an innocent after thought. He had no ulterior motives in mind whatsoever, he was just being helpful. In their state they might struggle to change, it would be practical to have him assist.

"I'll pass, thanks," The deputy replies dryly and John chuckles, he expected nothing less.

"Well I'll be right outside if you change your mind." He calls out, making his way out the door and closing it loud enough so the deputy could hear it. 

He pauses outside the door and then takes a seat on one of the chairs by the window, clasping his hands together and running his thumb over his knuckle. Faintly he hears the ensuite door open and the deputy stagger out. A decade ago he might have turned and snuck a peek through the tinted glass, but he hadn't been that man in a long time and he kept his gaze on the road and trees in front of him. The windows were tinted anyway, he wouldn't see more than a hunched over, struggling blob micmiking a vague human shape.

Minutes tick by and John listens to the sound of the deputy struggling, it was amusing to say the least. Their annoyed grunts and curses barely make it through the thick wooden walls and to his ears. When the ruckus stops he stands, flipping his wrist over and checking the time with mild disinterest. A small part of him considered making a call and telling his chosen to stay gone for the rest of the day, but then the deputy might very well sneak out and run off into the wilderness once again. Despite their hesitancy beforehand John wasn't fully confident in their ability to stay put, they were stubborn and if he poked and prodded just an inch too far they'd crawl out of his ranch and right into a ditch.

And if that happened who would be to blame? Themself obviously—but others would no doubt put the blame on John. Joseph wouldn't be happy that he was certain of. The thought makes an unpleasant feeling curl around John's throat and he rubs at it as if to alleviate the phantom feeling. He'd just have to make sure the deputy was fully healed before they left, that way no one could point the finger in his direction if they succumbed to deaths embrace.

"Are you still out there?"

At the deputy's question John steps back to the door. His hand hovers over the doorknob and he turns it slowly, allowing the deputy time to react before he pulls it open and steps inside. They sat on the edge of the bed, glaring at him and adorning his clothes. He feels a lump in his throat at the sight, the fabric that usually draped over his skin on slow Saturdays now fell over theirs—it looked so natural. Like they were meant to wear his clothes, sit in his bed, watch him with that calculating glare.

"So now what?" They snap him back to reality and he rips his gaze back up to their eyes, they looked much livelier after the shower. Much more themselves now all the grime and blood was gone.

"Hm? Well rest is about the only thing you can do, in this state." He muses with the smallest shrug of his left shoulder.

"For how long?" The gawk, shoulders tense as they straighten their back.

"Well given the state of your wound I'd say a few days—"

"Days? Here? With you?" The deputy almost barks and John purses his lips into a straight line. He tries not to take offence, even though the horror on their face was anything but flattering. They could show a tad more appreciation for his willingness to let them stay, after everything they'd done and all he'd selflessly forgiven. He was being more than accommodating.

"Yes, with me, is that so terrible? I think you'll find when you're not raging your warpath and fighting me I'm quite pleasant company." He smiles, as if to convince them of his words. They give him a blank stare in return and it takes everything in John not to scowl.

"Right, I'll believe that when I see it."

A challenge. 

Simple, easy. John had wonderful table manners and his conversational prowess was unrivalled, as long as his companion was willing to be cooperative. 

"Trust me, by the time you're back on your feet you'll barely want to leave. I doubt Miss Fairgrave offers breakfast in bed after all." John hums, clapping his hands together and tilting his head as the deputy rolls their eyes and turns away from him. They drag their eyes over the expanse of his room and for a moment John does the same, checking the state of it and assuring himself it was more than presentable. Not a thing out of place after the thorough clean of the bed.

"Nah, but she's got whiskey." The Deputy shoots back, turning with a smug smile sneaking onto their face. It's quite a sight, one that gives John another pause. If he wasn't mistaken, that was the first time he'd seen the deputy smile.

"No whiskey, i'm afraid, but I do have scotch or wine." At his words the deputy's eyebrows shoot up almost comically.

"I thought you weren't allowed to drink?" They inquire, tone puzzled as they look at him with curious eyes.

"It's solely for special occasions." John said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Special occasions or lonely nights where he stayed up too long, a small indulgence no one needed to know about.

"And this is a special occasion?"

"Yes. Very." If only they knew. This was his chance. Both of their chances to prove something to Joseph, to get that golden ticket into Eden. A few days were more than enough for John to get them to understand what he'd been trying to tell them, if he gave them a behind the scenes view of what he did for the project they'd understand how he could help them. He was sure of it.

"Perhaps you'd like to tell me what happened over a glass?" John suggests, stepping forward and noting how the deputy didn't recoil or glare at him as he approached. Their gaze shifts to the floor and then to his now outstretched hand, hope bubbles along John's finger tips as he watches them like a hawk watching it's prey. Finally, after a moment of hesitation they take his hand. Their hand is warm, soft from the shower and their skin glides against his hypnotically. 

He tries to ignore the fire set by their touch and helps them to their feet once more. The time much slower as he slides his arm around their waist and taking his time to guide them to the door. He wanted to savour the feeling dancing through him, the glee clouding his thoughts. This was progress. This was good.

[tinzas]

i think ? yd was trying to say that she's seen that quackity's been having difficulties with the server lately and she said that everyone that runs it is amazing 🙁🙁 she's so sweet

[minbinchan]

Lee Know - My House | for @superboarding ♡

gif requests to celebrate my follower milestone are open !

[jrueships]

can you please walk us through the relationship between wemby and jabari the people need to know

i think the most notable thing about vic and Jabari's relationship is that they don't have one, when it would be so beneficial if they did. they're like two soldiers fighting for the opposite sides of a war, too loyal to the cause to stop and think about what could have been if they just lowered their respective weapons aimed by cold hands larger than their own. foils by fate, friends by freedom.

' remember, you will Always be Different. '

' remember, you will Always be Replaceable. '

'Replaceable'

Jabari's dad made it in the NBA, then didn't. He was a big that could shoot, but wasn't a post-up man. Back then, post-up was the desired style. Ironically, now, it's all about shooting. But his dad didn't live in the now, and his career in the US was short-lived, to keep it cordial. Jabari's older brother played basketball throughout his whole life, but stopped after college. Jabari's cousin, Kwame Brown, was drafted 1st overall in the lottery, and became a notorious bust for the Washington wizards.

Basketball is a business. Basketball is fleeting.

It doesn't matter that a big with sharpshooter skills is valued as something so 'prized' in today's nba, not back then, not when it would have mattered for Jabari's dad. Making it is one ballpark in its own, but Staying in it? Can perhaps be an even more painful ordeal when the hoops to accomplish it aren't circus hoops, but a plain hill some just don't have the strength, mentality, or the materials to help climb without distraction or pitfall.

Jabari's dad made sure Jabari had this threat forever ingrained in his mind. When he yells at Jabari for misplaced eye contact, for typing the wrong words in a public social media reply, for reacting in a way a camera might misinterpret, it's out of love. Jabari's dad was known for being a hassle to coach back then, maybe because he knew his potential and no one else did because it was too new to the mold. So he makes sure Jabari doesn't follow his same habits. Jabari is polite to authority, simply replies with a 'Yes Sir' or a 'No Ma'am', he holds eye contact, he wakes up hours before he needs to just to jump rope, just to uphold the standards that his family could not. He is Everything his father is and isn't, plus more. When his team wins, he's still talking about his missed freethrows even 8 hours later. Because someone else could have won the game And hit those free throws too . someone from a family that gained success and stayed in that success. Someone who wasn't Just Another Son of a basketball player trying to do what his father couldn't, someone who was Different .

Everyone knew wemby was different. When his literature class was asked to write an essay about your future dreams in life, he wrote a fictional romance about a couple where the woman got in a car accident and was comatosed as a result, but got better in the end. He didn't write about being a great basketball player one day, because his parents don't pressure him to hunker himself into the norm, even though his mother once was and now coaches. If Wemby one day realized this wasn't for him, they would encourage him to leave and follow whatever greater passions propelling him. He's so agile for his size because his dad was an Olympic talent in track and field. He is someone who has hobbies and talents that are considered common alone, but strange combined, because he loves what he has and what he does. He reads every night for one hour before bed not to appear as some pseudointellectual, but because he Genuinely loves it, and when he loves something, he excels at it. He does try to be different, but not out of ego. He just loves to be. He either accomplishes at 200% or zero. It may be 200% in an unexpected direction, but it's His direction and that's what matters. If he somehow does wind up a bust, a possibility he considers without fear but acceptance as potential fate, then he won't go down as yet another failed first pick. He'll fall as he flew, Victor Wembanyama.

' Different '

' Replaceable'

Jabari winces each time he's subbed out, even for a second, even on an injured ankle, he's silently Stubborn, his posture shrunken and his gaze at the ground yet his eyes, big, wobbling, staring up always at the speaker, he's silently scared.

Jabari doesn't Want to be different. He just wants to be what his family couldn't be when it came to fame: irreplaceable . His parents split when he was younger, he tries his hardest to appease them both as to not cause any more issues. The relationship relies on his shoulders more than ever, and he can't fumble it again. He has to be what his dad couldn't so his dad can stay, commenting on commonality or surprises. He wants to support his still working mother, especially after the split. He doesn't Want to be unique, he just wants Security.

Because this can crumble any moment now, it doesn't matter how high your pick was or how bright the future Could Have been or how the game would later shift to your style if you had just somehow Stayed. Why bet on low chances if you know you can't handle the risk. He shakes any college coaches' hands that showed up to his practices, personally thanks them for coming even though he's one of the best in the country so their presence should be a given to him, it's not. When he picks a college, he picks one that guaranteed their faith in him from day One, and didn't require any further prodding to finally say '.. Maybe we'll offer you a position' like Kentucky did, as big and famous as it is, it wasn't Secured . They saw him as a risk at one point, and that's everything he's been trying to avoid when it came to attention, negatively standing out.

Jabari wants to be known as the strong shoulder to the world. He WANTS to be known as That One Guy who can just carry everything, nameless but Good. He just wants to be Good. Please tell him he's good. Please tell him what he's doing is Good. That basing his entire personality around yet another soldier who ultimately fell in battle but fought nonetheless being nameless is Good. Please feel free to give him all your burdens to bear like he's just some mule, an animal, a Tool .. because that means he's Useful, at least. That means he's Good. And if he isn't good, then he's nothing. Because you can always just buy another one anyways. A better one.

'Different'

Although his parents try not to treat Wemby by simplifying his differences into a strictly labeled, simple FUTURE BASKETBALL PRODIGY box at birth, that doesn't mean that can always stop others from doing it. Wemby signed his first autograph at ten years old.

It didn't matter if he was a kid who was so much more than just his basketball future, basketball fans wanted one thing from him and one thing only: Success. People didn't care about his literary skills or his drawing hobbies. The eyes on his alien needed to be smaller 'so your shoe can sell better, trust us, it's still Your drawing.. your weird little .. not money-making hobby, do believe me, Vic, We know what We're doing. You just stick to whatever you do.'

His differences, in the end, are minimalized just to that. He's just Different. That's what everyone says who wouldn't really care to say anything at all if he never hooped as well as they wanted in the first place. The youtube videos of 40 year old men criticizing his 15 year old games didn't Really care if he was just a kid, they just cared in the 'imagine when he reaches peak physicality? imagine the points (money) he'd make for the nba.' His beautiful differences, artistic, soft, unique but oh-so wonderfully common and passionate.. are all dissolved into 'Different', the Base definition.

he's an alien. Someone you can just dump all your poverty franchise worries onto because don't worry, he's Different. Trust me, he'll save your team. 'He's Different. ..am i talking about how he'd effortlessly answer questions in class while also trying to hide the fact that he's playing on his phone by tucking his bony legs awkwardly in his chair and crouching his spine over that it looked almost scary? HELL NO? what does THAT have to do with BASKETBALL?? no, he's just freakishly long, but like. Gifted. Though. ... I don't know, man, he's just DIFFERENT, okay? you can trust me, i'm a sports podcaster, okay? everything i say is gold.'

A celebrity approaches him because he was different than most famous basketball athletes. He was Different. And yet, when he didn't recognize or notice her presence due to Different cultures ( due to Being Genuinely, Detailedly Different ), he was scorned and ushered out of public eye so another possible pr bomb couldn't injure his reputation as a Difference That They Really Would Rather Not Want.

that's what his reading falls into, his old friends, his family, his art, his personality. If it's beyond ball, if it's beyond Business. The world only cares if it's marketable. Sure, some reporters will ask a question outside of sport, but only because it'll be a Different.. funny little nugget of knowledge for fans to laugh at then soon disregard for what Really made him famous. But, Wemby is what he always wanted to be. He's Different. So What if it's not exactly the kind of Different he actually wants, he actually functions on? No one has the time to perform 200% anymore. Slap the label you wanted and call it quits, stop being so High-Maintenanced. That's not marketable.

You're just different. And to some people, that's all you'll ever be. No need to explore it any further. Who knows, your Consumers might find something they won't like. And we can't risk that happening to our greatest circus freak.

i mean. Generational basketball talent .

If there's a press conference going on that somehow includes the two, then Wemby just wants to be sure everyone can hear what he really wants to say, in his own words, not echoing anyone else's, and Jabari just wants to Be in the Room.

His brother stopped playing basketball because his family said he didn't try hard enough. Jabari Can't have that. His whole life revolves Around basketball, around sport. He doesn't WANT to be DIFFERENT if that isn't the soundest option, he just wants to be GREAT. Because GREAT is SUCCESS. Jabari Smith is not success. It's just a retry at it . His father shares the same name.

Wemby's life did not always revolve around basketball, to people, at one point. At one point, Wemby's life was just his life. Now, it seems like only his family think that, and they're from a whole other country. When he comments on videos critiquing his playstyle, he doesn't do so out of anger or questioning, he does so because he genuinely Wants to improve. He Does want to be great. But, he wants to be great in Everything that he finds interesting. He always did. When he likes an author, he reads All their books, not just their most notorious novel. He wants to be transported into other people's worlds so he can learn, so he can change, so he can be Different. Even if he somehow were to lose all of this fame, this Greatness, this job, this opportunity, he will never really lose. Because he's someone who's always taken opportunities to the fullest, so even if they pan out a little differently, that's Fine, really, because he's different. Not in the minimizing, dictionary definition then leave the meaning at that different, but in the butterfly effect. What he once was ten days ago is not exactly the same of what he is now, and it hurts, sometimes, when people fail to see that, or simply don't want to because textbook different is easier to digest than worldly different.

IN SHORT.. theyre foils. i can't Exactly walk u thru their relationship bcs .. there Isn't one.. & that's what's so Interesting about them. That's what makes their relationship, to me. Because if they WERE to be friends, if they somehow in some alternate world WERE to get paired up on the same team... they would be friends. I really think they would be. Not only because their signs are so compatible, or their differences are so stark, but because their similarities would triumph everything beautifully. Maybe. We don't know because they Weren't paired together, we can only speculate. But i think it would be big and beautiful, whatever they would have, it would be Something.

unfortunately, we don't live in an alternate world where they're teammates though ! Double unfortunately, Jabari and Wemby's biggest similarity is their loyalty to the game (a double-edged sword in both their lives from Jabari's silent unhealthy desire to be limited and Wemby's silent desperation not to be) Wemby, in Jabari's eyes, is Indeed a powerful...

Problem.

He's not really a person to him . In all fairness, no one really is when they're involved in the basketball world, not to Jabari, not from the way he's been taught. Everyone's supposed to be Replaceable, a faceless tool in the pocket of good business.

.. except for This freakazoid. Apparently.

APPARENTLY, he's some supposed 'saint'. someone to be feared for being more. APPARENTLY, the reporters just LOVE yapping about him SO much, that Jabari HAS to take the time out of his training just to talk about some guy who doesn't even GO here, yet when they ask him about his opinion on future prospects. WELL, that's ALL wemby IS to Jabari, just another future prospect. Just another problem.

A problem he'll be sure to check off his list.

... okay, so Maybe he's a bit more than a problem.. maybe.. he's just a really persistent problem? yeah, that's it, nothing more. Jabari will work through this. He Always does. That's what he does well, Work.

Wemby wonders if that's all he ever does .

But he doesn't have long before Jabari's marching down the tunnel to beat himself up over all his mistakes other people would never make, and Wemby's being escorted to an interview that other people would never make solely to show how Much he just Stands Out as a soul... in basketball .

I hope they find each other in basketball, and out of it as well. I just feel like

Something would Happen