#I've given up on two authors entirely because of it

[drunktuesdays]

everyone is fucking but no one is horny

one of my twitter friends recently said that if she could order up a fic it would be a story written by someone who has only ever read the classics, 1.5 star trek novelizations, and their mother's romance novels from 1970, written about two people are so out of their minds horny for each other it causes them to make the absolute worst choices anyone's ever made.

and i almost lost my mind laughing because i do know exactly what she means. there is a weird vibe i can sometimes sense within the first few paragraphs a fic that really bums me out. it's almost like i can tell the author is thinking way too much about what i'm thinking about their id and it's suddenly like we're all suddenly wondering how riding a bicycle works when we're mid-ride. when you start worrying too much audience interpretation or how a fic is going to do or play or ugh marketability, it genuinely adds some weird self-conscious distance to whatever you're doing. and it's the pits from the reader side because it removes so much horniness from your story even if the idea you have is genuinely good! i know this is not a niche complaint--you find it literally everywhere as every sector of the creative internet gets #content-ed and people can't escape the stats of how any given creative outlet does.

but god there's literally nothing better than sitting down and reading some freaknasty person's art where they do not give a single shit if you like it. they had something to say and my god they were gonna say it. i've accidentally acquired so many kinks by clicking on a story where someone took me on the most insane ride of my life and i thrilled about it. i don't wanna read about polite normal regular love. i don't wanna read about people using therapy-speak on each other. i wanna read about two people feeling the biggest craziest feelings of their entire life and they cannot do anything about it except bang it out. what else are we doing here? if they're not fucking down an entire house, well jed i don't even wanna read it.

[chenfleur]

dreamy nights

summary. you finally make your grand appearance on jake's subathon.

pairing. streamer!jake x y/n ft twitch chat

genre. fluff, twitch streamer au

word count. 1.9k

released. 10.18.2023

author’s note. feedback is appreciated! i don't know if this requires context but just in case: a subathon is a stream where each time the streamer gets a sub, it adds time to the length of the stream!

masterlist

"That's not how the game works, chat!"

Even with a door separating you, Jake's whines still manage to reach your ears. Pushing down a smile, you delicately knock your first against the cold wood before slowly pushing in.

The room is shrouded in darkness, with the only source of light being the two large monitor screens set up; they're terribly blinding, causing you to recoil ever so slightly.

Too invested in the game in front of him, your boyfriend doesn't notice you've entered the room. This realization dawns on you, and instead of making your way towards him like you'd originally planned, you lean your weight against his doorway, simply watching him.

A fond smile dances on your lips.

The subathon's something he's been planning for ages.

It's something he had promised to his viewers, promised to himself that he'd carry out at least once in his streaming career. He's taken practically everything into consideration—what games he'd play, what guests he'd bring onto his stream, what would serve as entertainment while he's asleep. At the end, a chunk of the proceeds would go towards your local children's charity.

"Why?" you'd asked when he initially introduced the idea months ago.

He'd brought it up over some late night takeout—the two of you sharing food with distant sounds of traffic and quiet, curious conversations woven in between.

The plastic bag rustled as Jake pulled it closer to him, reaching in and taking out two bubble teas. As he slid your drink over to you, he had replied softly:

"Because I don't remember a time where I haven't wanted to do this. I've been given the privilege to give back to all of the people who have made my dream come true. I want this."

Jake Sim never fails to amaze you. You can't fathom how someone has been crafted with so much raw kindness—much less that you had managed to land that someone as your better half.

ari_01: look behind you bozo

"Look behind you, bozo- huh?"

Jake hastily spins his chair around. His eyes search through the dark before landing on you, tucked away in the safety of his doorway.

The sight of you eliminates tension in his body that he didn't even realize existed. A soft smile finds its way onto his face at the way your figure is illuminated from the pale blue glow of his monitor screens.

"Hi, beautiful."

It's been years and he still manages to make you reel at the simplest of compliments.

"Hi," you whisper back.

Turning back towards his monitor, Jake pauses his game. "Alright chat, Y/N's here. She's still a bit camera shy, so no monkey business, okay? You'll scare her," he scolds. You have to press a hand to your mouth to contain your laughter.

milkbread: MONKEY BUSINESS?

user1993: jake get out we want y/n

mariluvr: OMG ITS THE PRETTY GIRL!!! HIHIHIIIIIII

Jake playfully rolls his eyes before beckoning for you to join him. You oblige, pulling out a chair from the side and taking a seat. Habitually your hand reaches for his, fingers intertwining underneath the desk.

"Hi chat," you greet, a smile growing on your face as an influx of enthusiastic greeting messages appear on the screen.

A huff sounds from beside you. "Gosh, they're never this excited to see me."

"Don't dwell on it. I'm just naturally likeable," you tease, casting a brief glance off to the side. You expect a retort, yet it never comes.

Instead, you feel a squeeze of your hand. "How come you're up? It's late."

You purse your lips together, embarrassment filling your body at the thought of being in front of an audience of thousands of people.

"Go on," Jake presses.

"Just... missed you."

Jake swears his entire stream can see the way your words makes him melt into a puddle. He tries to—and fails spectacularly at—keeping his smile at bay.

"Yeah? Missed me?" he whispers. You nod, head lowered.

It's day four of what Jake had predicted to be an around week-long endeavour, but clearly he's underestimated how much his viewers love him (or hate him?) as the timer seems to see no end in sight. The only moments you've really gotten to spend with him over the course of the past few days are when he stumbles into bed late at night.

You've spent longer time periods apart, but you're still stirred by longing.

A small sigh leaves his lips. He runs his tongue over his teeth before lightly tugging you towards him.

"C'mere," he says, motioning towards his lap.

You look at him in bewilderment, reluctance etching itself into each of your facial features. "Jake, you're streaming-"

"Mmm," he hums, shaking his head childishly. "Don't care. They already know how far I'm gone. Besides, I need to prove them wrong—they keep calling me rizzless."

A laugh leaves your lips, but you still don't make any move towards him. Sensing your unwillingness, he places a gentle hand on your shoulder to encourage you.

"It's okay," he cooes. "It's okay, I promise."

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, as if challenging one another. His gaze is heavy on you, and eventually, you find yourself folding.

Carefully, you place yourself into his lap, the warmth emanating off of him instantly making you relax. His arms wrap around you loosely, resting on the curve of your hips.

"Stop subbing, chat. You're making my girlfriend miss me."

h3artz: i will literally gift 20 rn. do not start

minlmn: sounds like smth a PISSBABY would say

user0304: think about the children jake

"Think about the childr- Okay! Okay. Of course, for the kids," he laughs, rolling his eyes before redirecting his attention to you.

"Tired?" he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You nod, sinking further into his embrace. "Are you gonna start up the mods segment soon?" you mumble into the soft fabric of his sweater.

Whenever it's time for him to go to bed, his moderators take over the stream for the night to ensure that there's always something going on—whether that's playing games or hosting a makeshift podcast.

"Yeah, soon. Via told me she wasn't available until midnight, so just a little longer. Then we can go to bed," he whispers, fingers gently tapping a rhythm on your lower back. When he feels you nod against him, he turns his attention back to his screen.

mi11: u guys r the reason why i believe in love

urmom123: BOOOOOOO YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE LAME LIKE THE REST OF US #NOTMYSTREAMER

streetfighter: u literally played league for 8 hours yesterday... what am i doing wrong with my life...

"Chat, stop being annoying. You should be happy for me," Jake grumbles. "And hey, to any league players out there-" he points at his webcam. "This is a sign. Don't lose hope, soldiers."

You erupt into soft laughter, removing your face from the crook of his neck and slapping him on the shoulder.

"Shut the hell up," you groan, eliciting a loud laugh from him.

Eyes scanning the live chat, you point out a message. "Look, Jake. Someone said 'not my streamer'," you snort.

"I'm used to it. I think I was collectively disowned yesterday during Uno."

"I heard about that from Jay. You must really suck at Uno."

He grins, hands travelling up to your waist. "But you still love me right?"

You scoff incredulously. "I loved you when you wore highlighter clothing to school everyday. It's going to take more than sucking at Uno for me to stop loving you, idiot."

Jake affectionately pinches your sides, causing you to yelp. Scowling, you begin to berate your snickering boyfriend before the sound of a notification interrupts you.

Upon reading it, Jake groans. "Oh, lord. Thank you for the twenty gifted."

You watch as the timer instantly shoots up another two hours, making your boyfriend close his eyes in defeat, leaning his head back against the headrest of his chair. Smiling, you brush some hair out of his face.

"They keep subbing," he whines. "It's like they enjoy watching my suffering."

You chuckle. "I don't think you should be badmouthing them. They're the ones who fund your stupid financial decisions, like buying a cardboard cutout of Heeseung. Which, by the way, came in today."

"Oh. You weren't supposed to see that."

"What is that even for?"

"You'll find out soon enough."

The two of you spend some more time talking with chat. You share what you've been doing for the past few days since Jake's been preoccupied with the subathon, recounting the bowling night you did with Jay and Sunghoon the other day. It takes you physically shutting Jake up with your hand to make him stop whining.

Exhaustion finally fully catches up to you, making you yawn. Jake watches you fondly before turning towards his monitor and swiftly muting his microphone.

"Go to bed," he coaxes, a hand smoothing over your hair.

You nod drowsily, slowly peeling yourself up from his hold. "Okay. Bye, chat."

"Mic's muted, baby."

"Oh."

You settle for some waves towards the camera, watching as messages bidding you goodnight flood in with a small smile. You think that you're incredibly lucky to be so well-received by his chat.

Jake's hand lingers on the small of your back. "I'll come join you in a bit, okay? I love you."

"Love you too," you mumble.

You begin to step towards the exit when suddenly, you're jerked backwards. A yell would've escaped you if it weren't for the fact that in a fraction of a second, your lips are on Jake's.

One of his hands is at the back of your neck gently pulling you down towards him, while the other one comes up into your hair.

For a second, you completely forget that you're on camera. The feeling of his plush lips on yours overwhelms you—your mind can't help but go blank.

But when that second is over, your eyes immediately snap open. You push at his shoulders, quickly stepping away from him. A scowl overtakes your face as he snickers at your reaction.

You flush crimson. "Next time, if you're going do that, turn off your webcam," you hiss.

"Mhm. Whatever you say, angel."

When you stumble out the door and frantically close it behind you, Jake turns back towards his stream and unmutes his microphone.

user899: MY EYES

redskies: highway looking so comfy rn

plays101: mom and dad get a fucking ROOM challenge

user555: this guy's asking to be slammed with a ban LMAO

Leaning back in his chair with a slight smirk, Jake's hands rest behind his head.

"Relax, chat. I'm not going to get banned. You know-" he pauses, his bottom lip between his teeth as he fails to contain his smile for the hundredth time since you appeared.

Jake hears you turn on the sink in the bathroom, yet the ghost of your presence still lingers in the way his body is still warm from your touch—the way he can smell the citrusy undertones of your shampoo.

"...that's what love is. Makes you do all sorts of stupid shit."

[karajaynetoday]

nothing's going right, and everything's a mess, and no one likes to be alone | jack hughes

author's note: don't ask me how the university semester timeline in this works. i have simply given reader a three week break in march bc why not. this is fanfiction okay, anything can happen 😂 no one proofread this for me so soz for any typos!

word count: 3.4k words

warnings: none that i can think of? but lmk if i've missed anything. soz if the ending makes you mad LOL i do love a cliffhanger

read part one here

read part two here

(This is a fem reader insert)

More writing here (soz that the masterlist is not up to date lol) | send thoughts/feedback/suggestions here

Somehow, the ill feeling of waiting until summer to see Jack again began to fade with each passing day. The itch to text him every time something exciting or infuriating happened to you began to lessen. The thoughts of him when you saw a funny meme he’d like, or your shared favourite foods on special at the grocery store, quietly stopped happening as frequently. 

But then there were the things that didn’t stop. The sharp pain in your chest whenever Jack’s smiling face popped up on your social media feed. The butterflies in your stomach whenever your parents brought him up in conversation, fuelled by whatever the latest updates were from their group message thread with Jim and Ellen. The joy that would wash over you when you heard about a Devils win or a Jack Hughes goal, followed almost always by a wave of sadness that you were hearing about it second or third hand, rather than from Jack himself.

You were the one who’d asked for space. You needed time, you’d said. Given the blow up of All-Star weekend, all Jack was doing was respecting your wishes; but a huge part of you not so secretly wished he’d be a bit more disrespectful and reach out. Your mind was a mess of conflicting thoughts, and your heart wasn’t sure which emotion to feel or where to go next. 

Since kindergarten, you’d barely gone more than a few days without seeing or communicating with Jack in some way. Now you were nearly a month without a word, and even though you were still mad at how he’d treated you, you were craving a return to the friendship you’d become so accustomed to. Jack knew you better than anyone, could basically read your mind with a single look, and although you had plenty of friends at college and still around in Toronto from high school, none came close to the camaraderie you shared with Jack. He was someone you could talk to for hours, or sit next to in silence for the same amount of time, it didn’t matter. With Jack, you could be utterly and entirely yourself, no complications. Now it felt like you were always pretending. And it was exhausting.

It was about 9pm on a Thursday night when you found yourself pushing through that exhaustion to try and complete yet another university assignment. For motherfucking economics. You couldn’t wait until you’d completed all of your compulsory economics credits because it was the absolute opposite of your cup of tea, when it came to academic subjects. This assignment was your last one, and you weren’t sure whether to cheer or cry at the idea of hitting the submit button on the online portal. Maybe you should’ve bought a confetti cannon to celebrate. Or a box of wine. Or booked yourself a flight somewhere fun, given you had a break from classes soon.

As soon as the thought of a trip crossed your mind, your phone began to buzz with an incoming video call. A video call from… Luke. Luke Hughes. 

Your face scrunched in confusion, as you swiped to answer the call, met with Luke’s smiling face and messy curls. 

“Hey sunshine! Long time no see. How have you been?” Luke spoke cheerily. Almost too cheerily. 

You were immediately suspicious and narrowed your eyes at the youngest Hughes. 

Luke was 3 years old when you met for the first time; he could barely remember a life without you in it. Given how inseparable you and Jack were, Luke became your de facto little brother, always tagging along where he could and joining in your adventures. Later on, when he became a teenager, you were the one Luke would come to when he was having issues with his friends, or trying to build up the courage to ask out the cute girl in his math class, or missing his brothers when they moved away. You were his second call after Ellen when he felt homesick at Michigan, and you were his first call when he had fucked up something that he felt his brothers would never let him live down. Emotional support and damage control, with a healthy dose of teasing and laughs thrown in. That was the dynamic between you and Luke. It also meant you could read him to filth when he was lying to you, and your honesty radar was through the roof at this sudden video call.

“I’m fine, Moose. Just trying to wrap up my final assignment before the break without losing my entire mind.” You offered weakly, half-expecting Luke to make a joke about your mind having been lost years ago, but the joke never came.

Instead, you saw the concern flicker across Luke’s face, just for a moment, before he forced a smile.

“How long is your break for? Any plans?”

“Three weeks, and not really. I promised my mother I’d spend a few days helping her with planning for their anniversary party in June, but that probably won’t happen until right before I go back to school.” You chatted absently, hitting save on your essay and standing up from the couch, bringing your phone with you as you moved into the kitchen to make yourself a drink.

You propped the phone up against the vase on your kitchen bench, reaching up into the cabinet to retrieve a glass. 

“Well, you should come visit. We’ve got like 5 home games in a row or something ridiculous coming up. It’d be fun!” Luke’s tone was cheerful, but cautious, like he wasn’t sure how you were going to react. 

You hummed in response, moving slightly out of view of your phone to get some ice cubes from your freezer and a soda from the fridge. 

“Besides, I heard a rumour that you’ve got an airline voucher to use. I’d hate for it to expire or something.” 

You could feel your heart starting to beat faster. Luke knew about the voucher. Did that mean Jack had told him about your fight? 

“The voucher won’t expire for three years. I’m sure I’ll manage to use it before then.” You deadpanned, stepping back into frame to see Luke rolling his eyes at you. 

“Yeah, sure, but will I survive that long without seeing you? Absolutely not. Come on, sugar. Please? Even if it’s just a weekend?” Luke had moved into full begging mode, with puppy dog eyes and everything.

You sighed, fidgeting with the straw in your drink and avoiding his gaze. 

“I don’t… we haven’t talked at all, Luke. I don’t know what he’ll do if I just show up there.” You half-whispered, feeling that all-too-familiar wave of sadness coursing through your veins. 

“He talked about you tonight at dinner. Says he misses you. But he doesn’t want to push, or not give you the space you wanted. But right now, he’s on the couch watching Gossip Girl, so…” Luke stated matter-of-factly, staring you down with a knowing look on your face.

Gossip Girl was something you’d insisted Jack get into when you were teenagers, as long as he “wanted to be called your official best friend”. And The OC. And Gilmore Girls. And One Tree Hill. And basically any other teen drama series you could think of. Collectively, those shows had thousands of episodes, and you always found yourself settling down to watch them whenever you were missing Jack more than usual. You’d never realised before that he did the same.

“Should… should we tell him I’m coming? I don’t want him to get upset by a bad surprise.” 

“Not at all, sugar. Book the flight and send me the details, I’ll sort out the rest.” Luke’s beaming smile made a smile of your own creep onto your face, as you nodded at him and went to retrieve your laptop from the couch to log onto the airline website.

“Now that that’s sorted, I was wondering, what does it mean when a girl asks me what my sun, moon and rising are? Should I be worried? Or is it a good thing?”

– 

Two days later, you were done with your semester and on your way to the airport. Luke had suggested you book a one-way flight, “That way, you can go home whenever you like!”, but you were starting to feel like the whole thing was a mistake. 

Nonetheless, you pushed through those feelings and boarded your flight. The whole ordeal took less than two hours, and soon enough you found yourself navigating the arrivals area at Newark airport. You spotted Luke’s lanky figure, clad in a Michigan sweatshirt, with his back to you. You couldn’t help but creep up on him and poke his side, cracking up with laughter as Luke jumped at least three feet into the air. He’d always been the easiest to scare, ever since you were kids. 

Luke cussed you out, and then pulled you into a bone-crushing hug. 

“Missed your face, sugarplum.” Luke murmured, as you pulled away from each other and he rested his hands on your shoulders, studying you. 

“Aw, Lukey. I’d say I’d missed yours too, but we really gotta do something about that hair.” You poked your tongue out as the youngest Hughes brother’s jaw dropped in mock offense. 

You retrieved your bag from the luggage carousel, and headed out to where Luke had parked. The two of you fell into easy conversation as Luke navigated through the New Jersey streets back to the apartment he shared with Jack. 

You managed to bury most of the nerves, but they came bubbling back to the surface when Luke pulled into the parking garage at the bottom of his building.

“Is… um… Is Jack home? Alone?” You managed to squeak out, and Luke looked at you like you were crazy. 

Ever since All-Star weekend, you’d been having a recurring nightmare about Jack and the girl from the messages you’d accidentally become privy to. In particular, it was a scenario where you would come home from wherever you’d been out, and opened the apartment door to find them… entangled, on every possible surface you could think of. You felt yourself starting to feel ill as the images from your nightmares started to flash back into your mind. 

“He’s alone. Ever since… ever since he came home early from All-Star, he’s been alone. None of the… usual visitors have been over. And he hasn’t been going to theirs, either. Not even when we’re on a roadie.” Luke said carefully, and you could tell he was trying not to upset you.

You could also tell that he was being honest. Because you could always tell when he was lying. But your mind was running a million miles a minute. Jack hadn’t… for a month? Because of his fight with you? You loved Jack, but you also knew (despite wishing that you didn’t know at all) that it had been years since he’d gone that long without intimacy. In fact, it was probably the longest since losing his virginity that Jack hadn’t fulfilled his desires. 

Your mind was starting to wander into the gutter, and you pressed your eyes closed to bring yourself back to Earth. All you could do was nod at Luke, before you both hopped out of the car and into the elevator. Luke insisted on carrying your luggage, so you found yourself fidgeting incessantly with your hands as the elevator climbed to the correct floor. 

You trailed behind Luke as he strode towards the apartment door and unlocked it, stepping inside and putting your bag down. He looked back and waved you into the apartment, pressing a finger to his lips. You tiptoed across the doorway, and your heart softened at the scene before you. 

You could see the back of Jack’s head leaned up against the couch, and an episode of Gilmore Girls playing on the TV mounted on the wall. In fact, it was one of your favourite episodes; where Jess comes back and shows Rory the book he wrote, and calls her out for dropping out of Yale. You smiled ruefully as you thought about the parallels between that episode and your current situation with Jack, as the argument between Jess and Rory played out on the screen.  

What do you mean?

You know what I mean! I know you. I know you better than anyone! This isn't you!

… 

This isn't you! This! You going out with this jerk, with the Porsche! We made fun of guys like this!

You caught him on a bad night.

This isn't about him! Okay? Screw him! What's going on with you? This isn't you, Rory. You know it isn't. What's going on?

I don't know. I don't know…

“Are we Team Jess or Team Rory this time, Jacky?” Luke called out, making you jump. 

“Team Jess all the way, obviously. Where have you bee-” Jack stopped dead in his tracks as he turned to face his brother, and instead saw you in the middle of his living room.

Jack’s face was a revelation. Confusion, at first. Then the briefest flash of hurt and anguish. Then a smile. Then caution and uncertainty, as he slowly stepped towards you. 

You let a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding, and quickly moved across the room, clumsily throwing your arms around your best friend. You felt Jack freeze momentarily, almost as if he was shocked at your touch, but that soon passed and you felt his hands slide around your waist and squeeze, bringing your bodies as close together as possible. 

You nestled your head on Jack’s shoulder, breathing in his scent. His thumbs softly rubbed up and down your side, and you felt him press a soft kiss into your hair. You stayed like that for a minute, or maybe longer, relaxing into the embrace.

The sound of the apartment door slamming shut made you jolt, and you rolled your eyes as you realised that Luke had tried to sneak way unnoticed and failed miserably. 

“Hi.” Jack whispered, pulling back from you slightly but keeping his hands locked around you. 

“Hi.” You whispered back, reaching up to brush his hair out of his eyes. 

“Is it still shit hair? Or better now it’s longer?” Jack teased, rolling his tongue between his teeth.

“Better. But only slightly.” You teased back, your hands slipping down to the back of his neck comfortably. 

The warmth of the surprise arrival was starting to fade. The dread you’d felt over addressing your fight with Jack was starting to set in, fast. The guilt you felt for being the catalyst for over a month for not speaking to your best friend was washing over you. Your heart rate was through the roof, and your palms were beginning to sweat. 

Jack sensed your change in mood, and pulled away from you to look you up and down.

“Are you hungry? Do you want to shower? Or take a nap?” He was nervous, too.

“I ate before my flight. And showered this morning. And it’s 11am, so I think I’m good on the nap front. But I do think we should… we should talk. About everything.” You were basically tripping over your words at this point, but Jack’s reassuring nod helped to calm your nerves. 

Wordlessly, Jack took your hand and led you over to the couch, gesturing for you to sit. You sat down and faced him, crossing your legs and resting your hands on your knees, still fidgeting with your hoodie sleeves. 

“I’m sorry - “ You both said unanimously, a gentle laughter filling the room. 

“I’m sorry I needed so much time apart, J. It fucking sucked, and it was my fault, and I just didn’t -” You began to ramble, only stopping when Jack leaned over and squeezed your knee reassuringly.

“You only needed that time because I was an asshole, sugar. It’s on me, really. I had no right to treat you like an occasional friend, or something that I shouldn’t prioritise -” Jack paused as you cringed, remembering the text messages that referred to his time with you as “boring family bullshit”. 

“I was thinking with my dick, not with my head, and that’s not fair on anyone.” You shot Jack a weird look, and he looked sheepish in return.

“Quinn… Quinn said that to me. After you told him to tell me about the messages. He’s right, thought. It wasn’t fair.” Jack continued, pausing to take a deep breath. 

“This whole… thing, this life -” Jack gestured broadly at the apartment around you, and you glanced around properly for the first time. Framed jerseys of Luke and Jack’s adorned the walls.Various photos of the Hughes family scattered about the place. The fridge, with a gas bill stuck to it, along with a polaroid of you and Jack from last Christmas. And a photo from your senior prom. And a group photo of everyone from last summer at the lake house, Jack’s mouth open in laughter with his arm slung over your bikini-clad shoulders. 

“It’s all I thought I ever wanted. And it’s amazing, and I’m so grateful. But it’s worth nothing to me, the money, the girls -” You felt yourself involuntarily cringe again. “The fame, the accolades, it’s worth nothing to me without the people that I love by my side. And if those people don’t know how much I love and appreciate them, because I treat them like shit, then that’s on me. No one else. Me.” 

You sat quietly, taking in Jack’s emphatic statement. You weren’t quite sure what to say. So instead, you gently reached over and took Jack’s hand in yours, lacing your fingers through his and squeezing softly, for a moment while you gathered your thoughts.

“I know the life you live, Jack. You don’t have to be sorry for it. Playing hockey was all you ever dreamed of, and I honestly can’t blame you for… enjoying… all the perks it comes with.” You swallowed the wave of nausea that hit you, before continuing. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what life looks like without you in it. The last month was such a bizarre experience, and not one that I ever want to repeat, but I also… I need to… Can I be honest?” You spoke softly, glancing up from your hands to meet Jack’s gaze, and he nodded encouragingly at you. 

“I wasn’t just upset because you made me feel like I was inconveniencing you, or cock-blocking you -” It was Jack’s turn to cringe. “I think I was upset because I was jealous. Because that will never, ever be me. And I think… I think I want it to be? Maybe? Fuck, I don’t know!” You dropped Jack’s hand and stood up from the couch, and started to pace the room. 

“Sugar, please sit down.” Jack pleaded, and you paused, looking back at him on the couch. One look was all you needed, and you narrowed your eyes at the smirk on his dumb face. 

“Why are you smirking? I am experiencing emotional distress, you asshole.” You seethed, running your hands through your hair in frustration.

“Tell me more about this jealousy thing. I’m intrigued.” Jack’s tone was light and teasing, and washed over you like sour milk. Your head whipped in his direction and your face must’ve said a thousand words, because Jack’s smirk soon disappeared and he hurriedly stood up and walked over, reaching out to touch you. 

“See, this -” You jabbed a finger into Jack’s chest. “This is why I have avoided this conversation for almost my entire life. Because you think it’s hilarious that we could ever go down that path. That we could ever be something more than what we are. Because I’m not good enough,or pretty enough, or just enough and I never will be, and I hate it. I hate it so much.” Your voice cracked on the last few words, and you felt the hot tears start to bubble out of your eyes and stream down your face. 

Jack didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. He pulled you into a hug, bringing his hand up to your face and gently brushing away the tears with his thumbs. 

“Breathe, sugar. You need to calm down.” Jack said quietly, willing you to calm. That just made you cry harder. 

You were about to pull away, when you felt Jack cup your face with both hands, before leaning in to kiss you. 

[leclercss]

Paris, je t'aime (Charles Leclerc),

a Tainted Love sequel

Masterlist

plot: it's almost three years since your tumultuous relationships with Lewis and Charles came crashing down. but you find your self in a new city with new beginnings and new ways to fuck up your love life. that's no thanks to a cheeky frenchman who's set you up on a double date with someone oh so familiar.

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: (+18) mentions of smut, cheating and some swearing

authors note: our amours are back. hope you enjoy this sequel featuring our fave Monegasque.

word count: 4.3k

taglist: @toppersjeep @janeholt3, @princess-siba, @nichmeddar

"Pierre, I just don't get why you can't show me his picture?" you whine, throwing your head back against the sofa. Clearly you need to work on your negotiation (or blackmailing) skills because you've not made a dent in changing Pierre's mind.

"Because, [Y/N], I don't trust you this time. I've seen your love life, if you can even call it that, in the last six months. It's nothing short of embarrassing and from what I've witnessed, I know who the problem is," Pierre retorts.

You snort at Pierre's response. This man doesn't given a fuck and you do your best to not throw a cushion at his face.

"And what do you mean by that?"

"What I mean, [Y/N], is I've seen you make out with random guys in clubs, ugly ones by the way, who you either sleep with or have to spend the rest of the night hiding from. You're also useless when it comes to Tinder. You either fall in love with their pictures, match, have about a two minute conversation with and then ghost them entirely or you spend five minutes analysing everything that is wrong with them."

"That's no true," you growl.

It's Pierre's turn to snort. "Oh, it is! And if you do end up chatting to someone half normal, you just get drunk and show them pictures of your ex husband's dog".

This time you couldn't control yourself and so you launch the cushion at Pierre's head. Your aim clearly needs some work as you miss his head by about half a meter and hit the lamp above his head, causing it to hit against the wall.

"Right, you two! That's enough," you hear a voice yell from the other room. You look over your shoulder and see Pierre's girlfriend, Kika, storm into the living room.

"He started it," you cry out before shooting Pierre some daggers which earns a kick from Pierre.

"I don't care who started it. I care about ending it," Kika growls as she throws herself onto the sofa opposite then one you and Pierre are occupying.

Silence falls onto the living room but only for a few moments before you look at Pierre again, continuing your previous argument. "Pierre, I don't get why you can't just tell me anything about him".

Pierre, aware of the daggers he's receiving from Kika, simply rolls his eyes.

"Ugh, fine! Kika, can you please talk to Pierre?" you plead as you turn your attention to Kika.

She sighs at you, defeated. "I've tried, [Y/N]," she replies. "But Pierre has made some good points".

You narrow your eyes at her, "Traitor."

Pierre can't keep contain himself as he erupts into a fit of laughter. Annoyed, you return the kick that he gave you earlier which results in a loud cry from Pierre.

"Hey! We're the ones trying to help you out here," Pierre laughs as he rubs his shin, tender from your kick.

"I didn't ask for your help," you grunt, throwing you arms across your chest in frustration. You catch Kika in the corner of your eye trying to hold back a smirk.

"Spit it out, Kika!"

Both Pierre and Kika look at each other, exchanging a little chuckle, before you friend gives you a polite reality check.

"Well, we're in Paris, the city of love. And well, your love life since we've met you has been, putting it nicely, tragic. So Pierre and I thought that as your friends in this new city, we would take the trouble out of your hands for you when it comes to love," she politely tells you.

Pierre snorts again, "Nah, Kika. It's called an intervention".

You look around you to find any other cushions you can throw at Pierre but realise that you've thrown all cushions within reaching distance at his head already.

The truth is that, as hurtful as it may be, Pierre and Kika were right. Your love life since moving to Paris ten months ago has been pathetic. In fact, it's been pathetic for the last three years, ever since you had ended both your marriage to Lewis and your relationship with Charles.

Your intention at the time was to only end your relationship with one of them and in your heart and mind, you were going to end your marriage with Lewis. And that was what you did. Despite his last ditch attempts of rekindling your marriage and relationship, you had declined Lewis' offer to leave your life in London behind and join him in New York City.

An offer like that earlier on in your marriage would have been tempting but after yourself and Lewis both agreed to open up your marriage, and before all of the walls came tumbling down, you realised that whenever Lewis was close to losing you he would pull out all of the stops to become the husband you wanted and needed.

He'd done it throughout your relationship. Once Lewis smelt danger or felt vulnerable, he loved bombed you to the point where you fell in love with him all over again. Telling you everything you needed to hear and throwing you grand gestures like a proposal, a new puppy, extravagant gifts, monogamy (looking back, that one was laughable) and finally offering you a new life in the bright lights of New York City. And when he was sure that you wouldn't leave him and were fully committed, he'd go back to the Lewis of old - doing as he pleased without any questions or consequences. That was until Lewis pushed you too far, he'd tested you one too many times during your "open marriage" and pushed you into the arms of another man, Charles.

In a totally unplanned and spontaneous night out, you had met Charles and the two of you had clicked instantly. Charles was the only person that ever led you to doubt your marriage and relationship with Lewis. You developed a relationship which led to you falling in love with one another. It was very real and very serious. He gave you the love and fulfilment you had long yearned for. He was worth leaving your husband for and you were so ready to do that.

That was until Lewis' offer of moving to New York came about. You didn't want to move to New York. It may have been a dream once but not in those circumstances. Not after you'd already taken off your wedding and engagement rings and told your husband you were ready to move on in your life. This was Lewis' next step in life, not yours.

You were free from your marriage and you could continue your relationship with Charles but something weird happened. It all fell apart one night when you went to see Charles at his flat after you had told Lewis that you wouldn't be moving with him. Your intentions were to tell Charles that you were all his and you could finally start to build a real life together.

However, that’s not what happened. You couldn’t get the idea of leaving London with Lewis out of your head. Even in separation the man couldn’t leave you alone. He was in your mind as you spoke to Charles, kissed Charles and even when you made love to Charles that night. Something deep down was telling you that instantly starting a life with Charles just days after separating from your husband of five years wasn’t the right thing for you.

You needed time to mourn your marriage but also to figure out who you really were. You had been in a relationship since you had moved to London at 21 and had never gotten to explore adulthood and your twenties on your own. And just maybe, you needed a little bit of time to be you.

But that’s not how it went down, or how you had tried to communicate it to Charles. After you and Charles had finished having sex, Charles started a conversation about your relationship and mentioned the possibility of moving in together. You guys were in love and it made sense.

But you freaked out, confessing to Charles that Lewis was going to New York and had asked for you to go with him. And when Charles had asked you want you had wanted to do, you froze.

Fuck, why did you have to freeze? You already told Lewis no but why couldn’t you tell Charles that?

You realised over time it was because that you were unable to tell Charles that while you had said no to Lewis, you needed to be on your own for a while. And how could you tell Charles that after he had made love to you and confessed his loved to you once more?

And so when you struggled to find your words, Charles took it as a yes and that in fact you were moving to New York, leaving him behind. You were ending things with him to be with a husband who treated you poorly.

And when you did begin to find your words, Charles didn’t believe you despite the fact that you had already removing your wedding ring. He was fed up. He’d been humiliated by you and Lewis to one too many times and so he asked for you to leave.

You obeyed and left his apartment. Too hurt and stubborn to speak to one another, you both waited for the other to reach out. A text, a call, something to let the other know that this was stupid and you wanted to be together. But that text, call or something never came. And so you and Charles never spoke again.

Not long after you and Charles ended things, a position in work opened up in Singapore. With nothing meaningful thing you to London any more aside from your best friend Whitney, you applied for it. You were successful and so within a few moments you moved to Singapore for two years.

You finally got your new life and spent the last of your twenties in an amazing city. You even had a few casual, no strings attached situationships. But as you turned 30, you began to miss being closer to home and so you moved back to Europe, this time settling in Paris.

You enjoyed the city and while Paris was famed for being romantic and the city of love, your experience so far had been anything but. Which is why you were here now, letting your new friends Pierre and Kika salvage whatever love life they could manage for you.

You had grown close to them over the past few months. You had met Kika in work and over time she took you under her wing. You hadn’t told Pierre and Kika everything though about your life in London. They knew you were divorced from Lewis and that you had an open marriage got wrong but you had never told them about Charles. How could you even begin to explain that you had fallen in love with someone that wasn’t your husband and then, when you finally had the chance to be with him, you chickened?

No, you couldn’t tell them about Charles. It still hurt you when you thought about how things ended between you. With a heavy heart, you still valued your relationship with him and looked back with fond memories. Charles was still very special and important to you. And so, that was one story you wanted to keep close to your heart.

“Can you just give me a name? Not even a name, just the first letter of his name?”

You were back to whining at Pierre and Kika, begging for any details about this mystery guy that they’d set you up on a blind date with. So far, the only details you had gotten out of them was that you were going out with a guy this Friday night.

As Kika went to open her mouth, feeling a little sorry for you, Pierre flashed her a look.

“Kika, don’t! I know what you girls are like. One sniff of a detail about a man and you girls give the FBI a run of their money, Pierre cried. “No, you’re just going to have to shut up and wait until Friday to meet him”.

Finally accepting defeat, you sighed and rested back against the sofa. Pierre wasn’t giving in this time. With last fight in you, you looked over at Pierre and mumbled,

“Did I ever tell you how much I hated you, Pierre?”

“Yes, everyday”.

-

It was finally Friday and you still didn’t have a single detail or idea about the man you were meeting for dinner. For all you knew, he could be Timothée Chalamet. Pierre and Kika had given you nothing.

Despite withholding all information about this guy, the did feel bad for you and so had brought you out for a drink before you date to calm the nerves. Just one drink, Pierre had said, they didn’t need you showing pictures of Roscoe to another innocent soul.

As you sat in a Parisian bar, you began to bounce your legs up and down, anything to calm you while you waited for 8pm to arrive. With a quick look at your phone, you saw that it was only 6:30pm.

Shit!

You were going to need more than one drink if you were going to get through the next ninety minutes. You were halfway through your first Aperol Spritz but you’d need about two more if you were going to be any fun tonight.

“Can you stop bouncing your legs please? It’s incredibly annoying,” Pierre spat.

Kika, being the peace maker gently placed a hand on your knee to prevent you from causing any annoyance or, in the way Pierre was carrying on, preventing you from causing an earthquake.

You loved Pierre, but the two of you behaved like siblings much to Kika’s despair. The two of you constantly bickered and found ways to annoy one another but did deep the two of you were close and had a solid friendship.

“Children, please,” Kika groaned. As she took a quick look at her phone, you took the opportunity to flash Pierre the middle finger.

Another fifteen minutes had passed and you weren’t any less nervous about this date. While you had been on dates before, it was your first blind date. And while you had faith in Pierre and Kika’s taste, you wouldn’t put it past Pierre to drag Quasimodo down from the Notre Dame and bring him to a Parisian restaurant for your date.

Feeling bad that he’d been taunting you for days, Pierre felt like it was time to give you some reassurance.

“I don’t know why you’re so worried, [Y/N]. Despite being a pain in my side, you’re catch. You’re a good looking girl. You’re funny and smart. You’ve lived in four countries, I mean there’s so much to talk about,” Pierre says as he places a second Aperol Spritz in front of you.

You flash him a grateful smile.

“He’s right! You’ve got so much going for you, [Y/N]. Plus your boobs look great in that dress,” Kika added. “And he already things you’re hot”.

Your eyes nearly pop out of your head. “Wait, what? He’s already seen a picture of me”.

Pierre flashes Kika a look of what the fuck did you say that before accepting a small defeat.

“Yes, he’s seen a picture of you. And before you tell me how that’s not fair, he’s not a freak like you two”.

“But Pierre,” you begin but Pierre wags his finger out you.

“No. I’m not hearing it,” Pierre says.

Great, out of the four of you, you’re the most clueless about your date.

“Fine, if you won’t tell me anything about him, can you at least tell me what he said when you showed him a picture about me?”

Exhaling, Pierre nodded. “Sure, he pretty much grabbed my phone out of my hand when I showed him your picture. He seemed pretty into it, wanted to see more photos. Asked how we knew you, wanted to know as much about you as he could.”

“Oh, and you told him everything right?”

Pierre chuckled. “Not everything. Didn’t tell him that you were divorced by 30. I thought that it’d be funny for you to do that on your own”.

You thanked Kika as she hit Pierre for you.

“Sorry. That was harsh. He was interested in what happened in your last relationship though. If it’s any consolation, I’ve had to intervene in his love life too. It’s almost as tragic as yours,” Pierre continued.

You frowned at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well,” Pierre hesitated. “He was in a relationship about three years ago. Things were pretty serious but suddenly things changed. There were talking about moving in together but one day, she told him she was thinking about getting back with her ex. They had an argument and didn’t speak after that. The last he heard through a friend was that she had left the country to start a new life.”

A weird feeling of deja vu suddenly hits you. The story sounding very similar to your own. Except that you didn’t get with Lewis. You pause before asking, “Did she get back with the ex?”

“I think so,” Pierre answered. “Either that or she was a snake who used her ex as an excuse to end things with Charles”.

You feel your blood run cold as Pierre accidentally drops the name of your date.

“What did you say his name was?” you ask, making sure you’re not hearing things.

“Merde, I can’t believe I dropped his name at the last hurdle,” Pierre groaned, burying his head in his hands.

You mind was racing a million miles an hour. Surely this was just a coincidence. There was thousands of Charles' in Paris, let alone in France. And what were the odds of Pierre knowing your Charles? And a Charles who had the same break up story as your Charles? No, this couldn’t be it.

“Are you okay, [Y/N]? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Kika asks.

You force a light-hearted laugh before taking a sip of your Aperol Spritz.

“I’m all good, thanks. Just worried that Pierre is going to go into a downward spiral now that his plan of keeping this Charles a secret has failed,” you joked. But deep inside you were freaking out.

What if this was Charles? You weren’t sure if you were ready to see him. Even though it had been three years since things had ended, it still hurt you to think about your relationship. Even three years later, you knew you still loved him. But what about Charles? Did he still love you? Or did he hate you? According to Pierre’s story, he still seemed bitter about this break up with his ex.

“It’s a good thing you don’t have time to go through Instagram and find him then, you’ve got to leave for your date in fifteen minutes,” Pierre reminds you.

Shit.

This was really happening wasn’t it? You were going to see Charles finally after all these years.

Or maybe you were just being dramatic, maybe this was just a weird, fucked up coincidence.

“Whatever you do, [Y/N], just don’t break my Charlie’s heart, eh? He’s had to fuck his way through dozens of women just to get over her,” Pierre teases.

“Pierre,” Kika squeals, “You can’t tell her that before she meets him”.

But Pierre’s comment goes over your head. Charles’ fucking lots of girls was the least of your worries.

-

You’re the first one to arrive and the wait is excruciating. You have a look at your phone 8:03pm.

Fuck, it’s been the longest three minutes of your life.

You’re not sure if you want to look at the entrance and see who walks through the door or if you want to keep your head down and pray for the ground to swallow you whole. Right now, the second option feels preferable.

As another minute passes, your phone lights up. It’s a text from Pierre into your group chat with Kika:

Bonne chance! And if we don’t hear back from you by the end of the night, either my friend is a serial killer or you’re 🍆👉🏼🕳️💦

As disgusting as Pierre’s text is, you’re grateful that your mind is occupied for a few moments as you text a:

You’re disgusting 🤮

Once you send your text, you place your phone back down on the table and put your head in your hands, praying for a miracle.

“I’ve thought about what it would be like if I ever saw you again,” it’s a familiar voice coming from behind you, “But I’d never have guessed that it would be the two of us being set up on a blind date”.

Your head shoots up and you turn to the direction of the voice. It’s him. It’s Charles. Your Charles.

“I…,” you begin but that’s all you’ve got. You’re just sitting there with your mouth agape.

Charles smiles at you, he’s much more composed and prepared than you are. How could he not be when he knew long ago that it was you that Pierre was trying to set him up with? He’s probably had days if not weeks to prepare for seeing you in person again.

He takes a few steps towards you before taking your hand in his. Just like the last time, he takes your left one, moving it towards him. He smiles at your hand.

No rings this time around, he thinks to himself before placing a delicate kiss onto your skin.

You feel your cheeks redden at his touch and whatever feelings you’ve harboured for him over the last three years all come rushing back. His touch still feels the same, delicate but purposeful.

He gently lets go of your hand before taking the seat opposite you. You’re still shell shocked that he’s actually here, which is why you can only muster up a, “Hi.”

Charles laughs to himself a little.

“Hi, [Y/N]”.

It falls silent between the two of you. Charles gives you the space to figure out what the fuck is going on while he flicks through the menu for a drink.

You take the opportunity to take in his appearance. He looks good, if not better than the last time. His face is slightly more mature and he’s let his moustache and stubble grow a little longer this time. He’s a little bulkier, clearly he’s been lifting more weights in the gym. His hair looks the same, long and silky. And he’s sporting a tan thanks to the French summer. He dresses better than he did before.

Charles smiles as he’s reading the menu, clearly aware that your eyes are fixated on him, glancing over every inch of his body that you can see. He looks up from the menu and looks at you, still smiling. He’s confident in himself, he knows he’s in control and he seems to be enjoying it.

Embarrassed that you’ve been caught staring, you clear throat and decide to speak your first words of the date.

“Ho-How are you? You look good,” you manage to squeak out.

Fuck, that was embarrassing. Is that it?

Charles chuckles to himself once more before it’s his turn to eye you up. His eyes take in your loose curls that are falling delicately over your shoulders. Your face looks the same, no difference to the last time he saw you. Still so beautiful. You’re rocking a summer tan too. And as for your body, well your breasts look incredible in that peach fitted dress. You didn’t look good, you looked phenomenal.

“I’m good. And you? You’re looking good too but I’m not surprised,” Charles replies.

You blush a little at his comment. “Yeah, I’m fine”.

Taking one last look at the menu, Charles closes it before looking at you. Giving you his full attention.

“How long ago did you find out that it was me you were going on a date with?”

“Erm, about- about thirty minutes ago,” you stutter.

Charles shakes his head. “Fucking Pierre,” he mutters to himself.

“How- how long ago did you know it was me?” you ask ever so quietly.

“About three weeks ago,” he watches for your reaction before continuing, “Look, I don’t want to do this here. And I’m sure you don’t want to do this here either. Let’s go back to my place”.

Without even thinking, you nod. And as Charles stands up from his chair, he puts his hand out for you to hold. His touch is so warm. He smiles at you softly before leading you out of the restaurant into the warm Summer evening.

He’s still holding your hand as he waves down a taxi. As you climb inside, Charles’ hand finds his way to your thigh as he gives his address to the taxi driver.

You can’t help but look at his hand on your thigh. It all feels so surreal. He’s being so nice to you after everything that happened and he’s going against everything that Pierre had said about Charles being hurt by an ex. But maybe Charles had changed, maybe he didn’t hate you that much after how things ended between the two of you.

As your drive through the Parisian streets, Charles’ hand remains on you thigh. And it’s Charles who breaks the silence between you.

“How was New York?”

Your head immediately turns towards him. His expression impossible to read. Confused, you answer him.

“Charles, I never went to New York”.

[thetriumphantpanda]

sharing is caring | joel & tommy miller

Summary | If there was one thing no-one really prepared you for when you got pregnant, it was the increase in your sex drive. Six months in and you're more frustrated than ever that something just isn't scratching the itch. You know exactly how to fix it, turns out Tommy does too - if only you'd asked about this three months ago.

Warnings | Pregnancy sex, descriptions of a pregnant body, oral sex (f receiving), masterbation (m), Unprotected PiV sex (Even if you're pregnant, STDs exist folks), creampie, Tommy getting cucked because he loves it more than anything, Joel just being.... Joel.

Word Count | 2.9k

Authors Note | You didn't think Joel was just going to disappear did you? Of course he wasn't. I know that pregnancy sex and this whole trope isn't for everyone, but I hope that I've managed to do it in a way that is still sexy and hot and has you all still loving our little threesome! Big disclaimer that I've never been pregnant, so the accuracy of this might be.... off, please forgive me. We've got one more part after this and I still cannot believe how many of you are still here for this little story. I appreciate all the love you've given me on this so far and I just hope you love the way this ends (When I share it with you), as much as I do! As always, if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or popping into my ask with some love. If you'd like to support me by leaving a tip, you can do so here on my Ko-Fi (But as I always say, no pressure!)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

“Fuck, Tommy, holy shit.” 

Your head is thrown back on the pillow as your hips rock to meet his, your hand working hard to try and bring yourself as close to the edge as Tommy is right now. It’s been six months of a sex drive that’s been through the roof and six months of nothing working to satisfy that. Tommy had always been diligent lover, right from the very beginning, you’d always been satisfied, but there was something that just wasn’t working, and it had all begun when your stomach had started to swell. 

It had nothing to do with hating your body – if anything, seeing what it was doing, carrying a creating an entire other human, made you love it even more – you could spend hours running your hands over the swell of your stomach, even when your child would kick or move about and your skin would contort in ways you didn’t know possible, all you could do was watch in awe. No, it had nothing to do with that, and everything to do with the fact you were craving something, someone, you probably shouldn’t. 

In the past month, though it killed you to admit it, you’d started faking your orgasms. Something you’d never had to do in your time with Tommy, but that was probably easier than coming clean about the fact that you wanted Joel. No. You needed him. The combination of these two men, in your mind, was the only thing you could think that would help – the eyes of your love on you as his brother fucked you into another dimension. But how the fuck do you even ask for that?

When all is said and done that evening, and Tommy is softly snoring behind you with his hands resting on your belly, you run through every possible way that you might ask him if he’ll let Joel join you again. It had been incredibly normal between the three of you – you’d fallen back into the relationships you’d had before this whole thing started – Joel seemingly nothing but the loving brother-in-law he’d always been, and two brothers who certainly hadn’t been sharing you between themselves. It was a relief, that you could all go back to your old roles, but you knew Joel wanted more. Every time you’d see him, you’d watch his eyes on your swelling stomach, eyes that would darken when they met your own, with nothing but wanting for you. You knew he would do anything for you, you just had to ask. 

“Can I ask you something?” You pluck up the courage one evening when Tommy is massaging your ankles to try and get the swelling to subside. 

“Course you can.” He comments, his eyes never leaving the sports coverage on the TV in front of him. 

“Promise you won’t get mad?” You’re biting at the corner of one of your nails, worried that you might just be about to ruin everything good you’ve ever had. 

You watch, puzzled, as a smirk appears on Tommy’s face, his hands still working to relieve the aches at your ankles, “What the hell are you smirking for?” You ask. 

“Just think I know what you’re gonna ask for, is all.” 

“Go on then, smartass,” You offer, “What am I going to ask for?” 

“You want Joel, right?” 

What the fuck? How the fuck did he know? Your shock and surprise that he knew exactly what was on your mind must show on your face because he’s chuckling. 

“You’re not mad?” You ask. 

“No sugar, I am not mad,” He smiles, “He did a big thing for us,” He pauses to put a hand on your belly, “I’d be dumb as rocks to think that after all this there wasn’t some kind of connection between you both and that’s okay,” He leans over and presses a soft kiss to your lips, “I know you love me, but if you need him to help then all you had to do was ask.” 

"I just feel guilty," You admit, "That we're doing this together," You rest a hand on your tummy where a foot has just kicked, "And I can't stop thinking about how good it feels when you're both there."

"You don't have to feel guilty," He reassures, "He's as much involved as you or I sugar, and it's okay to ask for what you want, I promise."

“I still want you to be there,” You speak softly, taking hold of his hand, “And you’re sure you’re okay with this?” 

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, sweetheart,” He smiles, and you can tell it’s genuine, “Leave it with me and I’ll make sure you get what you want.” 

It doesn’t take long for Tommy to make good on his promise. Within the week, you’re led on your bed, trying to relieve the ache in your back for a little bit, when that familiar of knocks at the door rings through the house. You stay horizontal for a while, mind thinking back to all the times you’d done this before. This time you know it has nothing to do with being a means to an end, and everything about you being able to enjoy yourself, and that’s thrilling more than anything else. 

You push yourself up on your hands, leaning back on them slightly, when you can hear Tommy and Joel coming up the stairs. You’re dressed in your usual silk robe. The burgeoning bump in front of you means even if you tie it, it doesn’t fit properly anymore, so you’ve got the most unsexy pair of underwear on, the only stuff that fits right now, but when Joel makes his way through your bedroom door, left open this time, it doesn’t matter, he’s looking at you like you’re the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. 

Tommy is behind him, walking over to take his place on the chair in the corner, leaving you and Joel to have a moment to yourself, for now. Joel leans down and presses his usual chaste kiss to your cheek, pulling back to look down at you, looming over you as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb, just like he had the first night you’d been together. 

“You frustrated, darlin’ girl?” He asks, letting a smirk fall across his lips, “Thought you didn’t need me anymore, didn’t you?” You vehemently shake your head, no, you knew you needed him, and if you’d known Tommy would let you, you’d have asked months ago, “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I think together we can make you feel good.” He tilts his head to Tommy, sat behind you, but for once, your eyes are only on Joel. 

You reach your own hand up to cup his face, letting your fingers trace along the rough hair on his jaw, you want to tell him you’ve missed him, because you have, but instead you just settle for trying to finally get what you want. 

“You gonna spend all night looking at me?” You ask coyly, “Or are you going to eat my pussy?” 

“You drive a hard bargain.” He smirks, dropping to his knees, pulling at your ankles so you’re siting over the end of the bed, his hands coming to undo the tie of your robe, slipping it off to reveal your naked upper half to him. 

“Look what we did, pretty girl,” Joel whispers, big palms running over the swell of your stomach, “Look what we made together.” 

You’re overcome with emotion, tears pricking at your eyes, as his gentle hands trace the bump, mouth trailing just behind his hands as he worships his work, worships what he’s made you. As his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear and pull them down, you feel the bed dip behind you. Tommy settles himself against your back, letting his legs rest on either side of your own, his lips starting to trail down your neck and across your shoulder as Joel spreads your legs. 

You can feel the breath from Joel’s mouth across the skin of your pussy, your hips bucking to try and meet his mouth. He brings your legs to rest over his broad shoulders, widening your spread legs before his mouth is on you. He’s doing what he always does, using his tongue to lap up at your slick hole first, and he’s groaning whilst he does it. He hasn’t had the taste of you on his mouth for six months, and even he’s surprised with how much he’s missed it. You lean yourself fully back into Tommy’s chest, as his hands come to cup the weight of your tits. They’re sensitive and sore, and he knows to be gentle, but he’s running his thumbs over your peaked nipples just enough that the pleasure outweighs the slight pain you feel. 

It's all inconsequential anyway once Joel trails his tongue up through your folds and over your clit. It’s like the trail of his tongue sets you on fire, lighting every single part of you alight as he touches you. You’re squirming against the pleasure of Tommy’s fingers at your chest, so much so that Joel has to grip the meat of your thighs to keep you steady as he trails the tip of his tongue over your clit in slow, languid movements, working you up slowly this time. 

With Tommy’s lips at your neck and his hands on your tits, and the slow but firm work of Joel’s tongue on your clit, you’re reaching your peak before you really know it’s happening. You can feel your thighs begin to shake and the way you’re grinding yourself into Joel’s face to chase the feeling of his mouth, you know you’re not going to last much longer. You reach down and run your fingers through his hair, anchoring his face to your aching cunt. 

“You gonna come for us baby?” Tommy breathes into your ear, “Go on, let go for us, I know you’ve been waiting.” 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” You breathe out with every breath you exhale, “I’m- oh my god-”

It hits you like a fucking freight train. Six months of pent-up tension released all at once as you actually scream Joel’s name out into the room. You can feel Tommy’s erection behind you, pressing into your lower back as you arch up into Joel’s mouth, his tongue working you through the aftershocks. 

He pulls his face away from your pussy, rubbing the slick onto your thigh as he presses soft kisses to the delicate skin there whilst you try and fill your lungs with air, trying not to cry at the relief you finally feel after all this time. 

“Wasn’t so hard, was it, pretty girl?” He speaks from between your thighs, finally pulling back enough that you can see those big, brown eyes, “Just needed a little extra help, didn’t you?” You’re too blissed out to care much right now at his teasing tone because he’s right. You did just need a little extra help. 

“You want him to fuck you, sugar?” Tommy asks into your ear. 

Joel stands, hands poised at his shirt buttons, waiting for your permission. You look him straight in the eye, legs spread, your wet cunt on full display for him, “I’d be disappointed if he didn’t.” 

Joel is slipping of his shirt in seconds, belt and jeans soon following. You can already see the bulge in the front of his underwear as Tommy moves from behind you. You move to grip his arm to get him to stay. 

“I’ll be right over here,” He soothes, pointing to the chair, “Just enjoy yourself, okay?” 

You turn your attention back to Joel, who is palming his cock through the thin material of his boxers, watching you as you shuffle back onto the bed. 

“What works for you, pretty girl?” He asks, letting his underwear drop to the floor as he crawls onto the mattress with you, “What makes you feel good?” 

He looms over you, settled between your thighs as he kisses at your neck. He wants you to be comfortable. He knows the positions you both favoured before are a dream now – there’s no way he would want to fold you in half, your legs on his shoulders, like he used to. You bring a hand to his chest, letting your fingers spread through the patchy hair that sits there. 

“Let me ride you?” You ask, almost shyly. 

“Whatever you want, babygirl.” 

Joel stretches out on the mattress and helps you to straddle his waist, holding your hands as you flounder a little to mount his body. He keeps you steady as you reach between the two of you to grab his cock, lining yourself up ready to sink down onto him. 

“I knew you’d be fuckin’ beautiful like this,” He groans as you slide down onto his cock, wet heat enveloping him as his hands rest on your stomach as you start grinding onto him, “Look at you,” He coos, “Puttin’ on a show for your man over there.” 

When you turn your head Tommy is exactly how he usually is, filthy grin plastered on his face, fisting his cock as he watches you take your pleasure from his brother. It makes you feel powerful as you rock your hips, feeling Joel’s cock work inside your pussy as he watches you. 

“It’s a fuckin’ great show too.” Tommy groans as he works himself in his hand. 

You bring your attention back to Joel, palms placed on his chest as you start fucking yourself on him. His hands are on your hips, but instead of the bruising grip they used to hold you in, now he’s softer, gentler with you as he guides your hips in movements that have you both moaning each other’s names. 

“Feels so good Joel,” You choke out, leaning as far forward as you can with your pregnant belly, trailing kisses along his jaw, “Missed this.” 

When you finally lean back, hands on Joel’s knee’s which he’s brought up to rest behind you, feet planted on the bed so he can finally start thrusting up into your aching cunt, you know it won’t be long until you’re seeing stars again. Joel brings his hand to your pussy, thumb rubbing tight circles across your clit. 

“Missed you too, pretty girl,” He groans, hips faltering as he thrusts up into you, he’s close too, “Missed feeling this pretty pussy clench around me when you’re gonna come for me.” 

“Don’t stop,” You breathe, “I’m so fucking close Joel.” 

He does exactly what you ask, keeps a steady rhythm of thrusts into your pussy, his hand working at your clit. You take a moment to look at Tommy, who gives you a wink as you watch him, eyes on him as he comes, covering his lower belly and his hand with his spend as he continues to watch you. 

“Come on, pretty girl,” Joel growls, bringing your attention back down to him, “Come for me.” 

You can feel the walls of your tight heat fluttering around his cock as you start to come around him. You hold yourself up with your hands on his knees as your vision blurs and pleasure spools its way across your body. You’re crying out his name as you feel him still inside you, the warmth of his spend seeping into you as he groans your name. Filling you right to the brim like he’d always done before, gripping your hips to keep you in place as your walls continued to flutter around him through your aftershocks. 

Once he’s sure you’re both finished, Joel helps you to lie down on the bed, pulling you off him and settling you on your back. You can hear Tommy at the other side of the room, doing his jeans up before he’s padding out of the room and down the stairs. 

“Are you alright?” Joel asks, lips close to your ear as he lets himself take a moment alone with you, hand resting on your stomach as the baby inside you wriggles around. 

“I’m fine,” You sigh, turning to look at him, he’s so close, his hand warm and protective on your swollen belly, “Thank you.” 

“None of that, pretty girl,” He can see the tears forming in your eyes, he takes your chin in his fingers, tilting your face just enough to press the softest kiss to your lips, “No more tears.” 

You bring your hand to his face, pulling him back down for another kiss, soft and over far too quickly, pulling away just as Tommy starts back up the stairs. By the time he’s in the room with a glass of water and the tablets you were taking to keep your heartburn at bay, Joel is already pulling on his clothes. You’re standing up, aiming to pick your robe up from the floor, but Joel beats you to it – handing you the silk material before bending to pick up his shirt. 

When he’s dressed, it’s the same as always, you both press kisses to each other’s cheeks and say goodbye. Tommy walks him downstairs, and you can hear them talking a little as you head to the bathroom. If there’s one thing you weren’t risking, it was a UTI whilst pregnant. As you’re washing your hands you can hear the front door close, and the sound of Tommy’s footsteps back on the stairs. 

You meet him outside the bedroom door, shedding his clothes as you do the same. It takes you a while to find a position you’re comfortable enough in to consider sleeping – led on your back with Tommy’s hand firmly on your stomach as is had been since the very beginning, his head on the pillow next to yours. 

“Thank you,” You say into the darkness, “For trusting us.” 

Tommy takes a moment before he replies, “I know he makes you happy,” He kisses your cheek, “All I ever want is for you to be happy.” 

[diedicontroversial]

[discourse] in defiance of the author’s wishes (re: mxtx fandom)

table of contents : context  : moral arguments : addressing the legal side of things  : closing remarks

Context

on March 17, 2018, mxtx posted:

“As long as you don't split or reverse the top/bottom positions of the main couple, I won't mind what you ship. I myself have a lot of fun shipping couples in mainstream shows, and isn't reading all about finding joy? You can imagine freely or ship whoever you like, just don't break up or reverse the top/bottom positions of the main couple.”

(I realise that the 不拆不逆 “no splitting or reversing” rule might be implicit within the entire Chinese danmei fandom, so i do not wish to single mxtx out. for example, i know that Chinese 2ha fans also go around policing people who ship, say, chu wanning with shi mei — so this isn’t just a mxtx thing. although i do not know if other danmei authors have explicitly stated “no splitting or reversing” since i have not been a part of other danmei fandoms.)

Nevertheless, “no splitting or reversing” became the constitution in Chinese mxtx fandom. Fans parade around with the slogan “拆逆死“ which means “kill yourself if you split or reverse”. Since the pronunciation of 拆逆死 (chai-ni-si) sounds like “chinese”, some fans on the Chinese internet have been putting “chinese” in their bios to mean “kill yourself if you split or reverse”.

From now on I will be referring to split/reverse ships as cult ships, as Chinese fans like to call them.

There are two main consequences of the “no splitting or reversing” rule (on the Chinese internet):

You will receive permanent bans with no option for appeal if you post cult ship fanworks in the novel communities on Weibo

It is implicitly agreed upon that you are not allowed to use individual character tags, the novel tag, or the author tag when posting cult ship content on any platform. So, for example, if you write Wei Wuxian x Jiang Cheng, you are not allowed to use #weiwuxian #jiangcheng #mdzs #mxtx. The name given to this conduct of tagging only your cult ship is 圈地自萌, which means “enclose a piece of land and amuse oneself within it”. You are not allowed to step out of your land. 

However, not everyone agrees with the practice of “don’t step out of your land” — this includes people from both sides of the debate. Some official shippers believe that cult shippers should not have any land to begin with, and purposefully leave the cult ship tag unblocked so they can police cult shippers at every opportunity. Some cult shippers believe that because their ship involves the individual characters, originate from the novel written by the author, they are in the right to use the individual character tags, the novel tag, and the author tag, and that people who dislike their ship should just use the block function. 

-

Moral Arguments

There are two main types of moral arguments that Chinese official shippers make.

1. If you split the official ship, you condone cheating behaviour and that makes you a bad person.

The first argument is too trivial so I will leave the refutation as an exercise for the reader to do at home /j

2. You are not respecting the author's wishes and that makes you a bad person.

The author has wished many different things. For example:

Screenshot 1 translation: I strictly forbid any crowdfunding or fundraising related to me, my works, or my characters, regardless of the purpose, whether it be for celebration, group buying, rankings, charity, or any other named activities.

Screenshot 2 translation: Once again, I emphasize: No new social media pages related to my works are allowed, nor organizing readers in a roundabout way, whether it be for celebrations, group buying, rankings, charity, or any other named activities. Please also refrain from flamboyantly organizing any collective birthday events.

Screenshot 3 translation: I've repeated many things many times and do not wish to repeat myself. Could everyone please just listen to my words occasionally.

(A brief aside before I address the second argument, something I used to say when debating Chinese fans: “I don’t think people who violate the author's wishes mean any disrespect. I don’t think they’re shipping or hosting charity events or birthday parties out of spite, but rather, it just so happens that the author prohibits a ship they enjoy or an event they organise. Just because I cult ship, for example, doesn’t mean I hate the author.” And they would respond: “if you really liked the author, you wouldn’t go against her wishes. You do not deserve to like the author. You are a mxtx anti.” And I would say, “I like my mom a lot, but I won’t listen to everything she says, simply because I don’t think everything she says is right. Plus, I don’t think the world can simply be explained by like vs. dislike. Also, Xie Lian said this: [For instance, if you admire or like someone, you won't always treat them well, no matter what happens.]” But then the most hilarious thing happened, in the revised version, a rebuttal for that scene was added:

【”For instance, if you admire or like someone, it doesn't mean you will always treat them well, regardless of what happens."

"Why not?" San Lang questioned. "If that's not possible, it only shows that this so-called 'liking' isn't anything significant."

Xie Lian shifted the conversation, asking, "Then... does it mean that aside from liking someone, the only other option is to dislike them? Are these the only two attitudes one can choose from?"

San Lang chuckled and retorted, "Why not? Right is right, wrong is wrong. To love is to love, to hate is to hate. Why can't things be clear and straightforward?”】

… ah.)

To address the second argument for real, i believe that producers retain no moral authority over the methods by which consumers engage with their products. for instance, i believe that choosing not to follow the official “twist, lick, and dunk” method when eating oreos does not constitute disrespect towards the oreo brand. Or to use another analogy, suppose a farmer selling apples insist that you peel the apples before eating them. I believe that it does not make you a bad person if you choose to eat the apples unpeeled, despite the farmer being the one who watered and harvested the apples from their trees.

I am thinking of potential counterarguments, and the strongest one I came up with is: “but products like oreos and apples are fundamentally different from intellectual property.” And I think the main issue here is that, to employ economics terminology, the content of novels like tgcf is a non-rivalrous good (not the novels themselves but the abstract content), which means that my consumption of it does not reduce availability to others. In other words, unlike Oreos or apples wherein after I purchase them, the specific items I bought are no longer physically in the hands of the vendor; after encountering characters like Shen Qingqiu, Shen Qingqiu still exists abstractly in MXTX’s head. This gives the illusion of ownership on the author’s part. I want to be very careful here because I think it’s easy to equivocate between different uses of the word “ownership”. I am not arguing that the author fails to retain ownership in negation of all the blood, sweat, and tears that went into the creative process, i.e. their copyright. Instead, I am contending that, just as I paid for my Oreos and apples, upon my purchasing of the Seven Seas version, the paperback Chinese version, and the revised uncensored version of TGCF on JJWXC, the author does not own the ways by which I choose to engage with these fictional entities. Once a work is made public, its ontology becomes independent of the author’s intent, and in all its readers’ heads exist distinct versions of the characters, in effect making them belong to all of us.

(There. As a bonus I have also resolved the issue of not being “chinese” enough. Ah, is this a bad place to make a communism joke?)

Addressing the legal side of things

In 2022 I wrote to the legal team at AO3, and here is their response:

Regarding the “moral rights”, that’s actually a thing. Upon receiving lots of spam from 12-yr-old readers that “you are breaking the law”, I did a quick Baidu search (China’s Google) concerning the legality of splitting/reversing ships. Surprisingly, the search results yield “yes, it’s illegal”, and hence the 12-yr-olds' confidence. But that is akin to getting a cancer diagnosis from searching symptoms on Google. So I dug deeper. 

After reading tens of published papers and court cases, here are the key takeaways of what I found:

Given that intellectual property rights are a bit behind in China, they have largely based their laws on US copyright law. As organizations like OTW continue to fight for the rights of transformative works in the US, China probably will just follow suit.

The semantics of “distort, mutilate, or otherwise harm the integrity of their works in a way that harms the author’s reputation” is very vague and debatable. There are at least three ways to interpret it (I think one of the papers I read offered four). The first is that they only have to prove that you distorted the integrity of the work. The second is that you satisfy the condition of harming the author’s reputation. The third is that you satisfy both conditions (integrity of work and author’s reputation). It depends on the court. 

None of the court cases pertained to unserious, just-for-fun fan works. Usually what happens is someone makes a film out canon, for example, and sell it for profit, or someone publishes their own novel which contains characters from another published work. 

And that is for China only^ if you live outside of China, you are under another country's jurisdiction.

-

Closing remarks

I am addressing this issue because it has impacted me and my friends in many ways. "kill yourself if you split/reverse the official ship" is probably the least of our concerns, mainly because it is such a popular phrase that we've become desensitized to it. @/Eleven receives private messages on Lofter on a weekly basis of people wishing her entire family to get murdered. A hualian main friend of mine has been posted to Weibo for following me; and I had to pull a Shi Qingxuan with "hey let's not be friends anymore if being associated with me is gonna get you cancelled".

mxtx has been through a lot and i understand where she's coming from. and maybe, the people who identify as "kill yourself if you split/reverse the official ship" don't truly mean it -- maybe they're just expressing their love for the official ship.

Recently i've been seeing the sentiments I used to only witness in Chinese fandom surface on Twitter and sometimes I worry that western mxtx fandom is going to turn into Chinese mxtx fandom, with the in-group/out-group mentality -- you're either with us or against us. At the end of the day, I do like mxtx, I admire her tenacity and I think she's a brilliant author, I love her works and the characters in them. I simply do not want to be backed into the corner of "anti" due to not following every order she gives.

祝墨香和她的粉丝们平安。

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Okay, y'all, it's rant time again. Buckle up.

A new report just came out from Public Citizen highlighting the dangers of using apps and AI foraging guides for identifying mushrooms, particularly when mushroom foraging. It's the latest in a string of warnings that are fighting against a tide of purported convenience ("just take a picture and get your answer instantly!")

I've ranted about this since last August, and I also wrote up a detailed post on how to identify an AI-generated foraging guide. I'm also including info on the limitations of apps and AI in The Everyday Naturalist: How to Identify Animals, Plants, and Fungi Wherever You Go. I'm not just saying this to toot my own horn--it's because nature identification, and teaching it to others, is literally what I do for a living. So this is a topic near and dear to my heart.

I teach a very, very specific sort of identification class; whether we're focusing on animals, plants, fungi, or all of the above, I walk people through a detailed process of how to observe a given organism, make note of its various physical traits and habitat, and use that information to try to determine what it is. I emphasize the need to use as many sources as possible--field guides, websites, online and in-person groups, journal articles, etc.--to make absolutely sure that your identification is solid.

And every year, I get people (thankfully, a very small minority of my students) who complain because my two-hour basic mushroom hunting class wasn't just five minutes of introduction and one hundred and fifteen minutes of me showing slide after slide of edible mushrooms. There are so many people out there who just want a quick, easy answer so they can frolic in the woods and blithely pick mushrooms like some idealized image of a cottagecore herbalist with a cabin full of dried plants and smiling frogs or something.

While I do incorporate a bit of information on getting started with the app iNaturalist in my classes, it is as only ONE of MANY tools I encourage people to use. Sure, it's more solid than most apps because, in addition to the algorithmic I.D. suggestions it initially gives you, other iNaturalist users can go onto your observations later and either agree with your I.D.s or suggest something different and even explain why.

And yet--even as great as iNat is, it and its users can still be wrong. So can every other I.D. app out there. And I think that is one thing that the hyper-romanticized approaches to foraging--and nature identification in general--miss. In order to be a good forager, you HAVE to also be good at nature identification.

And nature identification is an entire process that requires you to have solid observational and critical thinking skills, to be able to independently research using many different types of tools, and be willing to invest the time, patience, and focus to properly arrive at a solid identification--if not to species level, then as far down the taxonomic ladder as you can realistically manage. (There's a reason even the experts complain about Little Brown Mushrooms and Damned Yellow Composites!)

People mistake one single tool--apps--for the entire toolkit. They assume any book they find on Amazon is going to be as good as any other, and don't take the time to look up the author to determine any credentials or experience, or even whether they actually exist or not. It doesn't help that the creators of these products often advertise them as "the only [book/app/etc.] you need to easily identify [organism of choice]!"

I mean, sure, the world isn't going to end if you never question the birdsong results on the Merlin app, or if you go through life thinking a deer fern is just a baby western sword fern. But when we get into people actually eating things they find in the wild, there's often no room for error. There are plants and mushrooms that can kill you even if you only eat a tiny amount. And even if they don't kill you, they may make you wish you were dead for a few days while you suffer through a whole host of gastrointestinal nastiness and other symptoms.

There aren't any shortcuts if you want to be safe in your foraging. You HAVE to be willing to do the work. And any teacher, author, or product that says otherwise isn't being ethical. I'm glad to see more people speaking out against the "fast foodization" of foraging in regards to overreliance on apps and the existence of AI foraging books; I just hope it's enough to prevent more people from getting sick or dying.

[ishcliff]

i don't think heathcliff is an idiot at all. not in his source, nor in limbus.

in limbus, heathcliff keeps things direct and to the point, and dislikes spending a lot of time dwelling on what to do. none of these alone are indicators of a lack of intelligence. impatience and impulsivity, sure, i can concede. but with heathcliff, what i think is even more the case is he already feels like he understands the world well-enough. he's spent a lifetime living, both in the best and worst of the city. he offers insight in moments where the other sinners have little to offer. in a lot of ways, he is deeply comparable to roland, except (funnily enough) perhaps a little healthier.

despite his contempt for authority, heathcliff has accepted his role and the unspoken laws of the land, being witness to and on the receiving end of what happens when one goes against them. he seems to understand the whims of the city for what they are and can follow them intuitively. though, his knowledge is entirely practical; the theoretical and reasoning behind everything matters little to him, because the way he sees it, as long as he can continue to do as he pleases, it's of no consequence. he is in constant survival mode, seeking the rare moments where he is allowed to thrive.

his knowledge base is given ample time to shine in the main story. he is often positioned as a voice of reason and an appeal to the majority.

in canto II, he comes up with a plan that essentially works flawlessly when no one else could.

in canto III, he correctly points out ishmael's lack of comprehension of social stratification in the nest entry point. then, he rightly calls out meursault for his aiding and abetting of a religious-fascist regime.

in canto IV, he's proven correct about his critique of certain mindsets of the K nest, and his insight and cleverness are recognized by more than one person (importantly, including ishmael, his biggest critic).

he is just as intelligent and capable as everyone else; he simply doesn't care about the bigger picture. it's not like the bigger picture cares about him.

and yet...another point on the more superficial side: heathcliff has an identity where he is a capable, well-spoken scientist and political activist. while his political standpoint is reactionary anarchoprimitivism, it still matters that he's clearly capable of analyzing greater social class structures and realizing they are bunk.

this leads me to discussion of heathcliff in wuthering heights. i don't think it can be overstated how much of heathcliff's capabilities as an antagonist post-timeskip are due to his intelligence. in just three years, he cultivates enough wealth through what is assumed to be key-timed investments and intelligent brokerage. he makes a name for himself despite lacking even a proper surname. through his influence, knowledge, and cold determination, heathcliff decimates two families and claims their estates for himself. this is all in spite of the way he was forced out of school when he was a preteen and into slavery. the danger of heathcliff is not just in the depths of his cruelty, but his calculating nature and ability to chart out a years-long revenge campaign with contingency plans. and he almost entirely succeeded.

tying back a little to the context of limbus company, heathcliff's backstory has been heavily implied to be mostly similar to his childhood in his source material. in summary, he was raised under constant scrutiny under threat of beatings and/or losing the only person he ever cared about. every single one of his actions and assumed mindsets were called into question, and this is something he later internalized against himself.

i've talked about it on this blog before, but i believe one of the most important elements of heathcliff's childhood in wuthering heights for his characterization in limbus company is when he instinctively saved the life of his abuser's child. heathcliff swooped in and saved the child from a fatal fall without hesitation or thought. it's his nature to follow his heart and do what he believes the right thing to be. however, heathcliff realized a moment later that he had just done a good thing for his abuser, thus further distancing himself from catherine. he second-guesses his own instincts and is filled with transparent hatred and regret.

this is also related to his conflict with catherine and other social systems at large. catherine obsesses over her status and dwells on the ramifications of a union with heathcliff. heathcliff, however, loves her and believes that to be more important than everything else. her disagreement and casual disregard for his personhood in favor of her ability to get everything she wants pushes him out of the estate to begin with.

in limbus company, however? heathcliff doesn't have the dynamic with his abuser looming over him, nor any implications of threats to his status (beyond vergilius, but at least that isn't personal). he doesn't have to second-guess himself for the sake of his survival and getting what he wants anymore. in canto IV, those very instincts save gregor's life. he can just do what he wants, and even if he messes up and dies, he can just immediately be brought back to life with no consequences. he is freer now than he's ever been in his entire life, and he knows better than everyone the joys of not needing to overthink every single thing he does.

so no, heathcliff is not an idiot. i speculate he's just gotten a taste of freedom he's rarely known and he is relishing it.

[lean-ground-beefro]

welcome to the stage...

a Joel Miller one shot: Flip the Switch

Pairing: CEO!Joel Miller x F!Reader Prompt from @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog:

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘 =Santa!Joel x elf!reader 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕥 = you’ve been a lazy elf so Santa Joel punishes you

Summary: You've been tasked with being Joel's 'Helper Elf' at this year's Christmas Party and good god do you hate your job... Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI) Word Count: 3,562 Content Warning: DubCon, Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), p in the v - unwrapped, degradation, power plays, power imbalance, boss / employee dynamic, swiches, dom/sub dynamic, name calling, couch fucking Author's Notes: I am @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog's Secret Santa and I am so sorry for how late this is, bb! I am thankful for you and I hope you enjoy my first foray our of the chubby universe.

Thank you to @softpascalito, @theywhowriteandknowthings & @neverwheremoonchild for their eyes and beta skills. 💜🥦💜

Santa-baby-I've-been-an-swful-good-girl regards,

Beefro👌🥦💜

--------<3----------

When you’d been asked to dress as Joel’s ‘Helper Elf’ to his ‘CEO Santa’, you’d scoffed at the idea, already planning on resigning from being one of his company’s administrative assistants. You were tired of the long hours and being worked to the bone for very little pay and respect, but you decided to hold off to see the shitshow that the company’s Christmas party would be since Joel himself was in charge of planning it.

Joel was an egotistical brute who had no business being allowed to mingle with people in an enclosed space. His only saving graces were his brother, Tommy – CFO and President, and the only one who could rein him in - and his stupidly handsome, brooding good looks. He infuriated you; he knew he could get away with just about anything because he was the boss and most of the peons were scared shitless of his brutal tirades being directed at them. He threw it in almost anyone’s face how loaded he was and that he owned them. You hated him as much as you loved how quickly you came on your vibrator when though about his voice, his eyes, his hands that were burned into your memory. Fuck Joel Miller and fuck his cocky fucking smirk.

The day of the party you’d been given a cheap, sleezy looking elf costume with an email soon landing in your inbox with instructions to wear it that night, along with what your duties would be. Rolling your eyes, you read the email and realized that you would be spending the entire evening at Joel’s side, truly being his ‘Helper Elf’. You were to make sure he knew every person’s name (you rolled your eyes because if he really gave a shit about the people who worked for him, he’d already know their names), make sure he had food and a drink available to him all night (great – you were going to be a glorified personal waitress for the douchebag), make sure the event ran smoothly (as the one who apparently planned the event, why was this up to you?), had out gifts as ‘Santa’s Helper’ to the employees (groan…), and lastly, keep him company throughout the evening.

The whole thing made you rethink waiting to quit and you huffed, looking down at the cheap, probably highly flammable, elf costume on your desk.

“Fuck it.”, you groaned, picking it up and shoving it into your purse and heading to the bathroom to change.

*****

You were silently cheering yourself on. All evening, you’d made a conscious decision to be as annoying and useless as possible for Joel, and boy oh boy!, you’d gotten under his skin. Two hours into the party, and Joel had gone to get his third refill at the bar because you weren’t ‘paying attention’ and he’d also missed out on most of the buffet because you ‘forgot’ to get him a plate. You’d also managed to ‘unknowingly’ give him several wrong names, making him look like an ass towards several employees who’s names he really should have known. When it came time to hand out presents, you conveniently were ‘required’ to make yourself scarce and were unable to help.

While he’d barely said more than a few sentences to you, his scowl said everything you needed to be satisfied. At this point, you’d had more than a few drinks, and while you still maintained your professionalism, you’d stopped adjusting your skimpy elf costume and let it ride up higher on your thigh as you sat next to Joel. You’d caught him looking down at your bare lap more than once, making you grin to yourself.

*****

You had to give him his due; Joel had managed to put on a not-mediocre, standard office Christmas party. It was more than you thought he was capable of. That, and the fact that he kept the stupid Santa suit on the entire evening and posed for pictures with anyone who asked. You swear you might have even seen a genuine smile on his face when his brother came up for a picture dressed as a reindeer.

What really made you happy though was when Tommy asked Joel how his night was going, and you heard him respond, “Strapped me with a lazy fuckin’ elf, Tommy…” as his face held a cold sneer.

Right under that smile was the asshole who you’d found so much delight in needling all night.

By the time the party wrapped up, you figured you’d done your duty and you’d be free to go home and continue the party with a cheap bottle of wine and your cat. Everyone else had left and as you grabbed your bag from under the table, you heard Joel’s telltale stomps come up behind you. Before you could turn around, he had his hands on your waist, pushing you against the table.

“Think you’re bein’ cute, sugar?”, he growled into your ear.

“The fuck are you doing?!”, you snapped back, trying to wriggle out of his grasp more out of surprise than disgust.

He held you tighter, his thick fingers digging into your waist, and you could feel your panties getting wet.

“Don’t you fuckin’ move… can you follow that fuckin’ direction?”

“Oh Jesus! Just fuck off!”, you snarled back, again, trying halfheartedly to remove his hands from you, but hoping he didn’t let go.

He grunted as you shoved him back and turned around. You both stood and glared at each other, daring the other to make the first move. A small, menacing grin spread on Joel’s face as he took a few slow steps towards you.

“No one’s fucked the Christmas spirit into you yet, sugar?”, he growled, licking his lips and roughly pushing you back onto the table.

“Oh, fuck you! You couldn’t fuck a quack into a duck, you asshole.”

He raised his eyebrow at you and gave you a warning look before roughly gripping your chin and forcing you to look up at him. He brought his face close to you and stared down at you meanly.

“You’re a shitty helper elf. Don’t you dare be a shitty lay, too.”

Before you could respond, he hoisted you up on the table, shoved the skirt of your dress up around your waist and pushed his fingers against your clothed core, making you let out an involuntary moan and a buck of your hips.

“Fuckin’ sweet, sugar…”, he purred, eyeing you with a grin.

You rolled your eyes and groaned against his touch. “You’re a disgusting old man, Miller.”

“Fuck, you’ve got a nasty little mouth on you…”, he murmured with a devilish grin as he pushed your legs apart and stood between them.

You swallowed hard as he grasped your neck. His other hand’s fingers moved between you and his eyes fluttered. He groaned when he felt how wet you were through your panties.

“Fuckin’ eh, sugar…”, he cooed, returning his softer gaze towards you. “You wet for daddy?”

You sucked in a breath as he circled your covered clit with his index finger, and tried to sound as firm as you could. “Fuck off with that ‘daddy’ shit, Miller.”

He tsk’d you, griping your throat tighter. “You and your mouth, sugar…”, he chuckled, watching you squirm, then growled. “You’re gonna be begging me to be your daddy when I’m done with you.”

That was it. This man had fucked around enough with you as your boss and now he wanted to demean you like this? Pulling yourself together, you pushed his chest and shoved him off you with all your might and before he could pounce on you again, you quickly moved to the side, causing him to lean over the table.

You shoved him forward, and to your surprise, he didn’t resist. Instead, he chuckled. “What’re you gonna – “

It infuriated you that despite your rejection of him, he was still smiling and seemingly enjoying himself.

“Just shut up!”, you snarled back, snaking your hand around his front and gripping his infuriatingly impressive cock through his cheap, fuzzy red pants.

“You fuckin’ shit… you’ll never be my daddy…” You could feel him get harder as you growled into his ear. “Too fuckin’ old to even pin me down…”

“Ungh…sugar… oh fuck…”, he panted, rutting his hips and griding his cock against your hands.

The fact that Joel was getting off to your less-than-kind words was not lost on you and you scoffed.

“This how you’re gonna get off, Joel?”, you cooed coldly into his ear as he panted. “Big tough Miller gets off to girls telling him no?”

“Please… sugar… fuck… please…”

“That the best you can do? You’re pathetic, you know that?”, you snapped at him as you shoved the front of his pants down, freeing his cock.

You stood back and tugged his arm, signalling him to turn over, and when he did, his cock did not disappoint. He was huge and the head was angry and weeping. He watched your face, eyes staring in wonderment at his dick as your mouth parted, jaw going slack. He grinned and chuckled, causing your eyes to meet his, only making you angrier with him.

“Fuck you, Miller!”

“Calm down, sugar… not the first whore to get cock dumb on me…”, he cooed, still with a smug grin on his face. He reached out trying to pull your hand to his member.

You yanked your hand away and spat into your palm before gripping his cock and starting to jerk him.

“Fuck you, Miller.”, you seethed lowly. “Fuck you and your fuckin’ smug face.”

“Why you – fuck… why you so pissed, sugar?”

“You’re such a pompous dick! So fuckin’ arrogant and you’re a shit boss.”, you fumed, continuing to pump his cock, causing him to pant. “Throwin’ your money in people’s faces, not knowing their names… someone better put you on your place, Miller. After tonight, I quit, you smug fuck!”

It was like a switch flipped; he snapped out of his submissive and amused state as soon as the words left your mouth. He gripped your wrist, ripping it off his cock and sat up, his other hand going around your throat.

“I don’t think so, sugar. You’re not going anywhere.”

He stood up, holding your wrist and throat, and guided you backwards to the couch and pushed you down on it. You fell back, your legs parted, and he took advantage of this. Joel leaned over you, pushed your panties to the side, and shoved two of his thick fingers into your sopping wet cunt, causing you to yelp.

“You can take it, sugar.”, he smiled menacingly at you, then growled through clenched teeth, “And you’re gonna take it.”

He pounded up into you with one hand while the other gripped your hair in his fist. The sounds that came from your mouth were foreign to you. Yeah, you liked it rough, but this was different. This was your soon-to-be former boss, finger banging you on a couch after a Christmas party and after you’d just about had him wailing your name. You had no idea what had happened to flip him, and before you could get too deep into your thoughts, he hit the perfect spot. That sweet, spongy spot in your pussy that less than half the me you’d fucked had even accidentally grazed, and here was Joel, repeatedly hitting it like it was a doorbell it was an emergency house call.

“Oh fuck!... right th -  yes!... fuck… Joel, there… yes!”

As you felt your walls start to flutter and when that white hot heat started its ascent, he pulled away, grin on his lips.

You sat up on your elbows and looked at him, mouth open and eyes pleading. “What are y-?”

“Fuck you, that’s what.”, he grunted with a grin, shoving his slick fingers into his mouth and sucking.

You could only stare up at him in response. When he finally deemed his fingers clean, he pulled them out of his mouth with a pop and grinned at you.

“Tell you what, sugar. You take back what you said, and I’ll fuck you right here on this couch like you deserve.”

Confused, you continued to lookup at him until it dawned on you.

“You want me to not quit?”

He nodded, grin dropping from his face.

“You think I worked Tommy over to let you be my fuckin’ ‘Elf’ and put up with your bullshit attitude tonight for you to just quit on me, sugar?”, he asked lowly, leaning over you, pinning your head between his elbows.

“Think I haven’t watched that fuckin’ body of yours sashay ‘round the office and had to fuck my fist when I finally got alone?”, he crooned is a husky whisper, pressing his hot mouth on your neck and alternating between licking and nipping your skin. “Think I don’t notice your ass in those skintight skirts and imagine you sittin’ on my face?”

You let out a moan and gripped his shoulders, trying to pull him further into you. He quickly pulled back and sat up on his knee packed between your open legs, and grabbed your hands.

“I’m not hearin’ what I need to, sugar…”

You were frustrated and needy, hating that he had gotten the upper hand on you. Stubbornly, you shook your head.

“Fuck you, Miller. You’re a shit boss and a shit person and I’m not gonna let you fuck around and get nothin’ in return!”

His eyes darkened and his frown hardened into a scowl. He gripped your chin, pulling you up to him as he leaned down to you, feeling his hot breath on your face.

“Listen here, you little bitch. If that’s what you really want, I’ll send you outta here with my fuckin’ bastard in your belly whether you like it or not as a reminder of what you fucked up.”, he growled, holding you stare as if to challenge you.

You could feel your slick flowing from you, dripping out of your cunt and down your crack. Your mind and body were screaming ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in a pathetic battle with themselves at his threat.

“Or…”, his tone softened, as did his grip on your chin, “you can stay and get a promotion.’”

Your face morphed from pleading to confused again. “A-a promotion?”

“A promotion?”, he mocked. ”Yeah, sugar. A fuckin’ promotion.”

He lazily dragged his hand down your body, slipping it between your legs again and into your panties, and began rubbing small, light circles around your clit. You shifted, brows folding as you fought to keep your breath steady and eyes on him, refusing to break again and beg him again.

“You’re good at your job, and I agree… you don’t get enough for all your hard work. How ‘bout this, baby… you work exclusively for me… be my girl here… my helper elf all year round – minus the shitty, bratty attitude you came here tonight with – and I pay you what you’re worth…”

It took all your strength to not cave right then and there, but you were stubborn. “A personal cocksleeve for the office? How fuckin’ charming.”, you snapped back, in a voice far shakier and breathier than you had hoped it would be.

Joel smiled and chuckled darkly, continuing to tease your clit.

“You keep actin’ like you don’t want this, sugar, but my hand can feel your poor little pussy throbbin’ and needin’ me… and I’m sure your bank account would appreciate my attention as well.”

“Fuck you.”

“I plan on it, baby.”, he grinned menacingly. “But I gotta know how you want it… one last fuck… or…”

He nudged his nose against yours.

“My own, personal, little sugar… who’s so good at her job… and can keep me in my place when she wants… get me on my knees and make me beg… and let me fuck her into submission when I need it.”

When you tried to push up against him, he held you in place, keeping his fingers in your folds and his face close to yours in an act of dominance.

“No… I’m the boss right now, sugar, and I asked you a question. I expect an answer.”

You couldn’t help the whimper that crept out of your throat and that was all Joel needed. He kissed you, softly at first then increasing the fervour, prying your mouth open with his lips and tongue. Teeth and spit helping your faces mash together.  The hand he had between your legs moved to his waistband and he pulled it down, again, freeing his cock then gripping it. He pulled back slightly and slid its thick head through your slick.

“Tell me you want it, sugar…”, he grunted, looking at you from under heavy eyelids.

“Fuck…”, you breathed out, your pussy clenching on nothing. “I… of fuckin’ course I want it!”

“Ask nicely, sugar. Drop the attitude.”

“Fuck… please… please, Joel! I want it… I want you… I wanna be… fuck you for making me say it… I wanna get that promoti – aah!.”

Before the last syllable could come from your mouth, Joel pushed your panties aside and shoved his cock into your heat, giving no grace period for you to adjust.

“S’what I thought, sugar.”, he huffed out in a grin.

“Please… oh fuck, please move, Joel!”

“Yeah? Why? ‘Cause your pussy’s too tight for me? ‘Cause you haven’t been fucked by a man with a big dick and bank account?”, he cooed, tilting his hips to push further into you, his tip pressed firmly against your cervix.

“Fuck! Yes… please!”, you yelped, squirming under him. All thoughts of trying to take any control back were being forced out of you by his dick and he knew it.

His smug grin stayed firmly on his face as he pulled out in a painfully slow movement before slamming back in, pushing you further up the couch. He grabbed your hips and held you as he did it again.

“Faster… faster, Joel…”

He shook his head, still grinning. “Uh-uh…”

He kept his slow exit, harsh entry going as he watched your face contort and your cunt clench and release him. You were sure he was just torturing you, but the way he looked down at your face and body mixed with the even pace he was keeping and his size, you knew he knew what he was doing. You could feel the heat building up again, and he could, too.

“That’s it, sugar… I can feel it… come on, baby… lemme have it…”

The wave of your first orgasm hit you, rippling through your body and pulling a long, loud moan from your mouth.

“Oh, good girl!… finally, takin’ directions… good girl…”

He let you start to come down before he picked up your foot, placed a kiss on your ankle and draped it over his shoulder.

“That’s right, sugar… did so good for me, now I’m gonna return the favour.”

He thrusted into you harshly and picked up the speed, forcing your spend out onto both your thighs and his curly thatch of salt and pepper hair that crowned his cock. He pummelled you over and over, bringing you to the cusp of another orgasm and pulled out.

“Turn around… on your knees, sugar.”, he grunted, swatting at you.

You had to fight your trembling body and shaky legs to move, but once you got up on your knees on the couch, back facing Joel, he took over and moved your body into position.

“Now I get it, baby… you behave when you know you’re gettin’ something…”, he chuckled, pushing your face against the cushioned headrest. “Gonna have to get a reward system in place… give you a gold star and a fuck when you do good…”

Before you could return a snappy comeback, he pushed his cock back into you, making the only sound your mouth could produce be a whine.

The angle that he was fucking you in was even better and more intense than before. His grunting and murmured praises filled the room along with the wet, vulgar noises of his cock impaling your cunt. You felt another orgasm coming on, but it was more. Your pants turned to whiny yelps and moans and you felt like something was about to burst.

“Joel… Joel!”

“I know… can feel it… come for me, sugar… come on…”

“Joel… it’s – unhg!... I’m…”

You felt the bubble burst and cried out, collapsing on the couch. Joel let out a grunt-turned-moan at the flood of liquid pouring out of you, holding your hips, and continuing to fuck into you. His thrusts got sloppy and as you leaned on the back of the couch for support, he punched into you one last time, holding your hips against him tightly as he unloaded himself into your pussy with a loud groan.

When you tried to move, his hand moved to your back, soothing over it, as he panted. “Stay put, sugar… just… just stay put.”

You relaxed and laid forward, putting your weight on the couch, and closed your eyes. You could feel his cock twitching in you as it began to soften. His weight shifted and he pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades. The uncharacteristically gentle action made your eyes open abruptly and you sucked in a breath.

Joel’s chuckle reverberated against your back through his chest. “Congrats on your promotion, sugar.”

--------<3----------

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[whorekneecentral]

Shivers

Jordan Henderson x Fem!Reader

Warnings: based when he was still at liverpool because I've yet to come to terms with his departure, massive snow storms, reader is so over jordan but jordan is trying to love on his lady, some cheeky comments, playful teasing, showering together, specific warnings to behave are being ignored, shower sex, penetrative sex (p in v) fingering, finger sucking, oral (m!receiving), manhandling for a second there, lots of I love yous lmao

Word Count: 1,471

Author's Note: I'm still mad at jordan but he's my bookie so that's why I didn't take him out of the series loool

merry smutmas series

--

Jordan comes in after shovelling the driveway and keeps trying to love on you. You tell him that you can feel how cold he is but he makes sure to show you what cold really feels like. 

A massive snow storm has come down on Liverpool all of a sudden.

It's something in which the two of you had never seen in all your years of living there. Usually, you get a few feet of snow here and there throughout the entire season but for some reason, you've acquired 4 feet of snow overnight; global warming is what you told your husband when you got up this morning.

The children had ended up spending the night with Jordan's dad. The night before your father in law took them out to see a movie and have dinner with his grand-babies which turned into a sleepover.

Jordan was meant to go pick up the children but given that it snowed, all the roads were blocked and the two of you were stuck in the house alone, until God knows when.

Most men would take advantage of the alone time with their wife, but not your husband.

You looked over the couch when you heard him coming down the stairs, the man bundled up in his hoodie and thick sweatpants. Jordan sat next to you, putting his socks on. "Where are you going?" You asked your husband with a raised eyebrow.

All the roads were blocked and most of the places weren't open yet or had not opened at all because of the snow.

"I'm going to shovel the driveway." He tells you, walking his way over to the front door to put his coat and boots on.

You got up, following him. "Jordan, you're not serious." You huffed, watching as he put his hat on, looking as dorky as ever. You bit back a laugh, waiting for an answer.

"I am too," he tells you, "someone has to do it."

"Do we even have a shovel ?" You shivered when he opened the door, a gust of wind letting some snow into the foyer. "Yeah, we do. I'll be back in a bit."

Jordan leans towards you, puckering his lips. You roll your eyes, a hand on his jaw when you kiss him softly.

You let Jordan go out into the snow and attempt to shovel the driveway. You check on him in intervals, shouting from the front door to make sure that he's all right and eventually you call out to him, telling him to come in because it's freezing out.

"You'll get frostbite!" You shout from the door, shivering. "Come in, Jord!"

You walk back to the couch, sitting down when Jordan walks in and shut the door. You can hear him shivering and hanging his coat up, as well as taking off his boots before he finds his way over to you.

"Don't even think about it." You warn him, a finger pointed at your husband.

Jordan smiles, dropping himself down on top of you. You squeal, "Jordan! You're freezing! Get off!" You giggled, trying to shove your husband off of you.

"I'm not freezing!" He says back, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"But you are."

"Fine," the man huffs, sitting up on top of you. He smiles, "shall we take a shower then?"

"You can take a shower, I don't need to shower right now." You tell him, reaching for the remote on the coffee table but Jordan tosses it on the other couch.

"It's better with you, baby." He says, picking you up.

"Jordan!" You smack his back when the man puts you over his shoulder - something he's been doing for years, the same something you complained about every time he did it.

The man carries you to the bathroom, there's not much else you can do but go along with it. Jordan puts you down, letting you sit on the counter as he turns on the shower. The water hits the floor and runs down the drain as it goes from cold to hot as a matter of seconds. You can see the steam coming up over the shower curtains as your husband undresses in front of you.

"I'm not getting in there unless you promise to keep your hands to yourself." You tell him.

Jordan moves to stand between your legs, his boxers the only thing that's left to join the pile of his clothes on the floor. "I promise to be on my best behaviour," he whispers, his lips on your neck when he reaches for your top, pulling it off.

"You're already misbehaving," you say, the words coming out a bit breathless. He laughs, helping you off the counter, the two of you stripping off the rest of the way. "Says you."

"Me? I'm a good girl."

He smiles, smacking your ass as you pass by to get into the shower. "That you are."

The two of you stand there for a moment, letting the hot water run over your bodies, all the soreness slipping away. "That's too hot," he mumbled, reaching around from behind you to turn the knob and fix the water temperature.

Jordan turns it a little too much and the water goes from boiling hot to ice cold in a matter of seconds. "Jordan! What the fuck?!" You squealed, pushing him back so you could get away from the cold water.

He laughs, "sorry!" It takes him a second to switch it back, settling somewhere in the middle.

"God," you laughed, smacking his arm. "You're so annoying." You smile, now on your tiptoes to kiss him. Jordan’s hands rest on your ass, pulling you flat against his chest when he kisses you. 

The warm water runs over his shoulders, spilling down onto you before he turns you, the two of you standing directly under the water. He takes another step, leading you to rest your back on the cold tile wall. 

Jordan's hand shifts to rest on your hip, giving it a squeeze before moving down to pull your leg up a bit to rest on the edge of the tub. Your head rests on the wall when he slips two fingers into you. 

Your hand gripping on his shoulder, "oh.. you promised you'd behave." you whisper, head back against the wall. Jordan smiles, fingers curling. "I'm behaving, aren't I?"

“Jord, fuck- oh, that, do that again.” You ramble out in one breath, chest heaving, his fingers curling upwards again. 

He loved when you praised him, telling him how good he makes you feel. Jake brings you just to the edge of your orgasm before he stops, moving his fingers to your mouth. 

Before you could complain, Jordan had pulled his fingers from you and pushed them past your lips. “Suck,” He tells you, feeling your tongue lap his fingers. Meanwhile, his other hand is wrapped around his cock, rubbing it along your slit, slapping on your clit a few times. 

“Baby,” you whimper, eyes pleading with him, “god, fuck me.” You beg, your hand wrapped around his wrist. 

“Hold on sweetheart, patience.” Jordan tells you, hooking your leg on his hip instead of resting it on the ledge. "What happened to behaving?" He teased, causing you to groan.

Before you could answer, Jordan pushes into you and his name falls from your lips like a prayer. His lips met yours, a hand resting on your hip to keep you up as he fucked you, your body welcoming him like he belonged there. 

There was something about being in the shower together, homely and sweet and domestic. 

His other hand rests on your cheek, pulling your focus to him. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips. 

“Hm I love you,” your hand resting on his jaw. 

He can feel you squeezing his cock, your eyes fluttering closed. Jordan smacks your jaw lightly, “look at me,” he tells you. “If you want to cum, open your eyes.”

You give in, your eyes opening a little and his thrusts are sloppy, you know he’s just as close as you are. A few more thrusts and you’re over the edge, calling his name as you do. 

“Where?” He asks, his head on your shoulder and you know it’s not gonna last. You push him off of you, sinking onto your knees. Jordan gets what you were doing, putting his cock in your mouth when you open it. 

He groans, watching as your tongue laps over his cock, looking up at him through your eyelashes innocently.

He pulls your hair up and away from your face, “you’re so perfect, I love you.” He mumbles, another string of praise falling from his lips as he cums. 

Your husband helps you up, giving you a kiss before you two actually finish your shower like normal people, your husband hugging you from behind as you did your skin care routine.

"What?" You looked at him in the mirror, "I didn't even finish shovelling the driveway," he whispers, making you laugh.

--

taglist: @nosugarallspice  @evieepepi08 @mimithepooh @koufaxx @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @topguncultleader @molliemoo3 @aisharmi @mamako23 @ac3may @lewislcver @miahgonzalez16  @books-and-netflix-pls  @wibi96 @bwddermilch @pedrisgatorade  @clarasenchant @sainzluvrr // @trentsfav @trentsmyfave @noturbabe22

[appleblueberry-pie]

Yandere Miguel asks? Alright

Miguel who's already lost his daughter Gabriella and his wife when he messed up the Canon and the universe got destroyed. He's doing his little thing in the spider society when he finds a universe nearly identical to the one that got destroyed, the one where he replaced himself.

Only, in this universe, (Y/n) and Gabriella are meant to die instead of that universe's Miguel.

I imagine Miguel would tell himself a lot of excuses and rationalizations before bringing those two back to his universe (probably with a permanent form of a day pass). A little white lie to them won't also hurt.

Its a plot I've been wanting to write for awhile (as a fellow Yan author) but I've put writing on the back burner so I wanted to share this idea and see how'd you approach it :)

I'll be honest, I didn't feel like writing the entire backstory for what you want(which I usually would), but I went to straight action.

BLOOD MOON

He thought things would get easier from here. He thought he could finally come home, relax, see his beautiful and amazing wife, along with his precious baby girl. Because he's worked too hard in this lifetime. Too many short days and long nights, too many sacrifices made to keep himself and others safe. Too many deaths. Too many losses. Too many remembrances and forgotten memories. He just wanted it all to end. And he thought it did. Because he finally found you guys. Here you were standing before him with those gorgeous eyes he always got lost in. Telling him about his daughter and your day. So why were your words so venomous?

"I can't do this anymore." He kissed you on the forehead and closed the front door behind him. He walked past you and placed his work items on the table. "What was that, dear?" You stared at him as if he grew two heads. "We can't stay here forever, Miguel." He shuffles to get one shoe off before he finally comprehends your words. His face falls and he looks over at you. He had told you it was all in the past. Why are you bringing up old news? "Can't stay here?" He quotes you as if you said a joke. Your face twists into one of anger and you walk over to him.

"You know what I mean. Holding us here with no real motive besides keeping us for your own sick fucking pleasures. We're not pets, Miguel-" "Wait, wait, wait, wait. Where is this coming from? Pets?? Y/n, what are you talking about? I've never treated you like any kind of animals, you're my wife-"

"I don't know you!!" The growing silence allows you both hear the creak of a door opening from afar and Miguel begins to stare at you as if you mentioned something taboo. As if you're stupid. "Let's talk about this later." Miguel turns his back to you to go your shared bedroom. "No, I'm not going to talk about this later, Miguel, we're not from here! Look, I don't know what you want, or even who you are. But...you can't just-" Miguel feels his irritation that build up all day begin to rise again. His shoulders tense the more you talk, and your daughter peeking out her bedroom to witness this wasn't helping.

He turns to face you again, almost seeming to crowd over you. "I am your husband. I am your husband! I've given you everything you needed. I gave you a place to call home, a better home. You don't have to live off of minimum wage anymore. And finally, your daughter has a father figure to watch after her, aren't you happy?? Because I sure am! Gaby's been so happy now and so have you. Why can't you just.....appreciate the things I've sacrificed for the both of you???"

You scrunch your face and take a step back. This stranger suddenly spouting bullshit to you about your killed husband and saying that the two of you being in a random different universe is a blessing?? You're confused and scared and would rather live where you used to than wherever this foreign place is. He was beginning to piss you off. ".....How dare you?" Miguel raises his eyebrows when he notices your tone. "How dare you? My husband is fucking dead......You stole us away from home and now you're saying that whatever this shitshow is, is a blessing?" "Mommy?"

You shake your head and jab your finger into his chest. "You don't know the first thing about me." "I know you love teaching Gaby piano, I know you love going out on walks when the sun is setting, I know you love letting me drive you to places, I know you love when I cook you dinner, I know where you used to work, where you want to work, I know when you first told me you were pregnant with our babygirl, I have your vows memorized and I know that you love me. I know that you love me, so why don't you just let me love you, hermosa?" Miguel had backed you into a door and gently cradled your face into his hands. He softly whispers to you as if trying to snap you back into reality, as if it wasn't setting in the moment you realized this psycho was obsessed with you two.

"I would never, ever hurt you. I do everything for our family, nothing else. My two girls are the only things on my mind all day when I'm at work. And to come back home to you is everything I could ask for. And if there was anything else I could ask for, is for you to love me back. Please." He had gestured your daughter out of her bedroom and she ran into his arms. He smiled down at her, making her worried face shift into one of relief. Miguel laughs and kisses her forehead lovingly. You want to kill this man for ever putting his hands on you and your daughter. You failed to keep your girl safe and now she was in the hands of a monster she believed to be her dead daddy. Your worst fucking nightmare come true. Calling out to her and making her come to your side wouldn't save her. Attempting to kill him wouldn't save her because then the both of you would be stuck wherever you were. All you wanted was for her to live a normal life, and not even the universe could give you that. What were you gonna do?

Miguel noticed your blank face and sent Gaby away, grabbing your hand gently. You let him. He hugs you and whispers into your ear. "I'm done talking about this. You clearly need sleep." You look up at him, glaring, yet he continues to stare down at you with adoration. He leaves no room for argument as he opens the bedroom door to lead you in.

[aldeanotes]

the art of cooking

aemond / modern!reader, 16+, fluff / comedy / mild angst in later plot points. inspiration taken from kdrama mr. queen. reader is very bi and loves girls so much.  

summary: in which you are a famous young chef whose soul was transported into the body of some way too pretty and privileged noble woman. oh, and you’re supposed to marry a prince or whatever. anyway, can you test this to see if it's ready ? 

warnings: reader is batshit wild and doesn't have time for westerosi norms : ). characters will be ooc at times and this story is not entirely canon compliant.

author's notes: sorry for the very long delay !!! i've had so much going on !!!

tag list: @azaleapotterblack, @aurorathi

chapter two: / 5.2k words

Sitting before Otto and Alicent Hightower, you realize, quite bluntly, you don’t want to be here. They’re going to think you’re out of your mind if you speak the truth of the situation – you fell in some water and then woke up here in this place – but it’s the truth nonetheless. Given their hardened expressions (that Otto gives you and Alicent has the mercy to give it to the floor instead of you), you have a feeling they already don’t like the situation as they perceive it.

Which is that the younger prince’s betrothed (you make a face whenever they refer to this relation) has suffered a memory loss and the greatest doctors of this age can’t seem to fix it through traditional means.

Alicent takes in a deep breath, finally breaking her intense eye contact with the floor and running her hands briefly across her face in slight distress. Though, you have a feeling she’s a little bit of a mess inside. You shift uncomfortably in the seat at the Small Council. Jaquetta’s comforting presence is behind you. Unfortunately, the other presence in the room causes you to pretend to be deeply interested in the space between Alicent’s eyebrows.

Prince Aemond sits across from you, next to Otto. If he’s looking at you, you don’t know. You don’t care. He’s not YOUR betrothed, after all, and you have no joy in getting married to anybody. In your real life in your real body, you never had a good example to follow for a healthy relationship, and this girl’s body and that guy sitting across from you do not contain brains that are smart enough to realize that marriage in your teens is a usually bad idea.

Apparently none of the brains of the others in the room are smart either.

“Your uncle and sister are on their way. I have already written to them informing them of the situation,” Alicent breaks the tense silence, looking right at you.

Your eyes meet hers, and you can see a certain kind of tiredness in them. You feel inclined to just nod, so you do. You hope these people will be normal, at least.

“Regarding the marriage–” Otto’s voice pierces straight to the point. He has this way of speaking that makes you feel like he teeters around certain topics like a fighter circling his opponent. “It would be best if we–”

You raise your hand suddenly. Your eyes stare right at the table’s surface. You don’t want to know what everyone else looks like at your actions. You open your mouth and let out a dumb sound – “Um.” There’s a small pause. “Question.” You smack your lips as you gather up all your courage to make your inquiry. “Can we just, you know, not have it?”

Jaquetta grips your shoulder tightly and you know you’ve messed up.

“That is not an option,” Alicent says.

Her tone is sharp enough to cause you to flinch and hesitantly look up at her. Your eyes meet her brown ones. You feel a weight on you. You’ve come to realize in the brief moments you’ve looked at her that Alicent comes through in the eyes. Even as they capture you in their vision, you can’t look away.

It all feels much like how things used to be with your mother.

Alicent must sense the way you retreat into yourself because she swallows before continuing on in a gentler voice.

“It is for the good of the realm.”

But you don’t care about that. Jacquetta has tried telling you of things here and there, but, for the love of the creator, you have no investment in the happenings of this world the same way these people do. You’re a foreign entity trapped here, treated with a different level of scrutiny and pushed down by traditions that have been relatively abandoned in your own world. It feels unfair. You want to scream at these people.

“But I’m not well,” you say. It’s the only real protest you have.

Alicent purses her lips and glances down at her intertwined hands on the table. Her father beats her to it.

“To speak plainly of it,” he starts, and you already can tell from his tone that you’d been doomed to this fate before you even knew it. “This marriage contract has already been approved by the royal household and your house. The wedding is to be held in three months’ time –”

You put your face in your hands.

(“Oh, my fucking god,” you whisper into your flesh. Otto ignores you.)

“Given the time frame, we will not be able to cancel the wedding nor is it in the interest of the realm to do so.”

A wave of nausea hits you, and you distinctly feel like throwing up.

“Your uncle and sister have been informed of the situation and will be arriving within the month,” Otto says. He speaks like everything is final, and as you feel the walls close in around you, you realize it is. “We will have to make use of these three months to be sure you are presentable in time for the wedding.”

Something like dread settles in your stomach. Forget the uncle and sister. Your more immediate worry is about how they plan on making you ‘presentable’ at a wedding you don’t want to a person you don’t know.

Your voice is small when you speak again. “And you’re going to do that – how ?”

“We will arrange some tutors and a septa to be at your side at all times,” Alicent chimes in.

‘At all times’ – you get the impression it’s more to keep an eye on you rather than for your benefit. After not giving yourself nearly enough time to process everything, you lift your head up and glance between Otto and Alicent. You ignore the way Aemond has taken to tapping his finger on the table top.

“So that’s it?” You ask. They say nothing. “Just like that?”

Still nothing.

You look at your last lifeline. Aemond has stopped tapping on the table and is looking back at you when you finally forget the uncomfortable tension between the two of you. You must look pathetic because his lone eye flickers over your face as if he’s taking you in. Even in this situation, he makes your spine go a little cold. It takes some strength not to flinch back from him.

“You–” You take a breath to collect yourself. “You don't really want this either. Right?” You might as well be pleading to him right now with the way your eyes look at him and the way you wave your arm around. “There’s no way you actually agree. I mean – I’m not me anymore.”

He just regards you in brief silence.

“You don’t want to do this!” Your voice raises a bit and Jaquetta stiffens next to you.

“I will perform my duty to the realm,” Aemond answers, keeping your gaze.

You’re floored, a breathy chuckle leaving you at his words. The corners of your mouth twitch up as if he’d told a joke. It was a sick one, if you’d ever heard one. Your arm that you’d been waving around flops helplessly onto your lap as you watch him turn to his mother and grandfather.

“I will wed my betrothed as agreed upon.”

You don’t know if it’s commendable or downright idiotic of him to marry someone who clearly he knows is not normal. Your lips part to make another protest but all that comes out is air. Everyone in this room with any semblance of power greater than your own has shut you down. Your worries are cast aside. They’re like whispers in the wind to these people.

Otto says something before getting up and walking away. You retreat back into your mind as you always do when you’re frightened, when things are beyond your control like this. The screech of chairs don’t awaken you from your state. Your eyes bore into the polished table, and you think you might almost cry but your eyes flutter shut to stop them. How can you even stop this?

Jaquetta kneels down beside you and takes your hand. You feel a little less alone.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The septa, which you realize is something like a nun, assigned to you is boring and overbearing. Septa Lettice is stern, rule-abiding and watches your every move. Even Jaquetta has difficulty adjusting to this new presence in your life, her bright smile appearing a little tight against the septa’s neutral expression. You can’t even so much as go for a stroll without her lingering right on top of you. Her teachings are even worse.

While you’ve been spared from being inflicted any physical punishments, when you raise protests against whatever bullshit she tries shoving down your throat, she’s quick to dole out more readings or lessons to occupy any free time you were waiting for. Though you at least admit that not all these long sermons on the Faith of the Seven are for naught. You find that this world is just as brutal and unfair as the damn Dark Ages in your own world. A discovery which makes you look forward to your time here. Of course.

You whisper your practiced prayers monotonously so she’ll get off your back.

When it’s not with Septa Lettice, Alicent and Otto have been kind enough to assign you other trusted governesses to teach you etiquette, speech and some admittedly more useful knowledge like history and basic finances. The governess presiding over your history and financial lessons finds you more agreeable than Septa Lettice and the other governesses that try to wrangle in your resistant behavior. The first week you attempted to just not show up for the first couple of lessons, and the following week you found that several palace servants had come early in the morning to escort you to your daily lessons. You try for another escape through the window and it takes both Septa Lettice and Jaquetta their entire strength to pull you back inside. Alicent gives you a thorough verbal reprimand that evening, and it’s enough to get you to curb your behavior somewhat.

Jaquetta proves herself to be your greatest asset, though.

“This is your house, my lady,” she says, unfurling a piece of soft, muted purple fabric with your house’s sigil on it.

You flinch a little at the sight of a shrike perched upon a branch with one of its meals skewered on a thorn against the backdrop of a castle.

“Kind of gruesome,” you reply, looking down at your botched attempt at sewing a flower for your embroidery lesson. It looks like a distorted mess, like a plate of spaghetti that’s been dropped on the ground.

Jaquetta smiles widely. “The shrike with its prey has been your house’s sigil since its founding. Your ancestors used the bird’s way of killing its victims to build Shrikesdrop to defend against enemies.”

Shrikesdrop – the ancestral seat of House Durant. It’s perched miles high above the water’s surface, impossible to invade by a beach landing and nearly impenetrable by any army thanks to the steep incline of the roads that lead up to it. According to Jaquetta and a couple notes you found in a book here and there, Shrikesdrop has spikes that resemble thorn covered branches that can impale thousands of men who are unfortunate enough to fall off the inclines. Your house has perfected many tricks to get people to fall off of it, and death by impalement is apparently the go-to execution method of your house. You suddenly didn’t want to meet your uncle and sister after hearing that.

“‘As Sharp as Thorns’,” you mumble your house words. It’s dumb, but you guess it’s the best your ancestors could do.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don’t mean to stumble across Aemond again. It just happens. Like so much in your two lives.

While you don’t exactly allow yourself to get extinguished fully, you at least understand that your ability to get some manner of freedom rests on some compromise on your part. And, well, you’re pretty smart. Smart enough to remember your lessons, to execute the right angle when you greet your governesses, to hold your head high like you’ve always had blue blood in your veins. That was all you had to pay in exchange for some free time.

It’s the sound of steel clashing that causes you to hurry to the platform overlooking the training grounds, eager for some action to rid you of your boredom.

Your opinion of your betrothed is tainted, of course, because of your judgments. It’s also a little difficult to find yourself liking someone you’re forcefully bound to at this point. However, you can’t deny it. The silver locks that fly about like feathers belonging to a bird of prey are what catch your eye first. You can spot them as he dances about the ground, the dirt crunching underneath his boots.

You can’t see his lone eye, but you feel that if you were close enough they’d have that unsettling intensity you’d seen before – honed in on something. His body is both strong yet nimble as he readies himself. His hand grasps the sword as if it were part of his body.

He’s a fighter.

Fire and Blood – Jaquetta taught you the Targaryen words before those of your own house. The blood of the dragon.

You’d heard the screeching of the dragons sometimes, but you’d never been allowed to rush to see them. Somewhere between your acceptance of your fate and your need to cling on to what you know, you think you’d prefer not to see one. Aemond’s dragon, Vhagar, is the largest in the world, or so you’ve been told.

“Shit,” you hiss underneath your breath when you see Aemond’s opponent take such a fierce swing at him.

Your fingers grip the edge of the platform. The hard surface superficially scratches the skin of your palm. It’s a reflexive reaction, but unnecessary. Aemond blocks it gracefully and disengages cleanly. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Fear not, my lady,” Septa Lettice says. “Ser Criston Cole will not harm the prince.”

Criston Cole, the most trusted sworn sword of Queen Alicent and member of the king’s guard. The best knight in all of the land. Apparently. The royal family sure does have access to some of the best things and people in this land.

Criston circles Aemond after engaging once again, facing towards you as you watch from the platform. Watching training interests you in ways that lessons do not. Perhaps it is the deadliness of it or perhaps it is because even you understand that observing two skilled warriors in a small battle is a luxury few can see. Dark eyes flicker up to you and you stiffen, realizing that Criston is looking right at you.

He says something you can’t make out to Aemond. As soon as you see the back of Aemond’s head begin to move, you run off, Jaquetta and Lettice chasing after you behind you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your beloved Septa scolds you all the way back inside and only lowers her voice when you begin to pass through the busy halls of the Red Keep. Her expression of concern for your dress skirt getting dirty mirrors a stressed chicken, noisily frantic. You just sigh as she keeps on talking.

Even when you are given free will to wander about as you please, everything feels rather … boring once the splendor of the place begins to wear off. The architecture and luxury is impressive, of course, but how much gold thread and pointed stars can you bask in before you start to long for home again? The faces that greet you and pass by you don’t interest you. You’re selfish with your time. There’s no use entertaining yourself with people that won’t alleviate your anxiety or boredom.

“My lady, you should have stayed and spoken with Prince Aemond,” Jaquetta says, walking a little ways behind you.

You give a dry chuckle. “I’ve got better things to do than that. I’d rather be bored to death. Or go pray at the Sept all day.”

As if you’d want to spend more time with him than you have. Maybe if you prayed to these Gods enough they’d send you back home, but you find that gods tend not to listen to your pleas.

“Prince Aemond is a good prince,” Jaquetta continues. “He is studious, talented in fighting and dedicated to his studies. You have always enjoyed his company so well–”

Her words stop because she’s run into the back of you. You felt the hit but your eyes were trained on someone. A young lady walks across the hall and she is stunning.

“Whoa,” you breathe out as your eyes remain fixed on her. “Who’s that?”

Her silver hair falls past her shoulders, a lone braid framing the top of her head like a crown. You recognize the shade violet that stains her irises, but they look way better on her. Fuck your betrothed. Who gives a fuck about him when there’s pretty girls instaed?

Jaquetta quirks an eyebrow at you before following your eyes and responding, “That is the Princess Helaena Targaryen. You may not remember her since you lost your memories, but you two have been companions since little and– My lady, where are you going?”

Of course, you pick up your dress skirt from off the floor and make your way over to Helaena. Too high for this society’s standards but perfectly comfortable to you (which is all that matters). Jaquetta and Lettice follow after you with their cheeks flushed.

You execute the encounter as perfectly as you do in your head. Every step has a certain charismatic swagger to it as you approach the princess with a wide smile. Your shoes make soft sounds on the floor. Helaena is momentarily pulled away from her embroidery. You spy a pretty design of an insect crawling out of its pupa.

The both of you seem to just stare at each other for a couple of seconds. You beam down at her while she blinks up at you. Then, without another word, you sit down next to her. This seems to make her jump a little, and you make note of that, sliding away from her to give her some space. It doesn’t dampen your enthusiasm.

“Helaena?” You say her name.

A soft smile tugs on her lips. She says ‘your’ name back to you.

“Uh–” You aren’t quite sure. “I’ve been sick for a little bit after … everything, you know, but I’m all better now. Soooo-”

Some kind of glassy look overtakes her eyes. You feel like your heart slows for a moment. It’s suddenly as if she can see through you, into you – almost like Aemond.

“Coin in the waves; heads to tails; tails to heads.” Her voice is a whisper. “The true reflection is on the water.”

Something magical and hidden is woven in her words. Something makes you feel compelled. By what – you know not.

“…Oh.” I mean – what are you even supposed to say to that? “Okay.”

You two stand there in an awkward silence as you both flicker your eyes to the side. You hear Septa Lettice clear her throat behind you. It’s just like you to be so clumsy in front of a pretty girl like this.

“You want to –” Helaena looks up expectantly at you. “Do some … needlework together?”

She smiles, and you feel your heart leap up into your throat.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Helaena’s needlework is beautiful. A lovely image of two flowers sprouting together in full bloom rests gracefully on her cloth. The sound of children babbling a bit and toys clanking against the floor draws your attention away from your messy second attempt at sewing again.

Truthfully, you don’t envy Helaena being a mother already. This body’s original owner and she are the same age. Her children, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, are old enough to at least understand when you say certain words to them. Maelor is still a little young. She must have had them young, and while you know it’s a symptom of Westerosi culture, it makes you feel ill regardless. You wonder if the original Lady Durant would have found this equally as repulsive or if she would have bowed her head in acceptance? You won’t accept it, at least.

The children say ‘your’ name as soon as they see you. It’s not who you really are, but you can’t bear to do anything other than pat their heads and play along with them. You see Helaena in them when they look up at you. They’ll definitely be pretty like their mother when they grow up.

You nearly threw up when Jaquetta had informed you that Helaena’s husband was her own elder brother, Aegon. And then you nearly did it again when she told you that it was traditional for House Targaryen to marry close family relations. Sibling marriages are common, and, quite frankly, whatever magical or bloodline related reasoning they can give is not enough to justify literally any of that.

“Sooo–” Your voice disrupts the peace that’s settled in between you and Helaena. “What’s the … gossip? What’s the – What’s the new thing? Since it’s been a bit since we’ve chatted and all that?”

She gives you a momentary look before she thinks. “You’re going to marry Aemond soon.”

You suppress a groan. “Yeah, I guess you’re … happy about that. Right?”

Helaena smiles softly and you feel your heart flutter a bit. “Marriage isn’t so bad. Aemond won’t ignore you. He’ll be nice to you.”

You frown. “He’s ignoring me right now.”

“Aemond was worried about you,” she says. Your hand stops pulling the needle through the fabric. That’s the second person to tell you he was worried.

Helaena sets aside her needlework to give you her full attention. “He just … Sometimes has trouble conveying how he thinks and feels. You’ve always been very mindful of him, though.”

Yeah, the old owner of this body but not you!

“I guess so,” you say, tossing your own needlework on the cushion next to you. “Can’t say my mind is getting any better lately.”

A noise from the children takes your attention away. They’re giving a plate of biscuits being offered by their servant rather disgusted looks.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

The servant regards you with an apologetic expression. “The prince and princess have been having some difficulty eating their snacks lately.”

“They think it doesn’t taste good,” Helaena explains. “The royal kitchen has tried just about everything to please them, but nothing seems to work.”

You’ve got an idea.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They should have known you were up to something when you were being so … compliant. Way too compliant. You excel in your lessons the following two days and spend some time praying like you’re supposed to before you spend the night scribbling furiously down on some paper. You shoo away Jaquetta whenever she inquires about what you’re doing but you unveil everything one day after your lessons. You snatch the papers and gleefully make your way to the royal kitchen, your two companions in tow.

“My lady, a maiden of noble birth like yourself should not be–” Septa Lettice tries to dissuade you as you enter the kitchen with a bit of misplaced swagger but you promptly cut her off with a yell.

“Bring me your ingredients at once!”

The entire kitchen seems to freeze in space before the attendants scramble about to gather everything you wish. They assemble fruit jam, flour, honey, and anything you ask for. If being a future princess grants you this authority, you might consider being nice to Aemond in the future when you see him.

You give a sweeping gaze over the ingredients, putting your hand on your hips. “That’ll do it.”

“My lady,” Jaquetta says, “What do you plan to do?”

“Don’t worry yourself, Jackie,” you respond, washing your hand in some water and covering your hair with a napkin. “Lettie.” Septa Lettice makes a face. “Let me work my magic.”

Despite their anxious words and the annoying way they hover about you, they soon join the growing crowd of kitchen staff that watch you, entranced by your skills. It should be expected, though. Who can beat you when it comes to cooking? Even baking these jam filled cookies for the twins is a piece of cake. If the royal cooks can’t make anything that pleases them, then you definitely can.

You inspect the heat under the baking oven located some ways away from the kitchen. Your eyes trail along the metal of the oven. It shouldn’t be too time consuming to bake the cookies as long as the heat was regulated. With that over, you crack your knuckles and get to work.

You hold your hand out towards the kitchen staff. “Small knife for designing, please.”

“My lady, that is–”

You narrow your eyes. Soon, a small knife is put in your hand and you get to cutting out insect shapes of the cookie dough you prepared. You make two of each design, putting a dollop of the fruit jam mix in the middle of one cut out dough piece and then putting the other on top of it. You make sure to draw each part of the insects with precision – butterfly wings, caterpillar body, beetle legs. Something for both the children and Helaena to enjoy.

“If these are burnt by even a little bit–” You tell the servant that manages the oven, handing over the tray of cookies. You drag your thumb across your neck. “You’re dead, okay? On the future princess’ order.”

He gulps and scurries off.

You nearly trip over your own feet that afternoon when you hurry up the long staircases and through the many hallways of the Red Keep to Queen Alicent’s room. Helaena takes the children there to visit their grandmother, and you’re determined to be there to have them enjoy the treats you’d made.

“Helaena!” You call out to her in a sing-song voice as the servants open the door for you, Jaquetta following behind you with the food and Septa Lettice right behind her (nearly out of breath).

Several eyes fall on you, but any thoughts of shame are pushed aside immediately when you see him there.

You blink. “What are you doing here?”

Aemond regards you with a quick sweep of his single eye. “I came here to see my niece and nephew.”

“…” You narrow your eyes. “Okay.”

You hear Alicent let out a quick sigh before giving you a tired look that has you shrinking a bit. “I see your lessons have given you no progress.”

You flush. Something about disappointing Alicent makes you embarrassed. “No, no. They’ve been going well. I, uh–”

After clearing your throat, you straighten up as you’d been instructed and take those light steps towards Alicent and Helaena, both of whom are sitting on the couch. You give both of them a little curtsy – light like a cloud, your teachers told you. Alicent’s mouth turns upwards, her eyes are expectant. You want to roll yours. You know what she wants.

You swallow your pride and glide across the room towards Aemond, not meeting his eyes. Stopping in front of him, you give him a quick curtsy before grabbing your plate of sweets for Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. The children look up at you as you kneel down beside them.

“Look what your future auntie made you,” you say, holding out the treats for them.

“You made that?” Helaena says, reaching out a hand and plucking a spider shaped cookie.

“Yep, yep!” You nod. “You can have some too. And Her Majesty.” You don’t even bother to look at Aemond. “And His Highness too. If he wants.”

You hear him get up from his seat, the wood creaking beneath him. His boots echo through the sounds of the children munching happily on the cookies as he comes over. You lift your eyebrows in surprise and stand up. He grabs one of the cookies, a butterfly shaped one, and takes a bite.

“…You cook, my lady?” He asks.

“Huh?” You say without a thought. Oh. Right. Maybe you didn’t think about that.

“The servants told me you were in the kitchens yourself,” Alicent adds, and you can already tell this is going to be a battle with the two of them.

You bite back any mean retort you had prepared. “I … wanted to make something for my future little niece and nephew. And as far as cooking, um … “ You shrug, tripping over your words for a moment. “My illness unlocked a new, creative side to me. Like sunshine after the storm.”

Alicent and Aemond look at you like you’ve lost your mind.

Helaena smiles widely. “That’s wonderful. I look forward to what else you will make.”

You smile back at her, showing teeth. Alicent looks ready to protest but you cut her off.

“I’ll make something for Aemond.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can even stop yourself. You look up at him and into his eye, something burning inside you. That same kind of passion that kept you going throughout your life. “Something you’ve never had before.”

“That…” Alicent trails off.

“I look forward to it,” Aemond says.

You don’t know why, but you feel taken off guard by that.

You don’t know why but you toss and turn at night, thinking of what Aemond would enjoy. Food is the way to someone’s soul. You’re not that interested in getting to know Aemond beyond the superficial, but you figured if there’s anyone you need to NOT hate you … it would be Aemond. You don’t care what Helaena or Jaquetta has to say, that kid looks like he could sink a sword in you without so much as breaking a sweat. Besides, it got you out of having to appeal to Alicent to let you in the kitchens again.

You’re not getting out of this marriage. The thought makes you want to sink into the bed and into the darkness even more. Marriage? In this place? Your husband is going to tell you what to do? Why couldn’t you have been sent into the body of a rich widow? Then you’d at least have some money to throw around with no one to tell you what to do with it.

But what are you to cook him? Aside from what others have said to you, you’ve no idea what he likes, and you’d already promised him something new. You use your brain to go through what you know.

“Fighter,” you mumble. “Diligent … Something filling, but not too heavy.”

Perhaps a broth. A broth that’s full of flavor, savory like a victory. With some kick in it. A robust flavor on the tongue with some spices and herbs.

Your eyes pop open as you sit up.

“…Ramen.”

[heyitschartic]

I love the Harrow Nova AU a ton, it is one of my favorite fanfic concepts to read for TLT. I think as a concept it's so intriguing just because of how much it turns everything on its head. Gideon the favored, Harrow the reject. The different ways that authors decide to depict this dynamic can be so fun and interesting. Despite this, I've only read one fanfic that didn't partway through break my suspension of disbelief beyond repair.

Something writers need to recongize is that most of the appeal in Gideon the Ninth is the relationship between Gideon and Harrow. It's fun, it's fucked up, it's interesting, and it's tragic. This AU inevitably breaks that usual bond and almost calls for some new, interesting fucked up dynamics. And you'd better deliver it or else you're stripping away some of the best parts of the story for a tacky coat of paint.

I think the problem is that you need to make some serious changes and stick to them without cracking the narrative like an egg on the sidewalk. Gideon as the Reverand Daughter is interesting, but it also requires her to, you know, act like the Reverand Daughter. A lot of the fun byplay in Gideon the Ninth is that the two of them are putting on that facade that the Ninth are fine, everything is okay, we're just two nuns. Their entire house relies on this bluff. But if Gideon is the Reverand Daughter, unless you're gonna completely change her personality, then it's gonna hit the point where you go "why is she still doing this? Gideon wouldn't care about preserving the Ninth the way Harrow would." And if you've stripped that rigid structure from her, then you better have something interesting to replace it, some fun reason that she needs to play the devout nun, or else, inevitably, everything else will start collapsing in on itself.

Harrow's situation is just so interesting on its own. The horror, the grief, the rage, the purpose of a generation given to her and then stripped away. There's so much juicy stuff to work with and if she's playing off a wet noodle, I'd almost wish she'd just do both of us a favor and kill Gideon off.

I like Harrow Nova. I like the concept and I like the stories, but it requires a pretty fundamental change to keep the narrative flowing. Maybe they're sent to something not Canaan, somewhere they're being watched and need to keep up appearances or risk having major plans blow up in their face. Maybe their new personalities force Cav Harrow to take the lead, playing mouthpiece for a Necromancer who can't handle people. Maybe Harrows life is literally on the line and Gideon cannot do anything but play-act the nun or Harrow will get killed.

There are so many fun possibilities for this what if, please use them! Otherwise it will become a fix fic and nobody wants that.

[akittenwrites]

Queen of Ice and Prince of Fire [2]

Author: @akittenwrites

Summary: Lady Y/N Stark of Winterfell has declared herself Queen in the North. That means war, against King Viserys, and also against Prince Daemon. But the Rogue Prince doesn't want to fight her.

Type: multichapter series

Chapter: two

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x reader

Word count: 1498

Warnings: swearing.

Part one.

A slight breeze caressed her skin as she dipped her fingers in the ice-cold water of the small lake. Winter was coming. The ground around her would be covered in snow in a few months.

She looked at her reflection in the water. The past year had come and gone, robbing her of her father and the innocence in her eyes. She was still young, her skin bright and her lips plump, but her life had taken a turn for the worse since she had lost the only parent she had left. Her brothers were too young to take on the role of Lord of Winterfell, so it had become her burden to bear. And so far she had done so with responsibility and dedication, taking care of her people and honoring her father's memory.

Yet now everything had changed. Eight months ago they had received a message from the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch: winter was coming. Almost at the same time, her most trusted maester warned her that war for the Iron Throne's succession was looming in King's Landing as it appeared the King had trouble producing an heir.

Winter would be harsh for the entire realm, but especially the North. There was no way of predicting how long it would last. It could be two years, or it could be twelve. Facing the effects of war in the south or being forced to participate because King Viserys' dick didn't work? Because Daemon was apparently too unlikeable to sit on the damn throne? No, she refused to be a part of it. She wouldn't send her people to die for that. Northerners had their own war on the horizon, and it was a real war, not the product of politicking. Ravens flew from Winterfell and back for months, and soon her letters informing her bannermen of the threat that was near were followed by the summoning of the heads of their Houses for a secret meeting to discuss and agree on a strategy.

That night the lords named her Queen in the North.

Now she had to live up to the title.

The rustling of leaves behind her made her stand up, the long skirt of her gown feeling heavy as it hung to her waist. She dusted it off without turning around, the grey silk of its outer layer a gift Daemon had given her the day she left King's Landing, almost a year ago. She knew he would recognize it. He always did.

"This castle is terribly guarded."

Oh, how she had missed that cockiness. She smiled to herself, relishing the sound of his voice after so long.

"Well, nobody comes here, I've been told it's a cold and unwelcoming place, so we do not bother with such pointless matters."

She turned around with a smirk on her face. Daemon stood next to the heart tree, a black cloak covering his clothes but with the hood off, his pristine silver hair framing his face. She raised an eyebrow, questioning his choice of attire. Did he really think he could blend in dressed like that? Just one more example of how disconnected the South was from the North.

She was still impressed he had managed to find her so quickly, anyway. It was a place he hadn't visited in decades, even if she had intentionally made it easier for him, waiting there, in the Godswood. It was a small clearing in the woods, away from the noise of the castle and prying eyes. Only the Gods were listening. The ground was covered in red leaves from the Weirwood tree, and the lake reflected the grey sky above. Her long dark hair moved in the breeze.

"You arrived thirty minutes ago," she stated plainly. Then she pointed to her left. "Caraxes is six miles that way. You didn't sneak into Winterfell and the Godswood. My guards follow my orders. I let you in."

"Then I am relieved," he said, walking a few steps in her direction, careful to avoid the tree roots. "I would hate to think you weren't properly guarded."

He paused, gazing into her eyes with such intensity she held her breath, waiting for him to close the short distance between them and kiss her with the same fiery passion he did the day they said goodbye.

But he didn't.

"You were expecting me."

It wasn't a question.

She nodded.

"I had faith."

"Faith?" Daemon laughed. "Faith in what? That it would be me that would come here to talk to you peacefully instead of a handful of dragons flying around and burning you and your people to death?" His eyes didn't leave her, his brows furrowed. He looked at her almost as if he was scolding her, but something else caught his attention then. He sensed movement near, inside the woods, and his eyes darted around for just a moment. That was when he saw a few pairs of bright green spots glowing in the dark.

Direwolves.

All around them, watching. Ready to attack.

"Why are you so bothered?" Y/N responded, claiming his attention again. Daemon had grown tense, and she knew it was because he realized they were surrounded, but he had nothing to fear. The wolves answered to her. "Dragons and armies are not known for their stealth. Had that been Viserys' answer to my message, I would've received them accordingly."

"What game are you playing, Y/N?" he questioned, examining her face, trying to read her, to figure her out. "You are gambling your life."

"It's not a game," she answered, walking up to him. She placed a hand on his chest, yearning for his warmth, and felt his muscles relax under her touch. "You know me, Daemon. I do not wish to be your enemy."

"Yet that's what you are," he whispered, looking into her eyes.

She sighed, feeling him so close yet so far as they stood in the center of the Godswood, their faces barely a few inches apart, their eyes refusing to look away. She caught a whiff of his scent, smoke and musk, and had to fight the urge to bury her nose in the crook of his neck.

Why had she let so much time pass without writing to him? Why hadn't he visited her?

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely audible. "I missed you."

His hand found the underside of her chin, tilting her head up as he examined her face. She let the hand she had on his chest wander until it reached his shoulder, keeping her ground as she looked at him too. He hadn't aged a day.

Her eyes became glassy and she closed them, unwilling to show weakness. And yet, a few seconds later, when his lips found hers and she felt her heart jump in her chest, a lone tear fell down her cheek.

He was hesitant at first, kissing her slowly, lingering. And when she kissed back, parting her lips, desperate, his other hand grabbed her waist and pulled her flush against him, their bodies finally becoming one. The kiss was long and intoxicating, deepening as his tongue found hers, exploring, so intense and drugging. They had both been longing for this in a way it couldn't be described. For their lips, for their kisses, for each other. They parted for just a moment to catch their breath, slightly opening their eyes to look at each other, to make sure it was real. Daemon used his thumb to wipe her tears, worry evident on his face.

"Why are you crying, love?"

There it was. The Daemon only she knew. It had been so long since he had called her that. It brought her back to all those times they laid in bed together, completely naked, the bed unmade and only a few candles alight. He would call her love and look at her with such tenderness her heart would swell inside her chest.

"No reason," she whispered, not wanting to ruin the moment. "I just missed you."

He pulled her in again for another kiss, capturing her lips fervently, his hands stroking her hair, her back, her arms. He was everywhere, hungrily sliding his tongue between her swollen lips, and she let herself get carried away, mindlessly hugging his strong body, trying to become even closer to him, if it was even possible.

When they finally parted, he rested his forehead on hers, closing his eyes. She closed hers too as she recovered her breath and soon she could feel his heart beating against his chest, against hers. Were they his heartbeats or hers? It didn't matter. She cherished the moment because it was just them and nothing else mattered.

His warmth embraced her, and as they stood like that, in each other's arms as the sun set and darkness found its place around them, she wished they could stay like that forever.

But they couldn't, and they both knew it.

It was the calm before the storm.

Next part.

Tagging: @batprincess1013 @lollaa-puff @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mamamooqa @queenmendes @chevelledahuman @thanyatargaryen @zgzgzh @boofy1998 @lovelokiqueen @kmhappybunny240 @dudde-44 @dankfarrikdin @gothicgay14 @ilovemarauders @ilovemydinoboi @asgardiandeadpoetsociety @how2besalty @kaitieskidmore1 @thhriller @omgsuperstarg @missyviolet123 @booksnink13

TAG LIST CLOSED. If you asked to be tagged and you are not here, it's because tumblr wouldn't let me tag you. Sorry. I'll use the tag #queenoficeprinceoffire so you can follow anyway.

[bogkeep]

it was always a strange dichotomy. every middle school classmate i had told me i'd be a millionaire when i grew up, a Famouse Artisté. it's easy enough to imagine as a teen, i suppose: skill equals fame equals money. i was doubtful about this prophecy, not because i wasn't confident in my ability to draw, but because it was hard to imagine a world where i'd be paid for it.

it was an ice breaker game at summer camp. horrible one, really - everyone in a group were given a character profile. now we had to imagine that it was the zombie apocalypse, and the helicopter to safety was two seats short and we had argue why we deserved a spot. the character i got was an asshole doctor of some kind. i don't remember if i argued my way into the helicopter or not, but i do remember the feeling that's been hanging over me my entire life - if the apocalypse happens right now, i have nothing to contribute.

there's something really painful about it. i have cultivated a skill for my whole life, i can make art and tell stories that are entirely unique to me, there is no way to get someone else to create in the exact same way i can, and yet - i've contributed more to capitalist society by sitting in an empty hotel reception for eight hours a day.

which made me develop anxiety, to boot.

i illustrated two children's books. they're some of my best work. the contract i signed was industry standard and the indie author who had hired me was incredibly kind... but even after stock sold out i had earnt little more than some pocket change.

in high school we had an outing to dig our own snow caves that we would spend the night in. in teams, thankfully. i have so little physical strength to speak of, most i could do to help was clear away the snow rubble and toss it outside. i know, i know, my classmates reassured me it was an important job to do, i was an invaluable member of the group, sure - but it's that feeling, you know?

what would my task be in the communist solarpunk commune?

a person cannot be useless. it's a human being. they just exist, no ifs and buts about it. one can only be useless in the eyes of an ableist, capitalist society that sees no value in being alive beyond production and profit.

sometimes i receive messages from internet strangers to tell me something i said - often several years ago - was helpful to them. maybe it was a throwaway comment on a forum. maybe it was replying to a question they could've googled the answer to. maybe it was an encouraging reply to someone's artwork. turns out it mattered to someone. huh.

of course you can learn new skills. i have learnt plenty over the years! i have also learnt that there are limitations to what i can do. that some of the obstacles i face are not in fact obstacles everyone faces. it's not that i can't break tasks into smaller steps, it's more that half of those steps are going to be "rinse your hands because you Touched a Thing and now you're going to have to touch Another Thing." i wonder if that's adding to my cognitive load or something.

i was never raised to be a man, so by all accounts i do not understand why i'm so haunted by the spectre of toxic masculinity - what would i do if i was a medieval peasant and a war broke out? what if i was in a pre-historic hunter gatherer society and i was expected to hunt? what if i was a humble farm boy discovering the sword of the chosen one and the world depended on my non-existing courage to face certain death?

look, it's stupid. these are not scenarios i will find myself in. besides, pre-historic humans depended on community and taking care of each other. that's how we survive.

i'm not useless and i decided to make peace with being useless anyway.

we're surrounded by digital clocks. we can't really escape them. do we need watchmakers? would they save me a spot in the zombie apocalypse helicopter? no, don't answer that. i'm just happy i found something that requires a light touch and an observant eye.

[staytheword]

LMLY (leave me loving you)

lmly (leave me loving you) — short series masterlist status — complete [ back to general masterlist ]

this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!! if you interact with my writing please have a profile picture and short bio indicating your age. it helps me make sure you are not a bot!!

• han jisung x female reader, other stray kids members are mentioned/featured, as well as other idols (very briefly).

• non idol au, rock band au. lots of banter and chaos. a little angst because I can't help it, but overall there is a good vibe. drinking, drug consumption (weed), strong language, smut. (nothing particular, specific warnings will be given on each part)

The Jack of Trades, a music venue owned by your best friend, is packed with a febrile audience. If the Trades normally hosts less known local artists, tonight a popular band on the rise, Side Effects, is performing. You're there for support, as you always are, not sure of what to expect from the performance. As you hang backstage, you make eye contact with their dummer, Han Jisung, and all it takes is a smile and a wink.

• author’s note: Hi everyone ♡ I finally gathered enough courage to announce the new series I've been working on. If you can't tell this is all super board's fault. I am blameless :) This will be a short series, of probably three "short" parts (7k each). Please let me know if it interests you and if you would like to be tagged! I'll try to post the first part soon! You'll find a small preview under the cut!! Thank you as always for your support, lots of love ♡

• part one — thanks for the memories • part two — the kids aren't alright • part three — anywhere but home

preview ↓

You decide to stay for a song, making yourself small backstage. The first notes of an electric guitar rips through the room, soon followed by a rhythmic beat on the drums. When the voices join the melody, you find yourself moving, tapping your feet on the floor. The song is catchy, reminding you of the music you listened to when you were a teenager - in a good way - and their voices blend in perfect harmony. 

Tank top guy, who you understand is the main singer and guitarist, stands at the center of the stage, belting a perfectly controlled high note in the microphone. To his right, the other guitarist smiles widely at the crowd, no longer looking nervous - and to the left, perfectly sporting the bad boy look with his leather jacket, the bassist does not even smirk. 

But really, it’s him you can’t look away from. Sitting at the drums, on the edge of his stool, slamming his sticks like a man possessed. He’s fast and aggressive, his face quickly dripping in sweat, his tongue slightly sticking out from between his teeth. In your entire life, you’ve never seen anyone play the drums like that. He’s probably barely visible behind the other members and the array of drums and cymbals in front of him, and yet he shines so bright you can’t take your eyes off him. 

You stand there as if struck by lightning for the rest of the song, and then for about half of the second. 

Who is that guy? 

You see the appeal. Four handsome guys with an insane amount of charisma bombarding really good music like they were born for it - of course they would be popular. Around you, the audience is dancing and singing, clearly having fun. You feel proud, and a little embarrassed that you didn’t give this band much attention before. They are good. 

You clap when the second song ends, listening attentively as they introduce themselves. The singer and leader is Chris. The other guitarist is Felix. At the bass is Minho, and behind the drums sits Jisung. 

You can’t help it - you stare at him. Jisung. He’s fidgeting like a child as Chris interacts with the crowd, happiness overflowing his eyes. He plays with his drumsticks like they’re the extensions of his fingers, which you don’t doubt is true. As Felix says something about an upcoming EP, Jisung leans down to drink some water, and as he looks up, your eyes meet.

He doesn’t react, and for a second you think he can’t actually see you in the dark - but then, he smiles. 

A heart-wrenching, life-altering smile. 

You can almost feel your legs wobble, but really, you are too shocked to move. You just stare back like an idiot until he looks away. 

How can a guy be so goddamn magnetic? 

The next song starts and you try to catch your breath. It’s hard to do so as he plays right next to you, the muscles of his arms tensed, his entire body jolting as he pounces on the drums. He’s still smiling, but he’s focused. You breathe out slowly. 

When you think you can watch him in peace, he turns his head for a second and winks at you. 

It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. 

You take a step backwards, clearing your throat, and look around nervously. Hyunjin, standing beside you, laughs. You glare at him and he playfully winks at you. You make sure to give his arm a good slap before you head back towards the sound booth and Changbin, your legs a little shaky. 

You’ll watch the concert from a distance. 

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