#also yes i started this series 10 years ago

[andy-wm]

On a personal note...

This is a personal story, so feel free to scroll on past (if you're only here for the Jikookery I can respect that).

I'm posting this because it's connected to what Jimin and Jungkook (specifically Jimin) may or may not be doing with this album and their travel series "Are you sure", and by that I mean coming out publicly as queer and as lovers. If it sounds vague, it is, because I don't know what they're doing yet. I don't know how far Jimin is taking this or what direction he'll go. But if he is going to make his private life public, then my post is relevant even though my experience is a microscopic spec 0f what he will encounter.

I live in a conservative little town on the edge of a big city, we're almost the last stop on the metro train line. This place has 10 000 residents and a reputation for being a little on the rough side. It's not a bad place and the people are not bad people but they won't step aside if you pick a fight, lets put it that way.

There's one high school in our little town, and I am the school librarian. I also run the school's pride club and when I started it 5 years ago (that's when I joined this school) it kicked up a bit of a stink. The community had mixed feelings. I wasn't out as trans at that point, only as queer. The school principal supported the club but wanted me to keep it quiet (I didn't). She wanted me to be appeasing (I wasn't). And when we had challenges from homophobic students, she wanted me to 'let her handle it' ( I didn't).

I responded to bigotry with patience and kindness, modelling the behaviour I expected and having many many conversations about prejudice, the patriarchy, learned behaviour, fear of the unknown, and minding your own damn business....

When I came out as trans to the school community - changing my name and pronouns - I faced some real push back from both staff and students. Students were less openly hostile but sometimes the subtle attempts at bullying are worse. My line manager was really difficult about it. I was a hot topic of conversation. It wasn't a good time. But I stuck with it, partly because I couldn't go back and partly because the Pride Club students were so empowered by what I was doing. They thought I was really brave. I couldn't let them down.

It was a tough time for me personally. Every day was a struggle as I navigated my wavering sense of identity and tried to be true to myself. Most of my family and friends were okay with it but some were not. Some flipped back and forth, some thought I had lost my mind. I had to let a few people go from my life, including one of my closest friends. I've lost a few more since then. I've cried more in the past few years than I have in my whole life and I am pretty tough, so you gotta know - it was a lot.

Fast forward to now. The pride club is well established, homophobia still exists but it's less overt and it's no longer ignored, and we have staff who are active allies. It's definitely a success. Our students to have a safe place where they can be themselves, and slow change is coming to the culture of the school.

It has come at a personal cost though. Not a HUGE personal cost but enough for it to matter. I am recognised and known around town because, well, most people in small communities know each other. But more so because of my role in the school, and because I am the only out and vocal queer person on school staff (yes, there are other LGBTQIA+ staff but they keep it quiet, and I don't really blame them).

At school i still have to correct people on my pronouns on a daily basis, and occasionally a student will throw a comment my way but it's not often these days. I have to come out to all the new staff pretty much as soon as I first meet them otherwise it's awkward. It's just an everyday thing. It's not a big deal but it's tiring, and it's something cis/straight people don't ever have to think about.

What is tough, though, is sniping from the community at large every now and again. I have been targeted on community socials and I've had had some pretty brusque service from local shop owners and service personnel in local businesses. Sometimes I see kids from school at the shops and they point me out to their parents. I pretend it's because they're happy to see me (what the fuck else am I going to do - hide in the apple crate?) They may say a friendly hello... or they may following me through the aisles of the supermarket trying to menace me - yes, that has happened - I just have to wait and see.

I do have allies in the community too - like the gorgeous pharmacist who always gets my name and pronouns right and compliments me (on whatever he can think of) every time I collect my meds. There's a stern woman in the hardware store who makes a point of loudly correcting herself when she uses the wrong pronouns (often). I appreciate this, I really do, but honestly it would be great if she could be a little quieter.

I am not a celebrity by any means, just a small town school librarian. But wherever I go in my small town - to the doctor, the supermarket, the park, or the gym - there's a chance I'll encounter someone who knows my face. Sometimes that makes me nervous.

The point of this long and boring post is to give people who may not know what it's like, a bit of insight into the experience of a regular, everyday person who lives in a conservative place and who is both recognisable and queer. It can be exhausting, and from time to time I struggle with mental health issues. So I have no doubt that for people who are really well known, it would be much, much worse. They would be the subject of public debate on news sites and TV. They'd be tossed into arguments by politicians on both sides of the divide. They'd encounter hostility in person too, and that's really frightening.

So please remember that if the celebs you admire choose NOT to come out, it's because they've weighed up their choices and that's the safest option for them. Support them where they're at, so they can live their best life under the circumstances.

If they do come out, they'll probably need even more support. Please love them, defend them, celebrate them, and validate them. They need you more than you know.

And above all else, be a good human.

PS, no need to comment here, this is purely a PSA <3

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (1)

Reader never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Reader and Spencer face the aftermath of their tryst. wc: 2,8k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

"YOU NEED TO LEAVE."

Since when did her life come to this?

She wasn't sure what to make of when the words softly left his lips. The words weren't exactly pronounced in a way that the urgency was prominent, but she could still sense the weight of them as she stared into the dark walls of his bedroom, sprawled out across the bed of this foreign man she had spent the past two hours with.

What was his name again? Stephen? Sean? Or was it Sebastian?

It definitely started with an S.

Her eyes slowly made their way toward him, eying his tall figure as he carefully walked over to his drawers. He awkwardly tripped over a piece of her clothing which lay on the floor before mumbling some incoherent words. He shot her a dubious look past his shoulder and turned his body away, quickly grabbing the first thing he saw on top of his pile of clothes.

His sudden modesty seemed amusing to her when it was barely minutes ago they had shared the sex-induced fantasy of sharing body heat between complete strangers. It was as if he wasn't the one thrusting above her, eyes glazed in desire and mouth open in ecstasy, reaching the peak of his high with her legs wrapped around his narrowed waist.

Surely he hadn't forgotten all of that?

She prompted herself on her elbows and found the piece of clothing he had grabbed in his haste was a pair of brown pants and a nice clean dark shirt. She watched him again and under her scrutinizing gaze, he backed away even further.

His sudden discomfort should've offended her, but it didn't. Somehow it intrigued her how much he was trying to be oblivious of everything around him—the lustful tryst that took place moments ago. The naked woman under his covers. The sudden shrill of his phone ringing on the bedside table.

The latter seemed to catch his attention as he glanced at the source of sound with an alert expression. He crossed the room and quickly answered the call.

"Yes?" There was a muffled reply from the other end before he glanced at the still-naked woman staring at him with curiosity. He cleared his throat again and gave her a look. "I need to take this."

She shrugged. "Sure."

She saw him hesitate for a split second before slipping out of his room, throwing a short reply to the receiving end of his call that didn't go unheard. "Yes, Garcia, I have company." More mumbling. "What? I'm not answering that..."

His words were cut off as he closed the door behind him, leaving her to grasp the situation she had put herself in.

Having a one-night stand wasn't something she often did. She wasn't sure it ever happened again since her freshman year of college when sleeping with a senior at a raging party would solidify her college experience. It seemed right at that time. It was what everybody was doing and her innocent mind believed it was a good idea to expand her nonexistent romantic life.

New place, new experience, new beginnings.

The experience wasn't so bad. Brandon Wallace—who was now happily married according to his recent social media post—wasn't exactly the best lover she ever had, but he also wasn't that bad. It was the awkward moment after the endeavor that made her avoid any repeated situations with somebody she barely knew.

Which was why she was questioning why she let that exact avoidance happen tonight. Why she had stepped into her favorite bar on a random Wednesday night and laid her eyes onto the awkward man sitting a few stools away from her.

Maybe it was the way he seemed out of place. Wearing a crisp blue shirt and a vest over it, he sat in a poised manner while constantly wiping down the bar counter with the napkin he seemed to keep requesting the bartender for.

She was there because she needed the kick of alcohol to calm down the stress from her current work assignment. Jamison, her strict boss who didn't take no for an answer, was starting to make her consider the act of murder. But committing such a heinous crime wasn't exactly nifty, so alcohol was the safe bet.

And thus, what was he here for? The cold beer sitting in front of him was barely touched as he looked around the room in a very uncomfortable manner.

Maybe the fact that she was sitting in an almost empty bar had loneliness wash over her, or maybe it was the alcohol finally kicking in, that she found herself making her way over to him. She was only going to greet him, introduce herself, and remark on how he stuck out like a sore thumb when he clearly was trying to keep to himself.

The hue of the bar lights reflected into a golden halo around his head. She slid beside him, tipped her drink towards his way, and gave him a simple smile.

He shifted in his seat and turned sideways, throwing her a questioning look. Up close, she could see his features clearly. The sharpness of his jaw, his hooded eyes, the unruly mess of brown hair on top of his head. She could tell he wasn't sure how to react to her sudden appearance, but he didn't seem to mind.

She sat there, her lips inching wider at the frown forming on his brows. How could someone be awkward yet adorable at the same time? Y/n was about to introduce herself when he suddenly sat forward, threw her a hesitant smile, and slowly asked, "Do you have any change?"

The random question startled her. "Excuse me?"

"I... I need to pay for my drink."

She shot him a ludicrous look, not sure she was hearing him right. Was he really trying to ask a stranger to pay for his drink? So much for spending the night with what looked like good company. But before she could counter her disappointment, he reached out his hand and in a swift motion revealed a ten-dollar bill from the back of her ear.

"Never mind.” He waved the money in front of her face and cleared his throat. “Found it.”

She blinked, once, twice, trying to comprehend the past few seconds. Then her lips twisted into a wide grin, his own lips twitching into a shy smile.

His attempt at an introduction based on a silly magic trick tugged her heart in a way that had her leaning closer, fingers tracing across his other hand that rested on the table. She didn't know what had impulsed her to be so brazen. It was very unlike her to show interest in the opposite sex, but here she was, touching the warmth of his skin.

But then his breath hitched and her stomach dropped. What the hell was she thinking? Touching a complete stranger without consent as if she was trying to maul him in public.

She shook her head and backed away, an apology already hanging at the tip of her tongue when he suddenly leaned in and wrapped a hand around her wrist. The gesture was very innocent, but somehow his fingers manage to burn her skin. She looked up and held his gaze, found the same bashful smile still playing on his lips, and relaxed at the warmth radiating from his body.

And then the rest was history, to say the least.

Yet even after the travel from the bar to his place, after the haste of removing each other's clothes, and after the post-orgasm that left them both satisfied—although to be completely honest, she would've been more satisfied if he'd let her have her second orgasm—she was starting to question her decision.

She finally threw his covers away and slipped out of his bed. She picked up all her clothing scattered around the room and slowly dressed herself as she carefully tried to listen to the conversation in the other room. But all she heard was muffled voices, and deciding that she couldn't pick out his exact words, she tuned out his voice and smoothed down her hair with her fingers.

Feeling more presentable, she stepped out of his room and finally took in the personal space he lived in. Now that she wasn't preoccupied with unbuckling his belt, she realized how dark his apartment actually was.

There were stacks of books lined up on the walls and scattered papers laying around every corner. He clearly wasn't a clean freak. Although he did seem to dislike public spaces, and honestly she couldn't argue on that when her mind considered the sticky, sugary residue that coated the floorboards and every other surface of the bar.

His hushed voice sounded aggravating and she turned to find him standing in what looked like his kitchen, his back facing her. Not wanting to interrupt him, she decided to look around her surroundings, eying the few framed certificates hanging on one side of his walls. There were a lot of certified achievements he was definitely very proud of with his name glorified on each frame.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

His name was Spencer!

She let out a chuckle. She wasn't exactly good at remembering names. Hold on—doctor Spencer Reid?

Her eyes went wide. But before she could feed her curiosity, she heard footsteps coming closer behind. She quickly turned away and found him glaring at his phone as he strode into the room.

"Bad call?"

Spencer—it was nice to finally put a name on him—abruptly looked up. His eyes studied her in bewilderment as if realizing she was still there. Then his expression slightly softened as he threw his phone away on his couch. "Not really, it was a work thing."

She raised her eyebrows. "You still work this late?"

"I don't exactly have a scheduled working hour."

There were a lot of questions she wanted to ask. What kind of work did he have to be getting calls this late? Why was he inside that bar when he clearly looked like he didn't want to be there? Was he really a doctor? And why did he look so adorable with that frown across his face?

There was something strange and hollow in his eyes that she couldn't quite put on as his hand rubbed over the back of his neck. She could sense the awkwardness stretching between them and needed to fill in the silence.

"So..."

"So..."

She let out an awkward laugh. He, on the other hand, started to fumble with his words as he suddenly spoke, "Did you know that awkward silence is the result of a disconnect between people?" She peered up at him with raised eyebrows. "When there is nothing to say, or maybe one person feels uncomfortable in a situation and doesn't know how to respond."

She blinked in confusion. But he wasn't finished.

"Statistically speaking, 80% of communication is nonverbal, whereas 20% is verbal. So in a way, silence can also communicate just as much information as speaking does. It is used to express anger, sadness, excitement, and other emotion. It can also create tension in a conversation or release it..." He trailed off before letting out a sigh. "I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"You most definitely are," she confirmed. "Where did that suddenly come from?"

He looked away as a blush crept on his cheeks. "I have an incredibly active imagination. It—uh, it leads to a tendency for me to ramble as my thoughts are constantly flowing."

"And you just know all these random facts?"

"I have an eidetic memory."

"You don’t say?" Her sarcasm was followed by eying the framed achievements plastered on his wall before glancing back at his confused face. She sighed. "Look, I'm not better at this than you are. Let's just... I don't know, thank each other? Say goodbye? Shake our hands?"

His eyes lit up as another piece of information filled his brain. "You know, the number of pathogens shared during a handshake is staggering. It's actually safer to..." He trailed off again and suddenly gulped, mentally kicking himself when he realized the fact he was about share. "...kiss."

She couldn't help the smirk twitching on her lips. "Is that so?"

He absentmindedly nodded as his eyes glanced toward her mouth. She instinctively took a step closer, noticing the tension in his body as he quickly looked away. This man had just flirted with her using an adorable magic trick, had his head between her thighs minutes ago, and reached an earth-shattering orgasm... yet he had the audacity to act all flustered.

She should probably leave. That was what he wanted moments ago, wasn't it? The words came out of his mouth the moment he checked his phone before jumping out of bed at lightning speed to dress his naked body. He needed to be somewhere. He had this somewhat confidential work he had to do.

Yet somehow he was warm and her hands were surprisingly very cold. The heat radiating from his body called out to her and without registering what she was about to do, she softly placed the palm of her hands on his chest.

She was internally screaming when she inhaled a sharp breath, his scent suddenly engulfing her senses. He smelled slightly sweet with a hint of spice; a woody, earthy musk that was mixed with his natural scent of sweat and hormones. She peered up into his eyes, traveling down to his cheekbones before they rested on his lips.

A riot of emotion burst inside her as she saw his tongue flicking out and holy shit—she just stared at him, completely, utterly enraptured.

Her focus was on his hot breath against her mouth, his lips a mere inches away from hers. He was so close she could practically hear the fast pace of his heartbeat. She could feel him everywhere, his hard body flushed against hers, his head moving closer to her and—

Then his damn phone started to ring again and all her senses went to alert. She quickly took a step back.

Now that was her cue to leave.

And it was a pity because whether she liked it or not, a part of her wanted to stay. But that was not an option. He wanted her to leave and she needed to do just that. She needed this to be a one-time thing.

Because there was never going to be another time. The moment she walked out the front door, they were back to being strangers. She would go back to her life and he would go back to his, probably back to his seemingly not-so-normal job with the way he described his working hours. Or the lack of it, anyway.

His phone stopped its ring and he shifted his weight from one foot to another. He was back to being awkward and she was back to being rational. Although her heart was beating fast and she was as flustered as he was, she didn't him to know what, especially when it seemed like he was about to kick her out again for the second time.

She was too busy oscillating between stunned, mortified, and turned on. She refused to blush. She refused to appear even an ounce embarrassed.

His phone rang again and he looked flustered about what to do. She helped him decide by grabbing her bag that was conveniently hanging by the door. "I should probably go."

She knew she was slightly disappointed, but she'd be damned if he knew the truth. Her mother used to describe her as a spiteful person ever since she was young. But then again, was it so wrong to feel that way? She figured she was just evening the misery out. If something was making her unhappy she felt it was her right to bring at least equal measures of unhappiness.

It seemed relatively immature, but she didn't feel like caring especially how her night had turned out. She took a deep breath and worked out her pettiness.

"Thank you for tonight... Stephen."

He suddenly tensed. "It's Spencer."

She studied the frown on his face. God, she was evil. She would probably regret this childish behavior of hers, although that was something she could deal with later. The very least she could do now was to give him a proper goodbye before she turned her back towards him for good.

"Well, good night, Spencer."

She wasn't sure he even remembered her name or whether he was just as petty as she was. It was more likely the latter considering he had an eidetic memory. "Good night."

She gave him a final nod. He answered by throwing her an awkward wave, a tight-lipped smile, and an even deeper frown as she slipped into the cold air.

>> NEXT PART

[madridfangirl]

Star crossed lovers (Jude Bellingham fic)

Chapter 6

(Series Link)

Jude * female reader. Mature Language in parts.

Synopsis: A chance encounter in a tiny Madrid cafe with the newest superstar of her fav club. The two couldn't be more different, yet both feel the pull toward the other. Would this girl be the one he finally falls for? Would she make him change his ways? Even though she resists him every step of the way, would he fight all odds (& her) to have her in his life? Or would life come in the way of these star-crossed lovers?

...........................................................................

‘Jude Bellingham, Jude fucking Bellingham was in our house?’

Ananya was plopped onto Roma’s bed, enjoying her friend’s frantic outburst. While holding on to the black RM leather jacket he had left behind. 

‘For the zillionth time, yes.’

Roma paced around the room, delirious with excitement & borderline rage.

‘And I was right here? 25 feet away? And you couldn’t call me?’

‘He was only here for like 10 mins, and….we were otherwise occupied.’

And I wasn’t really in my senses. Well, this bit she didn’t say out loud.

‘Oh my fuckin lord. Think my brain’s gonna explode. You kissed him. You kissed Jude Bellingham. Should I be happy for you or throttle you in jealousy? Fuck man!’

She continued her frantic pacing which amused Ananya further. Yes Roma had a crush on Jude (everyone did) but she had been with her college boyfriend for over 3 years. The crush was quite harmless. Borderline horny at times but generally harmless.

‘He kissed me.’

She clarified plainly, lips curving into a smile as her friend burst into another rant.

‘Yeah yeah. Lover boy couldn’t resist snogging you. I got it. But he could have said hi after.’

Ananya pulled Roma on to the bed, next to her, and hugged her tightly.

‘Next time, promise.’

That cheered her up. Her attention then went to the jacket in Ananya’s hands. When Ananya confirmed it was indeed his, she grabbed the jacket, sniffed it and hummed appreciatively.

Ananya smacked her arm in mock admonishment.

‘What? You get the whole package and I can’t even get a whiff? How’s that fair?’

Ananya just pulled the jacket back in response, wrapping it around herself.

‘Behave. Or I am telling Chris.’

Roma dismissed the false threat regarding her boyfriend. 

‘Yeah yeah. Tell me, would lover boy be open to a threesome? My birthday is in a month and you’d make the Guinness book for being the best friend ever if you serve me that sweet piece of ass.’

Ananya gasped and hit her with a pillow, both bursting into a fit of giggles.

That ugly voice inside her did wonder if he had done something like that before. Also, how easy it would have been if he had met someone as easygoing as Roma. Instead of her.

But, two nights in a row, he had asked for a chance. And she wanted to give him one. So she nipped the thoughts in the bud and let Roma distract her with all the plans she was making with the three of them together.

Monday morning brought her much needed normalcy and routine. The office was still buzzing with the Classico excitement. 

It hit her how nuts her weekend had been. When she left work on Friday evening, she had never met him. He had stormed into her life 2.5 days ago and turned everything upside down, inside out, consuming every waking moment of hers.

She opened her laptop, somehow zoned out of everything else, only checking her phone at lunch. Smiling at the notification. 

Jude: Lads are saying am buzzing today. Wonder why.

She smiled at his insinuation. Then pictured him being a nuisance in training. 

Ananya: No clue. Classico hangover? Hit your head in a tackle? 

He came online when she sent the message, probably having lunch too.

Jude: Need me to come over and give you a reminder? Your office desk instead of your dining table? 

He cut to the chase straightaway. Her whole body jerked as she pictured what he was implying. He wasn’t one to concede, on or off the pitch. She was starting to see that. 

He also was a shameless flirt. And she couldn’t afford to let him get her all riled up in the middle of work.

Ananya: Fine, you win 🤷‍♀️

Jude: Good girl :)

They both said goodbyes soon after, returning to their busy schedules.

In the evening, she sent him a quick message to wish safe travels. He responded with a relaxed selfie of him onboard the flight, making his patented ‘say cheese’ face. A sweet, goofy, handsome face. 

Next evening was Madrid’s away match. It was also Ananya’s most stressful day at work since she joined 5 months ago. She ended up missing the match but caught the highlights when she finally got a breather after sending her report. They looked rough - tackles, yellow cards, clashes all over the pitch. Madrid had drawn and missed out on 2 crucial points.

She checked her phone. The match had ended 90 mins ago. Where would he be and what to even say to him right now?

Ananya: Hey!

She dropped the message and quickly checked her laptop to see if there was any response from the New York team on the report yet. No new mail. It was already 10 pm but she would just have to wait in the office till they give an ok, or for 45 mins, whichever was sooner.

Her phone flashed.

Jude: Horrible day. Wanna punch someone.

Ananya: Punch my New York team, they pissed me off nonstop today. On your way back?

Jude: Oh nooo. Fuckin runway is down in this fuckall city. Red-eye flight tmrw then straight to training. Fuck my life.

Ananya: Wanna talk?

He face-timed her instantly. She rushed to find an empty cabin and answered his call.

It was quite a scene. It looked like someone had robbed him & trashed his hotel room. 

He was sat on the table, in front of his laptop, head resting on his forearms. That’s how she found him.

‘Hey Jude’

‘Hmphh.’

He groaned, still keeping his head buried.

‘Want me to sing it like the fans do?’

He whipped his head up. And she saw how upset he really was. Frown lines all over that pretty face. Sparkle missing from the coffee-brown eyes. Her heart yearned to comfort him.

‘Why should you? Why should the fans? I didn’t give them any reason to cheer for me today. I let them down. Let my team down. My coach, the staff, my family. I let everyone I care about down with that horrendous display today.’

She knew he wasn’t done, so she waited patiently while he gathered his breath and continued ranting.

‘We lost two crucial points because I fuckin missed sitters. SITTERS Ananya. Not one but two. Like I can score them with my eyes closed but nope. Had to be a total wanker today. When my team needed me.’

He stood up agitatedly and paced around the table. She could see he was still fully dressed, so was probably moping around in his room since he came back.

‘Did you speak to your mum?’

He took off his watch & jacket, throwing them on the bed. His shoes flew to some other corner of the room.

‘Yes. She says I wasn’t bad & that I should stop blaming myself. But she’s my mum - of course she would say that. I know I was fucking shit not just bad.’

He wrestled with his belt, peeling it off and was midway through pulling his jumper off when she spoke next. 

‘I would have to agree. Offensively you were poor today.’

Silence at the other end. He paused for 2 seconds, then took the jumper off in irritation and sat in front of her. Bare-chested. No one had said this to him tonight, even from the team or coaching staff. And obviously not his family. 

She kept her eyes firmly on his face. 

‘You wanted honesty right? So there you go. You didn’t make enough meaningful runs in the box, the link-up with the front line was not clicking and yes the finishing was unlike you. Should have scored at-least one of the two chances.’

That stung, especially coming from her. He wondered if it was the Madridista talking or the girl he was fascinated by. But at-least she wasn’t giving him any rosy crap.

‘Hmm.’

He stared at his hands. Eyes not meeting hers.

‘At the same time, I will also say that you were damn good defensively. All the tracking back, tackles, work rate, interceptions - on point. That’s a key part of your role and your team knows that. The fans can see that. Plus they smothered you every-time you touched the ball. Very physical tussle throughout. They really went for you. And the ref should have intervened sooner.’

He looked at her with such understanding and helplessness. The urge to hug him grew stronger.

‘The ref - what a stupid fuck. They should have had two red cards. See this?’

He pulled up his joggers to show her his badly bruised calf. And then his shoulder, where they had elbowed him twice. She felt like wrapping him up in a protective blanket. 

‘Oh Jude. Just put something on this ok, don’t let it be. But here is another thing - it will happen. They will come after you coz you are a key threat now. The refs won’t always intervene. You’ll need to take it in your stride and not be agitated on the field. That squaring up with the centre back - it was a yellow, you got away. Can’t react like that, can’t bump into them so aggressively. Don’t let it get to you, don’t let them win.’

He nodded absent-mindedly, still kicking himself for all his stupidities today. Her observations were bang on though. He was almost proud of her football knowledge. Not just smart in her work but an all around star. 

His grumpiness started to go down and the stiffness dissipated from his posture.

‘One last thing - what you have been doing so far is not normal. It’s the honeymoon period. You won’t score every game. A dip will come. But you will bounce back and still be great. Know why? Coz of how much you care, how much you want it, and how talented you are. If I can see it from the outside, then you must know it in your heart. Think about it, you’re 20. Last few months have been nuts. Absolute bonkers. A Ronaldo like debut even!’

That last line had the desired effect. His lips curved into a sweet smile. He knew she won’t use that analogy lightly, even for him. 

‘There he is - there’s the notorious happy boy I know.’

She smiled right back and he blew her a kiss, sending her heart reeling.

While she steadied herself, he finally noticed her surroundings.

‘Ur in office? It’s 10:30 pm.’

She groaned loudly.

‘Yup. Just sent my report. Waiting for a go ahead, then I can push off.

‘Agnes can pick you up if you want. It’s raining there no?’

‘Thanks for offering. But I will take a cab, no bother.’

‘It’s not a bother, really.’

‘Jude - I am a big girl. I’ll manage.’

She said it sweetly but firmly. He got the message. Starting to depend on him for any of these things was not what she wanted to do, so she was going to protect that space.

Ananya checked her mail again. Still no reply. She only had to wait 30 mins more then she could leave. He offered to be on call with her for that time. They spoke about random things for the next few mins - the distraction really helping them both.

Some time later, a knock on the cabin door startled her. She quickly minimised her video call screen when Arjun walked in with a cup of coffee and some cookies. Seeing that she was on a call, he left them on the table, waved at her and walked out.

Ananya watched him leave, and prayed to all gods known and unknown that Jude hadn’t seen who it was. But the silence on the line was deafening. She sighed and maximised the screen again.

The happy boy was gone. Replaced by a serious, hard face. Like someone had fouled him with a two-legged sliding tackle & run away with the ball.

‘The fuck was that?’

Jude said in a low, cold tone. Sending a chill down her back. She kept her tone steady & even in response.

‘Nothing. He’s my direct supervisor on this project. Both of us were working on this report and now we are waiting to hear back. He would have gone down to the cafeteria so just got me some coffee. That’s it. Nothing more.’

Jude only focused on a few words there - rest fell on deaf ears.

‘It’s just you two there right now?’

‘Well, on other floors there are more people. It’s investment banking after all. But on this floor, yes. Just us.’

Just us. Those words stung more than all the fouls on him that night. 

‘Does he know you are taken?’

The way he said taken sent shivers down her back, for entirely different reasons than a minute ago. His calculated, authoritative tone wasn’t helping either. 

‘We said we won’t tell anyone. So how could he know?’

‘You don’t have to tell him you are with me. But why can’t you say you are with someone? Off limits?’

He threw the logic straight back in her face. She thought about it for a few seconds. 

‘It will just invite too many questions. Too many asks for me to bring along the person at parties, get togethers blah blah. Can’t make excuses all the time, so easier to say nothing I guess.’

He turned his face away, frustrated but trying to keep a lid on it, as he thought of what to say next. But he whipped his face back at her when another unpleasant thought hit him.

‘Does he drive to work?’

She knew where this was going. He was too plain to read when he got like this. Myriad of emotions took over - she was feeling guilty, frustrated & tired at the same time. 

‘Yes. And before you ask, no, I wasn’t planning to take a ride back with him.’

‘But he has offered before, hasn’t he?’

She knew he had her beat. She wanted to protest that he was overreacting but logically and factually, he had her there. 

‘I knew it. Fuckin hate his guts I swear!’

Ananya wanted to hold him, shake him, even kiss him to make him stop talking and thinking like this. If only they were together right now.

He was thinking the same thing. If they were together, he would have grabbed her and kissed the living daylights out of her. Pouring all his frustrations into her lips.

‘Jude - you asked me to trust you. And I did. Do you not return the sentiment?’

He wanted to slam his fits on the table, but somehow held back. Didn’t she get it still?

‘Oh I trust you. It’s HIM I don’t trust.’

‘What could he do? Even if he asks me out, I will politely refuse. And we get on with our lives. How is it different from the zillion women who come on to you all the time? This is just one person.’

She was really pushing his buttons now.

‘Oh it’s different. Because that leech would be with you day and night and would think he can grow on you. Wear you down. Make you fall for him. He won’t stop trying, till he knows you are mine. Men operate like that, sweetheart. Wake up and smell the coffee.’

‘Gosh, you can be so thick. Just like all men.’

‘Excuse me?’

Was she trying to piss him off on purpose? Testing him was not a good idea tonight. 

‘Excused. Can’t you see I am not attracted to him? What will he do, some kind of voodoo to magically change my mind? In these 5 months, I have never once thought of him. Even casually. Never looked at him. And yes on paper he’s a great match for me but god damnit I don’t feel any spark there. He doesn’t make me go weak in the knees like y..’

She stopped herself just in time. His eyes watching her like a hawk. 

‘Go on.’

‘No. You don’t deserve to hear it right now.’

‘Disagree.’

‘Well you can shove your disagreement where the sun doesn’t shine.’

He smiled smugly, almost appreciatively, and leaned back in the chair, moving both arms behind his neck. Giving her a full view of his bare upper body - muscles & veins flexing & bulging at all the right places.

She knew what he was doing. And tried really hard to keep his eyes glued to his face. But her gaze wandered, making him more smug.

‘Gotta do something about that mouth of yours, no dove?’

Her lips opened and closed in vain for a comeback; he had thrown her off. 

‘Have half a mind to come straight to you when I land, wake you up in the middle of the night & keep you up. What say?’

Her skin started to feel hot and her hands gripped the edge of the chair to steady herself. 

‘Behave, pls. I am in the office.’

‘Not so sassy now, are we?’

‘As if you don’t like that.’

She whispered under her breath. 

‘Oh I love it. So much. But baby I want the sass to remain when you are wrapped around me, not just from afar.’

She sighed loudly, hating how she seemed to have no control on her senses every time she was around him. How easily he flustered her. 

‘Gosh you are just non-stop aren’t you.’

‘In every which way. You’ll find out soon.’

‘Juuuuude.’

She groaned warningly. Wondering how flushed she had gotten and how she would leave the cabin now. This boy was just too much.

At least he was smiling now. Smug, proud, conquering smile. Even that looked endearing on him, damn that prick. 

‘Okay okay. We are on for tomorrow night? My place?’

‘Yes - if no surprises at work.’

‘Cool, cya then. Let Agnes pick you up tmrw? Will be easier to enter the compound.

That seemed fair. She also noticed how he had framed it differently from earlier.

‘Ok, I will ping him directly.’

‘Great. And dove?’

‘Yes?’

He leaned in close to the screen. Soft expression. Genuine, sweet smile. Warm twinkling eyes. Handsomest of handsome face. She forgot she had been mad at him 30 seconds ago. 

‘Thanks for everything tonight. I…it was a rough day.’

She smiled from ear to ear, fighting the urge to stroke the screen of her phone where his face was. So near yet so far. 

‘Glad to see you are feeling better. Go talk to your mom now, she would be happy to see you are not in a foul mood anymore.’

45 mins were up some time ago. Still no new mail from NY, meaning she could leave now. But he somehow didn’t want to let her go. She didn’t seem to mind that either. 

It surprised him how quickly she had lifted his spirits. Just with a conversation. In the past, he would have found other outlets to channel his frustration, and a heart to heart talk would not have been in the consideration set.

But she was different. And he was also different with her. 

What he did next surprised both of them.

He leaned forward, smushed his lips against the laptop screen and kissed the spot where her face was, while making kissing noises.

Her heart skipped a couple of beats at the tenderness of the moment. And her hand went up involuntarily to stroke his face. Neither wanting to hang up still. 

But it was getting late and she wasn’t letting him arrange a ride back. So, he had to let her go.

‘Good night, babe. Ping me when you reach?’

‘Will do. Good night, Jude.’

They hung up grudgingly. Yet, neither moved from their seats. Reliving some of the moments in their heads. Tomorrow night just couldn’t come soon enough. 

...................................................................................

There you go. All this Jude content last few days drove me to write. As always, would love to hear your thoughts / comments / feedback. Hope you are liking the story & these two, lots more to come :)

[ktredshoes]

HBO War Fanfiction Stats

Let me start by saying that I am not in any sense criticizing anybody's taste in HBO War relationships. In my opinion, any well-written fanfic, regardless of ship, is worthy. Heck, any fanfic is worthy — it takes a special type of creative courage to write and share a fanfiction story so that others might appreciate what you see in characters you love. So, that's the first thing.

Buckle up, I get wordy. More under the cut.

Tagging a handful of folks who showed interest in my decidedly unscientific findings: @onyxsboxes @jesslovesboats @itstheheebiejeebies @onekisstotakewithme @sparkling-strychnine

Trying something here: @meyerlansky @anachilles @astolovewithallmyheart @dano-png

I started down this fanfiction stat rabbit hole about four years ago when I started looking at The Pacific tags on Archive of Our Own (AO3). I was trying to figure out if it was just my imagination or not that everything other than Sledgefu in TP fanfic felt like a rarepair. I was not surprised to find statistical backup for what anecdotally felt true.

I love all the HBO War series — and for the record, I consider Band of Brothers, The Pacific, Generation Kill, and Masters of the Air to all be part of this fandom community. I won't get into trying to rank them or make the case that one is better than another — they are all related in being stories of men at war, and three specifically stories of men at war during World War II — but direct comparisons, in my opinion, are apples to oranges to prosciutto to tiramisu. They all have different raison d'etres. So that's the second thing.

(I will admit to a particular soft spot for The Pacific as the overlooked "younger brother" to Band of Brothers, precisely because of the tendency of some to negatively compare it to BoB. TP was never intended to be "part two" of Band of Brothers — I was listening recently to a podcast with Tony To, an executive producer of both shows, who asserted that BoB was, yes, about the brotherhood of war, but TP was about the cost of war. )

Anyway.

A couple of days ago, I saw someone post about the fact that the Cleven/Egan ship in Masters of the Air was about to hit 1,000 stories on AO3 — and since I knew that the total number of stories was only about 1,400ish, I figured it was time to take a look at MotA stats too. And that led to looking at GK stats and BoB stats and once I finished, I was really struck by what I saw.

I have a whole spreadsheet looking at the four shows, with breakdowns by relationship and character, with percentages of total stories. (I've posted some graphics from those spreadsheets below, not to worry.)

So what did I learn?

The Pacific and Masters of the Air both are overwhelmingly dominated by a single ship — Sledgefu in the case of TP and Clegan in the case of MotA.

As of August 10, 2024, there were 1,500 stories on AO3 tagged for The Pacific, and 1,485 tagged for Masters of the Air. Sledgefu features in 884 of TP stories, which is 58.93% of the total.

You might think that's an astounding total — but Clegan features in an astonishing 986 of MotA stories, or 66.4% of all stories. The falloff in the next highest ship in each fandom is precipitous: Hilldane in 14% of TP stories (210), and Crubbles in 8.82% of MotA stories (131).

If you are a fan of any ship aside from the most popular pairing in these two fandoms, that has got to be terribly discouraging. You wouldn't think the dropoff would be so high if you're at all active in the HBO War fandom on Tumblr, based on what's posted on a daily basis, but if your entry to HBO War fanfic is solely on AO3, what would you think?

I will once again state that I'm making no judgement on anybody's favorite pairing — I'm making a case on behalf of all the other ships. I'll also note that there are many, many fics posted to Tumblr that never make it to AO3, and I would very much encourage those authors to please please please consider posting your stories to AO3! (If you don't have an account on AO3, it currently takes about 10 days from requesting an invitation to receiving it, which is not that long in the scheme of things.)

The popularity of TP and MotA characters in these stories shows a similar disparity between the most popular and everybody else. In The Pacific, Snafu features in 63.53% of AO3 stories (953) and Sledge in 62.6% (939). No one else is as high as even 20% -- Burgie is in 17.2% (258) and Ack Ack is in 15.6% (234) and Hillbilly in 14.73% (221). The other two ostensibly lead characters in TP are Bob Leckie (12.53% or 188 stories) and John Basilone (1.67% or 25). I find that just shocking.

MotA is both better and worse. There are 10 characters who appear in 10% or better of posted stories on AO3 — but the dropoff from most popular to next highest is even more dramatic. Bucky Egan features in 77.9% of stories (1,157) and Buck Cleven in 74.28% (1,103). The next highest is not, as you might think, Harry Crosby or Rosie Rosenthal, the other featured lead characters in the series. It's Curt Biddick, who is in 25.19% of stories (374), followed by Croz in 23.7% (352). Next is Rosie, who is tied with John Brady — both in 16.9% or 251 stories. What a steep drop!

But, hey, at least there are a baker's dozen plus one of characters who feature in at least 100 MotA stories:

Egan: 1,157 stories (77.91%)

Cleven: 1,103 (74.28%)

Biddick: 374 (25.19%)

Crosby: 352 (23.7%)

Brady: 251 (16.9%)

Rosenthal: 251 (16.9%)

DeMarco: 243 (16.36%)

Payne: 225 (15.15%)

Lemmons: 181 (12.19%)

Hamilton: 167 (11.25%)

Marge Spencer: 146 (9.83%)

Douglass: 139 (9.36%)

Kidd: 130 (8.75%)

Blakely: 111 (7.47%)

After 14 years, will TP ever develop more diversity on AO3? Probably doubtful — though since I first checked the stats in 2020, Hilldane has gained 2%, so there's slow change but some change. Eight months in since the birth of the MotA fandom, and Clegan, and by extension Bucky and Bucky, are steamrollering the rest of the MotA relationships and characters on AO3 — based on what I see on Tumblr, I don't know if that huge disparity will hold up, but who knows? It's still a very new fandom.

But what about GenKill and BoB, you say?

Well, as you might have guessed, there's a clear delineation in GK between the top ship and the next ones below it, but the dropoff is not nearly as dramatic as in TP and MotA.

There are 3,024 Generation Kill stories on AO3 as of August 10, 2024, and the number one ship is Brad/Nate, with 1,261 stories, or 41.7% of the total. Next highest is Brad/Ray, with 677 stories, or 22.39%. The top three characters are Brad, featured in 63.82% of stories (1,930), then Ray, featured 52.35% of the time (1,583 stories), followed by Nate (45.44% or 1,374 stories). Next is Walter Hasser at 571 stories (18.88%), followed by Poke Espera at 284 stories (9.39%), Mike Wynn at 262 stories (8.66%), then Doc Bryan at 254 stories (8.4%). There's that dropoff again!

And as for Band of Brothers? After nearly 21 years on AO3 (the oldest story dates from November 2003), there are 5,016 BoB stories on AO3, with a huge number of ships and characters — albeit some quite small. Frankly, I stopped counting after getting to 70 relationships and 55 characters — I just got tired!

Still.

Let me add that the earliest BoB stories on AO3 are not well tagged for ships or characters — many don't have any tags at all. I don't know the reason for it — whether the tagging system in the early AO3 days wasn't easy to navigate, or maybe the lack of tagging was a holdover from earlier systems or archives? I have no idea how well-tagged stories were on LiveJournal, Dreamwidth, or Fanfiction.net. So anyhow, early BoB stories on AO3, if tagged according to current standards, would definitely change the stats but I have no insight on how it might shift them, except definitely upward for the most popular characters and ships.

At any rate: onward.

The top BoB ships on AO3 are 1) Winnix — 1,250 stories or 24.92%, 2) BabeRoe — 771 stories or 15.37%, 3) Webgott — 663 stories or 13.22%, and 4) Speirton — 662 stories or 12.4%.

Moving on to characters, there are a dozen that feature in 10% or better of the BoB total. Take a look:

Winters: 1,173 stories (34.35%)

Nixon: 1,652 (32.93%)

Roe: 1,380 (27.51%)

Speirs: 1,135 (22.63%)

Heffron: 1,125 (22.43%)

Luz: 1,063 (21.19%)

Liebgott: 1,058 (21.09%)

Lipton: 978 (19.5%)

Webster: 790 (15.75%)

Toye: 749 (14.93%)

Guarnere: 686 (13.68%)

Malarkey: 514 (10.25%)

That's a much more even distribution here, without the massive dropoff in the other three fandoms. Or as @itstheheebiejeebies put it to me: "BoB fans feast on variety. It's a grazing table instead of main and side courses." Just so.

So what do I take from all this? I mean, in the case of MotA, I came into the fandom all gaga over Callum Turner and thus Bucky Egan. But then I quickly veered off into following Benny DeMarco (Adam Long) and for the past several months I've fallen under the spell of Everett Blakely (David Shields). Will I stay there? I have no idea! And that's kind of exhilarating.

But here's what I know for sure: as I continue to read and write HBO War fanfic, I'm going to be doing my best to support the ships and characters out of the top tier.

Creators: Don't just post your fanfic to Tumblr — post it to AO3 and tag it.

Be the change that you want to see.

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

Now, as promised, here are the stats in graphic form.

[nataliesfirefly]

You and I Walk a Fragile Line - Farleigh Start x F!Reader - Part 6

a/n: hey guys!! im so sorry this part has taken me so long! im currently on a trip so i havent had much time to write! but i hope this makes up for it, im super excited for yall to read this!!! also i think im going to plan for this series to have a few more chapters, probably max 9 or 10! i love it sm i really dont want it to end 😭 but anyways enjoyyy and comment what you think! and again i apologize if the smut is mid.. btw this is not proofread LMAO

series masterlist

playlist

word count: 4.9k words

warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), p in v, angst, language, smoking, afab reader

You’re sitting in your bed, reading a magazine, when your flip phone rings. You lean forward to pick it up from the corner of the bed, wondering who could be calling you this late. You raise your eyebrows when you see that it’s Lola. You haven’t spoken to her since school got out. Nevertheless, you answer it and put the phone up to your ear.

“Lola! Hey,” You grin. “Oh my God, I’m so glad you picked up. I’m so bored around here,” She groans, and you smile even bigger at the sound of her voice on the other end. “Around where?” You ask curiously.

“My parents’. I have to babysit my younger sister all the time. It’s exhausting, really,” She moans. “I just want to like, go to a party or something. Honestly, I would even prefer to be going to classes right now instead of this.”

“Wow. That must mean it’s really bad then, huh?” You continue flipping through the magazine, your eyes scanning through the apparently trending fashion and makeup choices at the moment.

“Yes. Ugh. You’re at Saltburn, right?” She asks. “Yeah.” You reply.

“How’s that going?” Lola questions, and you hear another voice in the background that sounds like her, only higher-pitched. “No, I’m on the phone. Go away. Shoo,”

You try not to snicker at her shooing away her little sister. “It’s…” You trail off, trying to decide the right way to describe how the summer is going so far for you. “I don’t know. Different.”

“How so?” You pause and wonder if you should tell her what’s been going on. You decide it’s probably better not to and keep some things to yourself.

“I think it’s just cause we’re growing up. I mean, we graduate in less than two years.” You shrug and reach over to grab your glass of wine. “Oh God, don’t remind me. My parents are still asking me what my plans are,” She sighs loudly.

“I can’t believe it.” You shake your head and close the magazine, uninterested in the latest celebrity drama. An idea suddenly forms in your mind.

“Hey, the Cattons are throwing one of their big summer parties in a few days. I could invite you?” You suggest. You hear Lola gasp. “Really?! I’d love to go. I’ve heard so many stories about the Saltburn parties.” She makes it sound so dramatic, and you giggle.

“And you’d get a chance to see Felix,” You grin as you hear her jumping around. “Yeah, I would! You don’t need to convince me any further. I’ll be there,” She pauses. “Wait, but they’ll let me come, right?”

“Oh, of course. They like me a lot, so I’m sure they won’t mind.” You assure her. “Okay, perfect. Thank you so much, my love. I’ll let you get some sleep. See you soon!” She squeals excitedly and you roll your eyes with a smile as she hangs up.

You set down your phone and sigh, looking around your dim room.

You haven’t been able to get Farleigh out of your mind since your little… moment two nights ago. He’s not avoiding you, but he’s not being nice either. He’s gone back to teasing you and embarrassing you in front of the Cattons. You should’ve known that if you got too close, he’d pull away and return to his old ways.

But every little glance you two share has your stomach fluttering and your heart pounding. Every insult meant to hurt or offend you has the opposite effect. In some depraved way, you like when he degrades you. The past two nights, you’ve laid awake and stared up at the ceiling, trying to relive that night when he made you feel so good. Just the thought of him had your mind reeling. You would do anything just to feel that way again. You’re hooked.

You can’t just keep wallowing in these feelings. You want to talk to him, work things out, and go back to how they used to be a week ago. More importantly, you just want to be in his presence. It gives you some kind of thrill to be around him. It’s like a game of roulette to see which version of him you’ll get each time, and you love it. You crave his attention.

You climb off of your large bed and walk determinedly to your door, opening it quietly and sneaking down the hallway. It’s quite a long walk to Farleigh’s room, but you don’t care. You pass Felix’s room, then Venetia’s. Both of their lights are out, telling you that everyone in the house is probably asleep by now. You can only hope and pray that Farleigh isn’t.

You eventually find yourself standing in front of his room. Dim light peeks through from under his door, and you sigh with relief. He’s still awake. Your decision catches up to you and you realize how stupid it is that you’re about to knock on his door. You shake your head to clear your doubt, raising your hand and gently knocking.

You hear his bed shifting and footsteps following close after. You swallow nervously, your throat suddenly feeling dry. Your heart races with anticipation as he finally opens the door.

Fuck. He’s shirtless with only a pair of sweatpants on. Your eyes trail down subconsciously before you blink and look back up to his face. Is he wearing underwear?

“Hello,” He says, his grin foxlike. “I can’t sleep. Can we talk?” You ask, your voice shaky. You curse yourself for sounding nervous. He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows. “Talk about what?” He questions.

You pause, unsure of what to say next. What were you going to talk about? He would deny any feelings towards you, so what was the point of even coming here?

“Just let me in, please.” You step forward and avoid his gaze. He steps to the side wordlessly, opening the door further to let you into his room.

You breathe in the familiar scent of that candle he’s always burning, and the scent of his cologne. It’s musky and spicy, with notes of vanilla. You tried to memorize it everytime you were close to him. You walk over to his bed and sit down on the edge, looking up at him as he closes the door behind him.

“Can I have a cigarette?” You ask, pointing to the pack sitting on his bedside table. He nods, and you carefully take one. He hands you the lighter.

He stares down at you as you light the cigarette, taking a drag from it. He chuckles to himself and you exhale, furrowing your eyebrows. “What’s funny?”

“You always said you hated the smell. Yet here you are, asking me for a cigarette,” He replies with a scoff. “Maybe you’re just a bad influence,” You shoot back, and his smile slightly fades.

You can see his eyes traveling down your body, lingering on your thighs and your bare legs. You had outgrown these sleep shorts, but you never cared because you figured no one would see you in them. Well, there goes that.

“Are we not going to talk about the other night?” You mutter. “What’s there to talk about?” He replies, and you roll your eyes. “Are you-” You pause and let out a frustrated breath. “Are you serious?” You exclaim angrily.

“You can’t blame it on being drunk this time, Farleigh.” You tell him, and he freezes, his gaze faltering downwards.

“Can we not talk about that? Let’s just…” He sighs with exasperation and sits next to you. You turn away from him, looking out the window. You decide not to press the issue, since it’s apparently too much for him to think about right now. Honestly, you aren’t even able to fully process what’s been going on between you two.

“Let’s just… talk,” He says finally, and you face him again, exhaling a small cloud of smoke. “Okay.” You shrug. It’s what you both do best: Talking. About anything and everything, despite the strange history of your relationship. You guessed that it was because you had known each other for so long, that it just came naturally. He’s just… real. He’s never pretending or putting on a façade, at least around you he’s not. Around the Cattons, he has to, because to them he’s just the wild child, the comedic relief, the American. You feel like you are the only one that gets to see the real Farleigh, and it feels like a privilege. But you know that’s not true, and you choose to believe it anyway.

“So… Our third year at Oxford,” Farleigh says. You let out a breath and raise your eyebrows. “Can’t believe it’s already been two years,” You both smile, thinking of all the good and bad memories you’ve made so far during your years at university.

“Can I be honest?” You ask, and he nods. “I’m scared.” You say simply. His eyebrows knit together. “Of what?” He replies. “Graduating. You know, I’ll probably go to graduate school or something, but I need to start making my own money. Get a job. Do adult things,” You sigh just at the thought of all the responsibilities. “I can’t be on a scholarship forever. Or have my parents pay forever,” You continue, shaking your head. “I’m putting them through enough as it is.”

Farleigh nods again with a look of understanding. “I might go back to the states. See my mom, maybe stay there for a while.” He says. You can’t help but feel a little sad at the thought of him being away for so long. You hate to admit it, but you would miss him.

“But we don’t have to worry about that right now. You’re too uptight. Let yourself have fun,” He nudges you softly. “I’m trying,” You mutter. “Well, you’re smoking. That’s one step closer,” He laughs a bit and you roll your eyes.

It goes quiet and you stare down into your lap. You can feel his eyes on you, and your heart begins to race with anticipation. That familiar tension returns in the air between you and Farleigh.

You look up slightly, his eyes meeting with yours. Your stomach churns as you look down to see his hand inching towards your thigh, eventually resting on top of it. “I know why you came here,” He says, his voice lowered.

You look back up to him. “What?” You whisper. “Don’t play dumb,” He shakes his head. “I’m not.” You reply, trying hard not to break the intense eye contact.

You gulp nervously and finally look away, your face giving you away and burning red. “Hmm,” He hums, his thumb brushing across your thigh. You try to distract yourself by pressing the cigarette out on the ashtray on his bedside table, watching the little flame burn out.

He gently reaches up and grabs your chin, tilting your head back towards him. He drags his thumb down your bottom lip as you stare into his eyes. He grins slightly before moving his hand to cup your cheek, leaning in closer until your noses brush together. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. You know Farleigh is emotionally unavailable and toxic, and he won’t ever discuss his feelings or yours. But you can’t help but melt into the kiss, his touch, his aura. It’s like he’s magnetic, pulling you in everytime you try to pull away.

Somehow, every single time he kisses you, it’s better than the first time. Your tongues intertwine as your lips move in a perfect rhythm while both of you fall back onto his bed clumsily. One of his hands tangles in your hair, and the one that was resting on your leg moves up to rest on your waist, his fingers caressing your bare skin due to your tank top riding up. He eventually shifts his position so that he’s on top of you, and you turn to lay on your back underneath him.

His kisses begin to move down to your jawline, then your neck. He sucks and licks your skin so cruelly, but you don’t want him to stop. You breathe in the scent of his hair, his curls tickling your face, and you can already feel yourself becoming weak again.

You feel his hands start to trail down your body, resting on your hips, as he moves down the bed and you peer down to see him looking up at you from between your legs. Feverish heat burns across your skin just at the sight of it.

“Wait, wait. I’ve never-“ You start, suddenly feeling nervous. “It’s okay,” Farleigh replies, his eyes soft and warm as he gazes up at you. “Just relax,” He murmurs, gently pulling down your shorts and panties at the same time, shuffling them off your legs.

Just relax, you think. Easier said than done. You’ve pictured this moment so many times in the past few days, and you can’t believe it’s becoming reality.

And of all the times you’ve fantasized about this, none of them could ever do Farleigh’s beauty justice. His dark eyes are shining with something of lust and hunger, his plush lips slightly parted and his shoulders broad and golden. His curly hair is only slightly wet from his shower earlier, yet still perfectly coiled.

He looks up at you, trying to convey something through his gaze. “So pretty,” He mutters, tracing a finger along your thigh. Your breath catches in your throat and you feel your stomach fluttering already.

He lifts your legs up and places them over his shoulders. Your heart pounds in anticipation and you can hear yourself breathing among the silence.

Farleigh leans down and presses a few kisses along your inner thigh, and you don’t know how much longer you can stand his teasing. You watch him gaze up at you through his lashes as he dips a finger into your wetness and you see the smirk that tugs at his lips. He raises his eyebrows at you and your face turns red. “Stop,” You cover your face with both hands, your stomach doing flips. You can’t handle how perfect he looks right now, even as he teases you for how soaked you are already.

“Hey, look at me,” He says, his deep voice vibrating against your skin. You let your hands fall back to your sides, smiling shyly. His expression turns more serious as he furrows his brows, slipping his finger inside of you. He moans before you even can, his head falling against your thigh.

That familiar stretch around his finger has your mind reeling as you throw your head back. He pulls it out and you whimper at the loss, until you feel his middle and ring finger on your clit. Your hands instinctively move to grasp the sheets as he strokes your bundle of nerves perfectly, letting your head fall back down to watch him. He continues to maintain eye contact and it makes you so weak.

Your brain almost turns to mush as you see him leaning down, his head buried between your legs. A moan louder than you intended leaves your mouth as you feel his tongue greedily licking a stripe up your pussy.

“Shit,” You huff, your chest heaving up and down. No one had ever given you head before, until now, so you didn’t really understand your girlfriends when they would tell you how amazing it felt. But now, you completely get it. His tongue moves in long, slow strokes and his pretty nose nudges perfectly against your clit.

He barely lifts his head so he can stare up at you to watch your reaction. You grind up against his face, your hand reaching down to grab a handful of his curls. He groans at the feeling before inserting a finger again, moving at the perfect pace along with his tongue. The combination is enough to make your legs shake. The lewd sounds of him lapping up your cum and both of your wanton moans echo throughout his room.

“Farleigh!” You almost scream his name before letting out a long, drawn out moan. He glances up at you once more, his pupils huge with lust. He moans against you as he absolutely devours you, adding a second finger in. His long fingers brush against that divine spot inside of you and you whimper helplessly, your other hand gripping his sheets as if it could help ground you somehow. That delicious heat builds in the base of your stomach, spreading like a fire.

“I’m gonna-“ You gasp for air, your chest heaving up and down. His eyes are half-lidded and he seems completely lost in the moment, just absolutely pussy drunk. “Let go,” He says, his voice deep and raspy.

And you do exactly that. The pleasure shoots through your veins like a drug, your grasp in his hair tightening and your hips rolling as you ride it out. You eventually come down from your high, letting your legs drop from his shoulders as you let out a shaky sigh, your heart still pounding against your ribs.

“Fuckk,” You breathe out, resting your head against the pillow. Farleigh crawls over you, leaning down to kiss you. The lower half of his face is covered in your slick, but you couldn’t care less. He kisses you passionately, desperately, groaning into your mouth. You can taste yourself on his lips and his tongue, and it just turns you on even more.

He pulls away, his lips hovering over yours. You look up at him and suddenly feel an indescribable desire wash over you as you stare into his deep brown eyes. It’s like you can’t get close enough to him, like you need more than everything he’s already given you. You want him inside of you. You want to feel every part of him. You want him to feel every part of you.

“Farleigh,” You whisper, reaching up to touch his face. “What is it?” He whispers back, lightly touching your own face.

“I want you,” You say. You don’t care how stupid you sound right now. This carnal desire has completely taken over you.

“In what way?” He replies, smirking smugly. “I think you know which way I mean,” You mutter. You don’t have time for his teasing, although you love it.

His expression softens and he seems to understand what you mean. “Please, I need you,” You can’t believe you’re begging for Farleigh of all people right now. You know you’ll be regretting it later. His eyes widen and he seems shocked by your confession.

“Far…” You whisper, tracing your finger along his lips. He opens his mouth to speak, hesitating slightly.

“Do you know what you do to me?” He asks, his voice soft. You look up at him and tilt your head. He takes your hand and guides it down below his waist while still looking down at you. You gasp softly when you feel that his dick is so hard underneath his sweatpants. It has to be painful. You slowly rub your hand against him and his eyebrows draw together as he stutters slightly, and it almost looks like he’s in pain.

“Baby-“ Farleigh whimpers. “Please,” You beg once again, and he nods, quickly taking his pants off and throwing them somewhere on the floor of his bedroom. You look down at his dick, and you have to keep your jaw from dropping.

It’s definitely the biggest you’ve seen, and although you haven’t seen many in your lifetime, you know he would be considered above average. It’s long, with a bit of girth to it, veiny and already leaking precum from the tip. You feel yourself starting to get nervous. You aren’t sure if you could even take all of it, but hell, you’re going to try. You hope he didn’t pick up on your reaction, because you know he would tease you over it.

He places his hands on either side of your head and leans down onto his elbows. He never takes his eyes off yours as he positions himself. You wrap your legs around his waist, letting your ankles rest on his back.

He slowly begins to slide in, and you grunt quietly at the pain. He goes a bit deeper before you panic and place a hand on his lower stomach, stopping him. “I can’t-“ You wince in pain.

“Yes, you can. You can take it,” He nods and brushes the side of your face with his fingers. He takes your hand off of his stomach gently and places your arm back onto the bed. You nod in an attempt to encourage yourself, gritting your teeth to withstand the pain. You reach up to his shoulders, resting your hands on his shoulder blades, trying to keep your nails from digging into his skin as you hold onto him.

“Fuck,” Farleigh grunts as your walls grip him tightly, sucking him in. Eventually he’s buried inside of you to the hilt, and you can feel every inch of him. You’re still trying to adjust to his size, and the pain is slowly subsiding as he groans and drops his head and closes his eyes. You press your hips up against his, trying to get him to start moving. “Far,” You mutter. You can tell he’s trying to hold back. He breathes heavily and opens his eyes again, gazing into yours.

“I’m ready,” You whisper. His eyebrows knit together as he rolls his hips slowly, causing your eyes to roll back and drawing a short moan out of you. He shudders, slightly pulling out of you before thrusting back in. You wonder how he’s so good at this as your nails dig crescent moons into his back with each slow thrust and roll of his hips. Your mouth falls open and you try to be quieter but it’s no use.

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, his curls tickling your face. He’s whimpering and moaning your name and other incoherent nonsense right into your ear. He sets a beautiful rhythm, his bed creaking underneath you as you sink into the plush of the mattress. You think you hear the headboard hitting the wall but you don’t care about the loud sounds you two are creating. You just don’t want this moment to end.

He looks back up to you and you can see he’s already fucked out. His eyes are even more glazed over than before and sex sweat forms on his brow. He whimpers helplessly and pants heavily. “You’re so good,” He breathes. “So, so good,” You could probably cum just from his words alone.

You let out a wanton moan as he hits that spot again, deep inside of you. “Oh, fuck!” You gasp and claw at his shoulders. He drops his head again, kissing your neck as he thrusts into you faster and deeper each time, hitting your spot over and over once he’s found it.

“Yeah, that’s it,” He groans against your neck and you feel tears brimming in your eyes. “Farleigh- It’s-“ You can’t seem to form words, your brain turned to sizzling hot liquid. “I know, I know,” He whimpers, his voice slightly higher pitched and breathless. You try to hold on longer, but you’re already coming undone as your orgasm hits you sooner than you expected. Your body stills and you clench even harder around him. He moans, that pained expression crossing his face once again. “Oh God,” He chokes out, his thrusts beginning to become less steady.

“Where should I-“ Farleigh pants. “Inside,” You tell him. You’re on birth control, but you don’t have the mental capacity to explain that to him or explain why. His hips stutter and he stiffens, finishing inside of you, the warm feeling spreading throughout your lower stomach. He collapses on top of you, his head on your chest, resting on the soft fabric of your shirt.

You’re already sleepy and physically exhausted from what just took place. You breathe in his scent one more time and let out a sigh, staring up at the ceiling and trying to process what you just did. Then he’s wrapping his arms around you gently before pulling out of you slowly. You grunt a bit, feeling a dull ache between your legs, but you can’t help but miss the feeling of him inside of you.

He adjusts the both of you so that you’re both laying on your side, allowing you to stretch out a bit and cuddle up to him, tucking your head in the crook of his neck. He holds you, and for a moment, it feels like a real relationship. Something you had never experienced. Something deep. Something real. And then you remember that it’s not. After this, he will go back to avoiding you and acting like he can’t stand you. You just wish that he would put his pride away and admit to you what he really feels. But what does he really feel? Are you stupid for thinking that there’s something here?

Farleigh strokes his fingers through your hair, brushing away some of the strands plastered onto your forehead by your sweat. He seems to notice your silence.

“You’re thinking too much,” He says, his voice beautifully hoarse. You sigh, relaxing your shoulders. “Am I?” You reply, your voice weaker than you thought it would be.

“Just sleep here tonight,” He mutters, resting his chin on top of your head. You so badly want to ask him to be serious and have an actual conversation with you about your… relationship.

“Okay… but we need to talk about this,” You respond quietly. He sighs and shifts a bit, careful not to move you too much. “We can in the morning,” He says, but you know that won’t happen. You’ll just have to settle for no answers to your questions for the time being.

You curl up closer to him and let your eyes close, breathing slowly and peacefully. “Goodnight,” You murmur. “Night,” He replies, sounding just as tired as you are. You drift off to sleep in Farleigh Start’s arms.

ONE YEAR EARLIER

You were usually on okay terms with Farleigh. But you remember exactly when the dislike turned into hatred.

It was right before end of term exams and Felix convinced you to go to the pub to blow off some steam and relax after all your revising. You reluctantly agreed, then regret your decision when you saw Farleigh and Sasha there.

It was pretty far into the evening and you were beginning to get sleepy. You had spaced out for a moment, staring out the window and watching the snow fall before you heard something that peaked your interest.

“I mean, Felix, you have got to settle down,” Farleigh chuckled and nudged Sasha, pointing his cigarette at Felix.

Felix grinned stupidly and shrugged. “Listen, mate. I’ve tried.” Some other friends of his joined in with the laughter.

You sat up and leaned forward, facing Farleigh. “You’re one to comment on relationships,” You said, raising an eyebrow. Everyone else sort of quieted down after hearing your words.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Farleigh rolled his eyes at you and Sasha just glared. “You and Sasha. You’re dysfunctional.” You responded, unafraid to challenge him.

“Excuse me?” Sasha looked at you like you just committed a hate crime. “Yeah. He cheats on you, you cheat on him, you get back together, blah blah blah.” You took a sip of your beer and shrugged. “It’s gone on for almost a year now. It’s exhausting,”

Farleigh chuckled. “Ohh, you want to come after my relationship?” He smirked as if he was cooking up a plan in his mind of how to humiliate you best.

“Well, I bet you would like everyone to know that you lost your virginity to Joshua Brown,” Farleigh said, loud enough for even people from other tables to hear. A small chorus of gasps echoed across the room.

“You’re desperate, easy, and sloppy. You take anyone who wants you. I guess that’s what happens when you get no attention before you go to college, hm?” He just kept going, and the whole room went silent

“I’ve seen you walk out of so many dorms at six in the morning, it’s insane. You can’t even keep a fucking man,” Farleigh’s tone was harsher and colder than you’d ever heard before. Felix was staring at you in shock and Sasha was giving you that judgemental look.

You looked around to see all the pairs of eyes on you. “Fucking hell, Farleigh,” Felix muttered, shaking his head at him.

You stood up and grabbed your bag hastily, storming out of the pub with tears in your eyes. Why was he such a bitch? Why did he hate you?

Your reputation was officially ruined. All that time, he never told anyone about your situation with Joshua. Until now. He was doing so well. The whole class thought you were an innocent and pure, high achieving student, and now what would they think? You wish you didn’t care so much about how others perceive you, but you do.

You hated Farleigh. You hated him for ruining your reputation and your image. It was impossible to get him back or do something worse, since basically everyone knew he was a slut. But he got praised for it.

Ever since that night at the pub, other students would look at you sideways and whisper things about you as if you couldn’t hear them.

Fuck you, Farleigh. You decided you were officially done with him and your weird friendship. Even if that meant having to avoid him at every cost.

taglist: @isla-finke-blog @ibimbogrl @drunkmysticsquirrel @alonia-olivia @novemilady @saltburnsworld @florkt @i-love-ptv

[leidensygdom]

AI bros from hell

Hello! Do you have a bit of your time for a story on AI bros and clients from hell? I bring a really fun one!

I met this guy at a con I was tabling at over a year ago, before AI was a thing. He said he enjoyed my art, and inquired me about whether I did book illustrations. I said yes- He was specifically interested in my bigger pieces, the fully rendered and detailed ones. He agreed to send me later a DM to discuss specifics.

For two weeks, he kept DMing me on details about his book, what he wanted, etc. He wanted full illustrations for inside the book as well as a cover, all of them fully colored, painted and rendered. He also wanted illustrations in this style to post on social media to promote the book. I had warned him that something like that would be costly, but he insisted that he needed this to be the best of the best.

Now, I was getting bad vibes from the guy. I shit y'all not, his instagram handle was "The next tolkien". I wasn't however gonna refuse a job opportunity. Now, he finally asked for prices: He had reassured me he was willing to pay fairly for this. Since he's a starting author, I gave him my non-commercial quotes, which are much, much, much lower than the standard for book illustrations. I mean "if you search for how much this costs on google, the lower prices are x5 times more expensive than what I offered".

The guy, upon receiving that, just ghosted me. Immediately unfollowed, didn't reply me with a "sorry, I can't afford it" or "sorry, i was expecting to pay $10 for a full rendered full background several-characters-picture". Nothing.

The other day I decided to search what he was up to. He's now released... THREE books for this series. There's a single review in the first one. Not even written, just a stars one. Also, notably, he had a webpage put together promoting the book, and. Yeah.

All the art is AI crap.

Which makes sense. My guy was very on his high horse about how fantastic of a writer he is, but I guess art isn't really to be compensated fairly. When he saw the "art stealing machine you just pay a subscription for", I'm guessing he was very excited.

So, uh, here's some of the marvelous pictures he generated of the characters, which surely tell you about how great the book is. AI is theft, so I don't give a f*** about reposting it.

I have a lot of opinions about creators who write, draw or make music, who are more than happy to use AI for other stuff- Album covers made with AI, writers using AI crap for book illustrations, artists using AI-made music. It feels like you're sh*tting in any other artistic field and showing how little you respect anyone but yourself. Like, I'll be honest, I don't have interest reading a book from someone who considers that other forms of art aren't real or worth any money. It just tells me you're devoid of any interest for art or humanity.

As an ending note, his instagram description is "More closer to god than to human", which does add to the clownery.

[still-a-morosexual-help]

Another realisation about Solomon post? Yes.

But First!

Let's talk about MC and Mammon's friendship (like I haven't spoken about it enough)

(platonically) general MC is probably the closest with Mammon:

• Beel mentions this in early S1 - saying that MC frequently seeks Mammon out to talk with him

• Levi mentions this in both S2 and Nightbringer

• Belphie briefly implies it in a chat

• Mammon has spoken about it multiple times

• Mammon & MC have been sharing a room frequently enough for him to leave his toothbrush and phone charger in their room from early S1 all the way up to S4

• His birthday is the only one they took charge and planned on their own, starting the gift giving a whole week before the actual date

• He's the only person in the circus event that they instantly remembered without having to talk with him first

• He's the first one in Nightbringer to fully accept them and start bringing them into the family shenanigans

• There are dialogue options like this, that aren't really options at all

• He's always their first - their first friend in every timeline and alternate universe

Okay so, now to the actual point of the post:

Solomon (in Nightbringer) asks MC if they've made any progress towards making the new pacts and MC says they're working on Mammon.

We know, obviously, why MC picks Mammon:

• He's their first. Not only does it seem like the right thing, they know him enough to know he'll throw a huge tantrum if he wasn't their first

• He's the safest and easiest option (I speak about this in more detail here) but basically he's the most settled after the Fall, the least likely to react badly or in anger, the least likely to accidentally hurt them and an extremely loyal ally (post here)

• Most importantly, he's their friend and they genuinely just like spending time with him

Solomon however, says something along the lines of picking Mammon being a smart choice because Mammon seems lonely.

Solomon's first thought was to see MC and Mammon's relationship from a strategic point of view. He saw a weakness (a true weakness btw, I actually have half a fic written from a year ago about Mammon being lonely in the Celestial Realm and I really need to complete it) and he exploited it to get what he wanted - similar to how he made a pact with Asmo in the present day timeline.

Solomon saying/doing this isn't really a bad thing, but I think it really adds to his character and shows his differences when compared to MC. It also really adds weight to the whole:

• locked away in a basement and hidden from the world during his childhood

• had one childhood friendship which is implied to have ended badly

• spent thousands of years without any real friends despite the fact that he had at least three people (Asmo, Barbatos and Thirteen) who genuinely cared for him

• admitted to not seeing the demons he made pacts with as friends until either s3 or 4, despite the fact that, even pre-series, Solomon is one of the people Asmo genuinely likes, cares about, values the opinion of, wants to impress and initially feels nervous around because of this

I just...

I love it when they give you a smiley and chill, kinda goofy, character whose past is a little mysterious and then you figure out oh he's got a tragic past and also his world view and thought processes are very messed up but also a product of his past

10/10 character actually

Relevant Posts:

• Solomon's World View and Thought Processes

• How Solomon's Past Shaped Him

[tennessoui]

18) waking up with amnesia au pretty please! I was delighted with how many of the prompts you've already done, it was a really fun bingo!

Best friends sibling = band au

knocking on the wrong door = actually name of the fic

Nanny/single parent au = Nannykin

Etc etc etc!

hello hello this was sent january 10!! hope you still want some waking up with amnesia au! this just demonstrates how long i can hold onto a prompt i have every intention of completing

(from this prompt list) (& this is the waking up with amnesia au prompt fill i did a few years ago when i first reblogged that prompt list!)

(3.5k)

(warnings: angst but not incredibly sad. more like. here there lies some future manipulation/mind fuckery because of angst established in this ficlet but not resolved in this ficlet but would be in the future)

(also warning: vader)

It is somehow both the hardest and easiest part of the day, every time. 

It is easy to let his feet turn in the direction they beg to go during all his waking seconds. It is easy to allow them to lead the way. It feels as if a great and crushing weight has been lifted from his shoulders the moment that he sees the pillars standing sentry at the entrance of the Halls of Healing. It is so easy to give into his body’s desire to allow it to find its other half.

It is almost harder to stay away, to pretend to be the respectful and poised Jedi master he masquerades as during those long moments of the day that he is not by Anakin’s side.

But what is infinitely harder than journeying there or keeping his distance is arriving. Is what waits for him within the Halls.

“How is he today?” he asks the moment he sees a healer—it does not matter which one these days. They must all know him by now, know the series of questions he demands answers to.

This time, the man he finds is healer Ramak, at least, one of the primary specialists on Anakin’s case. Rarely can Obi-Wan corner him. Ramak is incredibly busy both within the Temple and outside of it. He has numerous priorities. 

Obi-Wan really only has one priority. Often this puts them at odds. 

“Ah,” Ramak says, adjusting his robes. “Master Kenobi, hello.”

“Yes, hello,” Obi-Wan says. And then, “How is he today?” In case Ramak has missed his question.

“He is much the same, Master Kenobi,” Ramak replies. “As he was yesterday.”

Obi-Wan swallows. The words get stuck in his throat for a moment and he has to force them up past his teeth. “What does…what has he remembered?”

Healer Ramak’s face slides from reluctantly indulgent to pitying. It would grate against Obi-Wan’s rather impressive sense of pride if he did not already know exactly how pitiful he is. 

“Memories are not stored within the mind chronologically, Master Kenobi,” Ramak says carefully. Obi-Wan has heard this before. Obi-Wan could recite this speech. 

Obi-Wan listens to it silently anyway. Perhaps this time, Ramak will find the correct combination of words to explain his loss to him in terms he can understand. “Uncovering them again is not simply a matter of starting from the beginning of his life and moving forwards. We cannot simply recover and present him with all of his memories from age nine, from age thirteen, to now.”

Obi-Wan can feel a muscle tick in his jaw and he crosses his arms. Another healer crosses behind him, jostles him in their hurry to get to another patient. Differing priorities. 

But Obi-Wan only has one.

“It is like…” Ramak trails off, thinking. “Picture the rain. What do you think of?” It is much too transparent, what Obi-Wan thinks of when he thinks of the rain. He thinks of Anakin as a youngling. The ashes of Qui-Gon’s body had not fully cooled before the skies of Naboo had broken open in a torrential downpour, and the boy, padawan braid that was both his and Obi-Wan’s newly weighing on his shoulder, had escaped from the palace in Theed, ran outside with arms raised up in wonder.

“When you think of rain, you do not recall your memories chronologically,” Ramak says kindly, as if he understands where Obi-Wan’s mind has gone. “That is to say, you do not immediately think of the first time you experienced it. Our minds store memories based on their significance to us, the meanings they hold for us, which makes mind-healing to this degree incredibly difficult. Not to mention, not only was Knight Skywalker stripped of his memories, tortured, and indoctrinated, he was held for several months. Long enough for new neural pathways to form, new connotations and memories to take the place of the ones he lost.”

“Master, please,” Obi-Wan says. When he holds up his hand to forestall the other man’s words, it is shaking slightly. “Please just tell me.”

Will he recognize me? 

Will he hate me?

Will another day go by where he does not know me?

“He has a long way to go yet,” Ramak says finally, lifting his hand to stroke over his beard. “His time as Vader left scars—”

“His time captured,” Obi-Wan interrupts. “He was a hostage.” Ramak looks at him. Anakin, kidnapped by the sith, without his memories, trained to be deadly and taught to Fall, was more than a hostage. They both know that. Everyone in the galaxy knows the dangers that Darth Vader represented to the Republic.

Very few know that Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. It had been a terrible surprise. It had been the sweetest sort of relief too, to find him at all.

“Yes,” Ramak finally allows. “His time as a hostage left innumerable scars, Obi-Wan. Even after he regains all his memories, he will have a long journey ahead of him.”

“How is he?” Obi-Wan repeats, even though it is rather rude to cut the healer off. “How is he today?”

Ramak hesitates for a moment and then another, and his Force signature tenses as if at war with itself. “He requested to see you,” he finally says. “We’re not sure that’s a good idea.”

Obi-Wan’s breath catches in his throat. The Jedi saved Anakin Skywalker from the Sith five weeks ago, and though Obi-Wan has spent each of those days trekking from his quarters to the Halls of Healing and back, accousting various healers and Council members alike, desperate for any information they can give him…he has not yet been able to sit beside Anakin. He has not been allowed to talk with him at all.

It is for the best. That is what he’s been told and that is what he must believe. It is for the best. Anakin does not remember him. He remembers the word master—he does not remember that he used to say the same word with respect. With affection. He does not remember Obi-Wan at all.

He remembers his master, Sidious. He remembers his master on Tatooine. He does not—Obi-Wan doesn’t understand why he cannot remember him. 

Anakin has never once asked to see him. 

“I want to see him,” Obi-Wan says immediately, turning towards the wing where they are keeping Anakin. 

“Master Kenobi, it is not a good idea,” Ramak says, but it does not matter what they think is a good idea. It is what Anakin wants and it has been so long since Obi-Wan has been something Anakin wants.

Something of what he’s feeling must flash across his face, because the healer sighs and rubs at his forehead as if he finds the whole ordeal incredibly trying. 

“I will not hurt him,” Obi-Wan says quickly, and Ramak shakes his head, dropping his arms to his sides. 

“That is not the concern, Master,” he replies, but his shoulders have slumped. His forehead is wrinkled, but his Force signature has relaxed. He has given in. Obi-Wan has won. “I—”

But Obi-Wan has won. And so he has already stepped away, intent now on seeing his padawan. He leaves the healer behind where he stands, pushing through the doors of the wing and finally—finally to Anakin’s room.

He’d been so volatile at first, when he was still Vader. The Jedi rescuing him probably felt more like being captured. Without his memories of the Order, of the Temple, of Obi-Wan, he’d Fallen so quickly as far as anyone knows. Sidious had taken him and twisted him and when he was found again, he’d fully believed in the Sith doctrine. He’d killed two Jedi before he was subdued.

So when he’d been brought into the Temple, into the Halls of Healing, they’d outfitted him with Force suppression cuffs. Given him his own room in order to protect the other patients.

Obi-Wan knows he still wears the Force bracelets and collar, but there’s knowing and then there’s seeing.

The seeing part takes his breath away. It looks so wrong, Anakin, his Anakin, wearing the cuffs and the collar. 

Anakin, his Anakin, with yellow eyes watching him intently from the moment he enters the room.

“Anakin,” he murmurs, a reflex. The sounds are punched out of him.

He is thinner. His hair is greasy. There are dark shadows under his eyes. The skin around the collar is red, rubbed raw. He looks a thousand times older. Guant and hollowed out as if the captivity and the Darkness has leached away all of his youthful energy.

“Master,” Anakin says reproachfully. And it sounds—it sounds so much like him, like Obi-Wan’s Anakin, that he has the rather ridiculous urge to cry. Master, master.

“How are you feeling?” Obi-Wan asks, though it is a useless sort of question. He isn’t sure what to do with his hands. What to do with his tongue. He suddenly cannot remember the last time he asked Anakin how he was feeling. It was never a phrase that was part of their lexicon—for so many years, they shared a training bond. Obi-Wan was able to ascertain his padawan’s emotions with a gentle Force touch across the planes of his mind. More often than not, he was telling Anakin to search his own feelings. He was not asking him to interpret them for Obi-Wan’s sake.

Now though, their bond is severed and Anakin does not recognize him as anything more than another Jedi, another man who he once called master, and Obi-Wan stands across the room from him and does not recognize him either, save for all the ways that he does.

“Surely they have been giving you updates,” Anakin murmurs. “I know you have visited every day.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says because he will not lie to Anakin. He doesn’t think he remembers how. It has been—so long. Since he has last seen him. It is all he can do to stay standing now. To keep a respectable distance between them. To not fall to his knees. To not stumble forward and take Anakin’s hand in his own.

“What have they told you?” Anakin asks, and he tilts his head slightly. His golden eyes are as disconcerting as they are beautiful. They’re his. They’re his eyes, set in his face, and Obi-Wan has missed that face for so long. For months. He’d thought he’d never see it again, and he is just now realizing that he has no defenses left against Anakin. None at all. The boy could ask him for anything and he would fight to the death to give it to him.

The Force is in flux in the air around them, bucking up, riled, in a way Obi-Wan usually interprets as danger. But the Force could be screaming a death knell and Obi-Wan, in this moment, would only be able to hear a sweet cry of wild joy.

Anakin, this is Anakin. This is his Anakin and he is here. Back—partially. Back, incompletely. But back. Obi-Wan…he’d stopped hoping he’d ever get him back.

Instead of answering his question, he presses the backs of his fingers against his mouth to try and stop their shaking. Every day he has walked here, accosted the healers, demanded to know the latest. And he has never once realized how incredibly difficult it would be to lay eyes on Anakin. How incredibly difficult it would be to maintain his composure, to hold himself in. 

Anakin’s eyes glow gold, but Obi-Wan’s eyes are that of a starving man. All he can see is honey.

“Come here, master,” Anakin says, reproachful. “Did you not miss me?”

The words move him forward where his own feet could not. “Of course I did, Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispers. Hoarse, too hoarse. Too trembling and old, but it has been so many months. He had thought him lost forever. Dead and gone and one with the Force, and for the first time in his life, that had given him no comfort.

Anakin holds out his mechno hand, palm up, fingers slightly crooked. He’d built them that way on purpose, Obi-Wan remembers. At fourteen, he’d broken his index and middle finger in a duel, bones shattering under the blow of another padawan’s sabor. A lucky hit, an unlucky outcome. Though they’d healed near perfect due to bacta, they’d always remained slightly bent out of place. When he lost his arm to Dooku five years later, he’d fiddled with the replacement until the mech digits tilted the same familiar direction.

Obi-Wan stares at them, caught up in the tide of the memory.

Had Vader ever looked down at his mechno hand and wondered about the imperfection? Had he thought to fix it once he had the time? Had he spared a thought for the black spots in his memory, the cavernous gaps in his past?

His fingers fall to rest against the sensors of the mech tips. They’re sensitive enough that he can see Anakin shiver at the touch. 

“Did you not miss me, master?” Anakin asks again, and his hand closes around Obi-Wan’s tightly, pulling him forward another few steps.

Obi-Wan nods, then shakes his head. Yes, he missed him. No, missing—missing is not a vast enough word. 

“You asked for me,” he hears himself say. “Do you—what do you….”

Do you remember me?

You must. You call me master. And you want me close.

But they pulled the memories of the word master from your mind days ago, and you hated me then. You did not want me near you. What has changed? What have you remembered?

“I wonder if they would treat any patient like this,” Anakin says. He uses his hold on Obi-Wan to pull him even closer, til his thighs brush the edge of the bed. “If it is the war that makes me special, if it’s my own power. Or if it’s you.”

Obi-Wan tenses. Him? He doesn’t—

“They’ve tried everything they can think of to trigger my memories of you, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Anakin says. When Obi-Wan tries to move back, take a step away, find the air in the room to breathe, Anakin tightens his hold and pulls him forward until the only option is to either topple over onto his padawan’s chest or sit on the bed at his hip.

He sits.

“They debated for many days, you know,” Anakin says. His mech thumb begins to sweep over the inside of Obi-Wan’s wrist. “If they should trigger the connections my mind has made to the word master. It’s a weighted word for Anakin Skywalker. Surely you know that.”

“I do,” Obi-Wan says carefully. When he tries to breathe, he can only do so shallowly as if his entire chest has shrunk to half its capacity.

“He was enslaved before he was a padawan,” Anakin explains as though Obi-Wan has not spoken at all. Maybe he hasn’t. For the past several months he has not been able to speak to Anakin aloud, could only talk with him in his mind—could never hear a reply. Perhaps he has forgotten how. “They were worried that after ten years studying under you, after two years fighting side by side with you, my strongest connotations to the word master would still be to slavery.”

Anakin ducks his head slightly, tilts it to the side to give Obi-Wan a small, private grin, as if the healers’ concerns are so unfounded that they are amusing. As if the concept that something could outweigh Obi-Wan’s importance to Anakin is so foreign and preposterous that it’s funny.

His smile knocks into Obi-Wan’s chest like a punch to the solar plexus.

“But they decided to risk it,” Anakin says. His voice is light as a feather. Airy and unconcerned. “Perhaps they should have started with smaller things. A light saber. A braid. A pear. A planet. But they wanted to re-establish my firmest conneciton to the Light as quickly as possible. And they thought that was you.”

Obi-Wan holds his breath, eyes leaping from their connected hands to the yellow of Anakin’s eyes. He has still fallen. He has not been healed. He is still—he is still—

“So they gave me back my masters,” Anakin pitches his voice low. “All of them, though I suppose I remember Sidious well enough. But they gave me back the Toydarian. And they gave me you.”

“They said you did not want to see me,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Why, Anakin, if you remember, why would you—”

“Because I hate you,” his padawan says as if it’s the easiest thing in the galaxy. “Because they could give me back Master Kenobi, but wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, it was not in your title. He hated your title.”

Obi-Wan flinches back so violently that his forearm slips from Anakin’s grasp. Before he can move from the bed completely though, his padawan’s hand lashes out and curls around the fabric of his tunics. 

“No,” Obi-Wan says because he must deny this—he cannot stand to hear it and not deny it. No, Anakin—there was love there, in the way he pronounced the word master. The way he looked at Obi-Wan: admiration shining in his eyes when he was younger, cooling off over the years into acceptance and affection. They had their arguments. They had their—misunderstandings, but Anakin did not resent him for his role in his life as his old teacher. His master. “You’re wrong.”

“He hated it more than he hated his actual slave master,” Anakin murmurs. Lightly, airily. As if his words are not landing devastating blows on all of Obi-Wan’s softest spots. “Do you know why?” “I don’t believe you,” Obi-Wan whispers because he doesn’t because he can’t. Because he’d have known. Because this is Anakin, this is his Anakin, but there are still cavernous dark spots and gaps in his mind. This is not entirely his Anakin. He is still missing things. Thousands upon thousands of memories and moments and learned contexts and—

“I think you know why,” Anakin says as if he has not spoken. Funny, as Obi-Wan had thought he was screaming.

“I assure you I do not,” he snaps, spitting the words out as quickly as he can so that his voice cannot break between the syllables.

“Because Anakin Skywalker believed til the day he died that if you had not been his master, you would have allowed him to kiss you. To take you. To be taken by you. Don’t you remember, Master Kenobi?” Obi-Wan tears himself away from the bed, from the boy in it. Just a boy. Not a man. Not when he was seventeen and drunk for the first time, slinging his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and pressing his face into his chest, whining and begging and pleading—and not when he was eighteen either, bold and staring at Obi-Wan's lips, not when he was nineteen, on the verge of his Knighting ceremony and demanding to be given into.

Just a boy, just his boy. But never—never anything else. 

“Like I said,” Anakin but not Anakin murmurs. Anakin, but Vader too. “Wherever Anakin Skywalker kept his love for you, they have not yet been able to find it in my mind. I can only assume he loved you at all.”

Obi-Wan flicks his eyes over the familiar face, the beloved face. The stranger’s face. If it were anyone else sitting before him, he’d have a retort already on his tongue. He’d have raised his shields, gone on the offensive. There are few people left in the galaxy that can land a blow on him, and many have tried.

But this is not anyone. This is Anakin. This is his Anakin and this is something for which he has no defenses prepared.

“How ashamed did you make him feel for loving you, master?” Vader asks, tilting his head in cruel curiosity. “That he compressed all of it into something so small that a whole Temple of healers have been unable to find it?”

“Don’t call me that,” Obi-Wan snaps and this time he does not get the words off his tongue quick enough. His voice breaks in the middle of the demand, ribs cracking and parting to reveal the heart of him. “Not if—” not if you do not know what it means for him. For me. For us.

“Why not?” Vader says, and he raises his flesh hand to tuck a piece of greasy hair behind his head before allowing his fingers to fall to rest against his collarbone, ghosting against the Force suppression collar around his neck as if it’s a diamond encrusted necklace. “After all, am I not wearing your chains, master?”

[atiny-for-life]

Creative Spotlight #1: Kim Hongjoong

Masterlist

Intro: With so many new Atinys coming in, I figured now would be a good time to shed some light on all the boys' creative solo projects over the years, big and small.

Photography

Hongjoong's love for photography goes way back to his predebut days. In one of the first videos ever uploaded to their channel, you can already see him holding a camera on the set of Pirate King.

2 years ago, in 2022, he got to announce his first photo exhibition, FROM NOVEMBER 7, 1998, as a birthday present to himself, which took place from November 1st to 7th at gallery99 and was used to collect money for charity.

There was no entrance fee but spots had to be reserved online to ensure there'd be no dangerous crowding. During the exhibition, there was a little event planned for all attendees in which fans could collect points which were then converted to money that was later donated under Hongjoong and Atiny's name. The total donated amount was 10 million won!

In Logbook Episode 101, we got to see Hongjoong visit the exhibition himself and take a stroll through memory lane.

Due to the success of the 2022 exhibition, Hongjoong held another one last year which took place between November 3rd and 9th, 2023, and was titled A Walker - the event was accompanied by the release of an original song and led to the donation of 50 million won under Hongjoong's and Atiny's name to the Korea Childhood Leukemia Foundation.

BY. HONGJOONG

Back in 2018, Hongjoong shared during their stay in LA as KQ Fellaz, that he barely went to school since he already started producing music during his high school days. And yes, this is during the same tear jerking monologue where he calls Ateez his family for the first time and says he needs to hurry so he can see their sleeping faces before he goes to bed.

The first time we get to see Hongjoong fully in action as a producer is during his first 1-Day-Vlog in 2020 in which he's working on his Prince cover (more on that in a second).

But now to the main event: Hongjoong has an entire series going where he covers some of his all time favorite songs. Whenever he does, he likes to make the songs his own by recording his own instrumental track and typically adding an additional Korean rap verse with self-written lyrics highlighting his interpretation of the song's message.

Kicking things off with Space Oddity by David Bowie, a classic.

Side Note: As a lover of unisex clothing/androgyny, Hongjoong is likely not just inspired musically by Bowie, but also fashion wise. You can learn more about Bowie's influence on the climate surrounding gender and sexuality here.

Dressed in white, matching both his hair and the background, Hongjoong turned himself into a clean canvas on which he projected first footage of Bowie and later some floating orbs - it's very aesthetic.

Between the original verses and chorus, he placed a Korean rap verse in which he writes from Major Tom's perspective and laments his mental state while stuck alone in outer space, asking ground control to tell his mom he loves her while stating he still appreciates the beauty of space but feels lost and lonely all by himself.

Next up, we've got Purple Rain by Prince, another classic.

Side Note: Like Bowie, Prince too was famous for being androgynous in how he presented himself and toying with what society deemed masculine and feminine. He's famous to this day among the queer community for how persistently he defied gender norms and labels. Learn more about him here.

Instead of filming himself, we get a lyric video this time, fully kept in pastel lavender. Once again, Hongjoong added a rap verse of his own in which he speaks to a lost friend, talking about how he hopes that, even though they're apart now, his friend will still recall him as being sincere and that they can still think of each other fondly and remember the good times.

In a far more elaborate production, we've got Black or White by Michael Jackson up next.

Using green screen and multiple outfits, we get a fun spectacle of a little passion project featuring multiple versions of Hongjoong, background collages, emojis, and more:

Despite being shorter than the other covers, we still get the signature rap verse preceded by his famous giggle and, this time, he's got quite a bit to say.

Diving into the lyrics, he talks about how we're all different colors. Colors which are meant to be mixed. Our roots don't define us. Throughout life, we'll all get mixed up with each other, as we should. He doesn't want to see us divided. To quote: "What's wrong with you, babe? Stop it. You've already experienced the 20th century. Blah blah by dividing groups."

The song ends with the rap verse before the video dives into the making of in which Hongjoong specifically addresses his intent to talk about social issues like Michael Jackson famously used to while he was alive (think: They Don't Really Care About Us).

So long time by Yoon Jong Shin comes next with a sepia-toned video featuring Hongjoong at a grand piano. It's a pretty ballad highlighting his vocals and the use of multiple camera angles allows us to watch him play.

Shortly before we hit the 2 minute mark, Hongjoong gets up and we transition from the shot of the piano to a cassette player while the audio shifts to the original for a moment before Hongjoong returns.

We've reached the rap verse where he mourns a lost love, speaking of memories he can't let go of, even as he pretends everything is okay. He's cold and lonely now, a little mad at himself for continuously getting lost in the memories, and calls himself a fool before we return to the cover-part of the song.

At 3:58, the song wraps up and we've reached the making of section of the video where he talks about how his cover stems from the idea of a time machine taking you through the song, with the first verse (playing the piano) being the past, the rap verse symbolizing the present, and the memories then taking back over as he gets lost in them, leading to the piano's return.

Next up, we've got Last Christmas by Wham! which opens to a short clip of Hongjoong's acting on a pretty Christmas film set before we transition to a simple white back drop.

This time, the signature rap verse comes in early at 50 seconds with a little giggle before he talks about leaving the past in the past and moving on, letting the snow settle over painful memories.

However, this time, we also get a second rap verse at 1:45, where it becomes clear he hasn't moved on at all, plus a Korean vocal section at 2:43 which carries through to the end. Here, he highlights even further that he hopes they'll reconnect next winter so they can leave the painful past behind and live out a shared future.

Hongjoong in his emo era. This is the first Ateez-related video I've ever seen because I was born in '96 and my emo phase never ended so of course this was recommended to me when it was first released.

Numb by Linkin Park got the full Hongjoong treatment and was even reported on by Rolling Stone, quote:

The cover began trending on social media and YouTube within hours of its release, but the true prize came a day later when it caught the attention of Linkin Park themselves. The rock band’s official Twitter account ‘liked’ the post on ATEEZ’s page, with co-founder and vocalist Mike Shinoda confirming on a livestream that he’d seen and enjoyed the cover. As of this writing, Hongjoong’s version of “Numb” has over half a million views on YouTube and has garnered tremendous praise from Linkin Park’s fans.

We get the black eye makeup and nail polish, the plaid half skirt, the dramatic music video with fake fog and red lighting. The rap verse comes in hard, talking about getting mentally weighed down by an abuser and finally breaking free, cutting the ties.

As a long time Linkin Park fan, I love how unique this cover is and Chester would've loved it too I'm sure. I wish he could've seen it.

Fools Garden's Lemon Tree is another classic and I come back to it on the regular because the video has such a unique vibe and the song is famous for getting stuck in your head.

The video features Hongjoong alone in a house surrounded by colorful toys and games, bored out of his mind and visibly seeking a distraction from life but failing to find something, no matter how out of pocket his thinking gets.

Shoutout to the license plate - it's the release date of the song, November 3rd, 1995.

At 1:33, Hongjoong sprints off to the basement which is doused in red and we get a warped version of his signature giggle before the rap verse kicks in. The camera work in this section reminds me a bit of his rap verse in Not Okay.

While down there, he gets more and more deranged, talking about being locked up day by day, imprisoned, losing track of time, but being unable to break out. Instead of trying to escape, he just attempts to distract himself, listening to sad songs on a loop until his pain disappears and his world switches back to yellow.

Busking Event

In 2021, Hongjoong decided to put together a busking event featuring live performances of some covers, plus acoustic versions of some of their songs. Accompanying him were both Ateez and Maddox. You can find the full playlist here:

Collaboration

3 months ago, Chungha made a return to the music scene after escaping her former label and chose Hongjoong as a collaboration partner for her new debut. Beyond his rap verse, she also incorporated a move from Crazy Form in the choreography (she's lovely):

[dellalyra]

Family Formation Part Three

Summary: The Gojo's share a soft, warm moment with Yuuji after an unexpected midnight run in.

SERIES MASTERLIST requests currently open :)&lt;3

CW: fluff, pregnancy, mild threat, sukuna being sukuna, this is almost more of a crack fic but like it's really soft bc so many people wanted Y/N and Gojo to adopt Yuuji after part two but part four... is going to be heartbreaking I'm sorry

11.43pm - Tokyo Prefectural High School, Dorm Building Kitchen

You’re in the common room, waiting for your husband to finish up a mission - looking at your phone you see him say he’ll be about 10 minutes, so you go to make yourself a quick cup of tea before he gets here and goes home. You could hear the kids up in their dorms until about 30 minutes ago after you had made dinner for you all this evening.

As you boil the kettle, you feel a silent presence lurking behind you, just at the entrance to the kitchen- a drastic shift in cursed energy, one you’d rather not be familiar with but sadly have come to know all too well. You continue to prepare your tea in peace. “Evening, Sukuna.” You say, with an exasperated sigh. A kitchen conversation with the King of Curses wasn’t quite how you imagined this evening to go but you’ll make do. It feels like your baby starts to sense the cursed energy too, with them kicking a little more since Sukuna’s arrival - Gojo genes are strong in this one you see.

A growl emanates through the room, “You dare address me so casually, wench?” “I do, Sukuna, you’re far too smart to start shit in here and with me right now, so do shut up and let me enjoy my tea.” “Oh, what a brave little girl you are - are you in any position to do anything but beg for me to spare the life of you and your child?” His eyes seem to flow red through the dimly lit room.

“I would say I’m rather well safeguarded yes, I’m a special grade sorcerer, and even 7 months pregnant I could inflict decent damage on you, my husband is Gojo Satoru, and my son who possesses the Ten Shadow technique is down the hall AND is overprotective and down the hall, a girl who may as well be my daughter, doing the same and another Grade 1, but most of all - the body you are housed in is that of a boy who is also as good as a son to me, and the minute you start to show me any real threat I know he will make up and squash your nighttime wandering hopes. So, tell me, what can I help you with, Sukuna?” You roll your eyes, knowing full well he’s trying to grandstand and intimidate you, but you just do not have the patience to deal with it right now. As you speak you pour the water into your mug and sit yourself down with a groan at your tired feet. The glare you were given along with the smirk and what you could only assume to be a laugh may scare some, but not you, you’ve seen and exorcised far worse than Sukuna in a 15-year-old boy's body in the kitchen. “Hm, I like you - you’ve got balls. As for what I wanted, well, I suppose I wanted to see for myself the woman carrying the future of jujutsu sorcery - hardly any fun going through all this trouble to regain my power if there will be nothing interesting to use it on.” He stalls towards you, eyeing you and your growing stomach like a trophy. “The child - it is strong, not even taken a breath and the cursed energy outweighs your own. Possibly it’s fathers too. And you’ve raised the Ten Shadows boy, for a human I almost respect you, there’s nothing quite as entertaining as a fierce woman.”

The flare in your cursed energy at the thought of Sukuna even discussing your children would have blown lesser beings to ash but luckily, years of control and practice have kept you from unleashing the rage of a protective mother - this is not even the first time. The very night Sukuna was reborn inside Yuuji, you stood in front of your injured son Megumi which fire burning inside you as Gojo watched the love and care you had for him and that boy behind you turn into a blast slamming the curse into the building. (Your initial concern for hurting the as-yet-unknown rosey-haired child diminished after having seen how Sukuna reinforced his body during a brief scuffle with your husband).

“Sukuna, you have seen that I am quite clearly pregnant, you’ve done what you came to do - off you go, unless you’re going to say you want tea -” with a snarl and muttering about the insolence of humans and the arrogance of every Gojo he retreats as a waking Yuuji looks around, clearly confused.

“Y/N? Why am I in the kitchen? I was asleep? Wait, why are you here, where’s Gojo-Sensei?” The words all tumble out mingled with a yawn from him. Seeing no reason to hide the truth, you continued. “You’re okay Yuuji, Satoru will be here in a minute, I’m just waiting here for him to finish up a quick mission, didn’t want to drive so I’ll go home with him. And as for why you’re in the kitchen, it seemed your body roommate wanted a midnight stroll.” You put your mug onto the counter as you reboil the water to make some tea for Yuuji, hoping it would coax him back to sleep. “Wait, Sukuna? Are you okay? Oh god, I’m so sorry, what did he want?” He flustered about.

“Yuuji honey, I’m absolutely fine, and you have nothing to be sorry for. He just wanted to see if the rumors of a new Six Eyes could be true. We were all completely safe sweetheart, I sent him packing and pretty much told him if he didn’t want tea he could piss off, he’s too smart to ever try anything that could put himself in danger - so don’t worry, you’re safe with Satoru and me around. Plus, I think this one is going to have both my temper and Satoru’s lack of sanity so, you’re surrounded by Gojo’s who love you.” You pat your belly and then his head and push the chamomile tea mug into his hands. He scratches the back of his neck and thanks you, muttering about how much of a dick Sukuna is. You giggle at him and sit down.

“Wait, did you really ask the king of curses if he wanted tea?” Yuuji asked as if that part of the story had just clicked in his head. “Well, Shoko always said I was too ballsy for someone my size.” You giggle and he laughs too, but nods, knowing you are one of the bravest (and kinda scary in a fight) people he’s met since joining the sorcery world.

“He didn’t want any tea though. Maybe he’s a hot chocolate kinda guy.” You say, with a straight face, Yuuji looks at you for a moment and then bursts into hysterical laughter as you giggle about wrapping Sukuna in a blanket and giving him cocoa with tiny marshmallows. As you’re finishing your tea, Satoru walks (flounces) through the door and leans down to pepper your face with kisses. “Well if it isn’t my dearest, darling, sweetheart, angel wife. Are you ready to go home? I have some snacks for us before bed.” He says as you notice the bags behind his back. He then turns to Yuuji, “Huh, you have Sukuna cooties tonight. What did I miss?” Itadori turns his nose up at the residuals being called cooties. “It’s alright, ‘Toru. Sukuna decided to check out whether the rumor of more Gojo spawn was true. Got poor Yuuji out of bed for it and all.” You reassured him.

“Huh, well, you okay, baby? He didn’t upset you did he?” You loved that Satoru had so much faith in your abilities and strength that he knew he needed to be nothing but support for you, and you’d spoken before about his being surrounded by sorcerers was the safest place for Yuuji to be so you both knew Sukuna wouldn’t risk his chance. You weren’t dumb enough to think you could take down Sukuna alone - only Satoru could have a chance, but you could definitely hold him off with your powerful cursed technique long enough for Satoru to arrive. You kissed his cheek and nodded that you were absolutely fine.

“Gojo-sensei, she offered him tea. Sukuna.” Yuuji said, still in disbelief. “That’s my girl!” Hearing this, Satoru laughed and pulled you into his chest, beaming at his beautifully snarky, witty wife.

“Now, Satoru, let’s get home - it’s late. I can see you yawning, Yuuji, back to bed.” You usher him down the hall to his dorm and make sure he gets into bed, as he sleepily tumbles into his Spider-Man sheets you’d gotten a few months back, you whisper goodnight to him. As you were about to close the door, you hear a very sleepy, barely awake ‘gnight mom, night dad.’ You squeeze Satoru’s hand as you smile at each other, wordless but endless appreciation for what you just heard and have only ever heard from Megumi (rarely) and Tsumiki (you missed hearing it from her). You knew Yuuji would be back to Y/N and Gojo-Sensei tomorrow but now in a sleepy vulnerable moment that’s how he saw and felt about you both was enough to know you guys must be doing something right.

“Satoru, we should really stop picking up stray kids on the street and keeping them.” You giggle thinking of the siblings, Yuuji and the sweet boy you cared for currently in Africa with Miguel. “Hm, nah, we need a whole collection, our own army - now c’mon, the baby just said ‘Hey dad get mom home I want to have cuddles and mochi with you’” in the worst baby impression ever he squeaked at you and he picked you up bridal style to warp you home, but not before you get in a quiet “oh really, when did you become the womb whisperer? That sounds like you want that to me.”

TAGLIST:

@vesta-ro *

@sassy-cat-in-town

@lilithlunas

@madam-ri

[physalian]

#Writer Problems

Meet the 15th character in this series with a name that starts with A! No one will notice hahaha

Going back and deleting the sighs to shake things up a bit because there’s 120 in the manuscript

*checks notes* whoops you died already, Side Character, my bad

*one paragraph* Perfect. Amazing. Poetic. Profound. *the next paragraph* what is words do?

Knocking out a 6k word chapter in an hour/Spending a week on a single transition

*slaps down a shiny new character with zero plan* You don’t know anything about them and neither do I, let’s discover them together

Realistically, there’s gotta be at least one casualty from this fantasy battle so…. *rolls dice* no not you. *rolls dice again* yep. That’ll do. Sorry, pal.

Is this badass or stupid?

Is this hot or cringey?

*checks notes* damn it, plot hole.

Upon this most recent round of edits, you, Cool Side Character, no longer made the cut. Mayhaps you’ll be recycled later.

*checks notes* damn it, I fixed that plot hole by opening another plot hole.

Jesus christ I wrote ‘just’ 308 times across 120k words?

That is definitely not how you spell that

*dreams about my characters in full HD technicolor* awwww yeah, where’s the popcorn? *cannot replicate how cool it was in actual words*

Unes- Unnecs- Unessis- Unnessessarily- Unnecessarily fuck

Do I go with the British grey or the American gray?

*cries* this epic was supposed to be a novella

Well these two were supposed to be having an argument here. But making out is fine. I’d like to see where this goes.

Oops I forgot the straights, here that nameless dude over there isn't confirmed gay, so you can headcanon that he's straight if you want

Oops I forgot that marriage exists uhhh yeah their other parents are all dead or deadbeats

Fuck love triangles here’s a double-helix dodecahedron.

One day my fandom will write so much smut about this guy and I am here for it cause I sure ain’t doing it myself

Oops I forgot people with green eyes exist but brown eyes? I got 20

*describing the writing process* It was the best of times, it was the worst of times it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

I. Hate. Chapter. Titles.

Is this profound or pretentious?

*crafts an absolutely banger metaphor* I hope someone notices this. I put a lot of work into it

I didn’t spend 6 months perfecting this masterpiece for you to sass that the curtains are just blue. I’ll write the goddamn essay myself about all the depth behind my color choices, sir.

Picture that Spongebob dehydrated in Sandy’s treehouse meme ‘cause that’s me on round 12 of edits

I gotta be up for work in 4 hours but this monologue is more important

*distills 30 pages of worldbuilding notes into 2 paragraphs of a fluff scene* somebody will appreciate this, won’t they?

*listening to my book playlist* one day when this is adapted I hope this artist is still alive to compose the main theme cause this shit fucks

*cries* this trilogy was supposed to be just one book

If I turn this plot hole into a character flaw, they become the problem while I remain god

*looting themes, monologues, character names, and archetypes off the corpses of my dead WIPs* You won’t miss them anyway.

While it also immortalizes this person’s dickish behavior, yes, I will, in fact, write a whole character’s backstory as a middle-finger to this one bitch from 10 years ago.

*steps back to gaze at all the suffering done unto my deuteragonist* but it was worth it, wasn’t it?

*staring down yet another loathsome action set piece* whyyyyy do I do this to myself?

Nobody’ll notice my author insert if I dice them up and divvy them out in bits to my entire cast, right? Right? It’s like a shell game of what’s author and what’s fiction

These two are going to be a problematic ship one day and I will burn that bridge when I get there

*2am and I am scouring the internet for that one piece of a fort’s defenses because not remembering is the current root of my insomnia*

*Nudging my favorite character who isn’t the protagonist out onto stage* golly I hope the readers like him

Waiting. For. Editors. Takes. So. Long.

Holy butts accidental motif and deep symbolism fucks. I am so pretending I did that on purpose.

To subtext or not to subtext? Nah, to subtext. *laughs maniacally*

Trying to ride that line between so obvious it’s painful but also juuust enough foreshadowing so you slap yourself for not seeing it sooner

TIL that I have been using that word completely wrong for years. How quaint.

No you’re derivative schlock. I’m crowd surfing the books that came before and loving every second of it.

Damn I wasted a really good name on this throwaway character

*checks notes* wait, who's taller? Where does your hair part? Are you left or right-handed?

*musing over a character slated for death* damn, I really like you. Since I am in fact god, you shall live another day. *rewerites the entire finale*

God I hope people like this story

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC REVIEW: Honey Cut by Sierra Simone

5/5. Releases 6/18/24.

vibes: WEAPONIZED LONGING, the perfect angst recipe, the man Lana Del Rey was singing about but much better, We Can't Discuss Our Feelings Because My Feelings Are Hard

Heat Index: 10/10

Isolde Laurence is in a bind (literally, at points). She's about to marry Mark Trevena (the cold, dangerous man who deflowered her and promptly crushed her heart) in an arrangement that will enable her to seduce him and offer his secrets to her uncle, a high-ranking cardinal. However, on her way to do so, she's fallen in love with Mark's romantic, pining bodyguard Tristan. And Tristan--who very much loves her back--is also in love with Mark, thanks to a preexisting whirlwind affair he put a stop to upon finding out about the engagement. Isolde is determined to, if nothing else, guard her heart against her new husband. And, for personal and practical reasons, honor the agreement they made years ago: once they exchange vows, they'll be faithful to each other.

Easier said than done.

But Isolde herself is deadlier than she seems, and in the midst of a thorny triangle, she may end up crushing not only Tristan's heart, but her own... and maybe even Mark's. If he has one.

Well, this was my most-anticipated release of the year, and BY GOD did it live up to expectations. This is an ongoing series (you must read Salt Kiss before starting this one, and in my opinion? You should ABSOLUTELY also read the prequel novella, Salt in the Wound, as it lays the groundwork for Mark and Isolde's relationship) and of course, I don't want to count chickens before they hatch, but... If Sierra pulls the ending off--which I totally believe she will; she's yet to let me down--this could end up being her best series yet. And that is a LOT coming from me, someone who worships at the altar of New Camelot (and Thornchapel, for that matter).

The thing about the way Sierra writes triads--and nobody does it better--is that they all feel unique. You might think that Mark, Isolde, and Tristan would have a lot in common with New Camelot's Ash, Greer, and Embry. They're MMF, they're based on Arthurian myth, these people literally know each other (Sierra: I owe you my life for that cameo). But the dynamic is completely different--and in this installment especially, quite darker. I didn't see Mark's darkness as much in Salt Kiss (Salt in the Wound... perhaps more so, which gives you some insight into the differences between his individual dynamics with Isolde versus Tristan) but here? Um. She portrayed the conflict within him and his ruthlessness perfectly... While also letting us even further into the vulnerability she hinted at in Salt Kiss.

Mark can be a difficult character for readers to humanize, I think, because we haven't had his POV yet. It's easy to sort of dismiss him as this frosty, stern alpha who doles out pain while also dealing with plenty of his own (on the inside, because Mark is clearly very uncomfortable with feeling a feeling). Where she makes it brilliant is through these moments of BOYISHNESS. We got sneak peeks of boyish Mark in Salt Kiss, but here? Oh my god. The grins, the poking at Tristan, the GOOFY HOT FACETIME SEX WITH ISOLDE??? It's so human, and dropping those sneak peeks in makes his pain even more palatable.

And the thing is that you do get that pain. Because Sierra also doesn't shy away from the agony of a love triangle and, yes, cheating in this book. I often find that MMF is used in a sort of like... "Why choose? Heehee it's all okay because everyone wants each other" get out of jail free card. Sierra really doesn't do that ever, but this is the hardest she's gone in on "these people are cheating, and it HURTS the person they're cheating on, and it HURTS them". No punches are pulled here. This is one of the angstiest books I've read, and as an angst hound, I loved every second of it.

The ending? I am going to be in actual PAIN until Bitter Burn (out early next year, SHIT). There was a moment in the last few pages of this book that made me gasp. In part because I really didn't think she'd go there on multiple levels. This is a book of huge swings, and for me, every single one worked.

Quick Takes:

--I have been very vocal about how much the one time Mark called Tristan "puppy" in a cut scene (Beg Me, which you should absolutely read if you can--I think it's on Sierra's website) has not left my head since. Guess what? It's just a regular nickname now. He says it SEVERAL times in this book, in prime moments. And I was extremely happy.

--You can for sure read this series on its own, but I will say that this book in particular "spoils" a good bit of New Camelot. In the same way that any romance in the same universe or series of standalones sort of spoils others, but if you want to read chronologically without any giveaways, you should read that series first. And in general, read it even if you do read Lyonesse first. Because it's gorgeous.

--I can't emphasize enough how happy Isolde and Mark's dirty Facetime calls made me. Like. At the end of the day, Mark is just like any other man with a hot young wife, desperately trying to get a peek over his phone. While someone else peeks, perhaps.

--Isolde's such a fantastic heroine. Broken and devoted to God and maybe lowkey a zealot, while also craving physical and emotional pain and release and Tristan's soft heart and Mark's cold one all at once. She's the kind of heroine we very rarely get to read about in romance. If I'm being honest, I was a little worried about how the dynamics would balance here, as so much of the last book was Mark and Tristan on their own, and then the remainder was Tristan and Isolde on their own. (Which is another reason why you should read Salt in the Wound first, in my opinion.) But God. The dynamic of the three, the dynamic between Mark and Isolde, just blew me away. Two black cats circling each other, Mark perhaps a little more reticent to open up to Isolde than Tristan because he recognizes something of himself in her.

While at the same time, I found that Tristan and Isolde's relationship deepened. I always fully believed in their agonized love for Mark, and their desire to stay loyal to him. Yet I also completely believed that they couldn't possibly stay away from each other, not permanently.

--Mark's backstory? I foresaw some surface level stuff, but not the parts that mattered. Those kind of blew my mind.

The Sex:

I mean, it's Sierra Simone, so it's creative and very much a part of the character development. One of the sex scenes in this book was so... it was really one of the best she's ever written. But also? DEVIOUS. Sierra, you did not have to do us like that. However, I'm glad you did.

There are so many different "flavors" of sex in this book--super kinky, kinda vanilla (or as vanilla as these people can get), happy, angsty, sad, passionate, light, funny.

You can expect, among other things: restraints, impact play, cum play, breeding, biting, public sex (a lot of that), car sex, edging, voyeurism, pain play, cum licking.......... all that shit. And more!

Look, dude. Read this book if you've read the other books. If you haven't read the other books, read those and then read this book. I can't recommend it enough. This is angsty, passionate, heady romance at its best. Hot and emotionally complex and well-written. Sierra's prose! It's what romance should be; she sets the pace, and we all must chase it.

Thanks to Candi Kane PR for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

(Cont This is the last one I promise)

Honestly i think the more he starts to realize how much he genuinely loves/depends on you the more kinda unhinged he gets. Yes hes happy that finally he can have someone to call his own but at the same time, where were you. Where were you 5 years ago, 10 years ago. Why did it take him so long to find this happiness that he so desperately longed for. How dare you come to him now. When he is this.

Eventually i think the relationship would hit a breaking point where either izana is able to come to terms with the fact that you wont leave him like his mom did or he'll be stuck pushing you away yet at the same time desperately clinging to you. For the bad end, if you werent already privy to his gang activities hed probaby drag you into them so you couldnt escape/become more dependent on him. Or if you were hed betray you to save his own heart. It wouldnt be the first time hes done it. And it certainly wouldnt be the last. Or he could just ghost you and you never hear from him again. The name Izana kurokawa becoming nothing but an open ended word for what could have been. But, maybe, just maybe, in the timeline where he makes it to 2018. Maybe you guys could spend your days taking care of fish and watering plants together.

Sorry this was so long, I just recently finished the series and I'm hooked.

GIRLIE WHAT SERIES. TELL ME THE NAME ASAP. You wrote three huge paragraphs and I got so excited fdcscbcczxd I NEED that series too.

Tho I agree. Relationship with Izana would be toxic and you wrote fair reasons why. I genuinely think it'd be better if you (reader) wouldn't know about his gang activities because that way, it'd take less time to get him trust you even just a bit. Because gangsters most of the time have ulterior motives, especially with leaders. But still, it's hard for him to simply put his trust in you after everything he has been gone through so it might even take years of "friendship" to be his lover. Plus he'd have hard time recognising that he's in love. Like why does he feels like that around you? Why is his stomach doing that weird thing when he sees you? Why can't he just stop staring at you? Why are you always his thoughts? He'd be very confused at first and that'd be reason why he would push you away. Because he's confused and kind of....Nervous? But then he'd be the one who'd cling to you after that, going back to how you two used to be and etc. That would also scare him off slightly but soon or later he'd realise that he's in love with you. But he wouldn't take that very well because he doesn't even know what love is and he genuinely doesn't want to get hurt again. So, he'd ghost you lot but he'd also the be first running to your embrace. It's like hot and cold, yk. He really needs to heal from his trauma, otherwise relationship would be very toxic. In the future, I can see things working out better.

[wheels-of-despair]

Under Pressure | Eric x You vs. The Apocalypse | Series Masterlist

Chapter One: Through Gritted Teeth Summary: Once upon a time, in a miserable Midtown restaurant... you felt the need to rescue the brother-in-law you'd only just met. Words: 1.8k

Matricide. Patricide. What's the word for when you murder your father-in-law?

Justified. You're going to call it justified.

Two days ago, your nemesis - also known as Albert, the old Englishman that your husband calls Dad through gritted teeth - announced a stateside visit. Your other half immediately went into Panic Mode, scrubbing the apartment from top to bottom, even though he knows that his father would never stoop so low as to set foot in there. He went in for a haircut this morning. He had a meltdown because he couldn't find his favorite tie this afternoon. It's going to take you months to undo this hour-long visit.

Because this time, you've realized that your father-in-law can treat someone worse than he treats your husband.

"I'll be in New York for a day. You should let me tear you down over dinner. Also, your little brother has been living 10 minutes away from you for a month, and neither of us thought to mention it until now. He'll be joining us, probably against his will. Pip-pip, cheerio, and Bob's your uncle!"

That's how you imagine the phone call happened, anyway.

Fast-forward to a miserable dinner in a ritzy Midtown restaurant where you serve as buffer between a haughty father and his two disappointing sons. One, a doctor with an office wall full of framed accomplishments and a nice apartment and a wife who's not so bad, if you do say so yourself. The other, a law student who's sure to do great things. After all, he did get into one of the country's top law schools, didn't he? They're smart, they're motivated, and they're both reduced to anxious little boys in that old bastard's presence.

You've seen Eric standing awkwardly in old family photos, where everyone's in pressed suits and wearing their best fake smiles, but you've never actually met him before. He looks a little like your husband, you suppose. Especially with panic in his eyes and a hint of sweat on his forehead. Eric is the youngest of six. Evan, the one you landed, is son number five. The first four had been big, strapping rugby players in school; one even went pro. They sought fame and fortune, becoming workaholics and alcoholics and bringing home trophy wives and a slew of entitled grandchildren. It was a lot to live up to. No matter what the youngest two did, they always seemed to fall short of their father's expectations.

"So Eric, how are you liking school so far?" you ask, after counting out sixty seconds of tense silence. The boy pleads with his big brown eyes, and you feel awful for thrusting him into the spotlight. In your defense, the first half-hour of sitting at this table had involved your husband listing every miracle he'd performed in the hospital during the last year. His father remained unimpressed. You figured it was time to switch gears. Share the load. Spread the misery.

"S'alright, I guess," he says quietly, giving you a sad attempt at a smile. You appreciate the effort anyway.

"It had better be more than alright," the old man scoffs for the umpteenth time tonight, "with what I had to pay to get him in. Evan, his grades made yours look impressive."

Evan smiles politely in acknowledgement of the back-handed compliment. Eric squirms in his seat, looking like he'd love for a sinkhole to open up and swallow him whole. You've seen your husband react the same way. What is this power the old man has over these poor boys, and how can you take it away from him?

"You're just getting started," you smile, ignoring the old man. "You'll settle in and find your groove, and everything will fall into place. Just give it time."

Eric puts a little more effort into this smile.

Albert's cell phone rings, and he answers it at the table. Rude, yes. But his sons are as grateful for the distraction as he is. The three of you eat quietly while the old man prattles on about something you don't care about, and it's the most relaxing part of this stressful evening. A waiter stops to drop off dessert menus as the old man ends his call.

"Do you think you've earned dessert?" he asks pointedly. Both of his sons put down their menus. If you weren't so eager to get the hell out of here, you'd order something massive, so you'd have to enlist the boys' help in eating it. But you drop your menu as well, because you're ready to go home and start building your husband's self-esteem back up. And possibly dig into a pint of ice cream.

"Let me just get the check," your father-in-law insists, waving for the waiter.

"No, Dad, let me," Evan argues, reaching for his wallet.

You hate the Let Me Pay Dance. It's the same every time. If the old man gets to the check first, the husband feels like a child who can't provide for himself. If the husband does, the old man accuses him of being a show-off. There is no winner here.

"If you insist," Albert says. Everyone freezes. You've been watching them play this game for years, and this has never happened before. "At least I have one son who offered."

Eric's face burns scarlet. This poor fucking kid. You glance at Evan, who meets your eye in surprise. He grapples with his wallet and gets his credit card out as the waiter approaches. Albert stares down his nose at Eric, who looks like he's seconds away from crying.

"Is it hot in here?" you ask, fanning yourself. Three pairs of eyes land on you.

"Are you alright?" Evan asks. You shoot him a look that you hope he understands.

"I think I need some fresh air. Eric, would you walk me outside?"

Eric stands without a word and helps you out of your chair. He even thinks to grab your purse. You pretend not to notice how he fumbles and nearly drops it.

"Take your time," you smile, touching Evan's shoulder as you walk away. You wish you didn't feel like such a traitor for leaving your husband alone with his father, but you have to get this kid out of there before he gives the old man more ammo.

Eric guides you through the labyrinth of tables, and by the time you reach the door, you're genuinely happy to be out of the crowded restaurant. You sit on the steps, off to the side so you're out of the way. The summer has just turned to autumn, and the cool breeze feels wonderful after months of stifling heat.

Eric takes off his brown suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders anyway.

"Thank you," you whisper. He nods his head in acknowledgement, then sits next to you on the steps. You stare out at the traffic together in silence for a moment.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly.

"I'm fine," you answer. "Are you?"

He looks at you blankly.

"Dinner with your father is always an experience," you wink. Eric stares down at the concrete in front of him, probably afraid to respond. "What do you think of the city?" you ask, hoping to get his mind off of the evening he's just suffered through.

"It's… different," he says. "Different than I thought it would be."

"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

Eric shrugs, picking at a piece of fuzz on his pants. He looks so dejected, it makes your heart ache. At least Evan has someone to pick up the pieces and put him back together after his father rips him to shreds. Who does Eric have?

You glance back toward the door. They'll probably come out soon. You reach into your purse and extract a notepad, scribble some necessary information on it, and rip out the page. You hold it out to Eric, who stares at it for a second before taking it.

"Our numbers and address," you clarify. "If you ever need anything, just let us know."

"Thank you," he whispers, not taking his eyes off of the paper.

"I mean it," you smile. "I know what it's like to feel alone in a strange city. If you ever need anything at all, we'll be there."

"Thank you," he says again, looking at you with watery eyes. Did you overstep? Did you make it weird?

"Feeling better?" Evan calls, holding the door for his father. Eric blinks back his tears and stands with his back to them.

"Much," you answer. Eric reaches down to help you up, standing on the step below to make sure you don't fall. What a gentleman. You return his jacket, give his shoulder a light squeeze as thanks, then walk to your husband. Eric slowly follows.

"Well, it's been great catching up, but I have a few things to take care of before my return flight," your father-in-law says, glancing at his watch. He shakes Evan's hand, gives you a nod, and Eric a pointed stare. And then he whirls around and disappears into the night.

"Nobody touch me, if I'm subjected to any more affection tonight, I may not survive," you deadpan.

Two mouths quirk into very similar smirks.

"I should get going, too," Eric mumbles. "It was nice to meet you," he says to you, followed by a "Thank you for dinner" to Evan.

"You're welcome," Evan says politely. "Take care."

"You too." Eric gives you a nod, appears to hesitate briefly, then turns. You look from one brother to the other and roll your eyes.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," you groan, grabbing the back of Eric's suit jacket. He freezes, then looks back at you in surprise. "C'mere," you order, pulling him in for a hug. It's tense for a second, but he doesn't protest. You feel him relax, and maybe even chuckle? When you release him, he has a shy smile on his face.

"You take care of yourself," you order, hands on his shoulders. " And call us if you need anything. Okay?"

"Okay," he grins.

"Now you may go," you inform him. Still grinning, he gives you an awkward wave and turns to leave again. This time, you let him. You wait 'til he rounds the corner, then look to your husband. You can't quite decode the expression on his face. Amusement? Curiosity? You decide to tackle it with humor.

"Dear Diary," you tease. "Tonight, my father finally let me pay for dinner. It was the best day of my life!"

"Shut up," he laughs, putting an arm around your shoulders and steering you toward home.

[shepscapades]

I have two minds to answer this, because part of me is going 'WE GOT EM!!! WE GOT EM!!' While the other part of me is like 'oh god how do I tell them. Who’s going to tell them.' The easiest way I can explain: Tom, Ben, and Harry are not in a minecraft series together, and the lore that I have for them is not based in any actual series. HOWEVER. DON’T LET THE TRAGIC TRUTH MAKE YOU CLICK AWAY /silly so I can explain properly LMAO

Here’s a TLDR for anyone who likes these guys and is a lil interested in them!!

Most of the lore for these three is based on an amalgamation of inside jokes, non-minecraft character trends, and general yogs minecraft world lore!

Tom was an editor (now has a YouTube channel, AngoryTom) and did behind-the-scenes minecraft prep for the Yogscast for so long that he was never really interested in any actual "main channel" series besides [Dig Site - 10 episodes] with Simon, Lewis, and Ben, and [Skyblock - 2 episodes] with Ben! Although he’s also played several npcs throughout various main channel series since he was helping run the show lol. My take on his character is that he’s a former yoglabs employee due to [YOGLABS CLASSIFIED INFORMATION] and now lives his laziest life ever in an undisclosed remote location. He’s also the demigod of death but he’ll never tell

Ben started doing main series mc content a few years ago, but hasn’t done anything mc with Tom and Harry until recently (see below)! His character is a Shark Hybrid due to [YOGLABS CLASSIFIED INFORMATION] who now lives with Tom at the same undisclosed remote location.

Harry has been an insane speedrunning minecraft legend for ages, but was never in any main series content bc he’s actually a graphic designer for the yogs. But he was part of Iskall’s twitch vault hunter event back in November, and he’s now in the [Vault Hunter Series - Ongoing] with Ben and Duncan on YouTube! <3 so there’s plenty of mc content of Harry and Ben, but not so much Tom. c!Harry has lived remote for as long as he can remember, locked in Hardcore, until…?

But again, I base their backstories on a bunch of kinda loosely connected lore dots that are half based on jokes <3

Below the read more includes: links to clips, compilations, and very brief lore explanations (though you can check my other lore drawings in Tom’s tag (#Angory Tom), Ben’s tag (#bedgar), Harry’s tag (#brryhrry) or posts that have any of them, which should be under the (#the outcast trio) tag)!

BEN AND TOM

I’ve been in love with Ben and Tom as a duo forever, since the TTT (modded Trouble in Terrorist Town) days, where Ben’s player model was Left Shark, and Tom’s model was Emperor Palpatine (yes from Star Wars. I can’t stand them). But Ben and Tom have been yogs editors and Behind The Scenes guys forever, so it wasn’t until more recently that they became known personalities in the main yogscast circle (4-5 years is pretty recent in the 10+ years of yogs content timeline LMAO).

Through Warhammer streams and behind the scenes stuff, I kinda fell in love with their chemistry and idiocy, and they worked so well with the “main cast” that I just had to put them in the yogs minecraft universe, somewhere. Turns out, Tom had actually done a majority of the "behind the scenes" work for the Yoglabs series (he built a majority of the main building, did mod research and testing, was present during recordings to make sure things went well, stuff like that) so it only made sense to have his character be the Right Hand Man/ Behind The Scenes Assistant to Xephos (Lewis), the Morally Questionable Head of Yoglabs.

For anyone who’s unfamiliar with Yoglabs, it’s one of the yogs’ more famous series featuring Simon (Honeydew) and Lewis (Xephos) where they tested mods! more info can be found here!

c!Tom also ended up as a Lumian (the fanon alien space species for the yogs fandom, vaguely inspired by Star Trek Vulcans) because of a one-off joke where one of the Yogs artists drew him as a star trek commander, and I really didn’t need any further reason to make him a weird little guy LDKFJG

As far as the “demigod of death” thing goes, it felt right to give him a lore thing that vaguely coordinated with the whole “Emporer Palpatine” vibe, since that’s kinda the mc skin he’s used most recently. There’s another reason there that I don’t think I’ve properly explained, so I’ll leave the rest of that be for now ;]

Ben, on the other hand, plays a shark character in pretty much every video game he ever participates in, so shark hybrid was a pretty obvious way to go. And of course, since the duo had to be in the same place… involving Ben’s shark Hybrid-ness with yoglabs experimentation made good sense and good angst. What can I say :]

Here are the bigger lore posts I’ve made so far (in the order i posted them i believe!), explaining in a little more detail plus art to go with! :] [x] [x] [x]

HARRY

Harry is kinda known as the yogscast’s token memelord? But in the ironic way. He somehow makes it genuinely hilarious idk man. His humor is very dry, witty, and sarcastic, but he’s a sweetheart and kind of a god at minecraft. I’ve been arguing since day one that this man should be in mcc but we won’t go there

There aren't many solo harry compilations, so here's a link to a Harry and Ben compilation hehe

Regarding his minecraft lore, pretty much all of it is based around the idea that he’s a god at speedrunning and hardcore Minecraft. A common consensus in yogscast minecraft lore is that respawning is actually a Yoglabs-based mechanic tied to clones and clone making. I thought it would be interesting if Harry could be tied to a hardcore element in the yogs lore purely by having Somehow slid under yoglabs’ radar. And since he was never in any main channel (aka modded) series, i usually associate him with Vanilla mechanics, and since i also view mods as a Yoglabs-related lore element, it made sense! So basically— no clones, no respawns, no mods!

except that he’s in a main channel series now. So I’ll need to find a new lore reason around that DTBJDFGHK

And his design, well… this man’s skin is straight up Mr Mime, and there’s only so much I can do with that /silly But he’s a HUGE Pokémon fan! He’s played a couple of Disaster Nuzlockes with Lydia from the yogs a year or so ago, if that’s something you’re interested in! Was a huge comfort series for me for the longest time and rly good background noise, theyre soooo good at Pokémon I promise <3

Harry does more twitch stuff (hrry on twitch) than youtube stuff, so twitch is the best place to check him out if you're interested in his solo content!

Last thing I'll say about him is that he designed and ran an original minecraft minigame called "Capture the Wool" and he and Martyn are the hosts for a few episodes i think! i dont think there's any way to explain how entertaining it is to listen to him announce the chaos of yogs members trying to play competitive minecraft LOL

Um, so. TLDR…2, These guys are basically my ocs and now I get Actual minecraft content from them which is crazy. I love them as content creators and cool guys so so much though, so! Definitely recommend listening to these idiots (affectionate) babble and ramble to each other, mc or not <3

[ruinedbylanadelrey]

King of Your Heart

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Chapter 1 "Just Friends"

summary: All that Frankie has ever wanted to be was your everything. After years of being best friends one phone call changes everything between the two of you.

inspired by The King by Sarah Kinsley

warnings: 18+, MINORS DNI,age gap (reader is 28-29, Frankie 38-39) friends with benefits -> situationship, Frankie isn't a dad, jealously, best friends with benefits, reader is lowkey toxic, reader wears makeup, reader has long hair, self-hate (both characters), drugs, alcohol consumption, smut, unprotected sex, yearning, secrets, no y/n, pet names, frankie "pussy eating king" morales, switch!Frankie, switch!Reader, blind dates, possessiveness, triple frontier boys, Tom is dead, reader is a flirt, Frankie getting cucked, praise kink, reader has complicated relationship with her body, Frankie is a dick (later)

AN: i know it's a lot but here you go. i'm so excited to start this series and having it as my first non-Joel Miller series, I would to like to say that this is love letter to my first situationship.

inside the world of king of your heart

playlist

series mainlist | main masterlist

"Hey princess, what's up?" Frankie answered your phone call at 10 pm and Frankie was late-night grocery shopping. "Do you want to come over tonight-" "Yes-" "and have sex?" Frankie crashes his basket into a support beam for the high ceilings.

You held the phone between your shoulder and ear as you looked into the mirror checking out the black satin bra and matching black thong with rhinestones on the hips. You smirked when you heard Frankie curse.

He was your best friend and you guys always made the joke about you two hooking up. Everyone else in the friend group already thinks the two of you have sex anyway. You are horny and you know Frankie is too. He hasn't had sex in a year and you are also in the same boat.

"Yes or no to sex? I still want to hang out if you don't want to fuck. " You chuckled and sat on your bed listening to Frankie breathing hard and clearing his throat.

"I'm down for whatever-" "Okay, Frankie be here in 30 minutes" You hung up the phone and smirked at yourself. You love the feeling of anticipation before you get fucked. It aroused you more than foreplay and sex itself. 30 minutes on the dot Frankie is letting himself into your apartment with the spare key you gave him a few months ago.

Frankie's boots make a thud when he takes them off and throws them near your shoes at the door, the sound had you throwing on his gray 'ARMY' shirt that you stole when you slept over at his place a couple of weeks back.

"Hey," You smile and walk up to him, he turns around and smiles takes you into his arms, and gives you the warm bear hug that you like most about him.

"Hey," Frankie says into your hair and lets you go. You look up at him and could see the nervousness and indecisiveness in his eyes. "Frankie we don't have to do anything, we can just hang out." You cup his face in your hands, your thumbs brush over the patch of skin that refuses to let any facial hair grow.

Frankie covers your delicate hands with his rough hands and closed his eyes taking in how your skin feels against him and how the rest of your body would feel. "Iwanttoifyouwantto." Frankie said so fast you took a second to comprehend what he said.

You giggle at how sweet he was being like he wanted to be assertive and take you there right up against the front door. "C'mon let's go to my room." You walked backward and pulled Frankie along with you, he stopped you and tugged you to him, and smashes his lips onto yours. One arm around your waist and the other one snaking its way up your back. You found yourself kissing him back without a chance to process that now a line is being crossed and there's no going back. 

"You're a good kisser," You say pulling away and looking at your best friend. Frankie laughs and leads the way to your bedroom. "I'm good at a lot of things, princess" Frankie opens the door and the room smells like your perfume and whatever candle you had burning and a mix of weed in the air. You roll your eyes at his arrogant comment. 

Frankie shrugs over his tan jacket and takes off his cap setting them on the chair at your vanity. Frankie looks at the various makeup products left out, your signature lip gloss, concealer, blush, and highlighter; he only knows anything about what's your vanity because you decided to crash course him on your beauty routine one day. 

He looks at you and sees that you put some on lightly to bring out your natural beauty. You get on the bed and kneel waiting for him to join. The gray shirt rides up your thighs and the black satin thong peeking between your legs.

He's seen you in just your bra and underwear and he would only allow himself to look when you turned around. But now he is taking everything, the way your hair is in a ponytail, the girlish glint in your eyes, your thighs looking so plush, and your lips glossy and tinted a delicious pink. "We should set some rules," you say before letting Frankie undress you, he's between your legs and touching your aching core through the thong.

The rules were simple:

1. Just sex with aftercare

2. NO ONE KNOWS

and the secret rule #3 Don't catch feelings. 

It seemed simple and easy. It was supposed that way for Frankie but then you walk in the room, your perfume wafts and hits his nostrils. You smile and wave at the table of ex-military that you adopted as your close friends. Frankie feels his knees grow weak, 'how is that even possible? I'm sitting down' Frankie's mind wonders. You have always been off limits to him, just because of the fact you were his best friend and also everyone else's friend. But does this mean he was never off-limits to you? Has anyone ever been off-limits too? 

"Are those good for you?" You whimpered, basking in the heat of Frankie's finger teasing you through the fabric. "Yes," Frankie practically pants as he pulls the thong, you sigh and let Frankie look at you, for what seemed like a lifetime Frankie gets his fix on your body and throws your legs over his shoulders. He kisses down your thighs and spreads your lips open and diving his tongue into your slicked hole. 

The feeling of his hot wet tongue dipping inside you had you arching your back and gripping his hair holding him in place, you fuck his tongue inside of you. "Fuck, Frankie you're such a good boy," You moan, and Frankie whimpers at the praise. You smirked when he squeezed his eye shut when the moan left his mouth. He slips his fingers into you, fucking them into you and curled them hitting the sweet spot, having you fall over the edge. You were taken by surprise at how you quickly came and Frankie lapping your slick. 

It's been a year since you had sex and you had enough of just you and the vibrator. "You taste so good, princess," Frankie rests his head on the inside of your thigh, lightly kissing it and his fingers still fucking you, Frankie loved how your eyes were glossy and the lust growing in them. He finally felt how hard he was, it wasn't like anything he felt before. Your moans and whimpers made his heart skip a beat. He lies to himself thinking that he is in a moment and that he hasn't been with a woman in a long time. What person wouldn't ache for a woman in pleasure?

"Fuck me," You opened your legs wider, Frankie quickly undresses and a blush crept on his face when he realized that he was now naked in front of his best friend. His gaze was fixed on your body with a sheen of sweat. You looked so beautiful and it was comfortable.

'Why is this so easy?' you both thought when Frankie wraps your legs around his torso. "Condom?" Frankie interrupts his next move, and you giggled and smiled at him. "I'm clean and have an IUD, so if you want one I have some," You said as your hand finds the drawer on the bedside table. Frankie grabs your hand and holds it. "I'm clean too," Frankie says while leaning down and locking your lips with his. 

Frankie slowly sinks into your warmth. You whined at the stretch of your walls, parts of you that couldn't be reached by your fingers were being hit for the time as he slams himself inside you. Frankie looks down at how your jaw falls slack from his cock deep inside you. The moans and whimpers leaving your mouth were adding the fire in the pit of your stomach, you looked like an angel, he almost feels like he is defiling a beautiful goddess. What is a goddess if she isn't worshipped? 

"You are too pretty for your own good, princess," Frankie grunts with each thrust, being so hard and rough.  "Harder, baby," you cry out and your pussy clenches around him, Frankie moans when he looked down at how his cock is coated in a white cream. His pace picks up and starts pounding into your cunt.

Frankie grabs your waist and flips you onto your stomach. The new position is so primal, you were flat against the bed as he drills himself into your aching core, your juices dripping down your thighs and onto the bed. The coil in your stomach winds up tighter, and your walls flutter around his thick cock. "I'm coming," you scream into the pillow, your bliss being muffled by the plush fabric. 

Frankie's hands slide up your back and fist your hair, pulling your head so he looks at you coming undone beneath him. Your eyes sparkled and your mouth open letting out the most beautiful sounds he has ever heard. "Cum inside me, Frankie...please," you pant, Frankie thrust into you deeply and he lets go and releases his pleasure inside of you, filling you up to where his cum spills out of your pussy.

He pulls out and lays a kiss on your back. Silence filled the air when he gets up and grabs a washcloth from your bathroom. Gently cleaning you up, you were in shock by him caring for you. It wasn't normal for you. "Thank you," You said hoarsely, "Anything for you, princess," Frankie smiles, he could feel a warmth bloom inside his chest and you had the same reaction inside you. 

The feeling made your stomach flip and made you realize that being 'just friends' is something you can't go back to. Why does 'When Harry Met Sally' have to be right? Right? Maybe you and Frankie are different from the rest of your gender's population. Frankie values friendship over anything and everyone knows that you will choose friendship over anything too. 

"We are just friends," You blurted causing Frankie to stop his trip back to the bathroom to clean himself up. His back is to you, so you can't see his face when he says "Just friends," Frankie felt exposed, not from being completely naked but it was like you could see his heart starting to glow and slowly dim. 

"Are you staying the night?" You get up and walk with Frankie to the shower, you both get in and start washing each other. "I can if you want me to," Frankie was short with response and you could feel the dynamic change. You look at him as he washes your body.

Is this crossing the line? Bathing the other person. "It's late and I want you here," You took the wash cloth and started to scrub his body, you watched his muscles tense and relax. "I'll stay, princess," Frankie sighs while you moved him to the stream of water. The air between you and Frankie has always been filled with tension but now it's about to snap.