#and like seriously how the FUCK is this going to recognize the difference between a charity bundle install or a piracy install

[regallibellbright]

It’s telling, in a “oh you REALLY didn’t think this one through did you” way, that one of Unity’s walkbacks/clarifications was “Oh no, DEVELOPERS won’t be on the hook for Gamepass/Playstation Plus installations, those fees will go to the distributors!”

Meaning, Microsoft and Sony.

For fees that will be applying retroactively.

If you throw a rock at Gamepass’s biggest indie titles you will probably hit one made in Unity.

And the point at which they go into effect - $200,000 in revenue, 200,000 installs - is COMICALLY low compared to Gamepass numbers.

Like, this is going to easily be in the realm of tens of millions of dollars for Microsoft, minimum. It’s fairly likely to be enough money they actually give a shit.

For fees that will be applying retroactively.

I wish them fucking luck is what I’m getting at they’re gonna fucking need it.

[nadvs]

cam girl (part six)

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

rating explicit 18+

summary you work two jobs. by day, you’re a maid for the cameron household, where rafe degrades you any chance he can get. by night, you’re a cam girl, hiding your face so nobody can recognize you. when you discover your new subscriber, the filthy-mouthed man obsessively paying you to do everything he can think of, is rafe, you’re not sure what to do next.

» masterlist

*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

You don’t remember falling asleep. That’s how exhausted you were from your time with Rafe.

As you slowly slip into consciousness, your body feels loose and buzzing. Your core is trembling and you slowly catch on that you were having an erotic dream about him.

Your eyes flutter open, realizing your sex dream isn’t a dream at all. Rafe’s head is moving under your white comforter between your legs, his warm tongue flattening against your clit.

Your fatigued mind puts it together. He spent the night. He held you as you slept. And now he’s eating you out.

“Oh, fuck,” you chuckle breathily, writhing. “Oh, my God.”

“Finally,” he mutters beneath the cover, taking his mouth off of you to speak. His warm breath spreads over your pussy. “I can’t feel my fucking jaw anymore.”

You’re still in your big t-shirt, but you realize he took your panties off.

“Rafe,” you whine, feeling dizzy. Is he seriously waking you up with head? Holy shit.

“You always such a deep sleeper?” he grumbles. He dips to use his tongue on you again, circles swirling over you. His arms are hooked around your legs, large hands splayed on your inner thighs.

“Hmm?” you mumble, lost in the way he’s tonguing you. His mouth closes around your clit, then he pulls back to talk again.

“Do you always sleep so fucking deeply?” he repeats, his tone stern. His morning voice is raspy and deep and so hot that it’s painful.

“Only when I get really good dick the night before,” you say. You can’t help but take the opportunity to mess with him. “So, it’s weird I didn’t wake up right away.”

Rafe stiffens, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he pulls his mouth off of you.

“I’m joking,” you laugh. You pull the cover up to see his face between your legs. God, he looks so fucking cute, his expression completely unimpressed. “Please keep going, baby.”

“Listen, if you wanna fuck with me-“

“Rafe,” you giggle. “I promise, you’re the best I’ve had. Please keep going.”

“The best?” he echoes, eager for you to stroke his ego.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a better orgasm than the one you gave me last night,” you say, totally honest.

“Huh. Maybe that should be the last one I give you if you’re gonna be such a brat.”

You know he’s just messing with you, but the thought of ending whatever this is with Rafe makes your heart pinch with sadness.

“What then?” Rafe challenges.

“Then I’ll swear off dick forever,” you reply.

You’re pleased when you see his eyes crinkle as he laughs, the sound so sweet. It’s different than the lust-filled, teasing chuckle you hear when you’re fucking. This one is innocent. Genuine.

“Say sorry for joking like that,” he orders you.

“Sorry, baby,” you smile.

“That’s what I thought,” he scoffs, amused. You keep the cover lifted to watch him put his mouth on you again.

You spread your legs further apart, arching your back as he tongues you, reaching every dip between your folds.

You put a hand in Rafe’s hair, feeling the softness of his locks between your fingers as his head moves slowly.

He’s absolutely devouring you. It’s unlike his usual speed and roughness. He’s savoring this.

You keep your gaze on him, euphoria filling every curve of your body. He tilts slightly to meet your gaze, blue eyes locked on you as he laps at you, long and slow.

His nose presses against your groin, the sound of him sucking you filling your bedroom. You run the heel of your palm over his head, caressing him, realizing this is the gentlest, most affectionate thing you’ve done to him.

You dart your gaze to the ceiling. You’re taken aback at your own tender gesture. Why you touching him like this? Like he’s someone you’re dating instead of casually fucking?

Because he cuddled you to sleep last night. That must be it. His big, warm, bare chest was pressed against your back, arms encircling you, legs tangled together as you dozed off. He acted like a boyfriend and not the fuck buddy he is. Your body is just confused, you tell yourself.

You shut your eyes and focus on the way his mouth is suckling and working you, sending waves of easy, soft satisfaction through you.

“You’re really good at that,” you breathe, almost wishing you wouldn’t cum so he’d do this for hours.

“I know, baby,” Rafe murmurs.

You know he’s being his usual cocky self, but the fact that he’s so skilled should serve as a reminder. He’s experienced. He fucks around. He wants to own you, but he never said anything about you owning him.

This is just fun, you tell yourself. Just fun with a nice monetary reward.

His lips lock on your clit, sucking harder. As his finger slowly sinks into you, tingles go up your legs.

“Rafe,” you breathe, bucking your hips.

“You like that?” he encourages. “My good fucking girl.”

The hand on your thigh grips you tighter as he adds a finger, curling into your pussy and pushing in and out of you.

The next time his mouth circles your clit, you know you’re close.

“Like that, like that,” you whimper.

“You gonna cum for me?” he teases. “You’re clenching around my fingers.”

He sucks your clit hard again and the climax rips through you. You feel yourself twitching as you cum on his mouth.

Rafe groans against you, licking and sucking until you’re so overstimulated that you have to squeeze your thighs and wiggle free.

“Can’t take how good it feels?” he asks, provoking.

“Fuck,” you laugh. You press your palms against your forehead, throwing your head back and breathing deeply. What a way to wake up.

“Get on your stomach,” he instructs. He sits up, the blanket falling off of him. He’s wearing what he fell asleep in: nothing but his briefs, his bulge jutting out beneath the fabric.

You find the strength to turn onto your front, the movement making you realize how sore your ass is from the way he pounded into it last night.

Your cheek is pressed against your pillow and his cock slides in through the valley where the backs of your thighs meet, pushing into your cunt. You inhale in unison at the sensation.

“Fuck, it’s like you…” Rafe rasps. “Like you were fucking made for me. So fucking perfect.”

You arch your back so that he can get inside as deep as possible.

His movements are slow and deep at first, but build into rough, sloppy thrusts, making your bed squeak.

The way Rafe fills you feels so damn good. If he wanted to spend all day in your bed, fucking you over and over again, you’d happily agree to it.

Rafe’s breaths get faster, his groans get deeper, and he empties himself inside of you with a shudder, his hand squeezing your hip so hard that it hurts.

You’re bruised there from last night, you realize.

You never like the feeling of him leaving your body, and thankfully, he doesn’t do it just yet. Rafe simply lays on top of you, shifting a bit to the side so he’s not putting all of his weight on you.

His cheek is pressed against your shoulder blade. His hand on top of yours is directly at your eye-line as you rest on your pillow. You love those hands.

It’s Monday. You have class. You have to be a functioning person today. You don’t remember setting your alarm last night and you have no idea what time it is.

But you just started your morning by getting eaten out and fucked and Rafe’s warm, large body is shielding yours, so the idea of getting out of bed isn’t appealing in the slightest.

He’s still inside you.

You think back to last night, the way he fucked you from behind, how big his fingers around your neck and inside you were and how hard he slapped your ass.

“What’d I do to deserve you spanking me last night?” you ask.

“Poor baby,” he mocks. “Is your ass hurting? Need me to rub it?”

You feel him shift behind you, his hand sliding off of yours, palm going down your back and over the curve of your ass.

In the movement, his softening cock starts to slide out of you. You involuntarily let out a small, unhappy cry.

“What?” Rafe asks.

“Nothing,” you lie.

“Why are you whining?”

“Just… don’t like the feeling of you pulling out,” you admit.

“Oh, my God, so needy,” he jeers. “Wish you could have my dick in you all day, huh?”

You don’t deny it.

To your pleasure, Rafe lies back down, pushing the rest of himself into you again.

“You deserved getting spanked because you drive me fucking crazy,” he drawls. His hand rubs big circles on your naked ass.

“It’s not my fault you want me so bad.”

“Yeah, it is,” he mutters.

You finally find the will to pick your phone up from the nightstand.

You see that you’ll need to leave your place soon if you want to make it to your first class. But you’ll make it as long as your shower is quick.

You open your text conversation with Rafe, holding your phone low so he can’t see what you’re doing.

“Might wanna check your phone,” you say quietly.

You don’t want him to pull out of you, but it’s inevitable. He gets up with a grunt, making you feel incomplete without him inside you. You look over your shoulder when he’s lying down again, phone held out.

The phone looks so small in his hand. God, when did a man’s hands have such an effect on you?

Rafe smirks at his screen, turning it towards you.

“Watch this,” he says. You see the $50 request you just sent him, your text “for spanking me” right below it. He taps his thumb on ‘Reject.’

“You asshole,” you laugh. Then the top of the screen catches your eye. He has you saved as ‘princess’ and the contact photo is the booty pic you sent him yesterday.

“Rafe, that is unhinged,” you say, pointing to the photo. “You have to be joking. What if someone sees that picture?”

“Lucky them.”

You can’t help but laugh. At least this reminds you of what you are to him: a piece of ass. You officially push away the hope that you’re anything more. And a part of you even wishes he doesn’t do something sweet like staying overnight to keep you warm again. If he continues playing his horny sugar daddy role, and does no boyfriend shit like that again, the hope can never come back.

It’s better to be realistic.

“I have to go,” you complain, pushing yourself up. You turn to sit, your feet touching your floor, stretching your arms above your head, with your back to Rafe.

“Don’t do too much today,” he says. You turn, watching him pull his underwear on.

“What are you planning to do to me this time?”

He turns his lean frame to look down at you, his tongue jutting under his cheek in a way you can only describe as utterly mischievous.

“I’m gonna try to make you squirt.”

Your cheeks flood with warmth. This man is going to destroy you.

“’I’ve never done that before,” you say.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t.” Rafe hikes up his jeans and collects his shirt off the floor. “And if any guy can do it for you, it’s the one with the best cock you’ve ever had.”

“I regret telling you that,” you tease.

He bends over your small bed, pressing his palm to your cheek. His eyes travel over your face, smirking, looking like he’s imagining all the things he’s going to do tonight.

“See you tonight, princess.”

He leaves, and you’re still trying to catch your breath.

Your day of classes is tiring, your body still sore and reeling from Rafe having his way with you. You barely make it home for the maintenance guys to fix your radiator.

You sit in your kitchen, trying to study as they clang their tools and talk to each other in your bedroom.

It takes them two hours, finishing up in the evening. After they leave, you savor in the feeling of a warm room, Rafe’s money having solved one of your most expensive problems. It’s so simple, but so nice.

You lie in your bed just to rest your eyes.

You’re suddenly startled awake. Your room is pitch black and a slamming on your front door makes your heart pound in your chest.

You sit up, trying to gauge your surroundings. You check your phone to see it’s half past ten and you have three missed calls and a string of texts from Rafe.

Another sequence of pounds on the front door erupts. It must be him.

You rush to your front door and look through the peephole to confirm it’s Rafe, his jaw clenched in anger. You missed your nightly appointment. He seems pissed. Excitement bubbles inside you.

You crack open the door, meeting his eyes. He shakes his head at you, nostrils flared, and he pushes his way into your dark apartment.

Rafe slams the door behind him, hand roughly grabbing your face, squeezing your cheeks together, your lips jutting out.

“Where the hell were you?” he demands, looking down at you.

“Fell asleep?” you say weakly. He’s fuming - he likes to feel like he owns you and today, his personal pornstar didn’t obey him.

“I pay you to get in front of that camera on time.”

“You’re mad,” you tease, a smile uncontrollably growing on your lips. “Are you gonna punish me?”

Rafe tightens his grip on your face and you rest your hands on his firm forearms, feeling him pull up, beckoning you onto the tips of your toes. You’re already soaked.

“I’m going to fuck you in every hole,” he mutters, “and you’re fucking dreaming if you think you’re cumming tonight.”

“What?” you plead. “You said tonight, we’d try-“

“You think you deserve that?” he interrupts. He releases you, pushing you back. “Get in your fucking room. Go.”

You obey, feeling Rafe’s hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you into the space. He turns the light on behind you, surely wanting to see every inch of you while he makes you pay for flaking on him.

You hear his belt unbuckling behind you and he presses up against you, his cock hard between your asscheeks.

“Get naked,” he instructs. You bend to pull down your pants, take off your top, and strip entirely bare.

Rafe sits at the edge of your bed, palming himself over his briefs, his eyes locked on yours.

“Crawl to me,” he says. You drop to your knees, obeying him, stopping once your head is between his legs. He pulls his briefs down, his cock swollen.

You don’t need him to tell you the next instruction. You eagerly put your hand at his base and your mouth over his tip, spitting on the head.

“Yeah, get it really fucking wet,” he mutters. “You’re gonna choke on it.”

He groans when you close your lips around him, cheeks hollowing. You imagine him sitting on his bed tonight, waiting for you to log in, his dick hard and getting no attention, growing angry when you weren’t showing up.

You’ve never felt so craved by somebody before.

Rafe puts his hand on the back of your head and pushes you down to take all of him, hitting the back of your throat, triggering your gag reflex.

“That’s what you fucking get,” he tells you. You look up at him, eyes trailing up his toned stomach and up to his face. He looks so pissed off and so horny all at the same time. You squeeze your thighs together.

“Do I have to do it myself?” he scoffs, tugging at your roots and pulling you back.

“No, I can do it,” you say, muffled against his cock. You push back down, taking him all in, back curling as you gag on his slick length.

You grip him and start bobbing, moving your fingers off every time you reach his base, lips flanged around him.

“Faster,” he orders. You pick up your pace, spit dribbling out of your mouth, prompting you to slurp up the mix of saliva and precum.

“Fuck…” he groans. He pulls you off his dick, your lips popping off him. “Suck on my balls.”

You hungrily push his cock up, digging your head between his legs to put your mouth on his soft flesh, slurping.

“Shit,” he breathes out of pleasure. You feel proud of yourself for making him forget how angry he was so quickly.

Until you realize it wasn’t that easy.

His hand frames your face again, pads of his fingers digging into your cheeks, stopping you.

“On your back,” he says. “Right there, on the floor.”

You’re trembling as you shift back, laying on the hard floor, spreading your legs for him. He gets down to hover over you, his cock in his hand.

Rafe taunts you, bouncing the tip against your clit. Your body jolts at the feeling.

“You’re not gonna cum,” he warns you. “I know how this pussy feels when you’re close and I’ll stop.”

“Rafe,” you beg. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I swear, I-”

He plunges into you, cutting you off, his hips immediately hitting yours as he bottoms out. You throw your head back as he tears into you, his girth forcing you apart.

He thrusts hard and fast, fully rage-fucking you, taking his anger out with every move, and it’s the hottest thing he’s ever done to you.

“You want me to call you a good girl, don’t you?” he asks.

“I am a good girl,” you shudder, knowing it’s not true, saying it only so he’ll fuck you harder.

“No, you’re fucking not,” he laughs. You look down to see the way his cock is disappearing into you over and over again.

The tension in your gut is coiling tighter. You try not to make it obvious that you’re close to cumming, keeping your eyes low. But your body betrays you. The second your walls start to flutter around him, he pulls out.

“You’re not cumming,” he says. “I already fucking told you.”

This is not the Rafe who cuddled you to sleep last night. This side of him, the insatiable, animalistic side, is simple and only wants one thing. It’s so intoxicating being used by him.

“Ass up,” he says. You know he’s about to fulfill his promise of fucking you three different ways and you can’t wait.

You’re shaking as you spread your knees as much as you can, waiting on all fours, feeling his thumb pad rub up and down over your asshole.

“Can you take it without the lube?” Rafe asks.

This is the bullshit that makes you worry you’ll start liking him. Why can’t he just fuck you how he wants without worrying that he’ll hurt you? It’d be so much easier to not like him if he was cruel and selfish all the time.

“Do it,” you whisper depravedly, frustrated that your thoughts are getting carried away.

He pushes into your asshole, making you cry out in discomfort. The pressure stings as he fills you and you instinctually dart forward, your body trying to prevent any more pain.

“It’s hurting you,” he realizes, quickly pulling out.

“Rafe, just keep going,” you say, looking down at the floor. “Please.”

He buries into you again and you bite your lip hard. He starts to pound into you, balls hitting your pussy, hands gripping your hips.

You let out guttural moans with every pump, praying it’ll end, yet at the time, wishing he won’t cum for another hour. It’s such a good hurt.

Your elbows weaken and you collapse, pressing your forearms onto the hard floor. Your knees are burning in pain, your asshole strained, and tears start to leak out of your eyes as he thrashes mercilessly.

Rafe’s cock starts to spasm inside you, and after one last powerful thrust, you feel his hot, sticky cum flood you. His groan is the deepest, sexiest noise you’ve ever heard from him.

He trembles through some aftershocks, like he wants to give you every drop, then pulls out of you. You go limp, eyes shut, lids against your forearm.

You’re panting hard, sweat sheening your skin, and drop to your side, completely fucked out.

You feel his cum drip down the curve of your ass.

“Get up,” he says. You can’t.

Suddenly, his hands cup your waist, pulling you up.

“Come on,” Rafe says quietly. “Get up.”

You find your footing and he guides you to your bed. You’re a trembling mess as you lie down, curling onto your side, eyes closed, tears hot.

You can’t control the sniffle that shakes through you.

“Whoa, you’re…” he whispers.

You open your eyes to see him sitting over you, his face flushed. You find the strength to pull the comforter up to your eyes, hiding them as you nuzzle into your pillow.

“Hey,” he half-whispers. “You’re crying.”

“I’m just tired,” you say with a defeated laugh.

The room is quiet until you feel the mattress shift, its springs squeaking. Rafe settles behind you and you’re cold for a moment as he lifts the sheet off you. But then it’s on you again, his body curving around you, the comforter covering both of you.

You feel his hand come down your waist, your stomach, your thighs. He starts to gently rub between your legs.

He already told you that he wouldn’t let you orgasm, so you know he’s doing this to continue the torment.

Still, you shift onto your back, spreading your legs open for him, eyes closed as you breathe through the sensation of the pads of his fingers spreading your lips apart to fondle your clit.

You feel Rafe move over you, holding one of your breasts to close his mouth around your nipple. You shudder at the bliss he’s offering you, even though you’re painfully aware that he won’t let you reach your peak.

His fingers move expertly while his tongue flicks up and down and side to side, covering your nipple with his spit.

The stimulation of both his hand and his mouth makes the tightening in your stomach come quickly, and as you arch your back and start to breathe shallower, you’re surprised that his hand moves faster and his mouth sucks harder.

You moan as the orgasm hits you and he rubs you throughout the entire climax. Once you let out a final sigh, you open your eyes.

Rafe’s head rests on the pillow when he comes back up. He’s looking at you with half-closed lids, lying beside you.

“I thought…” you say, a smile pulling on your lips. He knows what you mean. You thought he wasn’t going to let you cum.

“Changed my mind.”

You know you’re not in the right headspace when you wonder if he did that out of guilt for fucking you so hard that he made you cry. That that was his special way of apologizing. But this is Rafe. It can’t be that. He’s simply enjoying keeping you in his control.

“I might miss our sessions more often if this is what happens,” you say breathily.

“Don’t,” he warns.

“I’ve never seen someone so angry,” you tease.

Rafe turns his head, looking up at the ceiling. You see his jaw tighten, clearly recalling how pissed off he was at you.

“I didn’t know where you were,” he said.

“I was right here in my freaking bed, Rafe,” you laugh. “Dead asleep.”

“No, it’s…” His brows furrow. “Some guys came to fix the heat today, right? And you were here all alone and…”

Realization hits you all at once.

“You were… worried they did something to me?” you ask. “And that’s why I didn’t show up?”

Rafe just shakes his head in disbelief again, mouth firming. You watch him in awe. Was that what got him so worked up?

You picture him at home, getting angrier with every minute you were late, and then the possibility of something like that happening to you suddenly popping in his mind, making him go batshit.

“Rafe,” you say with a small smile, genuinely endeared he was concerned about you.

He sits up, looking at you with an angry grimace.

“Why the fuck are you acting like it’s funny?” he snaps.

“I’m not,” you say softly. “I’m-”

“Next time you say you’re gonna be somewhere, be there,” he states coldly.

You feel like you have whiplash. You were just having fun with him. Now that you brought up why he came over in such a frenzy, he’s pissed off again?

Rafe stands, giving you a view of his naked body as he rounds your bed and picks up his briefs. He doesn’t make eye contact with you when he pulls his jeans on or puts on his shirt.

He doesn’t say a word as he storms out of your room. You simply hear your front door open and shut.

You’re left lying in bed, jarred over what just happened.

Working at the Cameron household, you caught little glimpses of the family’s home life and have heard your fair share of Rafe’s yelling. You knew he had a temper to him. But the way he just left, mood shifting so suddenly, is still shocking.

You don’t hear from Rafe the rest of the night. Or the next morning. Or afternoon. You’re not sure if he’s giving you the silent treatment or simply doesn’t feel the need to talk to you unless you’re fucking or you have a camera facing your half-naked body.

You sit on your bed at 10 pm, laptop open, unsure if he’ll even show up tonight. And if he doesn’t, what’s it going to be like when you go to your shift at the estate tomorrow?

But then you hear the familiar chime.

figure8 has joined the session.

“Hi,” you say, breaking the silence in your bedroom. “You still mad at me, baby?”

He doesn’t respond.

“I’m sorry,” you purr, pouting. You sit up, pulling your panties up tight, making sure he sees the outline of your lips under the silk. “Are we gonna try to make me squirt or no? I’m gonna need your help.”

figure8 tipped you $1000.

figure8: stay just like that. im coming over

{ read part seven here }

[patscorner]

FAMILY DINNER PART 4 (FINALE)

Summary: Chris joins your family for dinner for the first time and it does not go as planned

Tw: Swearing, narcissistic dad, verbal arguing, panic attack mentions of alcohol use, mentions of ed(NO DETAIL), lmk if I missed something

wc: 3.5k

a/n: so sorry this one took so long. I've been swamped with schoolwork and writers block. here's the long-awaited finale. feel free to leave ur thoughts in my inbox

______________________________

You turn around at the voice, as you recognize it, but can’t put your finger on it. You turn around to look at Nick, whose head is also turned to look in the direction of the voice. “Who’s that?” Nick asked, letting you go and moving so you could see the figure clearly.

You don’t recognize the person at first, but based on his familiar figure and his almost distinguishable voice, the dots connect in a moment's time.

You gasp, your hands covering your mouth as your heart jumps in your chest. Your eyes meet the familiar eyes of your older brother, Cam. He looks much different from the last time you saw him, his ginger hair grown past his ears, and he’s started growing a beard.

You don’t say a word before walking up to him. You reach up and touch his face to make sure he’s real, and you're not seeing things; something you wouldn’t put past yourself, as this entire night seems like some long, tragic, nightmare.

“I’ve missed you.” He whispers, pulling you into a much needed warm embrace. You bury your head in the crook of his neck as tears, ones that you thought you’d run out of, fall from your eyes and onto his shirt. “Missed you, too.” Your voice comes out muffled by his shirt.

You pull away and look at the stain on his shirt. “Oops.” You say, smiling, remembering how Cam used to complain about the tear stains on his shirt when you were younger, but you both knew it never really bothered him too much. “Damn it. It’s been like 20 seconds, and you’ve already got my shirt wet. Like you're doing it on purpose at this point.” he laughs. You slap his chest and laugh lightly.

The laughing dies down and you guys are met with awkward silence. “So, what the fuck happened around here?” he asked, breaking the silence. You look at him sadly, before your eyes drop to your shoes. “Oh, you know, just a good ole family dinner.” You glance up at Cam, whose lip curls upwards for a second, before dropping. “What happened?” he asked, softer this time, looking for more of an answer.

“Dad met my boyfriend.” You say. “I sent yo-” you cut yourself off as your eyes widened. “Wait, why’d you come, you never come.” You haven’t seen your brother in more than 5 years, and all the sudden he randomly shows up to a family dinner? You’ve sent him countless invites to the family gatherings, all were left unanswered.

“Well, I couldn’t miss another boyfriend meeting. Not after the last one. Plus, I didn’t get an invite last year or the year before, so I was really confused. I thought you guys finally realized how nothing ever changes.” His voice was calm, like it usually was, even when talking about something so emotional. You nodded, eyes lighting up once again, as you remember Nick is standing behind you. “That reminds me. Nick! Come here!” You raise your voice slightly at Nick, who is no more than ten feet away on his phone, probably texting Marylou and Jimmy about their situation.

Nick turns around and smiles, making his way to you both. “This is Chris’s brother, Nick. Nick, this is my older brother, Cam.” The men exchange greetings and Cam turns to you. “Where is your boyfriend, anyway?”

“Currently? Probably getting processed into the county jail.” Nick speaks bluntly. You and Cam look over at him, Cam more shocked than I am. “Seriously?” Cam’s eyes shoot to yours. You nod. “Holy, fuck, this is worse than last time.” he rubs his head, as you nod once again.

“What happened last time?” Nick asks, looking between you and Cam. Cam shakes his head, “Story for another time, but let’s just say he did not stay for dessert.” You laugh at the reference, shaking your head at the memory. Nick rolls his eyes. “How are we gonna get my brother out of jail?” he reminds you.

You sigh, “I don’t know if we can. Where the fuck are we gonna get sixty grand? I-I mean, we could make a go fund me, I’m certain your fans would be more than willing…” You truly have no other ideas, and as much as you didn’t want to use their fans for money, you were desperate. You could see Nick hesitate at the idea, knowing his PR team was gonna have a field day.

“Let me help.” Cam offers, shrugging it off. You and Nick both look at him. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.” You say, shaking your head.

“You didn’t ask, I offered.” he shrugged again. “Let me help.” he repeated, this time more sternly, as if every other suggestion was out of the question. You look at Nick who raises his eyebrows. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” Nick responds, quickly embracing Cam.

Cam’s eyes widened, hesitating for a moment before hugging him back. You smile, knowing Cam was never the type to enjoy hugs or any sort of physical touch. “Alright, alright, if you hug me any tighter, you’ll pop my lungs.” he strained out.

Nick pulled away, his face flushed with embarrassment. “Sorry.” He nervously shoved his hands in his pocket. You chuckle at Nick’s actions, before embracing Cam as well, yours a lot more heartfelt. “I’m so happy you’re back.” you mumble into his shoulder. He squeezes you tighter. “Happy to be back.”

_____

Cam now sat on the couch, checkbook open. You’d told your siblings he was back, and tears were shed. You had no idea where your mom was, nor did you care. She and your father were the least of your concerns, you just wanted your boyfriend. Even though it’s only been a couple hours, you were so worried about Chris.

You knew how much he liked to talk, and that scared the fuck outta you, but Matt assured you he knew how to shut the fuck up when he absolutely needed. If it came to his or his family’s safety, Chris would never speak again.

“Okay, okay, so I can get 2000 dollars from Mom and Dad, out of their retirement fund.” Nick spoke out, typing quickly on his phone. He had convinced Cam not to pay for it all because it was his brother, not Cam’s. Cam reluctantly agreed. Cam nodded at Nick’s words.

“I can give you guys 52 grand, I just won’t be able to get starbucks in the morning anymore.” He shrugged. You had learned that Cam was the CEO of a very prestigious clothing company, ‘Cam’s Clothing’, (very creative), which is where he got all this money from. “So with 52 grand, Peter’s grand, my two grand, and Nick’s 2 grand, it’s only 57,000 dollars.” You sigh.

“Yeah, but the officer only said it was an estimate. It may not be that much.” Matt chimed in, rubbing Maya’s back. She had refused to go upstairs again, and opted for sleeping on Matt’s lap. He didn’t mind, and you were too tired to fight it. Plus, you understood, Matt had been the closest thing to a father figure tonight, and Maya needed that.

The rest of the night consisted of you being held by Cam as he told you, your siblings, and Nick and Matt, stories about his life since he’d been gone. You were so happy he was back, and you let him distract you and your family from the tasks that were to come.

_____

The next week was spent sitting down with Chris’s lawyer, the triplets PR team, figuring out how to get him out of jail, and how to do so quietly. None of you cared if the internet knew, it was moreso the onslaught of opinions that would pop up from people who had no fucking idea what was going on. It’s been a week, and none of the triplets had posted anything, except for Nick posting on the group account that something came up and there wouldn’t be a video for a while.

And that alone was enough to send the fans into a spiral. All hell broke loose as theories and conspiracies flew towards the Sturniolos left and right. Some say Matt was sent to a mental institution, that one of the triplets was dying, that Chris and you broke up. It was chaos, causing you and the triplets to delete social media. You’d all be back, but you were already stressed as is, and you didn’t need to add dumbass rumors to the mix.

Tensions had already boiled over, when you went off on Matt because he blamed you for Chris going to jail in the first place.

“I can’t fucking believe your father put my brother in jail.” Matt scoffed. You both had been going back and forth playfully, until you made a joke Matt didn’t like, causing him to overstep. It had been a long day, as he hadn’t been sleeping and social media was getting in his head. You were just as stressed as Matt so of course the argument escalated.

“That’s got nothing to do with me, Matt! I told you all what was going to happen if we went! And if I remember correctly, youall said it was going to be fine! This isn’t fucking on me.” You spit out. You were glad your younger siblings weren’t home. They didn’t need to hate Matt, because you didn’t even if you were arguing with him.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know your bitchass dad was going to try and kill him?! This isn’t on anyone but you and your fucked up family!” he shouts. At that moment, you were also glad Peter and Cam weren’t home, because if they were, there would be a Sturniolo in the hospital, and a couple more charges on Peter.

“Matthew Bernard! What the fuck is your problem?!” Nick scolded. He’d been watching the argument unfold, not wanting to intervene, although now he wished he had. “Have you lost your fucking mind?!” Nick shouted at Matt, who looked at his shoes. You felt the hot tears roll down your face as you stared at Matt.

Your heart stung at his words, sure, but you always had a way of understanding when any of the triplets were overwhelmed. So, instead of shouting back at him, you walked up to him and took him into a tight embrace. He immediately broke down in your arms, his tears staining your shirt. His knees went weak and you slowly lowered both of you to the ground. Nick joined you shortly after, and the three of you spent the rest of that night crying in each other's arms.

So it’s safe to say social media had to go. That was a no brainer. So all of you deleted the apps, making sure the accounts stayed.

Now if someone were to ask you how you were doing, you would burst into tears. You missed your boyfriend and you worried about him constantly. Despite having talked to him everyday through the jail phone, updating him on progress, and him assuring you he was fine, you couldn’t help but hold the heavy weight of anxiety on your chest.

Your nails were bitten down to the nub from the chewing and you had rashes on your arms from scratching your skin as you thought about your boyfriend. Nick had to talk you out of driving to the jailhouse and demanding them to release your boyfriend, and Matt had to calm you down from multiple panic attacks you had just doing things that reminded you of him.

But finally, the day had come. Your dad and Chris in the courtroom, both in orange jumpers and handcuffs on their wrists, your dads arms behind his back, your boyfriends in front of him. Chris looked exhausted, and you assumed it’s because he never slept well by himself. His hair was unkempt and his stubble had started growing in, due to him not being able to shave. His bruises had mostly healed, except for the cut above his eyebrow you must’ve missed when he was in the cop car.

Your dad on the other hand, had 2 officers on each side of him, and his face was fucked up. He had a bruise along his jaw, along with a black eye and a bloody nose. You almost feel bad, but then remember he’s the whole reason you’re in this mess.

There’s no jury, so it’s just you, Nick, Matt, Cam, and Peter sitting in the courtroom. When Chris locks eyes with you, his face lights up and his eyes immediately fill with tears. Not only has he missed you, but he’s missed his brothers, his freedom, and his privacy.

The trial goes smoothly, the judge asks your dad to stop talking twice. Other than that, the trial continued without issues, both lawyers articulating their words carefully for the best outcome for their clients. The judge did not seem to bite the bait your dad’s lawyer laid out, seeing right through the fancy words to distract him from what was truly being implied.

You could tell by the way he looked unimpressed at your dad, even more so when he found out about his not so pretty criminal history. However, when it came down to it, Chris attacked him, despite the valid reasoning. The judge did recognize Chris’s clean record, not even having a parking ticket, which isn’t surprising considering the man didn’t have his license. Chris and his lawyer had their story down to a tee, while your dad and his lawyer struggled to cover up the holes forming in their version.

The judge noticed, of course, and he didn’t let them get away with it either. After what felt like years, the judge came to a conclusion.

“In the case of David, you’ll be sentenced to 3 years in the county penitentiary, with bail being posted at eighty-five thou-”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me! He hit me! Why the fuck would I go to prison?!” Your dad cuts him off, ignoring his lawyer’s pleas. He had stood up, causing the officers around him to be on high alert.

“Sir, stop talking. If you find it hard to do so, you will be removed from the courtroom.” the judge deadpanned. Your dad grumbled under his breath before sitting back down reluctantly.

“Thank you.” he clears his throat. “Where was I-? Oh, okay. Bail will be posted at eighty five thousand dollars, with a year and a half of probation.” he sighs as he directs his attention to Chris.

“In the case of Chris, you will not have to go to prison.” You let out a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding, clinging to Nick’s side, squeezing his bicep in anticipation. “However.”

Your heart dropped.

“You will be on probation for six months, because you did assault an officer. I understand you have two places of residence, so you can choose what state you’d like to be as you will not be able to leave.

The judge stacked his papers up before looking at the plaintiff. “Get him in a transport van. And get Mr. Sturniolo out of those handcuffs.” The plaintiff nods as he starts towards Chris. The judge smacked the gavel on the table.

“Case dismissed.”

You stand at the stove, stirring the steaming pot of spaghetti, humming to Right Here by Chase Atlantic. It’s been a month since Chris and your dad’s trial, and things have been… rocky to say the least. After getting a mouthful from your mother, she left the house without telling anyone her destination. You figured she just left to cool off, as she had before, but after a day, you began growing worried.

The second your call went to voicemail for the 45th time, you decided to file a missing persons report. Of course, they claimed they couldn’t do anything, especially after you slipped up and told them it’s happened before, they no longer took you seriously, despite you informing them that it’s never lasted this long before.

That following weeks, you decided that she probably wasn’t coming back, so you got temporary custody of your younger siblings. That’s the reason you're still in your hometown, cooking dinner for 9. You knew the boys would be hungry when they got back from James’s football game, and since they had already got takeout twice that week, you told Matt to just bring them home.

Jules and Maya went to a friend's house for a playdate, although Julia insisted it was a hangout. So that left you at home alone, which you didn’t mind considering you live with 9 people temporarily. But your peace is interrupted by the door unlocking, followed by lots of yelling.

You roll your eyes and turn your music off, as you know you won’t be able to hear it anyway. James is the first up the stairs with a giant smile on his face, running up to you. “I won the first game! I got the winning touchdown, and even though some bitch fucked up my shoulder, I was able to catch the ball!”

Your eyes widen as you look at Nick. “Why the fuck is my brother swearing like a sailor?!” You exclaim. “You told me you’d watch your mouth.” You point at Nick after turning the heat down on the stove.

“Why’d you assume it was me?! Matt spends more time with him!?” Nick raised his hands in defense. “Matt knows how to watch his mouth, unlike you!” you laugh.

“She’s got a point.” Matt spoke. Nick rolls his eyes and James looks at you with giant puppy eyes. “What?”

“I scored the winning touchdown!” he announced. You laughed, and engulfed him in a big hug, grimacing at his sweaty body. “Congratulations, kid. I’m proud of you. Now go shower, you stink.” you say pulling away.

“Thank you.” he looked up at you before sprinting up the stairs. You smile as you direct your attention to the rest of the boys that had walked in. Cam, Peter, and Nick got comfy on the couch, while Matt made his way to his room.

You smile at the last standing brunette, your beautiful boyfriend, taking his shoes off. “Hi, baby.” he says as he approaches you, resting his hands around your waist. You nuzzle your head into his chest, humming as you breathe in his scent. Ever since Chris got back, you’d be clinging to him like a koala.

“What’re you making?” he asks softly, guiding you both to the stove, curiously peering into the pot. “Chicken alfredo.” you reply, taking the boiling water off the hot eye. Noticing the sudden silence, you turn around to see all eyes on you.

“What?” you question, looking down at yourself, checking that you didn’t spill anything on your clothes. When you find nothing, you look back up. “What?” you repeat.

“Chris if you don’t fucking marry her, I will.” Nick finally says, causing Cam to laugh. You smile as you look at Chris, who practically has hearts in eyes. “Nah, bro, she’s all mine.” he smiles, approaching you and cupping your jaw with both hands, before kissing you passionately. You hesitate out of shock, before melting into the kiss.

You swear you could feel every word Chris wanted to say, in that one moment. You could feel every word of admiration, every word laced with love, all communicated to you through one kiss.

“Alright, alright, get a room.” Peter grimaces, turning back to the TV.

Chris pulls away, rolling his eyes. “With pleasure.” he said, grabbing your hand, pulling you behind him as he started towards the stairs.

“Ew!” Nick exclaimed.

“I should’ve shut my mouth.” Peter laughs, shaking his head. “Use protection!” Cam called after you, causing you to laugh out loud.

“Chris, what about dinner?” you ask as he tugs you up the stairs into the guest bedroom where you and him reside. “They can get takeout.” he muttered, closing the door as he pulled you into another loving kiss. You roll your eyes but sigh into the kiss anyway.

He leads you to the bed, pushing you down so he can hover over you. “You’re so fucking pretty.” he whispers before wrapping his lips around your neck. You whine as he sucks the spot on your neck.

“Chris..”

“Hm.”

“I love you.” He pulls away, placing a kiss on your lips. “I love you so much more, sweetheart.” he whispers as he rubs circles on your hips with his right hand. “Now, stay still.”

You latch your lips onto his, continuing the passionate make out Chris had started downstairs. His tongue swipes your bottom lip, and you open your mouth a little, as a battle for dominance ensues. You lose, as usual.

You both are interrupted by your phone buzzing, and you pull away as Chris whines. “Baby…”

“I know, hang on.” You open your phone and see a message from Cam.

|‘Dont be silly, wrap the willy’|

|‘No but fr, that mf better pull out, theres already to many kids’|

You laugh and show Chris the phone, and he smiles before rolling his eyes playfully. “Fine, now can we continue?”

You smile. “Yes, sir.” kissing Chris as he groans.

______________________________

taglist: @sturnioloblogs @y0urm4m @bueckerssturns @thenickgirl @muwapsturniolo @breeloveschris @worldlxvlys @freshloveforthefit @miloisdone @vanteguccir @annamcdonalds67 @freshsturns @rootbeerworshiper @matty-bear @imwetforyourmom @stunnaagirllsworld @lanixsturniolo @blackhorses-posts @starsturns234 @junnniiieee07 @pepsiboyy @deadxrx @ribread03 @ariieeesworld @venusxsturnio @mattslovelygf @Spencereidismybitch @ablanstar333 @jjmaybankshousekeeping @larnieboox88 @Preppy234 @endereies @eurphoric-rush @kqyslyho3 @sstvrnioloo @mattsturniololoverr @theyluvkaitii-blog @chrattstromboli @Sillysillygyal @elliesturniolo1 @coochiedestroyer1 @Freshlovah0e @starsturns234 @g-lazyy @strnlsblog

[sh1-n0bu]

hey hey!! new anon here,,

not sure how to write this but I'll try

could we get a scara x amab reader, with praise, overstimulation, and if you're comfortable body worship? (for scara ofc) i wanna make him cry 🛐

also !! can i be 🍷 anon?? <3

♡︎ 𝙮𝙤𝙪, 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 ♡︎

characters: sub!scaramouche x dom!AMAB!reader

warnings: praise, overstimulation, body worship, dacryphillia, overall very soft and fluffy

notes: of course you can be 🍷anon! slowly but surely clearing out my inbox and thinking on holding a 3k followers event. if you guys have any ideas, lemme know!

wanderer — formerly known as scaramouche, balladeer and the sixth of the eleven fatui harbingers — has always been a shut in type of person. always preferring his own space, solitude and of course, a bitter tea to go along with everything. so when you, his assistant since day one, had suddenly proposed your affections for the angry gremlin he rejected at first.

but that never deterred you. you would try over and over again. asking him out on dates, offering him some help, cuddles if he was being restless and stressed, holding his hand while he undergoes the painful weekly tortures of il dottore — you did it all for him.

and one day, scaramouche did indeed cave in and decided to accept your nth suggestion for a date. it wasn’t like he had liked you or anything, he just wanted to make you shut up quickly. he’s lying, he loved you way longer than you did him.

since then, going out on “dates” had become a usual thing between you two. you two would meet up in certain places, hang out for some time, talk for a bit, hold hands if scaramouche is feeling gutsy enough and say your goodbyes.

it had continued on for so long until it suddenly came to a stop when scaramouche had to go to sumeru with il dottore to take buer’s gnosis. of course the plan worked and the second harbinger came back with the gnosis but no scaramouche.

for some time after that, you seriously thought you were tripping absolute bonkers. everyone kept saying the sixth seat of the harbingers had been vacant and the name scaramouche or balladeer doesn’t ring a bell. you even held an audience with her majesty, the tsaritsa as well and yet she said she doesn’t remember!

that was until you decided to desert the fatui and go to sumeru yourself to find out just what the fuck was going on. it took incredibly long time — sumeru’s rainforest and desert aren’t the most hospitable places for someone so used to the cold like you — but after a whole half a year of searching, you managed to see him again.

him. the one who stole your heart. the one who caused you to desert the fatui despite knowing the punishment would be death. the one that cradled your heart gently in his hand since you’ve been assigned to be his assistant.

and by the archons was it worth the whole thing. to be chased down by the people who were once your comrades. to suffer heatstrokes in the hot desert of sumeru. to continuously get pelted by the rain and thunder in the rainforests of sumeru. by the archons was it all worth it when the moment you two locked eyes. it was as if your first meeting all over again.

by the archons was it worth it when he recognized you, dropping the scrolls in his arms as he runs up to you. it was worth it when he came to a stop in front of you — hesitating. waiting. wondering. before finally muttering “fuck it” and getting on his tip toes to plant a kiss on your lips. it was worth it all — even as you gently broke him down and rebuilt him again a whole new in your arms in the comfort of your now shared home.

scaramouche has always been a shut in type of person. always preferring his own space, solitude and of course, a bitter tea to go along with everything.

but wanderer was a bit different. he preferred to be alone, alone with you. a bitter tea and your voice going “yuck!” whenever he made you take a sip, lying and promising he put sugar in it this time. a shy stolen glance at each other and a peck or two followed by the silence of each other’s presence. “lonely together” you once called your relationship. he couldn’t agree more.

even as his first time is taken by you — the doll couldn’t be happier.

even as he whimpers and whines whenever you praise him, planting kisses on his skin as he blushed a beet red. weakly thrusting his hips back to meet yours under the dim lights of the lit candles. desperately reaching back, tangling your hair in his hand to tug you down for a sloppy kiss to try and hide his moans when you called him your “good boy”, “pretty doll” and your “one and only”.

a weak sob and sniffles resounding in your shared home as wanderer comes on your cock for the nth time. how many times had he cum by now? he’s too hazy and lust ridden to even keep up count.

tears kept falling down his face as he unconsciously grind back into your cock, wanting more. a cacophony of keens and moans and shrill sound resembling a squeal coming out of him as he feels your tip hit his prostate again. archons, he wanted to feel that again and again. feel himself get broken down by your hands, by your lips, by the soft praises coming out of your mouth, by your dick just fucking into him so good to the point his mind becomes a mush.

when you gently put him back together again — wiping away the sweat and cum staining his skin, when you cradle him gently as you two share a quick bath together, when you wrap your arms around him and hug him close to yourself — the pupet couldn’t help but smile.

a genuine, unadulterated smile of happiness spreading on his face as he hears your words of affirmation. in soft moments like this, the puppet couldn’t help but whisper out weakly in a hoarse voice.

“you, [name], my heart…” before slipping off into a dreamless state.

[befuddledcinnamonroll]

So with some of the takes I've been seeing in the Wandee Goodday tag, I wanted to share my perspective.

Just to note - I firmly believe art is subjective and what we see can vary a great deal based on our own perspectives and lived experiences. I'm not calling anyone wrong, I'm just saying this is my personal take on things. (I feel like this should be obvious, but nuance is so often lost online).

And my main goal with watching QL is fun and escapism. I'm here to have a good time. I tend to go with the flow, I like imperfect characters (I even like the fucked-up ones), and I trust the characterization and plot elements to be doing what they need to do until a problem shows within the narrative itself.

Ok, disclaimers done - here's my take on Dee & Yak's interactions around the fake dating idea.

I think all of their interactions are deeply affected by the degree to which they have already developed genuine feelings for each other, but are not yet in a place to admit it, even to themselves.

Do I think Yak has real concerns about being out as a boxer trying to hit a career high? Absolutely. But I think his quick jump to a "let's end this" reaction was mostly a kneejerk attempt to protect himself for what he felt when Dee, the man he is already emotionally connected to, and desperately wants to be able to kiss, dropped a request for fake dating over a real deepening of their relationship.

We don't yet know the level of societal homophobia this show is aiming for, BL land can go many different ways with this, but considering his brother's openness in the gym that he owns, training boxers, there is a tone being set. Yak literally holds hands with Dee in the middle of the street. He doesn't panic when people recognize him at the hospital. This may change, but I'm going to trust the signposts that his career concerns are valid, yes, but are not the dominant issue between them.

Similarly, is Dee competitive and overly focused on winning? Clearly. It's set up in his earlier conversation with Yak for a reason. But at the same time, his insistence that it has to be Yak is not just about his need to win - again, this is about genuine feeling. He wants Yak. This is a way to get Yak, and to frame it to himself in a way that feels less scary and vulnerable, especially after being hurt by Ter.

I know a lot of people saw Dee as being pushy. I do agree with that, and yes it is going to cause more issues for them in the future. But I wish more people also saw Yak holding firm to his boundaries and refusing to give in to the immature behavior from Dee, showing why he's such a good partner for Dee.

And sure, we haven't seen Dee support Yak as much so far, but the scene with the mother and child wasn't there just for kicks. Dee is empathetic and caring, and that will be important in his relationship with Yak as well. He is there for people when things are at their worst.

Some people see Dee on the bridge as being manipulative.

I saw Dee as finally cutting out the toddler shit and being emotionally real about why he's taking the scholarship too seriously, how sensitive he is to what people think of him, why Yak is someone he trusts implicitly, and how he knows it's not Yak's problem and it isn't fair to expect him to fix it.

Some people see Yak as finally agreeing to fake date as showing he is weak to emotional manipulation.

I see a man who has more agency than that. I see a man who is affected by seeing genuine vulnerability both because of how caring he is as an individual, and because of how much he wants a real emotional connection to Dee. And eyes-open, he makes a choice.

These are two characters who have never just been friends with benefits from the beginning. And the narrative has never been about what they are saying. It's about what they are feeling.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

visiting König's humble abode

(MDNI, cw: talking about not wanting to have children)

the part before: sending him a naughty pic (nsfw)

The whole day long, there is this certain pep in my step. The knowledge that I did something a little dirty… the pics we sent back and forth… and the promise that I’m gonna see him again in just a few hours has me on cloud nine. My cheeriness caught on and one of my colleagues even asked me what had gotten into me, and I just shrugged it off, still not able to hide the grin that’s adorning my face.

When I get home from work, I pack a small bag of the bare minimum I need, in case this is a sleepover kind of situation – which I am kind of hoping for, not gonna lie, then I wait for him on the curb in front of the apartment complex again. Just like yesterday.

His car drives down the street and just seeing it, makes me grin from ear to ear again. It feels familiar by now, waiting for him to pick me up – even though this is just the third time. Today is a little bit different from yesterday. I don’t feel any of the tensity when he stops the car right in front of me. He looks like a dream, in the simple black shirt, that hugs his tattooed biceps just right, unintentionally showing them off when his arm reaches back behind the passenger seat, as he waits for me to enter.

A light blush creeps up my cheeks, when my mind comes back to what we did in the backseat. And then I also think about our long… conversation this morning. The pics of him. The…

My thoughts get pulled away when his face lights up in a smile, the seriousness vanishing as the corners of his mouth turn up. His brows not quite so furrowed anymore. The laughlines around his eyes highlighting the spark in them. Which makes the big scary looking guy not look scary at all. I realise that I’m mirroring his joyful expression – and yeah, the sex has been really fucking great so far, but more than that: I’m just happy to see him again.

I get in the car, greeting him with a simple “Hi”, leaning forward to give him a kiss while I drop my bag on the floor between my feet. He grabs me, his hand spanning across my throat, his thumb and pointer gently digging into my jaw. He pulls me into him, pressing his lips to mine, hot and heavy, his tongue stroking against mine, tasting me. His hold on me is still soft, but the way he just grabbed me… A hint of possessive. Needy. Almost desperate. And I answer his kiss with the same frenzy.

When he lets go of me, I’m panting and a little dizzy, it honestly could have been minutes or just seconds. I don’t think anybody ever kissed me like this. And I want him to do it all again. Preferably while he’s buried deep inside me.

“Hi.”, he says back, the corner of his mouth tipping up into a smirk. The hazy feeling dissipates and I recognize the band that’s playing on the car’s speakers.

“Oh, you finally listened to Sleep Token!”, I exclaim. It is one of the bands I told him to listen to because they have been consistently on the top of my list this last year.

“I did.”, he says, while he pulls out of the driveway.

“And how do you like them?”, I ask, a bit nosy.

He shrugs. “They’re nice and chill, I guess.” He smiles at me, a little sparkle of amusement in the corner of his eyes. “Although I have to say, I’m a bit surprised that you like ‘em so much, they’re much ‘softer’ than the stuff you usually listen to.” which has me giggling a little bit.

“That might be true.”, I chuckle. “I can’t explain it either, but the lyrics and everything just has me in a chokehold.”

The last beats of ‘Vore’ fade out and ‘Sugar’ starts playing, the sultry voice and the soft sounds filling the car and I grin to myself.

“You know what they jokingly call that genre?”, I ask him.

He shakes his head. “No, I don't.”

“Baby making metal.” The grin that adorns my cheeks is almost bigger than my face.

He shoots me a look, half amusement, half serious contemplation. “But what if you’re not making babies?”, he finally asks.

I furrow my brows, but my grin stays on, albeit not being as wide anymore. “Well, it’s supposed to be a joke, like tongue-in-cheek, you know because the music is all sensual and sexy. Like not actually making babies, you know, I wouldn’t even want t-”, I break off, biting my tongue.

Silence engulfs us for just a moment, a moment where we both seem to contemplate what to say now.

“I actually got a prescription for taking the pill.”, I tell him then. Called my gynecologist during lunchbreak and picked them up on my way home.

He whips his head in my direction, to look at me. “Why- but- I'm not gonna be on leave for that much longer, we-”, he stumbles through three possible answers at the same time.

“Don't worry about it, it was my decision.”, I explain, a lopsided grin on my face, because I maybe could have brought it up another way.

His eyes dart to me for another quick look. “I see. What made you uh- decide that?”, he wants to know, friendly curiosity in his voice.

“If something happens, like the condom breaks – which is a possibility –, we still have a failsafe. All the fun of ‘making babies’ without making actual babies.”, I joke, feeling a bit uneasy underneath the grin on my face, because talking about babies with the guy you just started sleeping with is… well, let’s just say, there are more comfortable subjects. But when my eyes are drawn to him again, seeing how relaxed he seems now, it puts me at ease as well.

He smiles at me again. “I can understand that.”, he says.

Another silence, the music still softly playing. The silences with him are not uncomfortable, I mean, they never have been so far, and there were quite some when we went to the concert in the beginning of the week. The moments when I thought I had already talked to much, even if he was content just listening to me, because he’s not a big talker.

So, I’m a bit surprised when he starts to speak again first.

“So… and you don’t have to answer, of course, if that’s too personal of a question. You don't want any children … ever?”, he asks, his soft voice bringing a lightness to the question.

“I don’t really want any ever, yeah.”, I answer assertively, shrugging at the same time. “Not in this life.”

I look to the side, at him. Thinking that he might say something along those lines of 'oh, you're gonna change your mind when you're older'. The same shit I always hear. ‘You’re still young, just wait a few years.’

But he doesn't. "I see.", is all he comments.

I’m still looking at him, not able to hide my surprise, but I don’t actually say anything.

"What? You're not gonna have me argue against that.", he mutters, and I can feel the moment of hesitation before he continues speaking: "I don't feel like my job is really compatible with a partner and family." and sighs and shrugs. "So, I came to terms with never having one quite some time ago." He turns to look at me. "I understand, as somebody who had a hard time explaining that to his own family, and I'm just a man."

I sigh as well. “Yeah, but it is what it is. It’s not their life after all.”

He smiles at me, the smile only barely reaching his eyes, something I’ve never seen from him before. “That’s right.”

I clasp my hand over his that’s holding the gearshift, caressing it for a bit. He lifts it and squeezes my fingers softly, a little reassuring gesture.

“We’re almost there.”, he says, smiling a little more relaxed again.

I knew he couldn't live too far away from me because he never takes long to get to my apartment. I’ve been watching the way he drove us, surprised when he took a few turns that lead to the outskirts of the city. And when he tells me that we’re there soon, I look out the window more intently, almost pressing my face up against the cool glass to see better, missing some light because of the darkening sky.

Little patches of forest, few fields in between, and a single road that passes his house. No neighbors in sight.

My jaw drops when I see it. It's not a big house by any means, but it has a facade that seems to be from the last century at least. Simple frescoes adorn the top of every single window, up until the round one right under the dark tiled roof. Ivy ranks up the whole right side of the grey painted walls.

I don't know what I expected. Same like with his car. Seeing the house now makes so much sense, but if you had asked me before, I probably would have guessed he had a modern, but simple three-room-apartment. Not a house with a white-picket-fence and a little garden, leading further into a small patch of green woodland.

He opens up the garage door with the push of a button and parks the car in there. I get out, not waiting for him to open the door for me, looking around all nosy. The garage has a little workshop and some gardening tools. Another set of tires for his car. And something else hidden away under some tarp. Wheels peaking out at the bottom that kind of look like they belong to … a bike?

I hear the cardoor shut and his steps when he approaches me. "That is the door that leads inside.", he tells me, gesturing in the direction. A grin adorns his face. "If you wanna take a look." And he knows my nosy ass enough to know, that I sure as shit want to.

I nod – more excited than I should be – and push through it, entering the main part of the house. I kick off my shoes, leaving them right there, beside the entrance door.

The corridor is plain white, a singular lamp lighting it up, a simple sidetable on the right side, a wall mounted rack with his jackets, although it’s half empty, and a rack for the shoes underneath.

I run by a kitchen, with white cabinets and grey marble worktops. A cooking island in the middle of the room. A big ass fridge, even though he lives alone. I guess it takes a lot of food to keep his physique up.

I head a little further down the hallway, until I reach the centerpiece of the house.

The living room surprisingly bright for all the dark furniture that’s placed inside. Curtains hang in front of the huge windows, pulled to the side, letting in lots of light and showing off the little garden outside. A door leads out to the patio.

A big black couch, with soft looking cushions. A simple end table and a lamp beside it.

A tiled fireplace on the one wall, stairs leading both upstairs and downstairs in the corner of the room.

But there is one thing that pulls my attention.

I’m completely mesmerized by the wall of books in front of me, spanning from one side to the other. I look at the whole shelf, every single row of books. In between, there is some open space with a TV hanging from the wall and quite a huge soundsystem on the wooden furniture. On the lower shelfs beneath, there is a plethora of vinyls, some seeming pretty old, others are obviously newer, and also CDs like the ones in his car.

I go back over the books, my fingers brushing over their backs as I read the titles and authors. Lots of classic horror and thrillers like ‘The Shining’, books in German that I can’t pronounce, even though I recognise the name Goethe, but also Sunzi’s ‘The Art of War’. Some books on philosophy and technical handbooks. But most of it is entertainment literature.

“I read a lot when I’m on leave.”, he explains, which makes me look back at him. He’s leaning in the door frame, a door frame he doesn’t even really fit in. The signature black jeans, a simple black shirt that hugs his biceps with the way he has his arms crossed in front of his chest. His hair hanging down to the side, the tips of it grazing over the tattooed skin, when he moves his head talking. My god, can he stop being this attractive?

“I can see that. I’m quite jealous of your collection, to be honest.”, I say.

“You can borrow any of them, if you’d like.”, he offers.

“Really?!”, I exclaim excitedly, already inspecting the rows for some fitting subjects, but my eyes dart back to him. Waiting for an answer.

He shrugs, but the little smile on his lips stays on. “Yes, I mean I have read most of them, I guess they deserve to be read by somebody else as well.” That little piece of information gives so much about him away. He lives here alone – at least staying here when he is on leave – and he must stay alone most of the time. With what I know now, that he hasn’t really been dating the last few years and that he doesn’t plan on having a partner… It feels so contradictory to the house that is too big for one person, even for a giant like him. What about his friends though? He surely got friends that come over from time to time, no?

I turn back to the books, a simple “Okay” on my lips, not knowing what else to say, the familiar feeling tensing up my shoulders, while I still search for some I’d actually want to read.

His eyes are on me the whole time, just watching, observing, what I’m doing. I can feel them on my backside, trailing down my whole body, and I’m a bit self-conscious that I only put on simple leggings and an oversized shirt, even though it’s a cute one. After my special outfit choice at the concert, I didn’t want to keep up any unrealistic expectations, and this is what I would have worn visiting somebody on any other Friday. It isn’t a date, technically, he just asked if he could “kidnap” me, so… I still hope, he thinks it’s cute.

I pull out books that sound interesting, some familiar, some not so much. Until I have a pile of them in my grasp, Jules Verne’s ‘Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas’ right at the top.

“I’ll read through them a bit later and then choose which to take with me, okay?”, I reassure myself with six books on my arm, looking at the big guy still only standing there.

“Sure, take whatever you like, Kleine.”, and the expression on his face lets me believe for just a second, that he might mean more than just his books. I ignore the tingle that rolls down my spine, as I set them down on the end table next to the couch.

My eyes find him again, darting to the stairs leading up. “So…” I sway from one foot to another, while a little bratty smile plays around the corners of my mouth. “You got a bedroom in your abode as well?”

His gaze darkens in an instant, the soft smile turning into that damned smirk that makes my knees weak, but there is also some reprimand in his look. He pushes himself off the doorframe, stalking closer with slow, big strides. “I do indeed have a bedroom.”, he answers, his voice a tad deeper than before.

I grin at him, feeling like red riding hood coaxing the big bad wolf. “You wanna show me ooor…?”, I continue. The tension between us flurries through the air, I can almost feel the moment of suspension prickling at my fingertips, before I dart away and he leaps forward, catching up to me in just two quick steps.

He grabs me, which makes me squeal and giggle, and throws me over his shoulder. I wriggle in his hold on me, playfully straining against his arm securing me there, but it’s futile anyways. “Stop it, Fräulein.”, he grunts, slapping my ass – once – with his other hand. I yelp again, but a bright grin stalks onto my lips as I tease him with a “Yes sir”, that earns me another spank.

next part: hanging off König's shoulder or more Stuff in the Masterlist ~

a/n: thanks for tuning into this plot part of the pwp - the other p will follow... uni in january is kicking my butt, so bear with me, the next five parts are already in the works - "just" need to finish them (will take more time)🫠 i might also post some more random scenes, that don't fit the plot right now - or possibly never - that are just sitting in my drafts and thanks for reading, as always <3 (it makes my day to see names coming back everytime c':)

[synthetickitsune]

Pretty Skirt, Handsome Man ✧ h.js

Pairing: Joshua Hong x gn!reader (w/ f!anatomy) Genre: smut Summary: When your boyfriend so kindly informs you he'll be wearing a skirt when he comes home, there's only one possible way the night will end. Word count: 1.5k Warnings: unprotected sex, shua wears a skirt A/N: so idk if what he wore today was an actual skirt but it was close enough for me to get obsessed with the idea

Fingers pulling on his collar, sharp threats attacking him as he laughs and pulls you away from the door that he barely manages to kick closed with you all over him. Kicking off his shoes is even more complicated, but he manages although it costs him a look that could kill a man. 

“Baby slow down, please,” Joshua grins in a way that suggests he means the contrary. On a different occasion, you’d probably do as he told you, knowing he wants the opposite, but today - well, you’re in no position to waste your time on teasing him. No matter how entertaining he might find it.

“No,” you say simply as you push his shoulders. Hard. He lands on a sofa and hurries to sit up straight with a disbelieving laugh that gets swallowed by your lips. You pull him into a messy kiss as soon as you straddle his lap. 

Truth be told, he did sort of expect you’d go wild for him - just not as wild as you were.

“Babe, you’ll hurt yourself,” he warns, seriously this time. His hands steady your hips and give you a firm squeeze. You take a second to glare at him. 

“I won’t,” you say.

He resorts to laughing again, helpless as to what he should do with you, as riled up as you were. Not like it didn’t have a certain very pleasant effect on him as well. He was well aware you were crazy for him as he was with you, but this? This was new. This made him feel tension in his abdomen and lust in every fiber of his body.

“We’ve had this conversation before,” he reminds you with a cocky smirk, “We’ve tried this before.”

You groan and grab his wrist. He lets you. He doesn’t flinch, only watches with amusement as you unceremoniously guide his hand between your legs. “It’s different now.”

The difference is immediately obvious the second Joshua’s fingers find your sopping center and it wipes the smirk off his face. His throat dries up. First - he didn’t expect you not to wear anything under your shorts, and second - all you did was pull him into a sloppy make out session once he walked through the door. And yet here you were so wet and horny you were all over him and demanding like he’s never seen before. 

“All this just for me? Just because I wore a skirt for you?” he muses and watches with awe as you grind down on his fingers.

“It’s a very pretty skirt and you’re a very handsome man, Joshua, fuck-” your voice breaks as he slips his fingers inside you with a malicious grin on his face, “Need you inside.”

He coos at you in response. His foolish attempt at not succumbing to your pretty sighs even as his cock twitches impatiently under the fabric that’s quickly getting soaked. You’re dripping all over his fingers and your thighs. He doesn’t have to move at all while you ride his fingers and grind your clit on the palm of his hand. Wet sounds fill the room, mixed with your voice getting higher with desperation. His name leaves your lips over and over like it’s a chant. It’s intoxicating. Who is he to deprive you of his cock when you’re begging for it so eagerly?

You basically tear off your shirt and shorts in a second. Then your hands are on his hips, pulling off his boxers and hitching up his skirt as soon as he pulls his fingers out of you. He doesn’t understand the gibberish you’re muttering, but every word he does recognize is one curse or another. All he can do is lean back and let you take control. His hands run up and down your thighs. If he knew the extent to which you’d appreciate the outfit, he would have let himself be talked into the skirt much earlier. 

Every single thought flies straight out of his head the moment he feels your slick cunt rubbing on his dick. He takes in a sharp breath and grips your hips for dear life because he doesn’t fully trust his body at the moment. 

“How are you this wet, honey?” he asks a little breathlessly while trying to calm down.

“It’s too wet, Shua, need your help” you push against him more, easily grinding your clit against his tip as it slips between your folds. 

He sees the tremors wrecking your body and while it will be a nice punishment to have you get off by just grinding on his dick some other time, the feeling of your juices pouring down his shaft has him swearing under his breath and working fast to grab his cock to line it up to your entrance.

He lowers you slowly, focusing his last bits of sanity on the fact you were not stretched too much. He doesn’t want to hurt you, although the expression on your face is anything but pained. His eyes close and he takes a deep breath. Or that was the plan - ruined by your lips on his. But he would never deny you kisses.

He wonders, briefly, where did this submission come from. His hands squeeze your hips but offer no directions, letting you ride him as you please. You fuck yourself on his cock hard and fast and it’s exactly what his body craves. You feel so good around him, so perfect, just what he needed after a long day. A sweet treat for his hard work. It takes a moment before he realizes the whines he hears aren’t yours - they’re his.

“Needed you so bad, Shua,” you whimper between the assault on his lips, “Ever since you sent me the pics and told me that’s what you’ll be wearing on the way home.”

Your fingers fidget with the first few buttons of his shirt, yanking it open and clawing on his bare shoulders to ground yourself, to get leverage.

“Take it, baby,” he hisses in pleasure, “Take what you need.”

He tries to be mindful and not hold you too hard, but with you bouncing on his lap so eagerly? Joshua has a one track mind to climax. He’ll let you do anything, anything if it gives you pleasure. The marks can be covered, and he’s not thinking about the consequences anyway.

He’s not thinking at all. You’re clenching around him, not giving his cock - or him - any space to run away from the pleasures of your body. Selfishly he indulges in it, he massages your ass in his hands and helps you keep the rhythm. He’s trying to hold out, trying to find something to distract him because he wants to last - he wants this to last forever. He’s not usually this sensitive, but your warm pussy feels so good around his dick after he danced in the cold the whole night. You’re moaning and mewling right into his ear that he feels so good that you need him, you’re keeping him right here with you in this moment, drowning out even his own pathetic whines begging you not to stop.

You don’t, and your release comes fast and unexpected and he finally - finally - lets go and pounds into you through your high and soon he follows after you. Only he can’t stop. Sweet words of reassurance spill from his lips, responding to your weak pleas as he fucks you and himself to the edge of overstimulation.

He’s completely spent when he slowly lets you rest with his cock deep inside you. His hair sticks to his sweaty skin. It feels a little disgusting, but then you move and his concern is fully on you. You, who just… laugh.

“That was quick,” snickering, you look at him. Your body is shaking, otherwise you seem fine though. Joshua scoffs.

“You still came first,” he reminds you with a quick peck to your forehead. Then whimpers and squirms when you clench around him.

“I won’t next round, don’t worry,” you give him a lazy wink. 

“There is going to be a second round?” he challenges, slowly caressing your naked back. You lay your body on his and he’s basking in your warmth and reassuring weight grounding him and adding to the pleasant buzz in his body.

“Yeah, you let me wait for so long, so I deserve it,” you hum as if it was the most obvious thing on the planet.

“It’s been an hour,” he rolls his eyes.

“More if you count the concert as well,” you counter.

“Did you get horny watching the performance,” he teases - but at the same he’s genuinely curious. You slap his shoulder.

“Of course not, I enjoy the performance. Then get horny after,” you explain, pointedly meeting his gaze.

“Well, in that case, my pretty doll, you deserve the second round.”

[stilljuststardust]

"Married to misery" why it's so hard to let go of the old story.

Disclaimer: Nothing I'm saying is meant as a criticism. I am able to see this in other people because I've seen it in myself.

Before I get into any of this know that you don't have to constantly feel positive emotions in order to shift or manifest. This post is not asking you to magically cure yourself or anything of the sort. I am asking you to be open to the new story. You don't have to feel happy to do that.

Also see: "you don't need toxic positivity to manifest or to shift"

Stepping into the old story is uncomfortable because so many of us don't how to validate our emotions without telling ourselves that we're just "doomed to suffer" or that our suffering makes our journey special.

I am going to be sharing my own experience on this because I want people to know they aren't alone and other people have gone through it and come out the otherside.

I won't describe my exact mental state but know it would've required some trigger warnings. To anyone worried, no this wasn't recent, it was a while ago. Hopefully the insight I gained in myself can shed some light for you.

I was seriously mentally ill for years and what I realized coming out of it is that though I may have craved happiness, I rejected happiness as a concept, because it was uncomfortable, it didn't feel safe or familiar.

I would say that I wanted it all day long but in action I actively fought the idea that it didn't have to be this way. I was infuriated by the notion of change.

To make progress I realized that wanting had to be more than craving but the willingness to accept it as a possibility and the openness to change.

The hardest part of letting go of the old story was letting go of the ways I had used it to validate my personal pain because I didn't know how to without it. Being reminded that things could get better often felt invalidating because I was terrified of not being taken seriously for my suffering.

"I feel awful and I don't like how often I'm feeling it" often leads us into thinking "nothing is ever going to work for me", but it's important to ground ourselves and realize that feeling like shit is not divine undeniable proof that it isn't going to work.

I think it's hard to help people break free of negative mindsets because for many people it immediately leads to a sense of shame and therefore defensiveness.

So many people grow up in environments where their feelings are not validated or taken seriously and as a result do not know the difference between recognizing the role we play in our own suffering and blaming ourselves for said suffering.

The statements "Its not your fault" and "you have the power to change" can and DO coexist.

When you grow up being told your feelings are silly and meaningless you may fall into feeling as if you have to justify and defend your own suffering.

Recognizing the ways we ourselves have fed into it is often a painful experience because it reignites old feelings of shame and hurt.

What people want is to be seen and understood in their suffering. When they don't receive that from others they often default to romanticizing it, telling themselves their pain makes them better, or different, or that pain is in some way beautiful or important as a way to cope.

And honestly realizing that it's not beautiful or unique and that it isn't bettering you in any way can be hard because sometimes it's the only way we know to rationalize it.

But pain isn't inherently beautiful or virtuous, it's just pain.

You don't have to worsen your suffering to be witnessed in it. I see you, I recognize how much you're hurting. Your problems matter to me.

You don't have to prove your suffering for it to be real.

When I finally recognized this mindset within myself is when everything finally changed.

I am not "doomed by the narrative" I'm the fucking author and I will find happiness no matter what because I fucking said so.

Make no mistake, I don't have a good mindset because of luck I have it out of spite. I will have exactly what I want because fuck anyone who told me otherwise.

I promise you CAN manifest. Let go of the idea that you're fighting an uphill battle. You don't have to be.

This is the law of assumption, if you assume that your manifestation journey is long and treacherous, it will be.

[akirathedramaqueen]

The Five Stages Of Grief: Verosika vs. Stolas

Alright, guys, it's time to play the complete denial card and ignore for a moment what we've just seen in the last short Viv dropped like a fucking nuke on our heads (seriously, this woman makes me swear more than a sailor).

Are we going to talk about something light? Ha-ha, you are looking at the angstiest person out here. Sorry. No relief for you.

But maybe some bits of analysis will do? Let's go.

The setup

Some time ago, I discussed how differently Stolas and Verosika react to their breakup with Blitz in response to one of my previous posts (it might be useful to read that to have the whole picture, but it's not crucial—here).

S2EP9, Apology Tour, 8:05

If we recap that reblog, I find that Stolas deals with his emotions much better and processes them in a more mature manner than Verosika does.

We could stop there, really, but I wanted to explore the situation from a different angle. Using the Kübler-Ross five stages of grief model, we can pull out more nuance from their actions and words.

They both went through a similar traumatic event—Blitzø hurt them in arguably one of the worst ways possible. The circumstances, Blitzø's intentions, and the outcomes are slightly different, but at their core, they are both left broken and deeply wounded.

Left: S2EP8, The Full Moon, 22:00 Right: S2EP9, Apology Tour, 18:03

So, what about their personalities makes their responses to trauma so contrasting?

Disclaimer about the model's credibility

This is probably me being overly pedantic, but I want to point out that this model is deemed to be popularized by the media, and professionals’ opinions are conflicted—some say it is accurate while others criticize it for its lack of flexibility or go as far as to say it has no application in real life. The studies are also inconclusive—there are papers both in favor of and against this model.

What am I trying to say here? This is a silly analysis about silly demons from a silly show, and if you do happen to unfortunately experience grief in any way (I am so sorry you have to go through this!), it is essentially experienced by all people differently. You should not feel bad if you skip stages or if their order is messed up.

Okay? <3 Okay. You’ve got this in your own way.

Tomorrow will be better than today.

Stolas: A Classic Way

One of the things I noted in my previous post is that Stolas immediately recognizes the pettiness of the party, and I praised his remarkable ability to see through the issues with such events.

The one day a year the spirits can rise amongst the living and it's spent celebrating mutual pettiness. S2EP9, Apology Tour, 6:55

And don’t get me wrong—his own way of dealing with problems is just drinking them away, and that’s not healthy. That’s why he actually belongs at this party.

But emotionally, Stolas is much more aware of what’s going on with him and the people around him. I think that despite his drinking problem, this awareness helps him process his own grief faster and find resolution—or at least an outlet—in just one night.

Let’s apply the five stages of grief model to him and see what’s going on.

Denial

You can see the denial seeping through during their morning conversation—there are moments when he clearly hopes Blitzø will suddenly listen to him and change his demeanor, despite Blitzø being consistent in his brashness and hostility.

Left: S2EP9, Apology Tour, 3:56 Right: S2EP9, Apology Tour, 4:23

Can you see the hope in his eyes? Can you see how ready he would be to brush off the whole shitshow happened between them just for Blitzø to take at least a bit of accountability or accept his feelings?

Additionally, although it doesn’t fit the term perfectly, we could stretch the concept a bit and say that the following lyrics below are somewhat denialish. Notice, by the way, that it’s not linear to the suggested model—you’ll see why later.

But I, I keep on waiting Waiting to want you less than I do And I do, oh, I do, yes I still do want you S2EP9, Apology Tour, 11:08

'Cause I am not a thief, but you were mine to earn S2EP9, Apology Tour, 11:42

He struggles to accept that the relationship has ended (we struggle too, baby owl, and we're not accepting it… but it gets worse before it gets better), and he still waits for Blitzø to return, maintaining a possessive feeling—“you were mine to earn.”

Anger

Stolas's anger is vastly different from Verosika's—I promise to elaborate on it later.

He uses his anger throughout the morning confrontation with Blitzø to protect himself from Blitzø's attacks and futile attempts to retain the status quo. His anger serves to assert that he is done with the transactional arrangement and Blitzø's behavior.

As shocking as this might seem, Blitzø, I don't think I'm in the mood to "do sex" with you. In fact, I don't think I'm even in the mood to do words with you! So, how about you respect that? S2EP9, Apology Tour, 0:57

[Stolas]: Get out. Right now! [Blitzø]: What?! [Stolas]: I'm tired of this! I'm uncomfortable how you're speaking to me now! S2EP9, Apology Tour, 2:24

And all of this happens just the night after that disastrous full moon meeting! Stolas is pissed off, and rightfully so. But he still gives Blitzø the chance to correct his behavior, explain, and apologize. He asks Blitzø to leave him in peace but stays to hear him out until it becomes clear that Blitzø is not going to relent or give in.

His anger is not used to destroy those he is angry with; rather, it is directed toward keeping himself whole—at least as much as possible.

Bargaining

The whole verse of All 2 U, where Stolas contemplates what went wrong and if there's something they could still do, represents him trying to bargain for a better future.

Maybe there's something here for us to glean? For you to teach and me to try and learn? S2EP9, Apology Tour, 11:32

Of course, this is also something very useful for when they come back together (not if!). Despite Blitzø being the focus in the Apology Tour episode, Stolas has a lot of work to do, too. And him realizing that is a positive step.

But for now, from the perspective we’re looking at, this is a clear sign of him trying to trade anything he can for their relationship to flourish.

Depression

Eventually, Stolas breaks down publicly. He can’t hold the mask on anymore; seeing Blitzø is unbearable, as it reminds him too much of everything that happened and everything that could’ve been.

You! Why are you here? I don't want you here, go home, please! Let me not feel so sad! S2EP9, Apology Tour, 15:50

And he manages to compose himself incredibly quickly…

S2EP9, Apology Tour, 16:07

It takes him just 17 seconds to fall into crying and calm himself. But there was more brewing beneath the surface—he just didn’t show it.

Calm yourself, young prince. You know excitement is unbecoming of a Goetia. S2EP1, The Circus, 00:20

Acceptance...?

Then there's the guy who received more hate than he (allegedly) deserved—Better Than Blitzo guy. He asks Stolas for a dance, and Stolas accepts. He seems to quite enjoy himself there, actually… maybe even a tad too much (arguably).

Well, I just wanted to see if... Maybe... I dunno... You'd wanna... Dance? S2EP9, Apology Tour, 16:16

S2EP9, Apology Tour, 19:08

S2EP9, Apology Tour, 20:08

Did he move on? Did he get over Blitzø? We don’t know. I don’t think so. But that dance was certainly an outlet. A relief he was ready to accept. He was ready not to dwell on negative emotions and allow himself to feel something good for a change.

Verosika: A scorched earth way

Now, let’s see how Verosika is doing after all these years post-breakup. Surely she can’t care less about Blitzø now, right?

Anger

Right… No petty feelings at all.

S1EP3, Spring Break, 8:13

There's still resentment...

A selfish imp in the sheets And just as bad in the streets A reckless, heartbreaking freak! S1EP7, Ozzie's, 11:54

Anger… to the murderous degree, actually…

Fuck Blitzo in the fucking ass! S2EP9, Apology Tour, 8:14

Disrespect...

That cock-sucking motherfucker! S2EP9, Apology Tour, 9:36

Remember when I said their anger is different?

She uses hers to fuel her determination to destroy Blitzø’s reputation. She uses her fame and all her resources to humiliate him.

She never moved past anger. Never really processed it.

But wait…

Acceptance?!

S2EP9, Apology Tour, 18:55

All it took was just one long-overdue genuine talk. The moment she saw Blitzø's remorse and let her feelings out, she immediately warmed up, stopped using his dead name, and even gave advice—it’s debatable whether it was the best one, but I believe she meant well for both Blitzø and Stolas.

Hold it, Blitzø. Y’know, if you wanna change, it just starts with saying: “Good for him, hope he gets laid.” S2EP9, Apology Tour, 19:18

You know, I feel there’s a good chance that the next anti-Blitzo party might not ever happen again.

Because she leaped through all the stages in one night, and, maybe not at that exact moment, but she is on the path to acceptance. Finally letting it go.

Baby, I'm not over it, but I'm over you.

Could've saved many years of simmering in rage and destructing herself over Blitzø though.

Conclusions

Oh shit, now I need to somehow connect all the dots, don’t I?

Well... *chuckles nervously* I guess I gotta put on my nerd glasses and pretend I knew what I was doing here and not just threw shit at the wall and saw what stuck.

What I really wanted to say is that Stolas is much more self-aware and was able to work through all his feelings and process them in one day. He went through the complete journey and made immense progress. We don’t know how it will go further, but from what we’ve seen, his emotional intelligence helps him, if not to avoid problematic behaviors like binge-drinking, then at least not to burn bridges behind him, leaving space for understanding, forgiveness, and acceptance.

It’s not to say that Verosika’s way of doing things was wrong because she was angry and skipped through some stages. It was wrong because she made her entire personality revolve around it, turning bringing Blitzø down in any way possible into her ultimate life goal. It was wrong because she never processed it.

And it shows why, even after the break-up, #stolitz can still work, given that Blitzø is open about how he feels and Stolas is open to listening to it.

AGAIN! There’s no right way to process grief. But there should be a priority to heal and accept instead of doubling down and ruining yourself and everything you cared for.

(I am watching you, Blitzø hater. Don’t you dare to shit on my poor lizard. He has his own heap of issues and has had enough after that fucking penguin slur short. So don’t. >:()

[froggibus]

Mary On A Cross - Mammon

Pairing: Mammon x f! angel! reader (reader uses female pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/NSFW

Word Count: 3k

Summary: dating an angel has never been easy for Mammon, but now he wants to show you that your holiness isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be

CW: blasphemy, desecration of a temple, sex in a temple, anti-religious sentiments, sacrilege, fingering, stripping, slight exhibitionism, public sex, overstimulation, unprotected sex (be smart 07), multiple creampies, praise/degradation, sex on the floor

hello yes it is I still managing to write this month…anyway, please enjoy the culmination of months of thoughts of mammon + listening to ghost :)

Kinktober Masterlist

“C’mon, can’t you tell me where we’re going?” You pout.

Mammon tightens his grip on your hand, continuing to lead you down the cobbled path. You’re not supposed to be in the human world, and you’ve always been a rule follower, but Mammon just brings out that rebellious side of you. 

The demon doesn’t answer your question. In fact, he’s been strangely quiet ever since he came up to you after school and started dragging you along with him. You know he doesn’t always have the easiest time at RAD, but you’ve never quite seen him this upset.

Mammon tries to keep his composure and remind himself that it’s not you he’s mad at. But it’s so hard to forget the differences between you when you look so fucking angelic all the time. No matter what you do, your skin has that ethereal glow to it and your voice always sounds melodic and soft. It makes him want to worship you, it makes him want to ruin you.

Jealousy and anger courses through him, his heart beating so hard it’s painful. He hates how people in the Devildom look at him when you’re together, hates the stares you always get. No one looks at you like that when you’re with Simeon, or even the damn chihuahua. No, those looks are reserved for Mammon, and he reads them loud and clear.

A demon and an angel? Ridiculous. They’ll never last. He’s going to ruin her. How did they even end up together? Aren’t they mortal enemies? Disgusting.

He glances at you and immediately the thoughts die out. You’ve always been able to quiet the darker parts of his mind, dull his jagged edges. He almost feels guilt for what he’s going to do to you.

Almost.

You stop as soon as you reach the stairs to the temple. “No. Mammon, no.” 

You plant your heels into the ground and tug on his hand, trying to get him to release you. You would do almost anything for him, but this? This is too far. 

He stops on the stair above you, looking at you seriously. “Are you comin?”

His voice is void of anything. No guilt, no shame. Just that same, tired tone he uses whenever his brother’s are picking on him too much.

“Do you know what this is? This is a temple, Mammon. For an archangel. Gods, you could be smited just for being within five feet of this place!”

“The Great Mammon? Smited?” He scoffs, dropping your hand and continuing up to the door.

His hand touches the handle and you brace yourself, ready for your boyfriend to get eviscerated before your eyes. He twists the handle, the door clicks open and…nothing happens. You tilt your head in confusion. 

“Are you comin’ or what?”

You scurry up the stairs after him, managing to slip through the door just before it closes. The temple is completely empty, three rows of oak benches lining a long marble aisle. At the end of the aisle is a large, empty throne carved out of marble. 

You recognize the carving at the top of the throne immediately and stop dead in your tracks. You really shouldn’t be here. You watch silently as Mammon approaches the throne, plopping himself in it and giving you a crooked smirk.

He beckons you closer with his fingers, and you find yourself stumbling down the aisle without thinking. His eyes are dark, the pupil consuming the iris. You don’t like that look, and yet you can’t stop.

He pats his knee, “hav’a seat.”

You hesitantly sit down on his lap, leaning your head back on his chest. Your heart is racing, and you expect someone to burst in at any moment and smite you down.

“Your heart is pounding,” Mammon whispers, hot breath against your neck.

You shiver and nod. You really shouldn’t be doing this. You go to stand up but Mammon yanks you back down, using his thighs to force your legs apart. He rests a hand on your inner thigh just above your knee, gently tapping his fingers along your skin.

“M-mammon,” you hiss, “we can’t be doing this in here.” You try to keep your voice low, afraid you’ll somehow draw attention to the two of you. 

Mammon trails his hand up your thigh, stopping when the side of his knuckle just barely brushes your clit. You gasp, your hips grinding into his hand as if they have a mind of their own.

He laughs. “We shouldn’t be doin this anywhere, baby.”

He presses a finger into your clit, applying just enough pressure to have your panties dampening without giving you quite what you want. You try to close your legs around his hand, whether to get more or get him to stop, you’re not sure.

“M-mammon please!” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. You force yourself to sit up straight, clearing your throat, “let’s just go home. Please, I could lose my blessing for this.”

Mammon grips your chin, forcing you to face him. “Won’t ya do it? For me?”

It’s the most sincere thing he’s said to you all day. His features soften as he looks at you, vulnerability on full display. The way he’s looking at you so softly, it’s like he’s asking you to give up your blessing, to come live a lifetime with him. 

You’re not an idiot, you know what people think about the two of you. You know being with him is wrong, and that it can’t possibly last forever—not if he’s still a demon, and you’re still an angel.

“I-I’ll do it.”

He grins, pulling you back into him and kissing your neck. You can feel his canines graze the sensitive skin, burning beneath his touch. He keeps your legs spread, a hand rubbing you through your panties.  

You can feel his growing bulge against your back, feel the excitement build. You force yourself to focus on the present, all of your attention on his wandering hands. He’s practically an expert. He always knows just what you need. 

Just as you settle into the idea of him taking you here, he pulls his hand away. You shift in his lap, turning to look at him with furrowed brows. 

He gives you a gentle shove off of his lap, forcing you to your feet. “Strip for me.”

You look at him dazed, your pussy aching from where his fingers just were. You’re already overwhelmed from the fear and excitement of the situation—your head spinning and erasing all of the thoughts that try to escape. 

 “What?” He smirks at you, “I wanna see you.”

You turn away from him, keeping your eyes locked at the exit at the end of the aisle. Your hands tremble as you hook them into the waistband of your pants, pulling them down to your ankles. 

Mammon grips his bulge through his jeans, grinding against his hand. You’re taking your sweet time stripping for him—always such a tease. He can’t help but notice the gold panties that look absolutely delicious on you. 

He licks his lips in anticipation as you lean forward and tug down your panties. They stick to your pussy with your juices and the second they’re removed from your skin, you gasp. 

His cock aches in his jeans, straining against the hard denim. He’s quick to unbutton them and kick them off of his fett, leaving them in a puddle on the ground.

You turn around shyly, dressed in only your shirt from the day. You keep your eyes on the tight fabric of his boxers while you cross your arms and tug your shirt over your head. You can feel his gaze on you as you lean forward and jiggle your chest.

You reach behind you slowly and unclip the clasp of your bra, letting the fabric fall loosely down your shoulders. You hate that being exposed like this in the middle of a temple has your pussy dripping. You cross your arms over your chest and take a deep breath, waiting for his instructions.

“Such a pretty, little angel,” he hums. “C’mere.”

You shuffle back towards him, standing between his legs in front of the throne. He trails his hands up your hips, cupping your breasts before letting them fall. The pressure makes you gasp, the cold air of the temple hardening your nipples.

He grabs your hips and spins you around, tugging you hard onto his lap. You can feel his hard cock grinding against the top of your ass as he trails his fingers up your thigh. 

He keeps a firm grip on your hip the whole time, as if letting you know that there’s no escape now. He taps your clit with the pad of his finger, pressing hard and rubbing circles. You whine and shut your eyes, attempting to hide your face in his shirt.

Mammon slips a finger inside of you, your pussy eagerly taking him. “Look at you, getting finger fucked in a temple like the whore you are. “ He takes an aggressive pace, thrusting his finger in and out of you with a brutality you’ve never seen from him before.

Another finger slips inside of you and it only gets harder to contain your desperate pleas. Mammon grows frustrated with your muffled whines, curling his fingers inside of you and nipping at your neck. You gasp at the brief pain, but your sounds of surprise are replaced by your lewd moans.

He prods at your dripping hole with another finger. Your eyes widen—it’s rare that you’re able to take three of his fingers, but Mammon is really pushing you to the limit today. Your pussy squelches as he forces the third finger in, stretching your walls almost painfully.

You suck in a deep breath. “Too much!”

Mammon only laughs while he opens you up around his hand. His lips ghost across your neck, leaving kisses all the way up to your ear. He shoves his fingers as deep as they can go, hitting that throbbing spot inside of you.

“Too much?” He mocks, curling his fingers to rub against your walls. “You can take it, I know you can. Look, your pussy is already opening up for me.”

His words only make you wetter, building onto that knot coiling in your tummy. You grip at his forearm, digging your nails into the tanned skin. You don’t even realize as you start to grind your hips against his hand, desperately chasing your release.

Mammon bites at your neck again. “You gonna cum? Hm?”

You nod eagerly, continuing to rock your hips into his palm. Mammon gets the hint and speeds up. Every time you move, you grind your ass further into his waiting cock, driving him wild.

“Go on, baby,” he whispers in your ear, “cum for me.”

Heat washes over you as you cum, your pussy leaking all over Mammon’s hand, the throne and the floor of the temple. Your legs shake, all of your muscles contracting involuntarily. Mammon holds you through your orgasm, keeping his fingers deep inside of you.

“Look at you, makin’ such a mess of the temple. I wonder what your god thinks of you now.”

Horror dawns on you as you remember where you are and what you just did, but Mammon gives you no time to think before he’s nudging you off the throne. You slump on your knees in front of him, looking up at him through your lashes.

You rest your hands on his thighs, watching eagerly as he tugs down his underwear and his cock springs out. He’s rock hard, pre cum dripping down the tip and shaft. You lick your lips at the sight.

“Come on,” he grabs the back of your head and guides you forwards. “It’s not gonna suck itself.”

You wrap your hand around the base of it, slowly stroking up and down. You stick your tongue out and lick the tip, collecting the salty pre on your tongue. Mammon groans, using the grip he has on the back of your head to push your head down.

You gladly take him into your mouth, wrapping your lips around him. He’s big enough that it’s a stretch to fit him in your jaw, and it only takes a few seconds for the tip of his cock to hit the back of your throat. You gag around his length but take a breath through your nose and get a hold of yourself.

“So angelic,” he taunts.

You fall into a steady rhythm of bobbing your head up and down while you stroke his cock, your other hand gently cupping his balls. Mammon’s moans and the wet sounds of you sucking his cock echo off of the walls, serving as shameful reminders. 

Mammon thrusts into the back of your throat and holds your head down, forcing you to stay in that position until you tap his thigh harshly. He lets you go, giving you time to catch your breath. The cold air feels nice on your sore throat.

Mammon grabs your hands and helps you off of the floor, letting you straddle his lap. You line up his cock with your soaking pussy and slowly sink down onto him. You lean forwards into his chest and wrap your arms around his shoulders, using him as leverage.

You take him inch by inch, his cock pushing apart your gummy walls and stretching you in the perfect way he always does. When he bottoms out, he’s so deep inside you that it almost hurts. You whine, rolling your hips against him.

Mammon grips your hips so hard you’re sure it’ll bruise and helps guide you up and down his length. He moves his hips up to meet yours as they fall down, forcing himself all the way with every thrust. His fingers dig in as he picks up the pace, his thrusts growing fast and restless.

You can feel that knot in your stomach again, that familiar heat beginning to overtake you. Your legs are tired from bouncing on his cock and your muscles threaten to give out, your whole body shaking. You collapse onto his chest but that doesn’t stop Mammon. He keeps up his demonic pace, thrusting into you ruthlessly.

“M-mammon!”

He drives himself into you harder. Your pussy squeezes his cock harder with every thrust, your slick dripping down and covering his thighs. He slams into you a few more times before you completely unravel, going limp on his chest. Mammon’s cock twitches, his own orgasm following yours. He slams you down, bottoming out completely inside of you as he pumps out his hot cum.

He only gives you a moment to recover before he’s lifting you up and laying you on your stomach on the floor. The cold tiles soothe your feverish skin, though it does nothing to stop the tingling in your pussy. Your eyes flutter open and shut and you’re not sure you’ll be able to take another orgasm.

Mammon’s body presses against your back, his hand snaking around your thighs. He tugs you so that you’re on your knees, your face pressed against the floor. You can feel his still-hard cock lining up with your entrance, every touch of his tip against your clit making you shiver.

His cock slides into you much easier this time, your walls throbbing around him. The overstimulation makes you shiver, a harsh pressure in your stomach. Mammon doesn’t seem bothered, though. The demon drives into you at a steady pace, the combination of his cum and your juices making loud, wet noises. 

“My pretty little angel,” he coos, giving your ass a harsh smack, “are ya still with me there, or have I fucked your brain into mush?”

You can only whine in response, that pressure in your stomach consuming you. Mammon smacks your ass again, waiting for an answer.

“It’s too much, Mams, too much,” you manage to mumble.

He slows down his pace to give you a bit of a reprieve. “You can take it, I know ya can.”

You shake your head but you know that will do little to stop him. He keeps his slow pace for only a few minutes, going back to slamming into you like he was before. The break helped you get a little energy back, but your whole body still trembles with oversensitivity. 

Mammon thrusts into you so harshly that your whole body moves forwards. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you back into him, repeating the process all over. He channels all of his frustration and anger from earlier today into every movement, channels all of it into your poor, overstimulated pussy. 

“Oh—Oh, God!” You cry out, the pressure in your stomach threatening to burst.

Mammon drives his hips into you harshly, wrapping his hand around your throat. “There are no gods here,” he hisses. “Not anymore. You pray to me now.”

That’s all it takes for your third orgasm to wash over you. This one is the harshest yet—your legs shake, black spots dance in your vision and your pussy absolutely gushes all over the place. 

Mammon keeps fucking you throughout, chasing his own high. It’s only another minute before he’s bottoming out inside of you and letting all of his cum fill you up. You lay beneath him weakly and let him finish using you.

When he pulls out, the mix of his cum and your juices gushes over the floor. It oozes out of you, getting your thighs and pussy all sticky. 

Mammon helps you sit up, planting a kiss to your forehead. Neither of you say much after that. You’re too focused on the heinousness of the acts you just committed in the temple, while Mammon has nothing but pride and admiration.

When the two of you are dressed and somewhat cleaned up, you start the journey back to the Devildom. Both of you notice the ethereal sheen to your skin fading, but neither of you are brave enough to acknowledge what you’ve forsaken.

[spooky-bunnys]

(Name) doged another punch thrown his way. Before throwing another knocking down the Valhallan member. (Name) quickly moves onto another before noticing something. His brother wasn't beside him anymore. (Name) highly confused tried looking around but didn't see his brother anywhere.

(Name) shurgged before turning to fight a different gang member. He knew his brother could defend himself. His brother was the Vice Commander for Toman. He was gonna be perfectly fine. (Name) hadn't realised how in his thoughts he was. Not until someone managed a punch to his face.

It was like the surrounding gangesters froze. (Name) slowly turned towards the person. He didn't recognize him but knew one thing. He was getting tired of this fight. (Name) picked the male up and threw him not noticing his brother and someone else have a stand off.

~

Draken hadn't realized he was cut off from (Name). He was more focused on taking out as many Valhallan members as he could. He knew the sooner this fight was over, the sooner they could get (Name) out of here. (Name) was the only Omega of the small pack; containing the captains and vice captains.

They were all fiercely of the small Omega. But they've been training him how to fight since before they offically became a pack. His brother was widely known in the delinquent world as The Irresistible Omega. His scent wasn't overly sweet and his looks was one of a kind. Many have tried courting him but none have succeeded.

In Draken's eyes nobody was good enough for his brother. He's already rejected the others pleads to court his brother. He wouldn't admit it but the hardest to reject was his own Commander. He knew many chased after his brother thats why he was always by his side. Well almost always.

Draken looked around for his brother worried. "(Name)? (Name) seriously where are you?" Draken continued looking around. Not noticing a certain Valhallan member coming his way. Until he had to block a punch. "Not paying attention Draken~?" Draken grunted annoyed.

He didn't have time to deal with this guy. He needed to find his brother. "Fuck off Hanma!" Draken shoved the male away. Before either could move a blur went between. Draken didn't seem surprised when a small figure stomped between the two. Found him. (Name) wiped his bleeding nose with his sleeve.

He nodded to his brother trying to go after the member he had thrown but was cut off. "Oi. I don't appreciate someone interupting me-" Hanma was interupted by (Name). Who kicked him away. Hanma was barely able to block the kick and was sent back into the car pile behind him.

(Name) seemed unfazed and turned to return to his previous fight. But Hanma's laughter interupted him. Slowly everyone stopped and turned to the commotion. Draken seemed to understand what was happening as he quickly stood in front of (Name).

Making almost every Toman member stiffen. Hanma threw open his arms with a wide grin on his face. "Now thats an Omega I like!" (Name) grimaced and stalked around his brother. Making many members call out to him. (Name) marched towards Hanma who was "sweetly" calling to the Omega.

When (Name) was close enough he sent a kick immediately towards the side of Hanma's head. Knocking him out cold. "You may be good looking but your so fucking annoyed and your personality needs works. This fight is finished." Toman cheered while (Name) made his way back towards his brother.

Once he was close enough Draken wrapped an arm around his brother laughing. "Remind me not to get on your bad side (Name)." (Name) chuckled and shook his head. Before he raised his arms making grabby hands. Draken smiled and picked (Name) up.

"Tired?" (Name) nodded and snuggled closer to his brothers sent gland. He relaxed almost instantly. As Toman left the fight nobody noticed the slowly moving Hanma. Who was staring after the brothers. His eyes staying as the sleeping (Name). He started chuckling before his chuckling grew into loud laughing.

"Oh (Name)~ you'll become my Omega and I can't wait!"

~

When Takemichi got back to the future he was surprised at how normal it looked. That was until Naoto quickly picked him up. He was honestly scared Takemichi slightly with how angry he looked. Naoto immediately took Takemichi to his office and practically slapped him with a pile of papers.

When Takemichi saw the cover he felt sick. Its was a picture of a smiling (Name) and Hinata hugging. They were in graduation gowns. But the header is what made him feel worse. "Bodies of Tachibana Hinata and Ryuguji (Name) finally found!" Takemichi looked up at Naoto.

"How?" He asked softly. How did (Name) get tangled in this? He figured his brother and Toman wouldn't do this to him. But he guesses he's wrong. Takemichi was broken from his thoughts by Naoto who started shaking him. "This wasn't Toman." Takemichi looked confused. Who else would it be?

"Toman isn't a gang in this time line. Its a Business of bodyguards and security. I've already questioned Sano and Ryuguji Ken. Unfortunately (Name) and my sister had been missing for months. Almost 7 ½ months. So when we found their bodies." Naoto looked away with an upset face. "Its still Kisaki but I don't understand how (Name) got killed in this time."

It was like a bulb had gone off in Takemichi's head. "Hanma." He said quietly. "(Name) had caught Hanma's attention at the Valhallan fight." Naoto looked to be sick. "What?" Naoto turned to Takemichi with wide eyes. "Hanma Shuji had been the one to report (Name) was missing."

~

When Takemichi made it back to the past he immediately made his way to the brothel to talk to the Ryuguji brothers. When he got there unfortunately he only came across (Name). Who informed his friend that his brother had gone on an errand and would be back soon.

Takemichi had luckily already explained to (Name) about his time traveling. Since it was thanks to (Name) how Baji was still alive and how Toman hadn't fallen apart. A pack without its Omega isn’t a pack. With (Name)'s help he's kept many people alive and out of trouble. But now (Name) was in trouble.

"I'm dead in the future? But why?!" (Name) looked pale and like he was going to be sick. Takemichi honestly felt horrible seeing not only his friend, but his fellow pack member like this. (Name) shouldn't ever feel this frightened. His scent was going haywire and it was starting to burn Takemichi's nose.

He quickly hugged (Name) after grabbing one of Draken's jacket. He wrapped the jacket around (Name) making sure the Omega was surrounded by his brothers sent. He needed (Name) to calm down so they could discuss a new plan. One Takemichi wasn't sure would work or not.

He hopes it would or else (Name), Hinata, and everyone won't survive the future.

~

(Name) sat at the top of the stairs. He didn't know how tonights meeting would go. Especially with what plan he and Takemichi were doing. (Name) was scared about his side of the plan. What if it doesn't go the way its supposed to? What if he really does die?

(Name) felt an arm wrap around him and flinched before relaxing. The scent of dorayuki and motor oil. (Name) snuggled into Mikey carefully. Wanting a familiar sent to calm him down. Mikey had noticed (Name)'s distant look and couldn't help but feel guilty.

He knew how the Omega felt around so many new Alpha's. Thats why he's always had (Name) stay at the top along with him and is brother. Even if (Name) was a good fighter he's still an Omega. One that always hides his feelings. Tries to keep to himself. Always trying to do things himself. Trying to prove he doesn't need an Alpha.

Well considering where he lived it didn't surprise them. Seeing Alpha's come and go as they please probably made him hate most Alpha's. The only Alpha's (Name) has let himself be close with was within the pack. He mainly stayed by his brothers side. As Draken has always been his protecter.

Draken called for Mikey informing him the meeting had started. Mikey hugged (Name) once more before pulling him up. (Name) didn't know how this was going to go down but he knew one thing. He needed to get Hanma Shuji to switch sides.

~

"Tonights meeting begins! Tonight we can offically announce the victory of Toman for the fight against Valhallan!" The crowd cheered loudly. "Now we can confirm that Valhallan and Toman will merge all thanks to one man! KISAKI TETTA!" The crowd cheered once more as Hanma and Kisaki joined them up top.

Takemichi watched with baited breath. He watch the scene above him with worried eyes. He doesn't know how they're gonna do this. He knew that it had to work or else bad things would happen. It seemed like everything was going bad. He didn't realise that the gangs would merge. That wasn't a part of their plan.

Takemichi was drawn back to the world when he heard gasps and soe yelling around him. He looked around before looking back up and choked on the air in his lungs. Hanma was kneeling in front of a frighened (Name) who being shielded by not only Mikey and Draken, but a male with light hair and a mask.

~

(Name) watched the scene knowing something like this would've happened. As the meeting was happening he kept feeling like someone was staring at him. He turned and saw the vice captain of the 5th division waving at him. (Name) smiled softly and waved at him before motioning him over.

Sanzu quickly made his way over. The two quietly talked about how they've been and how their lives are going. Until they turned back towards the actual meeting. After Valhallan was "Welcomed" into Toman, (Name) thought he'd finally be able to go home to think about his side of the plan.

That was ultimately thrown out the window when Hanma ran (yes he actually ran) in front of (Name). (Name) immediately jumped hiding behind Sanzu. Who was backed up with his brother and Mikey. Hanma kneeled down holding out his Valhallan jacket.

(Name) looked confused before Hanma cleared his throat. "(Name) would you make me the happiest Alpha ever and accept my courting gift?" Almost all at once the members of Toman started yelling at the scene. (Name) slowly stepped out from behind his "shield" before making his way in front of Hanma.

He leaned forward a but and smelled the jacket and was completely over come with the scent. The smell of cigarettes, rain, and pine filled his nose and (Name) blushed. Among the crowd gasps rang out even Takemichi looked surprised. (Name) slowly reached forward and grabbed the jacket and hugged it looking away.

"Yeah. It smells nice. But you need to work on your personality..." (Name) shly looked away only to be startled by the hug he was given by his "Alpha" although from the way his skin heated from Hanma's hands. He looked towards Takemichi with wide eyes. Looks like the plan has some complications.

[drysaladandketchup]

Mattdrai and 14 please for the Game. Thank you 💜

Thank you, anon! Once again I have failed to understand the word 'mini'. Seriously never ask me to write something short I don't know how to anymore. I hope it's to your liking :)

14. things you said after you kissed me

He expects a lot of things when he walks into the airport toting his life behind him in a suitcase: the drone of hundreds of voices, the inevitable bustle of bodies, brightly lit screens flashing so much information it makes your head spin, lines, because there's always lines everywhere for everything, the smell of fifteen different coffee shops vying for traveller's attention. Fuck knows he's going to need one of those soon.

What he doesn't expect is to be grabbed mid-yawn as he's on his way to check his luggage. If he was already jittery about the move before, he nearly has a heart attack now when a hand latches onto his bicep and drags him into a shadowy alcove, half-concealed by a thick pillar.

Matthew's brain very unhelpfully provides him with the image of being mugged before he's even out of Calgary. Pissed off fans angry he's leaving for bright, sunny, warm-all-year-round Florida, perhaps? Some even more pissed off Edmontonian who saw he was leaving and came down here thinking now's my chance? He wouldn't put it past some of them.

He's not too far off the mark with that last one. When he rips his arm free and spins to face his assailant, he laughs right in their face.

"Jesus, dude, you look like a stalker."

In fairness, Leon usually dresses pretty decent. But right now he's in plain jeans and a thick, unassuming pull-over sweater--it's fucking summer in Calgary, who does that?--with the hood pulled up over a snap-back, head ducked low so the brim hides part of his face.

"Didn't want to be recognized," Leon says, somewhat defensively, like he's only now realising how very conspicuous he looks in a place like this.

"I got that." Matthew checks his phone. He's got a bit of time for... for whatever this is, so he sets his stuff down and leans against the wall across from Leon. It only puts a couple feet of space between them.

"What are you doing here?"

Leon tugs the hood and hat off his head, runs fingers through his hair. It's still pretty long--Leon's let it grow since the spring, and Matthew has very distinct memories of running fingers through it--but it's also uncharacteristically messy. He doesn't look entirely focused, either; there's shadows under his eyes.

"I came to see you," Leon says.

Suddenly, Matthew really wishes he wasn't here. Either of them. It's been two weeks since they've seen each other, since Matthew broke the news. Not that it was Leon's business. They weren't... weren't anything. Not partners, anyways. Not really. And this was Matthew's choice, his career, his future he was considering. That had to come first.

But now Leon's here, and Matthew has never wanted to run so badly in his life. This didn't feel like running before. The earth could split open and swallow him whole, and it would be kinder than that look on Leon's face, all anger and desperation and confusion and... God, he looks so fucking tired.

It's a 9am flight to Florida. It's just past six now. The sun's barely up.

"Have you slept at all?" Matthew asks, instead of a million other questions.

Leon shoves his hands in the pocket of his sweater and shakes his head. "I couldn't."

"So you drove all the way down here."

"Don't sound so surprised."

"Hard not to be when you haven't talked to me in weeks."

Leon's mouth twists. Slumped back against the wall, curled in on himself, it may be one of the few times Matthew could ever say he looks small. Fragile.

Sighing, Leon finally, finally looks Matthew in the eye. He's not scowling like the last time they met, the night he stood in Matthew's doorway and told him he didn't understand anything before storming out of Matthew's life.

"I thought we should talk. Before you go," Leon says.

Matthew does understand, now. He put it together staring at Leon's back as he disappeared into the night. He knows why Leon's really here. What he really means.

I wanted to see you.

It's amazing how many people say Leon is hard to read. He's always been an open book to Matthew, even when he was snapping and bearing his teeth. All his emotions spilling from the pages.

"Okay." Matthew swallows. "We can talk."

Neither of them does, for a minute. They stare at each other, through each other. Remembering. Committing all the little details to memory. Matthew's palms tingle with the urge to touch.

"You kissed me," Leon finally says, "then said you were leaving."

Yeah, not Matthew's finest moment, if he's being honest. But he didn't know what else to do. There was already so much turmoil around the trade and the shit going on with the Flames.

And then there was Leon. There was no way it wouldn't be gruesome.

"How long did you know?" Leon's voice is rigid, but still calm. "Would you actually have told me, if I hadn't come to see you?"

A year ago, yeah, he would have said it was none of Leon's damn business. Why would he care? But they've come a long way since then. Farther than Matthew could have anticipated. Farther than he realised, until he was staring at Leon's retreating back and silently begging him to turn around, to come back, to stay.

Of course Matthew was going to tell him. He's not an asshole. But that's not what this is about.

"Does it really matter?"

"It matters to me."

"You're not here because you're pissed I didn't tell you sooner."

He knows why Leon's here, and he knows why part of him is stupidly happy Leon is here. Even if nothing will change.

"Did you even think about how I'd--" Leon groans, scratches at the back of his head.

"I did," Matthew says, because it's the truth. Of course he thought about Leon. How could he not?

Leon's gaze drops to the floor, and he grits out, "Fuck. I wanted to do this better."

Matthew can practically hear time ticking by. His heartbeat makes a good clock, thudding away in his chest.

"What is this, Leon? What do you want?"

Dangerous question. Leon could say a million things that would make Matthew's entire resolve waver. If they're not done, if there's even a sliver of hope...

But Leon doesn't say anything. Instead he steps forward, cups Matthew's face between his hands, and kisses him. Not rough or desperate. There's no urgency. It's slow and deep and bruising, and Matthew melts into it because he could never do anything else, and Leon holds tight like he thinks Matthew will disappear if he doesn't.

It's an apology and a confession. It's not the first time they've kissed, but it may be the first time it's been an honest one.

It doesn't last long. Matthew barely has time to taste it, savour it, get a fistful of Leon's hoodie like he's the one threatening to leave. There's a moment as Leon pulls back where Matthew thinks he's imagined it all. Where it feels like something precious is slipping between his fingers.

But no, Leon's still there when he opens his eyes, pressed from hip to chest, noses brushing, beard catching Matthew's freshly shaved cheek. Hot breathes mingle between their mouths.

"Would you stay," Leon whispers, hand sliding back to tangle through Matthew's curls, "if I asked?"

He didn't ask the night Matthew told him. He was too angry, too upset. It took Matthew too long to realise why, to recognise what he was seeing on Leon's face was heartbreak.

But they both know the answer. Still, Matthew closes his eyes and takes the luxury of thinking about it. Considers the possibilities.

"Would you actually ask?" he says.

Leon's fingers curl around the back of Matthew's neck. "If I thought you'd actually say yes."

"But you won't."

"No."

"Because you know I won't."

"I know."

"It's not you."

"I know." Leon steps back only as far as Matthew's grip on his hoodie will allow. "Fuck, you don't make things easy."

Matthew chuckles. "When have I ever? You're not winning any awards either."

Leon scoffs.

"Still," Matthew says. "This is better than what you said to me the first time we kissed."

"What did I say?"

"Pretty sure it was, 'Get the fuck out of my arena.' And something about hoping I lose my next game."

Leon smirks. Doesn't look even a little sorry. "And did you lose your next game?"

"Fuck off." Matthew shoves his shoulder, unable to keep a grin from tugging at his mouth.

He looks away only long enough to straighten out his shirt and run a hand through his hair, but when he looks back, Leon isn't smiling anymore, and his brows are pulled low.

"I really fucked up my timing, huh?"

Matthew winces. "Just a little, yeah." Makes two of us. He's about to say more but Leon waves a hand.

"But you were going to leave anyways, I know. I got it."

"Leon--"

"I'm not here to stop you. I just wanted to... you know."

I don't want this to be over. I want to make this work.

Still an open book.

Matthew angles his head, forces Leon's eyes back to him, staring right into that mystifying grey-blue that always reminded him of a thunderstorm. Everything about Leon kind of reminds him of one. What does that make Matthew? A whirlwind? A hurricane? Storms, both of them.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay." Matthew steps closer, crowding Leon against the wall this time. They may not have known what they were doing before, but Matthew knows what he wants now.

Leon must have found his answer too, because he kisses Matthew again, no less meaningful than the last, pulling Matthew into his body, into his hands, his mouth. Breathing his air and tasting his tongue, giving and taking until they're light-headed and fitting pieces of each other together.

"You better not be fucking with me, Draisaitl," Matthew pants out once he's got his breath back.

He doesn't get far before he's pulling Leon to him, into his arms, getting the bulk of him in a crushing hug. And Leon hugs him back, a deep laugh rumbling right in Matthew's ear and fingers carving into his back. That's answer enough.

Somehow, Matthew is strong enough to let go. And just like that the world is moving again. He's too aware of everything outside their little alcove, so loud and invasive. He's running out of time. His future's waiting for him down south.

When they step back out into bright lights and bustling strangers, Leon's got his hat and hood back on, keeping his head tilted low. He doesn't stray far, bumping Matthew's arm every so often as he walks with him through luggage check and down towards the gates.

They get to security, and for the first time since the trade decision was made, Matthew hesitates. This is what he wanted. What he still wants. What he needs. The only variable left is...

Leon has stopped a few steps behind, leaving Matthew stranded and alone. He turns back around to find Leon watching him silently. They may as well be the only ones in the world, the way his vision tunnels.

"Well," Matthew says, words clogging his throat. "Guess I'll... see you around. We'll talk. I'll call, or..."

"I'm serious, Matthew." His name always sounds beautiful and dangerous on Leon's tongue. "About this. You and me."

And fuck, Matthew's only human. He drops his bag, marches back over to Leon and tugs him into another kiss. He nearly knocks the hat off Leon's head with the force, crushing his lips and clacking their teeth together. It doesn't even matter if people see them.

One more time. Just one more. Until they can see each other again.

"I know." Matthew shudders against Leon's eager mouth, kissing the smile that breaks out under his lips. "I want to try us too."

He swallows the strangled sound that comes up from Leon's throat, tipsy with it, like he's getting drunk just from this. Is that possible? Fuck knows, but he sure as hell wants to find out one day.

Matthew jerks back, breathless, hot-cheeked, and beaming.

"And I'm gonna be fucking great."

If Leon wasn't slack-jawed, if they weren't the them they are now, he would have chirped Matthew to high hell. If they were on the ice he'd probably put Matthew into the boards just for fun.

But the Leon here and now only scoffs, shaking his head like he's been well and truly defeated. Then he smiles.

"Yeah, I know. So get the fuck out of here and go be great."

[hererafjastori]

The movie Barbie in Princess and the Pauper is deeply misunderstood. In this essay I will…

No but like, seriously. I have come across too many people making fun of “I’m just like you” and fundamentally misunderstanding both the meaning of the song, and Annalise as a character, by acting like Annalise is a rich brat who doesn’t know to be grateful for what she has. So we are going to take an in-depth look at the song, Annalise, Erika, their situations and their character, and make a few things clear.

Let’s start with the above mentioned song, and the widespread opinion, that the girls and the movie act like there is no difference between Annelise living in constant luxury, and Erika suffering the life of an indentured servant. But what is happening has a lot more nuance.

First of: Annelise is not the instigator for this compare and contrast. Note how it’s Erika who starts comparing their lives, not Annelise, who reacts very perplexed. Annelise would have been fine with Erika never figuring out she was a princess, and only starts talking about the luxuries that being a princess grants her, after Erika prompts her. This is not Annalise bragging about her life, downplaying the privilege she enjoys or whining about how hard her situation is. This is her replying to Erikas enquire by both, acknowledging the vast difference there is between their lives, but also by underlining the ridiculousness that is such luxury. We can see later, in the movie, when Erika gets her breakfast, that there are no fucking minstrels. And Erika is totally on board with that, she even plays around with her, look at the way she interacts with the ‘omelet’ Analise presents her with. And later in the song, Erika acknowledges that the ‘married to a total stranger’ situation sucks.

But let’s take a look at the ways they recognize that they are the same. What are their similarities?

“I’m just like you, you’re just like me, there’s somewhere else we’d rather be. Somewhere that’s ours, somewhere that dreams come true, yes I am a girl like you. You’d never think, that it was so, but now I’ve met you and I know. […] ”

“I would never tell my mother. I wouldn’t wanna disappoint her.” “I completely understand.”

“[…]We take responsibility. We carry through, do what we need to do, yes I am a girl like you […] It’s something anyone can see. A heart that beats, a voice that speaks the truth”

So, what are their stated similarities:

They are in a situation they desperately want to escape. They see no option of realizing their dreams and fulfilling their desires or even have a perspective of leading a happy life.

Others lean, depend on and draw from their strength, so they have little to no opportunity of sharing that burden

They recognize that there is a reason they have these duties, and their conscience won’t allow them to even try and shirk said duties. They take up this responsibility that they never wanted, fully aware of the sacrifices that they will have to make.

Throughout it all, they make the active choice not to complain, to stay optimistic, to not loose hope and to carry their burden with dignity and integrity

Nobody disputes that they life very different lives. The first minute of their interaction makes that abundantly clear. Erika even sings “You’d never think that it was so”. Them coming from very different places was never up for debate. What they are comparing is the way they deal with it.

This willingness to endure under the pressure and expectations placed upon them without allowing to loose themselves, is the very core of both of these characters!

And we can see all of this throughout the movie, especially in ‘Free’.

[1] I don’t think I have to explain Erika. We see the direness of her situation in the way Mdm. Karp treats her the times she finds her singing, her threatening to use the excuse of interest to keep her prisoner for basically the rest of her life, the way she treats Annelise, thinking she is talking to Erika after she fled, the fact that she locks her seamstresses in often enough, that there is a routine in place to allow at least Wolfie an escape.

But Annalise is just as worked to the bone as Erika, if in a different way. Her day is planned through, down to the literal minute. Just listen to the start of Free. Her greatest wish is to have one day without work, because she hasn’t had that in living memory. And yes, most of it is studies and keeping up appearances, but in “to be a princess” we get an impression of how much thought and energy that takes. (“be charming, but detached and yet amused […] Never be confused”, “Never fall, don’t ever stray from protocol. All through the day, there’s just one way you must behave” “Never crack” “Never show a thing you feel inside. Glide.” “to be a princess is to never get to rest” “Never squirm […] Speak and be clever, never at a loss for words” “Never show dismay and be there when people call, be prepared whatever royal life may bring” “Never ever turn your back. There’s a time and place and way for everything”)

She has to be flawless, confident, and composed throughout the day without the  slightest hint of being imperfect. She has little to no privacy, she is constantly observed, perceived, judged by far more metrics than pretty much anyone else, and is she falls short of them and say, worsens relationships with another kingdom, makes a bad decision in ruling the kingdom, makes the kingdom appear weak in any way, her people will be the ones to pay the prize. And all that is without taking the marriage into consideration. She doesn’t know who Dominic is! We know that he is a great guy, but for all Annelise knows, he could be the kind of person Preminger reveals himself to be. Even if he is a decent guy, it would likely be a loveless marriage. That is a sacrifice (as we can see when her mother is forces into the very same position), especially if it means sacrificing her relationship with Julian, her childhood friend, who shares her interests, helps her through all that nonsense, and understands her better than anyone. On screen, he is the only person she truly opens up with, other than Serafina (who is a cat), and Erika (who she only met that day, and has little emotional investment in the whole thing). Erika and Dominic sing a whole duet about the importance of knowing each other in order to have a functioning relationship, and she has had that with Julian for years. They both (Julian is clearly just as devoted and self-sacrificing as she is) accept to let this unspoken thing between them slip through their fingers, with no hope of ever finding something comparable, and the prospect of drifting apart with time, all for the sake of the kingdom.

And in terms of hope for the future, Annelise is just as bad of, if not worse than Erika. Erika has been working continuously to escape her situation, and never given up hope (“My determination’s strong. People will gather around the world to hear my song! Soon I will forever be free). And in the meantime, she has found small ways to fight back against Mdm. Karp (She can never stop my schemes). How realistic it is to ever pay off Mdm. Karp is a different matter, but she still has a fighting spirit. Annelise meets Erika, while in the process of making peace with the fact, that this was it for her, and there will be no coming back from this (“Now I fear I’ll never be Free” “I’m savoring a first and last taste of freedom”).

[2] In terms of hope and determination, Erika is doing the emotional heavy lifting for both herself, and the other seamstress. And Annelise is putting up a strong façade for even her mother, because in the face of the lack of options, she doesn’t want to burden her mother with the knowledge that she is damning her daughter to an unhappy life.

[3] I already explained Annelise’s situation in detail. Because she was born in royalty, she is tasked with a lot of responsibility, and even though she had no choice in the matter, she still accepts her cross to bear, and does so silently knowing the great personal cost she’ll have to pay. For Erika, they kind of fumbled the ball with the duties she chooses to accept, seeing as pretty much the sole person to suffer from her just, running away and ignorin her 'duties' would be her active abuser. Even if she has yet to pay back all the money her parents borrowed from Mdm. Karp (something she had no say or choice in), she has more than done her time in emotional suffering, and saying that staying in this toxic environment is her duty is not a message I agree with. But in-universe she explicitly states such convictions, so any and all points on the matter of her dutiful behavior still stand. One might be able to twist her duty to be to not leave the other seamstress to suffer alone, but that has no textual evidence. But we see this willingness to sacrifice for the sake of duty and responsibility most strongly, when she agrees to help Julian out and take Annelise’s place. There are two ways this could play out: she get’s away with it, or she doesn’t. We see both, her options are being thrown into the royal dungeon for treason, or being locked away by Mdm. Karp for running away, and knowing those where her prospects, she still chose to do this for the sake of both Annelise and the kingdom.

[4] Just, listen to free, watch the movie. These two girls prove their inner strength and endurance time and time again. They always keep going, searching for solution after solution, no matter what obstacles lie in their way (Being sent away at the palace gates, escaping Mdm. Karp, escaping the mines, escaping the dungeon, etc.). Their drive, determination, endurance and unbendable spirit are admirable.

“I close my eyes, and feel myself fly a thousand miles away. I could take flight, but would it be right, my conscience tells me stay. I’ll remain forever royal. I’ll repay my parents debt. Duty means doing the things your heart may well regret. But I’ll never stop believing/ she can never stop my schemes. There’s more to living than gloves and gowns and thread and seams, in my dreams, I’ll be free”

This is the end of free, the core of them, and the thing they recognize in each other, and I will no longer allow any slander against either them!

[velvetvexations]

I know it's heteronormative and not great even if it wasn't for implying the only relationship possible between a boy and a girl is romantic, but I like the poetry of the lyrics "he was a boy, she was a girl/can I make it any more obvious?".

It's interesting how the world can change so completely for a line like that to lose it's meaning. Because it's a great thing that we recognize non-heteronormative love and that boys and girls can be just friends, and the whimsy of a line of from a 90s pop song is more than an acceptable sacrifice for that, but isn't it just...wild how different everything is now, for something like that to no longer register the way it did when it was a considered a reflection of reality?

You may say that of course queer people existed and boys and girls were friends in the 90s, and obviously not everyone agrees on those two points even today, so it can't be treated like some kind of universal, objective change from one state to another.

Nonetheless, I think even two 90s lesbians hearing that line would have laughed about it but still be so immersed in that being the norm that it still felt...well, normal. Maybe not a reflection of reality intellectually, but emotionally, in the sense that you would still expect pop culture to be that way and when faced with it you might laugh at the irony of your defiance of it but still accept it as what's going on. Or I don't know, maybe queer people could ensconce themselves almost exclusively in queer culture even then, but even if that were the case the queer community was so much smaller that I think my premise that the lyrics fit Consensus reality in the 90s is correct.

Conversely, there are plenty of people who want to go back to that time for exactly that reason, to wind back all the progress and acceptance of queer rights, but like, fuck them, they don't count. No, seriously, because they live in a world where Trump is a Christian and trickle-down economics works, when I talk about perceived reality I'm talking about "our" reality. Even reality among progressives can fracture along pretty major lines, as you know if you've followed me for like five minutes, but I think one thing I and even the worst transradfem tankie can agree on is that those lyrics are obsolete these days. Although they might say the second reason is less "because boys and girls can be friends" and more "because boys and girls can only be enemies".

They say the past is a foreign country; they do things differently there. Nostalgia and decrying the present is as old as human civilization, but I think social and technological progress over the last couple of centuries has done a lot to make it really explode to levels that are a little brain-rattling when you stop and think about it.

[culpeppercheckers721]

Ok but in all seriousness, if we are gonna discuss Peggy OUTSIDE of just the hot bracket. 😂 I know we’re all like “I support women’s wrongs!” and I do love strong female characters myself, even when I know they’re villains! However Peggy may be the exception to that rule, because as much as it seems to go weirdly unacknowledged at times, I’d like to just say that Peggy is just. Objectively. Not that great of a person. 🤡

If I can just explain my viewpoint, I recognize that going into the show, I was always biased because I had already done some light research on her and the Arnold treason plot and knew about her historically, so I already absolutely detested Peggy Shippen before seeing Turn’s characterization of her, where yes she does get something of a sympathetic portrayal as many loyalists and redcoats do on this show (which is generally good because history is complicated, and it’s not all black and white, so I’m not saying that was a bad choice or anything!!), but I still don’t think it sugarcoated her enough for Peggy to be seen as a morally great character. 😅

Regarding how she totally manipulated Arnold into joining the British and basically ruining his own life, I want to preface this with YES I also hate Arnold and would punch him if I could, and YES I think Arnold was perfectly capable of ruining his own life by himself, but that being said… it is still pretty painful to watch, and if not for Arnold’s sake, than for the sake of everyone else who was negatively impacted by his treason. 💀 Honestly, there are some similarities I find between how dangerous Mary can be and how dangerous Peggy can be, only I think the key difference is that Mary uses it for “good” and Peggy uses it for “evil,” if you will. 😂 I don’t think Mary is some flawless goddess, and I get the argument that everything Peggy did was for Andre and how devoted she was to him… but I don’t think it’s a reach for me to say that with the exception of Andre, she may or may not sacrifice others’ happiness for her own. And have we forgotten the candlestick scene??? When she was threatening Cicero, talking to him about her family’s servants getting rewarded vs. getting horsewhipped and asking him which one he would prefer??? (Honestly, even if she did end up on their side since she wanted to help with the kidnapping, I think Abigail should have got to knock Peggy out with the candlestick just for fun, who knows if she’d even remember it after anyways 💀) Like some of Peggy’s insensitive words likely just happen since she’s a product of her time, and since she grew up as privileged and rich as she did (let’s not forget Andre himself noting how her family views themselves as above essentially everyone, even the king’s authority which you’d think would matter to loyalist-leaning parties at the time), but that scene rather rubs me the wrong way. 😬 And remember that time when her and Philomena were essentially fighting over Andre even after he was already DEAD LMAO, and just because Philomena was rude to her once she got her sent to fucking PRISON??? LIKE HELLO POOR PHILOMENA. 💀

As traumatizing as I’m sure it was for her to see Andre die, and as much as I genuinely pity her then, I don’t think that’s an excuse for THAT course of action. And further still, there’s nothing that makes her actions prior to his death quite ok either. I could go on and on about this all day y’all but I think you get the point lol Peggy Shippen is simply… someone I would never want to be around. 😀 Like, it genuinely scares me sometimes when I remember that, of course, there are manipulative people like her still out there now. 😀 Not exactly fun to consider.

There’s a great video touching on this general topic from Not Even Emily who is far funnier than me, but to repeat her point, “women [and therefore female characters] can be bad people, too, and that’s true equality, babe!” 😂 So if you simply like Peggy as something of a morally grey or even morally bad character then I won’t try to talk you out of that of course, and even if you do for whatever reason defend her, you’re still entitled to your opinion! I know for a fact I can’t talk everyone out of liking her and nor would I try since that’s just as controlling as she is lol, but I still have just wanted to get this out of my system for a while since I find it to be sort of odd that this topic isn’t discussed more lmao.

Thank you so much if you actually read this besties, it is appreciated 💕

[fizzigigsimmer]

Moonwood Part 3

|&lt;<Part One|

Steve tries to avoid Billy at school, but Billy just seems to be everywhere. Steve will cut through a different hallway or deliberately hang back in one class before heading to his next just to limit his chances of running into Billy, and yet half the time he’ll run into Billy anyway.

Sometimes Billy will be hanging out next to some lockers with other moonwood guys - it’s weird but Steve can recognize them just by how big they all are - and sometimes he sees Billy leaving a classroom door with his arms slung over a blushing girl’s shoulders and his stomach twists. It’s because of the way Billy always looks at Steve - his gaze always seems to find Steve no matter what he is doing or who he is with, and burn - like he wants to eat Steve alive.

The one place Steve can’t avoid Billy is history class, which they share and have the bad luck of being alphabet buddies in the seating arrangement. Steve’s never been a good student to begin with, but it’s even harder to focus with Billy breathing down his neck. Billy is going out of his way to intimidate Steve and it doesn’t take Steve long to see it. If he gets there before Steve Billy will put his feet in Steve’s chair or up on his desk, and act like he can’t see Steve just trying to get to his seat in peace.

An irritated, “Hey, you wanna move?” from Steve the first time it happens earns him a lazy shrug and a, “Nope” popped from between Billy’s pink lips. 

He made a mistake the first day looking toward the door as the teacher shuffled in with her nose in a steaming mug and her glasses crooked on her nose. Even though she’s on the frumpy side and obviously raises cats for fun, Steve can’t believe how unbelievably cocky Billy is when he laughs and goes, “You’re shitting me. You think Mrs. Samuals is gonna save you? That’s sad even for a pipsqueak.”

So now Steve doesn’t even bother with formalities. When he walks into history and sees Billy's dirty combat boots propped up on his desk, or in his seat, he just shoves them off and does his best to ignore Billy taunting him the rest of class.

“I’m doing you a favor Princess. We gotta build up those arms.”

Billy’s mouth is not the most frustrating thing about him. Billy making mean comments about Steve’s answers when he’s unfortunate enough to get called on is one thing. Steve’s no brainiac and if Billy wants to joke that he’s got nothing between his ears, it’s nothing Steve hasn’t heard before. 

Steve could handle it if all Billy wanted to give him was lip. What he can’t handle is the way that after a week of Billy’s stupid nicknames - Princess, Pretty Boy, and Pipsqueak are his favorites - he’s started to forget that he’s not those things. 

Two weeks of Billy shoulder checking him in the hallways, and slapping him on the back hard enough to rattle Steve’s teeth after making some comment that just highlights how much bigger and stronger Billy is in comparison, and Steve actually starts to feel small.

Steve has his share of problems like any teenager but he’s not used to feeling vulnerable or small. Like something hunted in the forest with the fear of death hanging over him. He’s honest with himself. He realizes he’s always been the guy doing the hunting, and that he probably owes a lot of people back in Hawkins some apologies. This feeling SUCKS; but Hawkins is in the past and there’s nothing he can do about it. All he wants to do is survive the next year, and he’s sure as hell not going to spend it looking over his shoulder and running from his own shadow. Fuck that.

Basketball tryouts are on Friday at the end of his third week, right before the big bonfire. That Monday Steve starts to seriously toy with the idea of going for it. Billy wants to be an asshole, then let him be an asshole. Two can play that game.

Despite Billy’s obvious animosity towards Steve, it’s only really Billy who gives Steve shit at school.  

The first week a couple of guys from moonwood tried shoving him into a locker and picking up the whole “pipsqueak” thing, but they weren't expecting Steve to fight back or for Randy and Chet to come to his rescue and even out the fight. To be fair, Steve wasn’t expecting Chet to stick up for him either because he’s Billy’s best friend and co-captain of the basketball team. 

There’s no way Chet hasn’t gotten the memo that Steve is on Billy’s shit list. But Steve figures Chet must be more mature and realizes that this highschool drama bullshit doesn’t really matter now, and definitely won’t matter to most of them in a year. Good for Chet. He wishes some of his chill would rub off on Billy.

After realizing that Steve isn’t afraid to throw a punch and that calling him names isn’t going to stop him from scoring with the girls they wish they could score with, the other moonwood guys get the memo that Steve’s not an easy kill and seem content to sit back and wait for Billy to do it for them. But thankfully Billy doesn’t try anything harder with him than a shoulder bump and a few dark promises when he’s warning him away from some girl like they’re in a cheap gangster movie. For now he seems fine with his verbal warnings but Steve’s not betting on that holding forever.

Girls are the one area of Steve’s life that doesn’t feel like it’s been turned upside down. He’s shiny and new to the Schiller girls who think he’s some kinda badass for moving to Moonwood and spending his summer hiking in the woods. He knew the national forest is populated with several protected wolf packs, but he’s surprised by how many of the girls have stories about some dumbass who wandered off the public trails and got eaten by the local wildlife. It sounds like simple cause and effect to him, but he supposes it’s more fun to blame it on werewolves.

Anyway he’s a pussy magnet with the Schiller girls because he slept in a tent in the woods a few times, and the Moonwood girls love him because he’s new and he isn’t peeing his pants over Billy giving him shit. 

As Sasha puts it, Steve’s got balls, but he’s not a meathead who thinks a fingerbang under the boardwalk is romance. He listens first to them complain about their parents, their boyfriends, and all the bullshit expectations adults like to heap on teenagers, and then he asks for permission to feel them up. Plus he likes making them laugh. 

They call him cute. Steve’s eighteen-years-old and officially a grown ass man, but to Sasha and the volleyball girls he’s “Stevie-doll”. Steve’s not sure when the Moonwood girls decided he was their doll but Steve’s not as dumb as he looks. 

Any situation that ends with him having the baddest women he’s ever known fighting over who gets the prime cuddle spot is a good situation. The trouble of course with the girls deciding that Steve’s their new best friend and revenge fling all rolled into one is the way it pisses off other guys. Especially the moonwood guys. Randy was not kidding about how territorial they are over “their” girls. It’s kinda messed up actually the way they act like this is the 50s or something and the girls can’t think for themselves. Steve sticks up for the girls cause it’s the right thing to do, but he knows it’ll be trouble before too much longer if something doesn’t change.

It’s crazy but he still wants to try out for the basketball team. Maybe there’s just something in Steve that can’t back down from a challenge or maybe it’s the weird way Steve still feels drawn to Billy despite everything. He doesn’t know why it became a fight and what the rules are, he just knows he doesn’t want to back down from this one.

When Steve tells Sasha what he’s planning he’s expecting her to warn him off it, but he’s surprised when she and the other girls smile and share secretive looks.

“I’m sure you’ll do great, and the guys on the team are really solid. They’d be a good pack for you.”

Steve thinks that’s a very strange way for her to put it. It’s not the first time that Steve has heard that word tossed around casually when the subject of making friends comes up. His grandparents and his aunt do it all the time. But Sasha is so much younger than them, and yet she still refers to the rest of the girls on the team as her “pack”. 

Steve thought it was a joke when they called him an honorary member and made him promise not to let any of the guys steal him away. But he can tell they’re serious now about Billy and Chet and the other basketball guys being good for him.

It weirds him out a little if he’s honest. A lot of things about Moonwood are weird that he has sort of ignored because his head was still spinning from the divorce and his life changing faster than he could take a breath sometimes. But things are slower now and Steve’s noticing more things.

Like how much bigger everyone in Moonwood is. They’re not freakishly big like giants or anything. If he’d met any one of his new neighbors back in Hawkins he wouldn’t have thought anything of it at all. But when they’re all together it’s noticeable that they’re different from the rest of the kids at Schiller High. It’s like someone moved the baseline up a notch without telling him.

He’s started to wonder if the additional height and the muscle is genetic because he hears other people in Moonwood speaking in Lythan, even though it took him a while to pay enough attention to recognize it. Steve realizes there must have been more immigrants than just his ancestor when he came to this country and that there’s a story there. He starts to wonder why he’s never heard it. Why his mom has never told him anything about her side of the family at all. 

When they were estranged that was one thing, but they’ve been here for months and Steve still has so many questions. When he gets home from school that Thursday before try-outs he decides to confront her and get some answers.

Steve’s mom is tall, like a model, with legs and arms that go for miles, and enough glossy hair for a shampoo commercial. He’s never thought of her as ‘big’ or ‘unusual”. At least not before he walks in on her and his aunt repainting the downstairs den, and realizes neither one of them have to use a ladder or a step stool to reach the ceiling with their rolling brushes.

Steve’s dad used to get on his mom a lot about her looks all the time. He expected her to always be the same gorgeous girl he met that one summer between highschool and college and she accommodated him. Steve blinks at her, noticing a lot of things for the first time since they moved to Moonwood.  

She’s gotten tan, and she’s stopped waxing and plucking the way she used to - Steve absolutely gets his hairiness from her side of the family. She's also started to fill out some with all of his grandmother’s cooking. She looks bigger.

She looks happier. Happier than he’s seen her in ages. Robust even. He used to be so worried about her being too thin, skipping meals, and crash dieting all the time, that his perspective of her has been skewed for years.

She is not a small woman. Maybe Steve only ever saw her that way because she was with his dad, who needed her to be. The realization makes him sad, but also suddenly furious. He wants to punch his dad so hard in the face he can feel it like an itch. 

The feeling comes on so strong it kinda scares him and he sucks in a breath. That’s when his mom and aunt Julie finally notice he’s watching them from the doorway.

“Oh! Steve. Hi pippin, I didn’t realize you were home.”

Steve’s mom used to call him that when he was really little, until his dad made her stop. She blinks a little at Steve, realizing at the same time that he does what has just slipped out of her mouth.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I know you’re too big for that now.” 

Steve decides his questions can wait. He just wants to keep seeing her happy.

“It’s fine. What’s for dinner?” he asks with a smile and when she beams at him, he knows he made the right decision.

[Part 4]

Friendly Tags for those who expressed interest: @darleenjade @sweetwaterangel @dragonflylady77 @natchula @tip-tap-tired @sparklingsprinkles @adelacreations