#how to write a contract

[datamyte2022]

Tips for Drafting a Contract: A Guide with Templates

In the world of business, contracts are vital documents that establish the terms of agreements between parties, ensuring mutual understanding of each party's rights and responsibilities. Learning how to draft a proper contract is crucial, as a well-written contract protects your interests and fosters a transparent relationship between all parties involved.

This article will guide you through the essential steps of writing a contract and provide useful tips to help you get started.

Key Elements of Contract Writing

Before delving into tips and templates, it's important to understand the core principles of contract writing. Here, we'll review the essential elements of a contract.

What is a Contract?

A contract is a legal agreement between two parties, where one party promises to perform a certain task or provide something of value in exchange for consideration (something of value). If either party fails to meet the terms, legal action can be taken.

Contracts are essential for businesses as they outline the expectations and responsibilities of each party, avoiding confusion. For instance, if you're a web designer working with a client, your contract should specify the project's timeline, design expectations, payment terms, and deadlines.

Once both parties agree and sign the contract, they are legally bound to fulfill their respective duties.

Key Components of a Valid Contract

For a contract to be enforceable, it must include several fundamental elements. Here's a breakdown of what makes a contract valid:

Offer and Acceptance: One party makes an offer, and the other party accepts it.

Intention to Create Legal Relations: Both parties must intend for the agreement to be legally binding.

Consideration: This refers to what is exchanged between the parties.

Capacity to Contract: All parties must have the legal ability to enter into the agreement.

Consent: The agreement must be entered voluntarily, without coercion.

Legality: The contract must not involve illegal activities.

These elements ensure that the contract is legitimate and enforceable, protecting both parties involved.

The Importance of Clarity

A well-written contract should be clear and precise, with no room for misinterpretation. Clear terms build trust between parties and ensure that everyone is on the same page about their obligations. Furthermore, a well-structured contract is easier to enforce legally. To achieve this, avoid complex legal jargon, and ensure that the language is simple and direct.

Steps to Draft a Contract

Now, let's walk through the general steps to draft a contract. While each contract will vary based on the situation, these steps provide a reliable framework:

Identify the Parties: Clearly state the full legal names and contact details of everyone involved in the contract.

Define the Purpose: Articulate the reason for the contract. A clear description of its purpose prevents future misunderstandings.

Outline the Terms and Conditions: This is the heart of the contract. Specify each party’s rights and obligations in detail.

Set a Duration: Include the start and end dates, or conditions under which the contract will terminate or be renewed.

Payment Terms: Specify the payment amount, method, and due dates, along with penalties for late payments.

Dispute Resolution: Include provisions for resolving any conflicts that may arise, such as mediation or arbitration.

The Benefits of Using Contract Templates

Templates can simplify the process of creating a contract. They provide a basic structure, saving you time and effort while ensuring that all necessary clauses are included. Here’s how templates can benefit your business:

Time-saving: Templates streamline the contract-writing process, allowing you to focus on specific terms.

Consistency: Templates ensure uniformity across contracts, making them easier to review.

Reduced Errors: Many templates are created by legal professionals, minimizing the risk of missing key details.

Cost-effective: Using templates can help reduce legal costs for simpler contracts.

Where to Find Contract Templates

You can find contract templates in various places, including:

Legal platforms: Websites like LegalZoom and Rocket Lawyer offer pre-made contract templates.

Software tools: Programs like Microsoft Office and Google Docs offer editable templates.

Professional associations: Industry-specific templates are often available through these organizations.

Legal consultancies: Many law firms provide templates tailored to specific needs.

While templates are a useful starting point, always customize them to fit your specific requirements and consult a legal expert to ensure they comply with relevant laws.

Customizing Templates for Your Needs

Once you have a template, it’s crucial to adapt it to your particular situation. Here are some tips for customization:

Assess Your Needs: Identify the specifics of the agreement, such as payment terms or confidentiality requirements.

Choose the Right Template: Select a template that fits the type of contract you need (e.g., service, employment, rental).

Fill in Details: Replace placeholder text with the actual details of the agreement.

Add Unique Clauses: If necessary, include any additional provisions that are specific to your agreement.

Review Thoroughly: Once customized, read the contract carefully to ensure accuracy and completeness.

Essential Components of a Well-Written Contract

While every contract is unique, certain elements should be included to ensure it is comprehensive and legally binding:

Clear Language: Use straightforward, easily understandable terms.

Description of Goods/Services: Provide a detailed account of the items or services involved.

Payment Terms: Specify the amount, schedule, and any late payment penalties.

Termination Clause: Define the duration of the contract and conditions for termination.

Confidentiality/Non-Compete: Include clauses to protect sensitive information or prevent competitors from engaging in certain activities.

Common Mistakes to Avoid

Drafting a contract is complex, and it's easy to make mistakes. Here are some common pitfalls:

Ambiguity: Ensure all terms are clear and unambiguous to avoid confusion.

Incomplete Information: Missing details, like incorrect names or dates, can invalidate a contract.

Legal Compliance: Ensure your contract adheres to relevant local, state, and federal laws.

Skipping Legal Review: Always have a legal expert review your contract before finalizing it.

Seeking Legal Assistance

While using templates is a helpful starting point, seeking legal advice is crucial, especially for complex or high-stakes contracts. A legal expert can ensure that your contract complies with all applicable laws and helps protect your interests.

By following these guidelines and using templates effectively, you can draft clear, enforceable contracts that protect your business and establish solid agreements with partners, clients, and employees.

[mrspiffy123]

Hollow Knight's Adventures with Dewi

"Okay, dad! I'm heading out to the woods for a bit!" Dewi threw his bag over his shoulders and tied up his boots. He wanted to spend every possible moment in Hallownest that he could. His dad called back, "Again? You've gone out every day for the past month… just be sure you have your walkie talkie so I can reach you." Dewi was already halfway through the door as he shouted back, "Don't worry, I got it!" and leapt out of the front door, heading back to the cave to meet up with Ghost, Hornet, and all is other insectoid friends.

After some time, Dewi reached the cave Hornet had first brought him to. He'd gotten better at navigating with each visit. Just as Dewi was grabbing the flashlight out of his backpack, he heard a rustle coming from behind. Whatever it was, it sounded much larger than the squirrels and small prey he was used to seeing. He quickly turned around, but didn't see anything. Dewi held the flashlight close in case he needed to bonk anything and run. Suddenly, from a bush popped up to… horn? Antlers? They didn't look like any animal Dewi had seen before. Quickly, the rest of the figure followed until out from the bush appeared… a small, cloaked child. They looked even younger than Dewi, and the wooden mask they wore looked exactly like his friend, Little Ghost.

"Uh… hi?" Dewi lowered his flashlight.

The figure nodded.

"Sorry, I was just… um… meeting some friends here. Do- do you know them? They go by Hornet and Little Ghost- er, just Ghost… I guess"

They nodded again, this time more enthusiastically. The figure pointed to itself.

"You do know them? That's why you're wearing that mask, right?"

They shook their head and again pointed at themselves.

"You… Ghost, is that actually you?"

The figure nodded and walked up to Dewi. Even though Dewi could now see eyes through the mask, their gaze remained empty as usual. He did, however, notice a small sword hanging by their side. "You, still have your sword I see… no, what did Hornet call it? A nail! Though… I guess sword would be more appropriate now." Ghost followed Dewi's gaze and slowly unsheathed the sword. It hesitated in almost every action, like every movement was a conscious effort.

The sword was real, no doubt about it, but it was a far cry from the glowing, pure white metal either of them were used to. The edge was noticeably sharp, but the blade itself was made from a dull, gray alloy. As Ghost put the sword back in its sheathe, Dewi couldn't help but keep asking questions, "What's happening? Did this happen to anyone else? Are they okay? Are you okay? What's going on?" Ghost waited for Dewi to catch his breath before simply shaking their head once. "Nothing, you don't even know or why this happened? W-what's the last thing you remember? Can you act it out?" The little one thought for a moment. It took a step back and started mimicking vague actions. Old habits die hard, it seems, for even with its new limbs and dexterity, Ghost couldn't manage much beyond stiffly waving its arms about.

"I'm sorry, I- I'm not getting anything from that. You can stop." Ghost came back and sat on a nearby rock. The two sat together in silence for a minute, both trying to process what they've found themselves in. After a while, Dewi took off his backpack and began rifling around in it, "Are you… hungry? Do you still need to eat? Did you need to eat before?" Just as he asked, the two heard a rumbling straight from the little one's stomach! Ghost nearly fell off its seat in shock before quickly readying a hand on its sword. Dewi just let out a small chuckle, "I guess that answers all three! Here! It's the best thing I could pack this early in the morning." He handed Ghost a small foil packet. It took the packet, and simply… held it.

"Oh, right. You're probably not used to wrapping, let me get that for you," Dewi grabbed the snack and tore the top open to reveal two pink frosted poptarts. He handed one to Ghost, who again gave nothing but an empty gaze. "It… goes in here," Dewi pointed at his mouth a took a bite from his own poptart to demonstrate. Ghost followed suit, slipping the confection under its mask and pulling it back to reveal a small chunk taken from the corner. "Now chew it, like this," Dewi started chewing through his food, heavily exaggerating the motion. It took Ghost a moment to figure out the movements, but it eventually got a hang of the process. Dewi tried explaining the rest through a mouthful of frosting and jam filling, "now, you shwallow…" He grabbed his water bottle to wash down the rest. He was about to offer it to Ghost before seeing it clearly struggle to figure out the mechanics of swallowing. Dewi couldn't help but giggle at his friend so clearly out of its element.

"Dewi? Ghost? Is that you, little ones?" The two whipped around towards the voice. Behind them stood a woman much taller than Dewi. Her perfect posture would have made her look quite elegant if it wasn't for the ragged cloak she was wearing. In her hands were a ring and a small harpoon, both attached by a long thread of twine, and she wore a mask just like Ghost, only ceramic instead of wood. Dewi recognized her voice immediately, and her mask was unmistakable. Whatever happened to Ghost, it had happened to her too.

"Hornet!" Dewi nearly leapt at her with a hug. She tried to stop him, but the kid's enthusiasm broke through her guard and toppled them both to the ground. "Dewi, please refrain from doing that again! I am not yet familiar with having only four limbs." She nearly had to pry Dewi off her. "Sorry! You don't know how long I've waited for that, now that we're the same size! Well… human sized, at least," he did his best to help Hornet as she slowly got up from the dirt.

"Dewi, what have you done. How have you made us both higher beings such as yourself?" Hornet straightened her mask and dusted off her cloak.

"I didn't do anything! I don't know how to turn bugs into humans!" Dewi was getting increasingly exhausted with Hornet's insistence on Dewi's status as a "higher being". He sat back down on his tree stump, defeated. "To be honest, I kinda hoped I'd get to be a bug and explore Hallownest with you guys. That place sounds so cool…"

"I wouldn't wish such things, Dewi. Even after you and Little Ghost triumphed over the Radiance, Hallownest is still a dangerous place. With your luck, you would wind up alone, or worse, stuck with Lemm." Dewi perked up at the name, "Who's Lemm?" Even in the current situation, he couldn't stop asking about Hallownest. "Just a crotchety old hermit. Lives in the City of Tears, hoarding and obsessing over his relics. I do not believe he would take kindly to your presence, Dewi. Apologies, I did not mean that as an insult."

"Uh… none taken? Oh! You're probably hungry! Ghost is it okay if I…" he plucked the poptart out of Ghost's hands. It hadn't taken more than that first bite, anyway. "Here!"

"What is this?" Hornet eyed the pastry with suspicion.

"It's food!" Dewi continued to offer it with a smile, "it might be a little sweet, but I really like them!" Hornet grabbed the popart cautiously before breaking off a piece and slipping it under her mask, being sure to keep her face hidden from Dewi. She chewed for only a few seconds before spitting on the ground.

"PLEH! This is the food of higher beings!? Is this even natural?!" She was kind enough to give it back to Dewi instead of the ants.

"Well… my dad says they have all kinds of preservatives. He doesn't like me eating too many. Calls them 'an affront to the natural order' but I think they're really tasty!" He breaks a piece off for himself before giving it back to Ghost who continues to hold it absentmindedly. "Here, have some water," he offers the bottle to Hornet.

She grabs the bottle, "This is simply water? Not another disgusting concoction of higher beings?"

"Well you don't have to be mean about it… but yeah, it's just water." He takes the bottle when Hornet's finished and sets it back in his back. He offers Hornet a seat at their new, impromptu meeting spot, to which Hornet silently obliges.

"Dewi, we need to know what is happening, and we are unfamiliar with your world. We do not know if this has happened to anyone else, or who. Are you willing to guide us?"

@lilybug-02 @violetthunderstorm

[prettycalla]

angie, my love!

how would you feel about writing random little kisses on lips/hands/neck throughout the day with Michael? 🫶🏻

(Appreciate u, Cece!! Full disclosure - I haven't seen Hoard yet as I'm not sure if it'd be the best for my mental health, but since this is only a little thing, it hopefully won't be too obvious.)

Pairing: Michael/Reader

Word count 742

Tags and warnings: Mostly fluff, tiniest hint of smut at the end (if you squint), no use of Y/N.

Masterlist

lips

The shrill sound of an alarm clock jolts you out of a deep sleep. You groan, trying to drown out the noise by burying your face into Michael’s chest.

“Babe,” he calls softly. “I gotta get up.”

You say nothing, clinging to him harder instead.

“Babe,” he tries again, more insistent as he shakes you gently. “You gotta let me up. I’ve got work.”

“Call in sick,” you mumble, voice muffled.

He laughs, as if you don’t say this every single morning.

“I wish I could, darlin’,” he murmurs. “But I’ll only be gone a few hours. Back before you know it, alright?”

You finally relent, releasing your grip on him. He leans in, tilting your head up. His hands are gentle against your sleep-warm face.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

You move closer, trying to slide your arms around his neck when he grabs your wrists to stop you.

“Behave,” he warns, a teasing smile on his face.

You huff at him, pushing your lower lip out in the hopes that he'll feel sorry for you.

It doesn't work. He lets you go with a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Love you,” he says, as he gathers up his clothes and heads to the bathroom.

“Love you too,” you mumble, rolling over to his side of the bed and falling asleep again.

hands

Michael’s been slumped in front of the TV for the better part of the afternoon. The middle of the day is never his best time.

“What’s on?” you ask, dropping down on the settee next to him.

“Haven’t got a clue,” he replies, almost robotically.

His eyes are drooping. He’s fighting sleep.

You smile to yourself, pulling the cushion out from behind you and placing it on your lap.

“C’mere,” you say.

Michael's head drops forward for a second as he nods off. He wakes back up with a start. You manage to stifle the laugh threatening to burst out of you.

“Michael,” you call.

He turns to look at you with bleary, unfocused eyes.

“Come on, lie down,” you say, patting the cushion.

“Can’t, I won’t sleep later,” he mumbles as he slumps into your lap.

“I won’t let you sleep too long, promise,” you tell him, your fingertips scratching along the little hairs at the back of his neck.

He lets out a loud yawn, pulling your hand around to press a kiss to your palm.

“You’re an angel, y’know that?” he says softly, kissing along your thumb and the inside of your wrist.

“Get some sleep,” you tell him.

The room falls silent, save for the soft sounds of the TV. You pat gently around the cushions of the settee, looking for the remote. You notice it sitting on the coffee table in front of you. Just out of reach, and Michael’s already snoring.

You sigh, letting your head fall back. Maybe a nap wouldn’t do you any harm either.

neck

“God, I missed you,” he whispers as his teeth nip at your neck.

You gasp, a startled little laugh escaping you.

“I was only gone a few hours,” you say, tilting your head back to allow him better access.

Michael fumbles with your jacket, slipping it off your shoulders into a heap on the floor.

“Felt like forever,” he replies, rough hands sliding up your shirt. “You didn’t wake me up.”

“You looked so peaceful, I couldn’t- ah- bring myself to do it,” you manage to say, becoming more and more distracted.

It’s true you’d tried to rouse him not long after you’d woken up, but he was dead to the world. He clearly needed it. So when it came time for you to get up for your book club, you’d managed to slip out without waking him, pulling the throw from the back of the settee over him.

You thought you were doing a nice thing. Michael obviously sees it differently.

“Told you, I won’t sleep now,” he says as he finally manages to get your shirt off and tosses it across the room.

You delicately hook a finger into the thin chain that hangs at his collarbones, your other hand curling into the hem of his shirt.

“I’m sure we can find a way to tire you out, hm?” you say coyly, pulling him with you in the direction of your bedroom.

You’re so glad he doesn’t have work in the morning.

(banners by @ cafekitsune)

[casino-lights]

so illario was in the final battle

and this was supposed to be a drabble, but I cannot be trusted to write Illario and Lidia succinctly. TW for a semi graphic description of wounds - I can't tell if it's not really that bad or if I just think the human body is neat so I'm marking that down anyway. no death or descriptions of the wounds being inflicted, though; this is fully set post-battle. the endgame spoilers are fairly mild though - just the location of the final fight.

if you saw my WIP Wednesday, this is what that snippet was from! I hope you enjoy it as much as these two enjoy arguing with each other. thank you for reading!

The dried blood matting half of Lidia’s bangs down against her split scalp didn’t bother her nearly as much as it bothered Teia. She fussed over her gently, blotting a damp rag against Lidia’s head and tutting like a disappointed mother.

“This is what happens,” she scolded between soft pats. “You always run ahead, and you always draw attention, and you always get yourself hurt.”

Absentmindedly, Lidia replied, “I usually work alone.”

“Yes, and this is why.”

“Mm.” The only sign she felt pain was a series of rapid blinks when Teia pressed against a particularly painful cut.

“If you would stop looking around, I’d be done faster.”

Lidia turned her head back toward Teia. “Is it still bleeding?”

“Not that I can see.”

She rose to her feet and brushed the dust of fallen Minrathous buildings off her thighs. “Then I’ll live.”

Teia gave up quickly. She was no one’s parent, no matter how much she cared. “Suit yourself. But Lidia?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve done immensely well. Not just here - since Lucanis’ return as well. House Dellamorte is lucky to have you.”

She smiled thinly. “We’re all just Crows today, Teia.”

“Yes, we are.”

“Speaking of Lucanis…”

Teia nodded her head in the direction of the raucous cheering and the gathered crowd surrounding a few figures climbing down from the rooftop where the final confrontation had taken place. They both saw the flash of a purple jacket at the same time, and a wave of relief washed over them as they shared a look.

“Vi is back a ways, checking the fallen for ours so we can arrange the funerals,” Teia continued softly. “Since you’re upright, could you see to them as well?”

“Of course. Tell Lucanis not to worry about us and just take care of himself if you get a chance to talk to him.”

Teia nodded, and Lidia turned away. She hugged her cape around herself like a blanket as she snaked her way through what was left of the Minrathous streets, hopping over and ducking under various bits of debris that cluttered the city. She caught a few of her fellow Crows out of the corners of her eyes as she passed - most bloodied, bruised, and limping, but alive - and they all shared reassuring smiles with her once they noticed her. We lived, said their grins. We won, and we lived.

She saw Viago leaning against a mostly-intact building, heaving a deep sigh, and she called out to him. He lifted his eyes to her as she approached, but his lips were pulled down into a scowl.

Quietly, Lidia asked, “Is it that bad?”

“We lost just over twenty,” he answered, voice low and solemn. “Not as many as I expected, but… less than ideal. Most were fledgelings, but there’s a small handful of master assassins.”

She felt a selfish desire to ask anyone I know? but stifled it. “Do you need anything? A hand with the bodies? A cart?”

“A cart,” he agreed with a nod. “Though I don’t know if we could get one to the eluvian with the state of Minrathous. We might have to carry them through on stretchers.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. “Which means we’d need able-bodied volunteers, a relatively clear path back to the mirror, enough stretchers to make for less back-and-forth, a cart waiting in the Crossroads…”

“Maybe we can ask Lucanis if he knows a clearer route?” Lidia suggested softly.

He blinked, then sighed with relief. “You saw him?”

“Teia and I. He looks alright. Reasonably unharmed.”

He nodded again, more slowly this time. “It's nice to have some good news, at least.”

Lidia looked past Viago, into the building, and saw rows and rows of white linens draped over bodies. A cold, sick feeling gawed at her stomach as she counted them, and she wondered how many more would succumb to their injuries or simply hadn’t yet been found.

Another fear gripped her, too. She scanned the bodies again, making note of the taller ones. From the shoes she could see, none looked more distinctive than the regular steel-tipped Crow boots. Though some were burned beyond recognition. She felt guilty, searching for just one body among the two dozen lying before her, and guiltier still that she was looking for him at all. 

But she hadn’t seen him with the other Crows. He should have been with Teia, or Lucanis, or even here pestering Viago endlessly. She shouldn’t care. He didn’t deserve it. But she asked anyway.

“Viago–”

“I don’t know.”

“I didn’t even ask yet.”

“No, but you have that look on your face.” Viago sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know where Illario is. Teia saw him last.”

Lidia frowned. “She didn’t mention anything to me, and I was just with her.”

He pulled a hand down his face before pausing to smooth down his beard. “I did not see him among the dead, if that’s what you’re asking, but I have no idea where else he would be right now.”

“Well, he isn’t with Teia, and he isn’t with Lucanis, where he was supposed to be.” 

She glanced over her shoulder just in time to see a pair of Crows carrying the mangled corpse of one of their fellows into the building. Viago sighed again and raked his fingers back through his hair. 

“Dammit. One of Teia’s fledgelings.”

Lidia looked back at him, horrified. “I thought you told them not to come!”

“We did,” he answered, voice pained and eyes closed. “But you of all people should know that doesn’t stop them from wanting to prove themselves.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, steeling himself to write another name on his list. After a moment of silence and a nod at the two Crows as they left the building, he sighed again and said, “Go home, Lidia. We’ve been sending the ones who can walk back to the Diamond for now to care for the ones who can’t.”

“Teia told me to help you.”

“And you can help me by going home,” Viago snapped. “And tell them to put a cart in the Crossroads. And station some people with it in case we need them to carry stretchers through the streets.”

She frowned, but gave a single nod of understanding before turning away. They were all Crows today. And she knew better than to question an order from a Talon.

She was welcomed by the warmth of Trevisan air once the cool, watery feeling of the eluvian faded. For just a moment, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, drinking in the flurry of scents that always filled the Cantori Diamond. The smells of spices, wine, and smoke wafted up from the casino floor, but the familiar chatter and laughter was replaced by eerie quiet, broken up only by the occasional groan or cry of pain.

Lidia’s eyes darted toward a flash of purple and she called out, stopping Chance in his tracks. He leaned back, peering at her curiously from around the corner, but smiled warmly as she approached. 

“Lidia! You made it back.” He touched her shoulder gently before bowing with a flourish. “Welcome home, my lady.”

She returned the expression as best she could despite her headache and festering worry. “Thank you. The Fifth Talon would like a cart prepared in the Crossroads outside the Minrathous eluvian along with some strong, uninjured Crows who can carry bodies back on stretchers if need be.” 

“It will be done. Any other requests?”

She glanced around, but saw no one else nearby. “I heard some of our wounded came through. Where are they now?”

“Using the card tables as extra beds,” he answered before frowning as he smoothed his moustache. “We’ve already lost three, and one more seems to be on his way out. The healers who stayed are all busy, and everyone else went to Minrathous. It’s… going to get better soon. I’m certain. Your arrival can only herald better tidings.”

Again, Lidia bit her tongue to keep herself from asking if the dead were known to her. Instead, she simply nodded to signal her understanding and left. 

As she descended the many flights of stairs separating the rafters from the casino floor, her brow furrowed as her concern compounded on itself. Every step felt heavier as she ran over the names and faces of her favorite Crows in her mind. Lucanis, Teia, Viago, and Chance were safe. Jacobus stayed behind in Treviso after Lidia begged him to - their argument consisted of shouting and frustrated tears, but ended with several forehead kisses and a warm, loving hug once he finally agreed to stay. But the others? Heir, Dolores, Cazi, Valerian? 

Illario?

She hated herself for worrying about him the most. He had not earned back that space in her head, and yet he’d stolen it again. He occupied her thoughts in various stages of injury, and images of him maimed or charred or exsanguinated flashed through her mind. With everything he put her through, everything he lied about, she knew she should be savoring the idea of him dead somewhere in Minrathous. But it haunted her, the thought of never seeing him again. It ached like a stone with sharp edges lodged in her chest.

I should’ve left Treviso entirely, she thought bitterly as she rounded the corner of the final stairwell.

The floor of the Diamond opened up before her, and she sighed at the state of it. About half of the card tables had wounded Crows perched on them - several with especially nasty-looking injuries - and a corner of the room was sectioned off with makeshift dividers. A few trails of blood - droplets, drag marks, or both - meandered off toward different tables. It would take days to get this place functional again. 

Overlapping voices from various healers and patients filled the room. Most were voices she recognized, and she felt a wave of relief as they registered one by one. And as one of them filtered in, her head turned immediately toward the sound.

“I know, quite heroic,” said Illario with a soft groan. “Maybe someday the heroism will outweigh the stupidity.”

Lidia spotted him on a table, shirtless and wrapped in bandages, with his hair swept over one shoulder and a healer tending to his right side. He moved sluggishly and only when told, but his posture was still straight and his voice was still clear. He looked… decent.

She chided herself again for being so worried. Of course Illario was fine. Of course he made it with only minor injuries. Why wouldn’t he? He always had demonic luck. Why worry about him, Illario the traitor, Illario the liar, Illario the cheater, heartbreaker, manipulator–

“Lidia?”

She looked back at him at the sound of his voice, realizing her fingernails were starting to dig into her palms. She grabbed a stray coin off an empty card table and turned it over a few times in her hand as she made her way toward Illario.

He smiled at her approach, winced as he turned too far, and gave a slightly smaller and surprisingly sheepish grin when she reached his side. “Stay right there,” he said, holding out his unbandaged arm. “That’s always been my good side.”

Lidia rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t possibly say hello, or ask me how I am, or ask after Lucanis, could you? Do you even care?”

“I–” He hissed sharply and cursed as the healer pried something off his skin with a sticky sound. He leaned forward at the same time Lidia did, blocking her view of whatever was removed from him, and flashed another forced half-smile. “Of course I care, but I trust your delightful bluntness. I’m certain you would have told me the second you saw me if he was dead. I’m also certain you would look like you’ve been crying.”

She scowled and crossed her arms, angrily spinning the coin between her thumb and forefinger. “You’re a bastard.”

“I’m not, strictly speaking, but I never did get to know my father as well as I would have liked, so I’ll give you–” He cut himself off with another wince as the healer removed another piece from him. Once more, Lidia leaned forward to look, and once more, Illario intercepted her, this time by reaching for her arm.

“Don’t touch me,” she snapped, pulling away from him.

He let his hand fall back to the table. “If there’s one thing I can say about you, it’s that you never gave me mixed signals. I always know exactly where I stand. I love this about you - have I mentioned that?”

“You have. A pity I can’t say the same about you.”

Before he could respond, his head surged backwards and he let out a pained cry as the healer unwound one of the bandages on his arm.

“Apologies,” the healer muttered, “but now that the debriding is done, I need to replace these compresses and apply the rest.”

“Sure,” Illario groaned through his teeth. “You’re the expert.”

Lidia took her opportunity and shifted her stance to see the extent of his injuries. She couldn’t stifle a small gasp, which seemed to hurt him more than anything else.

A splotchy pink burn blossomed across most of his right forearm and about half his bicep, and it continued across the corresponding side of his torso. For the briefest of seconds, he turned his head to look at her fully, eyes wide and pleading, as he inadvertently revealed the connecting burn across the right side of his jawline and down his neck. The moment passed, and he lowered his face and sighed quietly.

Raw, red, sticky-looking flesh was visible in a few places, and as the healer set a small bowl on the table to free his hands, Lidia finally saw its contents: a small pile of dead, mottled tissue. How long had Illario been here, having his skin peeled off piece by blistered piece? Most of the burns looked deep enough to go past the pain, but in some places they were angry and crimson, shining as if wet. 

The healer covered them one by one with bandages soaked in a healing solution as Illario tried to be still. “I told you that was my good side,” he muttered, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Lidia tucked the coin into her pocket and hoisted herself up onto the table beside him, legs kicking off the edge. “So… what happened?”

His eyes fell to the uninjured hand he had resting in his lap. “Magefire.” His voice sounded low, unenthusiastic - a far cry from the initial charm he laid on so thickly. “But this lovely gentleman here–” he motioned lightly toward the healer– “has assured me the wounds are not fatal. Just scarring. You’re crushed, I’m sure.”

Her headache throbbed dully, reminding her not to take his bait tonight. Instead, she said, “I’m just surprised you got hit at all. You’ve always been the luckiest bastard in Antiva.”

“Well, this time, I left Antiva.”

“Which you have done before, and you know what I meant anyway, idiot.”

He shrugged with his good arm, still refusing to meet her eyes. “Lucanis and I were cornered, and I stood in front of him. Foolish thing to do, I know. But I suppose I was trying to make up for something he would probably tell me not to worry about anyway. He was fine last time I saw him, if you’re concerned.”

“I’m not. Unless he tripped over something during his victory march, he’s alive and well…” She trailed off as she looked him over again. His right arm injured, mostly on the outside; his right side burnt while the left half of his body remained untouched; only the lower right corner of his jaw and cheek scorched… he shoved Lucanis behind him with his left arm and shielded his eyes with his right.

“Then I’m sure he’ll give me a stern talking-to for trying to protect him in the first place,” Illario said wearily, finally glancing up to her. “Who knows, maybe all I really achieved was making the First Talon look weak in front of the others.”

“Or making yourself look even more pathetic.”

“Which would just be impressive at this rate, no?” He breathed a soft, humorless laugh. “Illario Dellamorte, the Crow who lost all his dignity in record time. They’ll sing about my failures someday.”

As the healer left to attend to another patient, Lidia touched Illario’s leg, the weight of her hand pleasant and warm on his shin. “If nothing else, it was brave.”

He gave an indecisive tilt of his head. “It was also stupid.”

“More than one thing can be true.”

He gave a wan smile. “Lucanis probably would have been fine if he hadn’t been babysitting me in the first place.”

“Knowing him, he fought harder with you next to him.”

He studied her face, his eyes searching hers for a moment. “You’ve blood on you,” he said, nodding toward her hairline. “Your own?”

“I’m alright.”

“That’s not the answer to my question.”

She rolled her eyes. “It is mine, but I’m still alright.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“Venatori.”

When she did not continue, he deadpanned, “The picture you’ve painted so far is vivid.”

“Don’t vex me, Illario.”

“Am I not allowed to ask for details? To be concerned for you?”

She glared at him. “Now you’re concerned about me?”

“One concussion makes another more likely,” he reminded her in that insufferably knowing tone of his. “And I would hate for my hard work in facilitating your recovery from that first one to go to waste.”

“Yes, but whose fault was my first concussion?”

Indignantly, he flattened his hand against his chest. “I accept no responsibility for the actions of previous targets.”

“But said previous target would have been asleep if it wasn’t for you playing hero.”

“Must we always revisit that night?”

“You brought it up!” Her head ached as she raised her voice, and she massaged her tender scalp gently as she closed her eyes.

His teasing smirk faded to a soft frown, but he replaced it with a subtle smile before joking, “And here I had hoped you would be kinder to me now that you’ve seen the extent of my injuries.”

“Not a chance. My skin is still crawling from being this close to you,” she answered while making no attempt to move farther away.

He arched a brow smugly. “Well, I suppose, as you said, more than one thing can be true.”

“I am… glad… you made it,” she managed reluctantly. “I was looking for you among our dead.”

“Hoping to see me with my skull split, were you?”

Her hand slid up and his uninjured one met her halfway. They locked gently at his side. “You would deserve it, but… no. I was hoping I wouldn’t see your boots.”

“Oh? And I would have thought you’d only know me by my gloves.”

I would know any part of you, her mind brought forth. She blanketed the thought and tucked it away to be scolded later.

“I suppose I’ll be escorted back to the villa and left there to recover,” Illario mused aloud when she didn’t answer his quip. “I wonder if it’ll be too much to ask for Caterina to let me stay in my own room again. And I’m sure Viago will be just as thrilled as you are that I survived.”

“He’s busy. I’ll take you.”

He sighed fondly - if a touch sadly - and stroked her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. “Do you remember the last time you took my care upon yourself? I don’t suppose you’ll be making me pastina this time.”

Lucanis’ wake. She made a hot meal every day and shared it with Illario in silence as they sat in his bed and he stared into the fireplace. At the time, she had no way of knowing that his grief was doubled by guilt and only compounded by her kindness. She did not regret it, not even now, and that frustrated her more than anything else.

She hopped off the table and pulled lightly on his arm. “On your feet, Dellamorte. Come on.”

He swung his legs over the side of the table and winced. “Where are we going?”

“Home. I’m not letting you take up space in the Diamond when others may need it more.”

“I won’t argue with the promise of a more comfortable seat,” he responded with a grimace as he rose to his feet. Looking down at their hands, still entwined between them, he added, “Though we could stop for coffee on the way…”

“The owners of Café Pietra could be lying under rubble in Minrathous right now.”

“...So, no?”

“No.”

She pulled him out the Diamond’s front door and they started the long walk back to Villa Dellamorte. Out of habit, Illario walked at her side so she was safely between him and the buildings. She pretended not to notice, but heat rose in her cheeks all the same.

At a side street, she directed him to turn, and when he gave her that quizzical where are you taking me look, she explained, “We have to stop at the market.” 

“For what?”

“Pastina, idiot,” she said pointedly, as if it should have been obvious.

He smiled and leaned against her, further entangling their arms. “I don’t deserve you, cara mia.”

She glared at him sideways. “No, you don’t. And don’t call me that. Lucanis would be cross with me if I let his brother starve, that’s all this is.”

Neither of them knew if that really was the extent of it. But for once, he neither questioned nor corrected her. 

She held his hand the whole way home, and they sat in silence as they shared a bowl of pastina on his bed. For a night, that could be enough.

[legobiwan]

For the drabble prompt list

"none of this is your fault" mario and luigi

Drabbles, they said, Ha! I answered. Anyway, I have no idea where this came from, but enjoy this barely-edited not-drabble. I am apparently incapable of concise writing right now :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“None of this is your fault, Lou.”

Luigi scoffed, pushing dampened sleeves up both arms, smearing dark, sweaty grease across his skin in wide, impressionistic lines.

“You tell that to Toadsworth in three days. I’m sure he’ll be happy to believe you,” Luigi groused, tightening a stubborn, thick bolt with a violent twist. That should keep the engine boosters from flying off at speeds exceeding thirty miles an hour. (Or as they were counted in the Mushroom Kingdom, five hundred and two mycelia per second, a measuring system so opaque - and infuriating - that Luigi had sat through an entire five-hour Toad Council meeting just so he could petition the government to introduce a bill to launch a public vote on switching to any other quantifier that made a modicum of sense. The notion, of course, was voted down in a manner of seconds. Tradition, Mister Luigi, Toadsworth had sniffed, rapping his long-handled gavel with an imperious gesture, closing off all debate on the matter).

Snobby old toad could stuff it up his spore holes.

“He’ll get over it,” Mario said. “What’s he going to do, anyway? Make us sit through another boring state dinner?”

Luigi poked at a serpentine belt that resembled some slices of old cheese he once found in the back of their fridge in Brooklyn. How these guys managed to stay competitive with equipment in this condition was a complete slap in the face to basic physics.

“You like those dinners.” Luigi crawled out from under the dented chassis, sitting back on his haunches as he gestured at his brother with a ratchet-wrench, making curly patterns in the air as if he were a Magikoopa casting a spell.

“I hate those dinners as much as you. They’re hot, stuffy, and the food is an insult to the entirety of Brooklyn. It’s not my fault I get to sit next to Peach and you’re always stuck with Lady Maitake and her hundreds of onion bulb-pup photos for two hours.”

“Don’t remind me. Did you know she’s trying to train them to do circus acts and take them on the road?” Luigi ran a finger down one of the dusty schematics strewn about the stone floor. “Hand me that spanner, will you?”

Mario shook his head, chuckling, handing off the hooked tool to Luigi, who shimmied once more underneath the maroon-and-black kart. “Look, you got hoodwinked into a bad contract. I should have looked over the fine print before you signed.”

“You’re not my keeper, Mario,” Luigi grumbled, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “And it’s not even the contract that I care about. Frankly, I’m impressed Bowser’s been able to get these things to do anything beyond cough up smoke and crash into the nearest palm tree. It’s a good challenge to get them running again.”

“So what’s the issue, then?”

Luigi stilled, his hands guts-deep in a mess of wiring and cables that looked like an earthworm graveyard. After a moment, he sighed, letting the spanner tool clatter to the floor with a bright, metallic jangle. 

“The issue,” he began, staring up at the internal electronic system of one of Bowser’s so-called best racing karts. “Is that he’s probably going to win. Bowser, that is. And everyone will make nice about it at the awards ceremony and Bowser will get too drunk on elderflower wine and get kicked out of the post-race party.”

“That happens every race, Lou.”

“Yeah, but you know Bowser. He’ll let it slip that I was the one doing repairs on his karts. And then in the morning, there will be a meeting. And Toadsworth will go on about the standing of the Kingdom being compromised and it being a diplomatic catastrophe that we allowed Bowser to win and that,” Luigi adopted a whiny, pompous voice. “Mr. Luigi has once again strained his credibility within the Mushroom Kingdom.” 

“Look, that stodgy old Toad has no chance of making those charges stick. You were exonerated, Weeg. Nothing that happened with Bleck - “ Mario clenched his fists, hissing through his teeth. “Nothing that happened in that place was you. That wasn’t your fault, and neither is this.”

Luigi reached towards one of the dangling battery coils, playing with the violet and yellow wires between his fingers. “Sure,” he breathed. “Not me.”

“Not you,” Mario insisted, his voice steely. “And besides,” he continued, a hint of humor creeping into his words. If you’re so concerned about Toadsworth, why don’t you sabotage Bowser’s fleet?”

Luigi pushed himself out from under the kart, snapping up to a seat in wide-eyed horror.

“And ruin my reputation as an engineer? No way, bro. I’ll risk the treason charges, thank you very much.”

Mario guffawed, ambling over to take a seat next to his brother, the two coming shoulder-to-shoulder, backs set against the passenger door of the Koopa Coupe. “I think your reputation is beyond reproach, Lou.” Mario gave a small, uncertain smile. “After all, you did build two killer robots in the span of two weeks.”

It was a huge step forward, just being able to talk about the whole incident in Flipside, no less joke about it - the ordeal with Bleck and the jester and Luigi’s brainwashing. Mario had stayed tight-lipped about the entire debacle for weeks after they had gotten back, much to Luigi’s aggravation, until things came to a head one night due to a series of ill-conceived plans on the part of the Toad Council, the most brazen of which featured a misserved cup of tea laced with a dubiously legal truth potion.

Luigi sniffed out half a chuckle, nudging his brother in the shoulder. “Well, I can’t let Bowser think I’m slipping, right?”

Mario eyed his brother carefully, his features brightening as he caught the note of mischief in Luigi’s voice. Grinning, he clapped his brother on the knee. “You’ve got an idea, don’t you? The Old Koopa King doesn’t know what he’s got coming.”

Luigi straightened, composing himself into the picture of innocence. “Dear brother, I am a man of my word. Bowser will win the race, just like the contract stipulates.”

“And?”

“Aaand,” Luigi drew out the word, schematics and thermodynamic equations taking shape in his mind. “Let’s say the engine modifications I’m making happen to engage a set of rocket boosters at a certain speed threshold. Bowser’ll like that. But then maybe the activation of those boosters, given a certain location and time input, temporarily cede control of the brakes and steering to a pre-programmed route of the engineer’s choosing.” Luigi paused for dramatic effect. “All after the race is finished, of course. No injuries. No harm. Just a little post-race joyride through the forest.”

Mario gave a joyous whoop, bringing his brother into a tight, side-hug. “They’ll hear him screaming all the way in Rogueport! Ha! You know he’ll threaten to invade during the after-party! No one will care if you worked on his kart once he shows back up breathing smoke!”

“He’ll do that regardless,” Luigi laughed, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “But you know how these modifications are. Always a chance of overburdening your circuits.”

“And at least it’ll be a while before he tries to trick you into doing his dirty work again,” Mario added.

“I hope so.” Luigi placed a warm hand on his brother’s shoulder, smiling. “Thanks, Mario.”

Mario beamed back at his brother, playfully flicking the brim of Luigi’s hat. “Come on, Lou. Show me how to build a sentient robot race kart.”

~~~~~

Drabble writing challenge: Make me sweat!

[applestorms]

two ways that i think you could potentially read this panel (and o!ciel's reaction to his brother coming back more generally):

OPTION 1: o!ciel has given in, fallen for the allure of the power that holding the title of Earl Ciel Phantomhive has granted him. he has gone on w/ this revenge plot (revenge for himself, as he specifically states during EWA, not his dead family) for long enough that he has essentially given up on all of his old familial attachments.

nobody matters except Him now, and maybe the people he can use to get what he wants (sebastian most notably, but perhaps also the other servants, so long as they stay useful). it is the Title and Power and Status that he holds dearly here and that he wants to retrieve, everything associated with the Earl name and his job as the queen's watchdog that he has so painstakingly worked at over the last three years. he wants his land and his life back, and he will do anything and shove anyone down to get that power back.

OPTION 2: o!ciel does not see the undertaker-revived bizarre doll r!ciel as his real brother. rather, o!ciel sees undertaker's revived r!ciel as a fake-- an imposter, if you will. amogus.mp3. and not only that, but this particular ciel is an even worse copy than he is in his eyes, less deserving of the name Earl Ciel Phantomhive than o!ciel himself, who at least can truthfully claim his right as the original ciel's twin brother. he doesn’t just want everything associated with the name, but the name Itself in the case.

when undertaker's true identity as a shinigami and plot regarding the bizarre dolls is first revealed on the campania, o!ciel is visibly disgusted by the very concept:

similarly, earlier (in the timeline) when he is first making his deal with sebastian, one of the first things he catches sebastian off guard about is seeing straight through his lie about the possibility of bringing his brother back from the dead (ft. one of the best seb faces ever):

note o!ciel's wording here in particular: "In other words, it's impossible to bring the dead back to life. You are incapable of turning back time."

even at what is essentially his absolute lowest point in the entire series, when minutes earlier his despair and onslaught of emotion managed to summon a literal fucking demon, o!ciel still has absolutely no doubts that his brother is Dead and going to stay that way. his first act in tethering sebastian here is motivated by this clarity of mind-- in fact, this is one of the ways in which o!ciel and sebastian are completely in agreement imo, and why undertaker himself works so well as the ultimate antagonist of the series, since he is essentially perverting this natural order that both seb & o!ciel are so attached to, one where death is Final and Absolute and Complete.

in other words: just the same as his twin, o!ciel Will Not settle for any fake brothers. a replacement, particularly one created and raised and under such horrendous circumstances, is entirely unacceptable.

honestly, i think there's at least a little bit of both of these options in o!ciel's claim to the Earl Ciel Phantomhive name up in that first panel at the top of this post. but personally, i definitely lean towards the second one holding more weight-- o!ciel is not someone who we see showing all that much respect or care for all the Earl rich boy bullshit, other than through the connections and power it grants him in the process of enacting his revenge. hell, in his whole angry spiel before this, he even explicitly calls the job itself "bothersome":

certainly, he calls r!ciel, "the real one," here. but more notably, i think his internal logic is revealed more by this other line-- "No one suspected me as fake! For three whole years!"

o!ciel might not be the "real" earl ciel phantomhive, the one born to the name and the title, but he is certainly a better, more deserving fake than this bitch that has had the audacity to drag himself out of the grave three years after his destined end. thus it is o!ciel alone who deserves this name and title and everything associated with it-- nobody else.

[bisclavret]

eoin macken deserves so much more credit for consistently playing gwaine as if he's always choosing his words carefully around merlin or biting his tongue altogether so he doesn't say something that might jeopardize their relationship

[fatedroses]

Zenos viator Galvus and him trying to deal with actually feeling things for once (Even if he doesn't really understand how to handle the comfort he receives from others for it)

I am also giving this man a dad that actually cares, because this brainworm have gotten me and there is no saving me from them.

[chasedeys]

HI OKAY so like. in honor of these boyfriends sticking together by the grace of god and just sheer fucking stubbornness and taking matters into their own hands (sooooo sexy and also incredibly leaning to the power-of-friendship ass of them btw) and also because i feel sooo shitty for disappearing all of the sudden and ignoring a whole bunch of you </3 (thank you truly for all the sweet messages in my inbox asking me where and how ive been god yall are so sweet) and also it's such a fucking waste of 7k word vomit if i do end up not finishing this thing and i really do want to finish this but im lacking creative juices and honestly just shit time management but anyways. i present to you the mess of joeteemarr fic in its barely finished glory:

(DOOOO PRAYYY THAT I FINISH ITTTTT (i am on my knees) in spite of all the spoilers (?) you'll read through so it'd be like why the hell would you read this again kind of deal but well ahahahah just let me post this and look away okay 😭♥️)

all on his mouth like liquor —joeteemarr

intro — you came, you saw, you conquered // i couldn’t take my eyes off him, i think i heard a spirit call my name (banana yoshimoto, kitchen)

They’re both still in their leather ensemble—’so, did you coordinate the outfits, or?’ ‘ja’marr copied me.’ ‘excuse me? bitch, i’ll kill you.’—like they zoomed their way to Tee’s place immediately right after the game, after stopping by Judith’s for their usual order of burgers and fries.

Tee pokes at his own order of bacon burger, double helping of cheddar cheese and extra garlic, a wobbly little smile poking through when he spots the lovingly sharpied good game 5! the extra pies are for you!!!! don’t let uno eat them!!!!!!!!! on the crinkly wrapping paper. Judith, Cincinnati native, 57 years old and never takes money from Tee’s mother. Thinks Ja’Marr is the funniest man-child on earth and Joe the sweetest.

Ja’Marr has his jacket off now, tank top stretched tight over his shoulders as he slumps over his burgers snarling at Joe to stop stealing his fries. Tee carefully turns his gaze away from dark of his tattoos, the curve of his shoulders, the flex of his biceps when he tries to smack away Joe’s hand right over his burger.

But the thing is, if he looks away, he’s looking towards Joe—Joe, who’s leather jacket with nothing underneath is zipped down to his navel for some godforsaken reason, miles of pale skin and abs and golden hair and pink nipples flashing everytime he twists his torso to try and take Ja’Marr’s entire dinner or avoid his retaliations. Tee has to take away Ja’Marr’s plastic fork before he stabs Joe with it.

(They didn’t coordinate the outfits, by the way. They just ended up wearing something similar again with their weird otherworldly connection that Tee still tries to wrap his head around even now.)

—----------ja’marrs drops. sensitive,dfksdfkapoeskfo

Ja’Marr skirts his eyes away, mouth curling down, “I don’t wanna talk about it. I’ll deal with it Monday.”

Tee breathes out, extends his knee and presses his socked toes to the younger man’s calves. Ja’Marr twitches his leg against his feet, flicking his eyes at him and shooting him a small smile. He’ll be alright.

“No,” Ja’Marr says evenly, staring right at him even as he slams a hand at Joe’s over his plate, “but you were really fucking sexy.”

Tee startles, several clumps of mashed up potato slipping out of his mouth in surprise—real sexy, there. Ja’Marr really has no filter sometimes, calling any person he finds attractive to their faces with zero shame even in front of his boyfriend of however many years. Joe, ever so possessive, rarely even gets bricked up over it, from sheer assurance of his place in Ja’Marr’s heart. Hard not to be, really, with how steadfast and loud Ja’Marr is with his devotion to him. Tee has been called straight up ‘hot as hell’ by the other man for the past years that they’ve known each other and he still gets flustered over it, mostly because. Well. Whatever.

Joe turns his gaze to him as well, pausing his one-man crusade of pilfering his boyfriend’s fries. Tee slows his bites as he stares back, feeling weirdly caught like a prey in a predator’s gaze, a gazelle looking through the tan of the savanna landscape trying to find the glint of a lion’s eyes lurking in between the blades of grass. Joe’s piercing blues flick between his eyes, then slides down, slow, deliberate, purposeful, over the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, the curve of his lips, the turn of his chin, the hinge of his jaw still clenched from chewing the meat they bought for him, his—neck exposed by the stretched cotton of his ratty t-shirt, the tangle of his beard, the slight of his Adam’s apple, the nearly healed scar on the left side of his jugular from last week’s razor incident, even the loose hang of his faded clemson t-shirt over his shoulders, the dip of it showing off the skin over his collarbones, not too much to show his pecs, but the sheer force of the older man’s leer makes him—makes him push his fucking tits out like he can’t fucking help himself; shoulders, drawing back; spine, straightening; nipples, pebbling, fucking tingling; goosebumps and hair rising over his arms; toes, curling in—he knows each and every part of his body Joe looks over because the man’s so fucking methodical with it, everything else below his chest hidden beneath the table thank fuck, he thinks, of sorts, maybe, a blessing, a curse, who knows, he’s still trying to chew on his fucking bite of bacon burger the fuck.

Tee chokes on his late swallow—and drinks the puply orange Ja’Marr offers him with an obvious smirk holy shit what the ever living fuck. 

Joe goes back to eating his burger like he didn’t just. Undress Tee with his fucking eyes. What the fuck. What the actual fuck was that. Holy shit did he just experience a junior high schooler’s fantastical imaginary eighth grade period axe body spray doped up version of sex daydream or is he just. Insane. Was the burger spiked. What the fuck was that. 

Tee feels his lips twitch. Wow. They’re really—unsubtle. But, are they, really?

“

—And Ja’Marr growls. Tee startles, laughing up at him, but it’s all cut off short because, wait, holy shit—-

He’s got a lapful of Ja’Marr Chase, situating his ass snugly all over Tee’s thighs with his own folded on either side of his hips, arms up so he can press his palms on his cheeks, wrapping all the way to the back of his skull because they’re so big, and kiss him.

“Jesus Christ, Ja’Marr,” he hears through muddied ears. Joe, he knows his voice, always, but—everything is—muffled, dark, consumed to a single person over him 

He flutters his eyes open and gasps out trying to push air into his lungs and Ja’Marr’s face is right there in front of him—eyes piercing into his own as he purposefully bumps his nose to Tee’s and breathes into Tee’s gaping open mouth.

Fucking hell.

“Ja’Marr,” he breathes out, panic mounting—and: dick hardening in his sweatpants because Ja’Marr fucking Chase is all over his lap grinding down, arms around his shoulders, pretty face right up to his with deep brown eyes staring him down intently—hands trembling, acutely aware that his boyfriend of six fucking years is staring right at them from across the room, still stealing said boyfriend’s fries. That fucking heifer, jesus, his diet always goes out the window in the 24-hour window of post-game leftover adrenaline rush.

Ja’Marr—his best friend, the prettiest motherfucker he’s ever had the pleasure of—doesn’t even do him the honor of replying, lips stretching wide into a pleased smile and keeps bumping his nose to Tee’s over and over like it’s a little game to him. It’s ridiculously cute—the minute touches, the way Tee has to go cross-eyed to see it, the weight of him all over, the heady scent of warm wood basking him, it calms him down, lowers his heart rate, settles his breathing, makes his eyelids flutter, trying to keep himself from closing the distance and kiss the man again, seems terribly unfair to just—only have a single chance in his life to kiss Ja’Marr Chase once when he’s still inches away with his body language so open and willing. Joe, to the side, still fucking eating, not even acting offended even the slightest past the minute exasperated jesus christ, ja’marr, shoots him a weird dorky thumbs-up. The hell.

“You’re—“ Tee chokes out finally, acutely aware of every point of his palm pressed against the cotton wrapped around his best friend’s waist. Acutely aware of how his fingers are twitching, wanting, aching—to grip tighter, to drag downwards and under the hemline and then roughly up the warmth of skin, scrub at the expanse of it available and feel it shiver against the skin of his own palm. The only reason he doesn’t is because every joint, every muscle, every tendon in his body is locked up in, what, fear? Sheer desperate want? A man collapsed inches away from an oasis appearing out of nowhere  in a once barren desert, heat pouring over his body and making everything wobbly and blurry—his vision actually going a bit blurry because—

Fuck it all to hell, if he cries in Ja’Marr Chase’s face  just because he kissed him he’s killing himself and taking everyone with him.

Ja’Marr coos, pretty face closing in again and Tee automatically flutters his eyes shut just for the other man to press his lips softly against the thin skin of his left eyelid, keep dragging them along his lashes, letting his liquid tears seep into the crevice of his lips and pool around the corner of his lips, over the bridge of his nose, again to his right eye, and down to the highest point of his cheek—just to press harder and leave a wet imprint from his own tears.

God, Ja’Marr fucking Chase.

“You really gotta say something,” Tee squeezes out harshly, eyes squeezed shut tight and trying to breathe through his nose.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” is what Ja’Marr says, thumb brushing away the wet spots on his cheeks. Which. Well. Maybe Tee should’ve just told him to shut the fuck up and get off of him before he does something he’d regret, like—like kiss him again. And again. And again. Again, again, again, again, over, and over, and over, and over until he drops dead because he’d never grow tired of it, he doesn’t think.

“I see,” Tee says, not really seeing. He knows he’s ’fucking gorgeous’ but come one now, really.

Ja’Marr grins bright right up against his face, of course knowing what Tee’s not saying.

Joe leans down, nudging his boyfriend to the side, hunching over the two, tucks a palm to the side of Tee’s neck, all nine inches of it spanning across his skin like a hot brand, and kisses him too.

Tee breathes into his mouth, doesn’t even know how to kiss back, flabbergasted as he is, weighted down by his best friend on his lap, a hand on his neck that might as well feel like a noose, buzzing in his ears, a match of want being struck in him and he doesn’t know if it’s by him or if it’s actually the people he wants.

Joe hums against his mouth, lips turning down, “you’re not kissing me back,”

He’s actually fucking pouting against Tee’s mouth, Tee realizes. He doesn’t even want to let go of the kiss to speak, doesn't want to pout away from Tee’s lips. Oh god. What is Tee doing. 

Tee surges up, arms clenching around Ja’Marr’s waist, teeth tugging at Joe’s bottom lip, and kisses his quarterback right this time, feels him stretch his lips to a smile even as he licks into Tee’s mouth and sighs into the kiss. He’s relaxing his shoulders, drooping down, evening out—he was tense, he was worried, neck veins slightly popping, Tee realizes. This was important to him. Tee kissing him back—was important. To him. 

Oh.

Tee sighs into the kiss, too, relaxes and licks into the space he’s being granted access into, for the first time ever.

Ja’Marr gets handsy, apparently pleased as a peach at the grip Tee has on his waist. He presses his knees harder to the sides of Tee’s hips and grinds his hips down on his lap, palms exploring his torso all over, nails dragging across his nipples over the cotton of his shirt, face all over the skin exposed by the stretched elastic of his t-shirt’s neckline, tonguing his neck, his collarbone, biting his pulsepoint and making him gasp into Joe’s mouth.

next steps — i swell like a late summer jackfruit; my skin roughens, the pulp of my body so thick; i wait to be speared and wanted; if squeezed, i’ll leave my color on your hands (hồ xuân hương, jackfruit)

Joe pushes his back firmly and he follows through blindly. It’s his house, but Joe knows exactly where eveything is and he trusts literally anywhere this man leads him to, and, also, he’s really fucking distracted by this:

Ja’Marr bites at his chin, right by his beard, and Tee gasps—he’s a freak, what is with him, why is that so fucking hot—and he keeps tugging on the strings of Tee’s sweatpants, fingers brushing deliberately over the tent in his pants, then straight up cupping and squeezing his dick through the cotton when Joe makes them stop to turn a corner. Tee has to just shove the little shit towards the wall, press his head hard against it, and sloppily kiss his mouth to teach him some sort of lesson of some success god what is Tee trying to accomplish here Ja’Marr is so fucking—

An arm—Joe—circles his waist, pushing forcefully between the miniscule space between his belly and Ja’Marr’s and wrenches him back from the other receiver. He whines, fingers scrabbling at his best friend—”Wait! No!”—while Ja’Marr is just laughing and tilting his head back into the wall as he grins teasingly at their quarterback, “what, jealous?”

Joe reaches out and twists his left nipple through his tank top. Ja’Marr yelps and starts yelling expletives at him. Tee, leaning back into Joe’s embrace, sighs exasperatedly. Of course they’re doing this, even now.

Ja’Marr steps closer, trying to smack at Joe through Tee, and Tee puts his hands on his biceps to stop him—gets distracted, starts sliding his hands up and down the length of them because, fuck, how can he not, and then just grabs them and tugs him closer to kiss him all over again with Joe’s arm between their bodies. Man, whatever.

Joe sighs exasperatedly, pressed up all against his back, but he really can’t be all that pissed, because he’s mouthing all up Tee’s neck—what is with him and necks, jesus, 

He’s shivering, caught in the middle, Joe in front, Ja’Marr behind, hands all over him, standing up but he’s falling, stumbling but he’s being held up. There’s a boy in front of him, and there’s a boy behind him, and who is he but another boy asking to be loved and held.

He’s leaning back to Ja’Marr’s chest now, tilted to the side so he can turn his face and kiss him still, the other man’s hand spanning across his face pinning him to place as he presses his tongue into his mouth and moans into it, as loud as he always is anywhere else. Another mouth is all over his chest, tonguing at his nipples, teeth scraping over the dark of his tattoos, panting all over him like a dog, god.

He doesn’t wear boxers at home, and the two know that precisely, Joe stroking his cock through the cotton of sweatpants like it isn’t even there, the grey fabric getting soaked through. He lowers his mouth over it, eyes looking straight up at Tee and asks if he could. Tee nods frantically, not even knowing what the fuck he wants but it’s Joe Burrow, he could do whatever he wants to Tee and Tee would lay in his arms like a supplicant and rip his chest open all pretty and bloody and let Joe Burrow dip his chin in and lap it all up.

He whimpers into Ja’Marr’s mouth, fluttering open his eyes, eyelashes clumpy with tears, sweat, he doesn’t know, and Ja’Marr coos, brushing kisses over his eyes as he drags his palms all over Tee’s belly, scraping nails over his pubes and pressing down in time with Joe going down on him like he knows the exact rhythm of Joe’s every move and plan, even here, even now, even over the sweat and smell of sex of Tee’s body—especially, Tee thinks, over his body.

that’s one — makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips on my neck, and yes, i do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars (richard siken, crush)

Ja’Marr breathes into his ear, biting at the helix and scraping his teeth over it like a dog. Tee whimpers, turning his head to catch his mouth in his and clack their teeth together, a shock of pain grounding him to earth so he wouldn’t float up to the heavens too high. Ja’Marr huffs out a laugh against his lips, “Knock it off, dickhead, I know what you’re doing.”

Tee scowls at him, hands tightening on Joe’s hair instead of reaching out to twist and pinch on his skin, like punishing one of them is the same as punishing the other, really, an extension of a singular subject. Joe groans around his cock, extremely pleased, of fucking course he is, and Tee keeps tugging at his roots in exasperation. Fucking masochistic little shit.

Ja’Marr snickers, dragging his tongue all over his neck, “See, natural Joe Burrow knower. Made just for him—to be his receiver, just like me.”

Ja’Marr, honestly, why the fuck is he like this—

Joe and Tee both groan in unison, Tee coming off it in a whine because, fuck, Joe’s mouth is still all up around his dick, the vibrations traveling up straight to his brain and fucking him up beyond repair.

Joe pulls off with an actual wet pop! and twists a hand harshly around his cock—which feels really fucking good, the fuck—like an apology that he isn’t sucking Tee’s dick continuously since he got the chance to, and pushes his torso up to prop his face by Tee’s head, cheeks pressed up against his, chin digging into his shoulder, and he can feel him kiss Ja’Marr rough and wet, with tongue and spit and biting at his lips.

Fucking helllll, they’re trying to kill him.

The man still twisting his hand around his cock like he’s getting paid to presses his cheek harder against Tee’s, and he’s jawing at Ja’Marr, Tee realizes with a breathless laugh—”Would you quit saying shit like that so shamelessly midsex it ruins the fucking vibe.” “What fucking vibe? If anything I’m adding to it, bitch, get back to sucking his dick, the fuck.”—and Joe slinks back down right after like he didn’t just stop mid-blowjob to argue with Ja’Marr over the receiver’s uncensored prattling.

Tee whimpers, Joe’s mouth enveloping his cock again like it’s made for it, all heat and tightness and perfect 

how do you write people getting their dick sucked. exactly. no really.

ja'marr lets him breathe but he's instantly kissing down his neck and biting his collarbones and pushing him down and dragging a tongue over his chest tattoos he's /relentless/ and when he looks to where joe is its to him grinning down at him with a hand guiding ja'marr /down/ 'that's one. you got me three right?'

“That’s one,” Joe says, his little impish smile Tee has recorded into his brain countless of times before shining down at him, lips dark red, chin and mouth all wet with Tee’s spunk, “You gave me three.”

“Three what,” Tee asks, stupidly, ears still ringing from the force of his orgasm. He’s still so focused on the bright wet glint of liquid decorating Joe’s lower face, his come, staining his skin. Joe isn’t wiping it away, letting it dry on his skin, flaking and caking and clumping against the corner of his lips. Tee wants to lick it away, drag it into his mouth with his tongue, switch it up and leave bite marks all around his pretty lips. All the red in the cold, now red from his teeth. Would Joe let him. Would Ja’Marr let him. Would he let himself mark that pale skin up, leave parts of himself all over his quarterback in ways he’s never had the guts to even finish the thought of before tonight?

Joe leans closer, mouth over him, damn the fact that Tee’s own come is all over his mouth now. Three, Joe murmurs as he kisses him filthily, sliding his tongue through the gap of his teeth, over his papillae, staining his breath with something of his own. Tee wants a shot of Joe’s own come down his throat, drenching the lining of his esophagus. The thought makes his moan, makes him choke into Joe’s throat, and the older man swallows him whole. 

Fuck, three—do they—are they trying to get him to come three times, the same amount of times he caught Joe’s pass for a touchdown? Christ. He’s getting lightheaded.

He laughs incredulously, flicking his eyes down to Ja’Marr mouthing incessantly at his navel, teeth scraping along the black lines of his tattoos, exactly like he said he wanted too. Makes Tee woozy with want, how Ja’Marr gets needy and desperate for it, thirsting over Tee’s body. How many times has he stared at him naked? Tattoos bared and thought to put his mouth on him? Drag a finger down the lines of stars on his stomach? He has never once caught Ja’Marr’s eyes on them—how sneaky had the other man been?

Joe’s hand is right on the younger man’s head like a brand, like he can’t bear to let go. on his head guiding him

, then back to the blond still staring him down. His smile is just as mischievous as it always is. Are they going to take turns, now? That’s the hottest shit he’s ever thought of, probably.

“What,” he can’t help but say, scoffing and teasing Ja’Marr, reaching a hand to tug on his ear and scratch at his cheek because he’s so fucking fond of this man he can’t keep it in, really, “you looking to suck me off too?”

Ja’Marr tugs on his dick, his sensitive dick—bitch—and Tee hisses at him, stopping his loving scritches to outright pinch at his ear because never the fuck he minds, this man is such a fucking brat, he can’t put this guard down at all.

The younger man jerks his head away, laughing. He grins up at Tee, teeth bright and eyes even brighter. “Nah, I don’t like shit down my throat. Wanna fuck me instead?”

Tee chokes on his spit. He blacks out, he thinks, by the question alone. By the idea alone. By the thought alone. His brain tries conjuring images and then it just short circuits. Where is he. Who is he. Why is he.

His head gets cradled, pulled to the side by a hand and he’s being kissed by a smiling mouth, pulled back down to earth slowly and surely until he’s kissing back voluntarily instead of on autopilot. Joe, hand pressed to his cheek and eyes wide open even as he’s stealing Tee’s breath away by kissing him sweetly and thoroughly. What a freak. Who kisses with their eyes wide open. Joe Fucking Burrow, that’s who. His quarterback who threw him three touchdowns and tried biting his neck on national television. Posted on every NFL official social media accounts and sent to him by his high school friends with the words bruh u fucking ur qb??? Which he apparently is, now. 

“He asked you a question,” Joe murmurs against his lips. Right. Sure.

Tee looks down to his lap and, damn, what a fucking image. Ja’Marr Chase, laying belly down on his bed with his torso half over Tee’s thighs, a hand curled loosely around his sensitive dick, the other holding his hand—when did that happen, Tee is squeezing it tight unconsciously and now he can’t let go even if he tried—cheek pressed to his left thigh looking up at him with his pupils blown wide open waiting patiently for Tee to look at him.

Right.

“You get to choose,” Ja’Marr says when he notices he’s got Tee’s attention. He tugs at Tee’s soft cock again—

“It’s not a toy,” Tee yelps, his unoccupied hand automatically curling around the other receiver’s hand around his dick.

Ja’Marr just grins wider up at him, unsticking his cheek from his thigh to press a kiss on the hand wrapped around his wrist.

“You get to choose,” he says again, “Fuck my ass or my thighs?”

Tee lets out a sound only audible to dogs and dolphins and aliens 900 billion light years away, probably. Ja’Marr smiles up at him, looking so shily pleased that he can reduce Tee to such a state by just asking a simple question. He has no fucking business looking so sweetly enamored up at Tee after asking if he would rather fuck him in the ass or his thighs.

He’s jostled around again, Joe tugging at his hips to the side so Ja’Marr can haul his ass up to sit by them. This seems to be a theme, with these two, pushy on the field and off the field and in the bedroom—he can’t even say he’s never even thought of it,  Burrow-Chase dynamic duo, in whatever form, whatever shape, whatever way he can have them. In his dreams only, he thought, but. But.

Ja’Marr is spreading open the hand he’s kept on holding since god knows when—like an emotional support hand holding he’s got to keep a hold on to get through sex and that thought genuinely fucks Tee up in ways he’s never even thought of—and he drops a whole packet of lube he procured out of fucking nowhere.

Tee stares blankly down at it. Holy shit.

“Bro, you’re taking too long,” Ja’Marr says. Tee flicks his eyes up to look blankly at him. “I want you in me, like, yesterday.”

He’s trying to fucking kill him, Tee realizes. Calling him bro, asking to fuck him in the ass, the fuck is wrong with him.

“You gonna finger me open or I gotta do it myself?”

NggGgRrrHff.

Tee doesn’t even know what came out of his mouth, surging his torso forward and bringing his hand up to tug at Ja’Marr’s skull, palm all over the back of his head so he can tug him closer to his face and lick his mouth open and just shut him the fuck up. 

Ja’Marr whimpers, the cocky slope of his shoulders slumping down like a puppet with its strings cut, hauling closer near desperately to settle over Tee’s lap and press his palms over his shoulders for support—kissing Tee right back, breathing hot haaas over Tee’s mouth as he tries gasping for breath.

Tee tugs on his lips with his teeth, presses wet kisses to the side of his cheeks, drags his own lips over his skin back to the tender spot of his jaw, bites over it, pecks a little kiss in apology, then presses his cheek over Ja’Marr’s hard so he can tug roughly on his earlobe with his teeth—thinks he can devour the other man whole, really, from the sheer hunger in his gut built up from day one of over-familiarly dapping him up and hauling him in for a hug under the then-flickering lights of Paul Brown Stadium in 2021.

The lube’s gone from his fingers. He realizes this because someone is tugging Ja’Marr’s hips up so he’s kneeling over him, then pressing a finger in without so much as an ’excuse me’. 

Christ, Joe is so fucking.

Tee can't even find the words, really, to describe his quarterback. 

Ja’Marr yelps, gasps, clutches tighter at Tee’s shoulder, eyelashes fluttering close as he tries to keep kneeling but Joe is apparently ruthless when he's opening someone up because the younger man just collapses all over Tee, Tee letting his weight down him as drags both hands over the other man’s back to soothe him.

“Want—” Ja’Marr chokes out against the skin of Tee’s neck, “—want you.”

Joe huffs out a laugh as he mercilessly twists two fingers inside his receiver’s ass. Tee feels dizzy looking at the 

“Oh I see,” Joe says, dangerously amused, “I see how it is, can't even settle for me no more, huh, when you got Tee Higgins at your beck and call?”

His fingers slip out, shining under the dim lighting of Tee’s night settings, and then he slaps a hand over Ja’Marr’s ass like every part of him is for him to toy over. Tee is still so fucking woozy from the image of it all, his hand rubbing at Ja’Marr’s back sliding lower to smooth over the sting from Joe’s palm.

(god, what an ass. tee can't help himself, grabs a handful of it and tugs it to the side to show his hole, shining wetly from joe’s fingers, a whole invitation for him. tee wants to put his whole mouth on it. lick him open nice and easy. press a finger in and watch as his entire body tremble and shake.)

Joe grins at him, wide and a bit mean, cocky and soooo full of himself, precisely like every other time he makes an insane throw, a run further than his usual short stops, a little overtime nail-biter win like just hours ago: his ice-in-my-veins shot that Tee paused and contemplated jerking off to hours before this.

He reaches over Ja’Marr's body between them, kisses Tee like he’s giving him his approval, then turns and presses the sweetest kiss to Ja’Marr’s nose, damn the fact that the other man is glaring and outright pouting at him.

“Bro,” he croaks out, talking to Tee but trying to shoot daggers at Joe with his eyes, “let me up, let me take this bitch down for one second then we can go right back.”

Joe giggles bright like an actual child, keeps pressing kisses over whatever parts of Ja’Marr’s face he could reach until the younger man’s lips stretch out wobbly for a smile that he can't help, still whining at Joe to shut the fuck up, would he, just for one day. 

Tee grins wide in spite of himself too, hands still all over his best friend’s ass and lips still tingling from a kiss from his quarterback.

He drags his arm up so he can cradle Ja’Marr, fingers reaching over to grip at his jaw and twist it until he's looking right at him and putting all that focus on Tee, murmurs low and raspy: “you said you want me?”, and shamelessly delights in the way the other man’s pupils dilate wide and gorgeous.

“Fuck you,” Ja’Marr says, jaw working against Tee’s grip, “Get your fucking fingers in me before i force myself on your dick, damn it.”

that’s two — from the base of her neck, to the arch of her eyelids, her beauty made a slave of me (adonis, transformations of the lover)

Ja’Marr nestles himself on his mound of pillows—Tee’s pillows. The pillows Tee sleeps with. His favorite pillows. The dark maroon sheets caressing his bare skin as he lounges on his self made throne, as he spreads open his legs, slipping one more pillow under his hips so he can present his ass to Joe and Tee and look expectantly at them. Tee is still so fucking lightheaded. How did he go from scoring three touchdowns to scoring a whole other touchdown? Ja’Marr—his best friend—who ducked his head to grin slilly up at him not four hours ago, telling him the next round of WR room steak dinner was on him. 

Joe pours lube all over Tee’s fingers, 

Joe’s plastering himself all over his back, but he isn’t pushing him at all. He’s just—there. Pressed up all over him, moving with him, breathing over the skin of his neck, nosing behind his ear. He’s letting Tee control how he wants to fuck his man, Tee realizes with a jolt, trusting him with Ja’Marr. 

joe plastered all over tee's back, cock nestled against his ass but he's not pushing tee around he's just following his movements, letting tee control how he wants to enter ja'marr and that also fucks tee up because joes trusting him with ja'marr!! with how he treats ja'marr at his most vulnerable!!!! telling him he can go harder, ja'marr likes whatever, can take whatever, joe leaing a hand in his belly and pushing to add in extra sensation of pleasure when tee pushes /in/ for the first time and he just collapses all over ja'marr and they're all groaning hoarsely in unison because fuck tees in ja'marr and he just pushed his ass back all over joes dick

Joe snickers at the other receiver. Tee feels him lift up an arm, nails scratching at his scalp. He’s murmuring softly at him, but Tee doesn’t think Ja’Marr is really computing any of it. 

“Aren’t you being so agreeable tonight? Some Tee Higgins magic keeping you all pliant and malleable?”

Ja’Marr whimpers, lifting his chin and biting at Joe’s fingers. Joe huffs, chest vibrating against Tee’s back, and every square inch of Tee’s body is filled with warmth.

calls him baby

ja’marr gets fucked up when tee calls him baby because joe calls him baby btw so

that’s three — to love someone is firstly to confess: i'm prepared to be devastated by you (billy-ray belcourt, a history of my brief body)

He’s leaning all over Ja’Marr now, gazing down the man who’s grinning woozily up at him 

Joe, nosing the back of his neck and palming his ass cheeks asking him if he likes to be fucked. Ja’Marr, hands still shaky coming up to drag over his sides and settle over his ribs like a key settling into a lock and clicking into place. Tee himself, chest expanding with breath and skin bristling with want from so deep within him it feels like it’s bursting out and changing the hue of his skin to red, to blue, to orange and black, purple and green, magenta and cyan, a kaleidoscope of colors like the big bang theory—he’s a new universe stretching and expanding and these two are his first and only planets, never to be let go.

He feels stripped bare in front of these two—is his every thought and want obvious in his face and every motion now? Do they see, now, how much he wants them? How much he—loves them? Is it obvious, now, that when he speaks to them he’s speaking like there’s a lodge of do you think of me when you’re alone without me wanting to burst out from his throat? That he aches alone in the center of a crowd when he doesn’t have them beside him? When he has them beside him, even, because they’re not really his to have? Does it show? Do they know? Do they care to know? Does he care to show them?

Tee breathes out loudly, ragged and deep. Joe shushes him, blows air against the curve of his C7. Ja’Marr surges up, presses kisses against his wet cheeks and babbles unknown words to him like he’s speaking through his shitty mic on stream. Tee would miss it, if their randomly scheduled streams were ever to peter off. Tee would miss them, if they were ever to fade away from him.

“Baby,” Ja’Marr coos, “sweetheart, my sweet, my love, my heart, my gorgeous,”

Tee shudders away against his lips and feels the man behind him curve a smile against the skin stretched over his cervical spine.

“My baby,” Joe joins in, voice jokingly grave, “my gorgeous, my sweet—”

“—quit copying me,” Ja’Marr whines, cutting him off, but he’s grinning against Tee’s lips, so he knows he’s just doing so to be annoying—just to put a smile on Tee’s face and it’s working, Tee huffing wetly against the stretch of his grin.

“—my number five,” Joe continues on without pausing, barely a fletch in his voice, “my silly rabbit, best hands in the league, insane body control, prettiest smile in the whole fucking world, favorite receiver to throw to—”

“Hey now,” Ja’Marr whines in earnest now, hands reaching around Tee’s body to stab around blindly at their quarterback. Tee breaks down in laughter for real this time, collapsing fully on the man in the bottom of the pile, letting Ja’Marr find a whole other thing to whine about—’teeeeee you’re crushing me you ass, joe don’t you fucking try it!’—and there was ice creeping from every distal edge of his limbs to the core of him, but there’s nothing but warmth now, chasing it away, clouding his head, keeping him sane. 

“But really now,” Joe interrupts, tugging his hips up impatiently, “I really wanna fuck you, do you wanna?”

Right. Jesus. Joe fucking Burrow, everyone.

Ja’Marr hums, peppering his cheek with kisses again, ever so free with his sweet affections. “Ten out of ten,” he says, “would recommend.”

Tee stares sideways at him, still settled with his weight fully on him. “That a full Yelp review for a Joe Burrow fuck?”

Ja’Marr sighs dreamily, scratching at Tee’s sides, “Do you really want one?”

Jesus.

Tee wiggles around, dragging his body against Ja’Marr’s and the man beneath him giggles when he brushes his fingers deliberately against his sides. He twists until he’s peering at Joe, squinting at him and pretending that the man didn’t just suck his dick so good Tee cried and stared at him like a second coming of Christ. Blasphemous, sacrilegious, irreverent, and yet, he has yet to be struck down and smitten—or perhaps he already has, and this is all a byproduct of his imaginary ruin.

“Think you can make it good?” He asks imperiously, already knowing in his bones this man would be as good at fucking as he is at literally anything else, as well evidenced by his previous attempt at giving Tee what was possibly the best blowjob of his life just, what, 40 minutes prior?

Joe scoffs, ducking his head down and pecking at his lips. “I just sucked your dick to incoherency, the fuck do you mean ‘can i make it good’? I got a pretty mouth and a pretty dick, think for yourself.”

Tee chokes in sheer disbelief—heart stuttering a bit at the brief press of lips but what-the-fuck-ever—the ego on this man, jesus. He flicks his eyes to the pink of his lips—shining, distracting, real fucking pretty—then, well, down past the puffy nipples and golden dusting of chest hair and layer of fat over abs to the nice curve of a cock—thick and long, veiny, a blushy pink head, a weirdly sexy little jolt like it’s show-ponying, like it knows he’s watching it and wants to show it likes it—that Joe likes Tee watching him. Yeah, real fucking pretty dick, too, damn it, fuck Joe Burrow.

Tee whines, turning back around to bury his face—knowing damn well it’s burning red even through the dark of his skin—in the curve of Ja’Marr’s neck and tries not to let the dual laughter of the boys who’ve quite literally captured his heart stutter it too much. Failed, but whatever, he’s got way too much practice over the years regulating his heartbeat to normalcy around these two.

Joe goes to scrape his teeth along the top his spine again and Tee shivers, feeling like prey caught in the maw of a tiger, which really won’t do—he’s a fucking bengal too, damn it. He bucks his hips back firmly, makes sure to rub the curve of his ass against the hard of his quarterback’s dick and hides his satisfied smile against his fellow receiver’s jaw when Joe gasps loud and startled, hand coming to grip at his hip hard, probably leaving bruises for him to brush his fingers wonderingly over later on.

Ja’Marr snickers approvingly, pressing his jaw back firmly against Tee’s mouth, “Yeah, tell him who’s boss, make him work for it.”

Tee presses a kiss right to the tender skin below his jawbone, leaves it there for a beat, two, three, feels like maybe he can make out the faint fluttering of his heartbeat against his lips, then lets up to say drily, “Pretty sure all your raving reviews does wonders for his ego. Don’t act like you’re not to blame here, Mr. Joe Burrow’s Numero Uno.”

Ja’Marr just shrugs unapologetically the best he could, pressed down as he is with Tee’s full weight all over him to the bed, never really one to be shy about his near piety to one Joe Burrow when it’s just them three. He’s been circling indistinct little patterns on the skin of Tee’s hips the whole time, but he stops for a minute to reach a hand up and tap a little rhythm teasingly over Joe’s thigh, now kneeling to the side, the only one still hard and with zero orgasms to his name that night, pouting but not admitting it.

Tee very obviously wouldn’t say no to having Joe’s dick inside him but playing hard-to-get just so Joe Burrow would pout and whine about not getting to fuck him is really—really fucking cute, actually, wow. Wow, god, Tee is so gone for him, he should really take a step back and regulate his entire life and emotional capacity, wow. Wow.

and in the end — over a distance of four hundred miles, her yearning and his yearning are intertwined, as though there were no spatial or temporal interval between them (jenny erpenbeck, kairos)

After it’s all done and not said, then, Tee’s left naked in the middle of the hallway leading to his bathroom, unable to take the steps back to his own room where his best friends are, clutching at his towel after having just pissed, and having orgasmed three fucking times by the combined willpower of his two closest teammates, all because he scored three touchdowns for a game—that might possibly be his last home game with them—that had playoff stakes. Fuck.

Heavy footsteps come up to him and he flicks his eyes up to see Joe staring him down—naked, gorgeous, sweat-slicked, his quarterback, his friend. Who had just fucked the bejeesus out of him.

Tee drags a hand down his face harshly. Stupid. So fucking stupid.

The lilt of Ja’Marr’s voice when he says my sweet, when he’s referring to Tee as my heart, when he’s saying Tee as my gorgeous. When Joe says gravely, jokingly, possessively, my number five, he’s saying that about Tee. 

Joe catches his hands—both of them—towel slipping away, and holds them and tugs at them until Tee is stumbling into him, lifting his chin up awkwardly so he won’t slam it into Joe’s nose but Joe doesn’t even do him the honor of avoiding it. He just tucks it into the curve of his Adam’s apple and breathes in deep like a weirdo. How many times has Tee just caught him with his nose buried in Ja’Marr’s neck as he hugs the receiver—how many times has he caught the man nudge his nose to the curve of Tee’s shoulder, right at the base of his neck, after a game when he comes to him for a hug. Oh.

“Joe,” Tee breathes out, trembles, wonders how he’s supposed to word this out, how he’s supposed to say how he feels, how he’s supposed to say t

Ja’Marr, breathing in his air and telling him he doesn’t want him to leave. 

Tee sees Joe grin down his phone at ass o’clock in the morning and knows he’s reading i love you in between the letters of Ja’Marr’s why the fuck is all of cincy awake at 7 in the morning.

Ja’Marr says hey, all sleepy with the vowel dragging and it sounds like come here, you two. Tee goes, Joe right behind him a half step away.

a little more down the line — the only heaven i’ll be sent to, is when i’m alone with you (hozier, take me to church)

you do like all those pet names

he calls me all that all the time joe says nosing behind tees ear

i like calling you that too tee says, amused. letting his neck bend even more, what even are the words uncomfortable stretch when joe burrow has his nose buried in the curve of it. 

you called me baby, ja’marr says then, shy and a little quiet, like he’s saying something he keeps close to him and isn’t sure how he should breach it out of him. 

i call him that, joe says next, grin audible even if its not visible from where he’s pressed up behind tee

oh. tee called him baby, told him to come for him, and ja’marr gasped into his mouth and bursted all over tee’s belly, drenching him in white, whimpering as he stared into tee’s eyes with his own watering but still kept it open, didn't even close it because he didn’t want to. couldn't, maybe, tee thinks again.

oh, tee says out loud for real then, bumping his nose forward to ja’marr like he's learning that ja’marr likes to do, okay then, baby, come here, baby, let me see you, baby.

ja’marr laughs, bumps his nose right back. don't wear it thin. 

never, tee swears.

my baby, my baby, joe murmurs finally into the back of tee’s neck, pressing his fingers into the insides of ja’marr’s elbows.

.

.

.

i want more thumps. i want more time. i want to waste my love on everything. give me a heart for ohio. —(joy sullivan, instructions for traveling west, an octopus has three whole hearts)

more time together for these three, please.

WHICH APPARENTLY HEY THEY DID IT 😭😭👍👍👍👍 GOOD FOR THEM!!! trey next so help me!! when treys news comes out (🙏) maybe ill post that treymarr unfinished oblivious courting fic idk we'll see that ones more of a mess than this and also wayyy shorter lmao but anyways:::: thank u for reading through this all if u made it to this end note 😇🫶 goodbye see u again whenever i have it in me to show up again akdhsjdjdj love yall bengals super bowl 2k26 Believe! or whatever it is they all say in that 2021 run 💖

thank you for every one of you who've come into my inbox to ask how i am by the way!!!! adore and miss you all very much <33

[911bts]

I know nothing about contracts and who's coming back. Contracts are most likely all figured out at this point, but that stuff isn't (generally) public knowledge. You'll see who's back when they're on set/in promotional material.

[evilkitten3]

naruto crack au where kakashi manages to successfully drill the "never abandon your comrades" thing into team seven's heads

so when sasuke deserts naruto and sakura immediately desert with him. like he gets to the village gates and they're just waiting for him bags packed like "what took u so long we doing this or what"

he tries to get them to go back bc of course he does. "no you losers this is about me i'm going to kill my brother. also i'll have to kill my best friend for the super sharingan and you two are like the only people i talk to". but they do not listen. teamwork sasuke we will defeat your brother (OUR brother #communism) with the power of teamwork. just like kakashi-sensei said

suddenly orochimaru has to deal with three horrible little goblins with an even more codependent relationship than his old team

[wardensantoineandevka]

I see there's posts floating around directly and blatantly arguing against mine (same wording) by completely misunderstanding what I said. I'm fucking BACK, babey. Should've bought some hay-scented fragrance while I was at Sephora today, because I am once again your strawman!

[luna-the-cretar]

Born to write Shepherd’s dialogue, forced (by me) to write Sarnax’s dialogue 😔

[thelaurenshippen]

open ai made a little post about how they chose their chatbot voices and two things stood out to me:

a) I am genuinely pleased and surprised that the voices come from specific real people that they hired and paid, rather than being built off of all of the data open ai has scraped. the voice for siri did one job for one company 20 years ago and now she is literally everywhere without ever being compensated by apple or even acknowledged as the voice. there's simply no way she was paid enough in that original job. whereas, open ai says "each actor receives compensation above top-of-market rates, and this will continue for as long as their voices are used in our products." this could mean literally anything (what market rate are we going above? does continue mean they get residuals or get paid for doing more sessions?) but, christ, at least the actors are doing it with full knowledge of what their voices are being used for and can decide for themselves if the compensation is enough

b) the post talks about working with "award-winning casting directors" to get the voices. first of all, yay for paying casting directors! we love to see it. but they also say the CDs received over 400 submissions in a week and they state that like a big number and it's just...not at all. and look, without knowing the intricacies of the casting process, it's hard to know what approach the CDs took - it's very possible they were selective from the jump and 400 is a lot from the pool they were tapping. 400 would be a lot if you were going to the agencies directly and asking for names, but there's just no way in hell open ai went after big stars for this. so it would've been a pool of unknowns. in which case, 400 is laughably small. even if you're not using the big casting sites like actorsaccess, I've worked on projects with CDs and their own internal systems where we've gotten over 100 submissions for a single role. I've posted roles on casting sites and received literally thousands of submissions in just a few days

look, I have a very limited perspective on this - I am not a casting director (imo, one of the most important and undervalued jobs in hollywood) and I, in fact, hate the process of casting with a passion. but 400 just seemed like such a tiny pool to pull from and, idk, it heartens me! it's heartening to think that there's very little interest from actors and agents to be doing this kind of stuff. and absolutely no shade to the actors who did--I want actors to get their bag however they want as long as it's, like, safe sane and consensual, you know? but there's something encouraging about thinking that open ai hired some big casting agency to get their foot into the voice acting door and people didn't come running

[therealkaidertrash21]

Ok, this is the essay I've been talking about, defending kaider. Keep in mind that I'm 15 and English is not my first language, so I might've said something wrong. Also, this is veeery formal because that's what I was taught to do.

Like in all fandoms and all canon and non-canon pairings, kaider sometimes receives comments regarding their dynamic saying that it is not a good ship, that it is not well written, or that they do not go well together. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion, however, there are several good arguments against this position.

Firstly, the main aspect that is often criticized about kaider is how quickly the characters "fell in love" and it is often referred as "instalove" even though, if it is carefully analyzed, it becomes obvious that this is not true at all.

Kai, Cinder's love interest, develops a romantic interest in her since their first meeting, this is a fact. But it does not mean it was instalove. Because instalove is love at first sight, when a character thinks the other is their soulmate and wants to be with them forever after only taking a glance at them. However, this is not what happens with kaider. Kai is interested in Cinder and asks her out multiple times but he is not in love, it is very obvious he is just a teenager who has a crush on a girl. This is not rare in real life. This is not unrealistic at all.

In addition, it is impossible to say Cinder's feelings are anything similar to instalove. She doesn't instantly develop feelings for the prince. At the beginning of the story, she does think about him and is interested in him, but her feelings are not particularly strong or obvious yet (partly because she is repressing them).

Secondly, another aspect that is often used to say kaider is a bad pairing, from Cinder's side, is that she is a "not like other girls" character, when she technically is not. This is almost a separate subject, but in essence: Cinder does not say she is not like other girls as a way to put herself above them and denigrate them, she does this because she is insecure, as a way to place herself below them.

Finally, often people criticize this pairing because they think Cinder would be unhappy if she married Kai, because she never wanted to be queen. But the reasons why Cinder did not want to be royalty are not simple. There are many reasons: 1. Cinder does not want to fail her people, 2. she thinks she will not be accepted by the citizens, 3. She desires anonymity. None of these reasons are actually about ruling a country, and once she overcomes these things they would not affect her.

Some might also argue that since she was queen, and then abdicated, she doesn't want to rule. But the reason for her abdication is mostly about her political position. She believes a monarchy is bad for Luna, since monarchs can easily manipulate their citizens (which they have done before). That is the true reason for her abdication. And even after her abdication, she still dedicated her life to politics as an ambassador, which she was not obligated to do.

In conclusion, even though kaider might seem badly written sometimes, this is not true. It is deeper than what it seems. The characters are complex, the reasons why they act in certain ways are very complex as well, as they would be in a real world scenario. Everyone has the right to have their own opinion, but it is good to analyze deeper, rather than only retaining a first impression or a superficial analysis.

also, credits to @impossiblesuitcase because I based most of the sixth paragraph on their post about a similar topic.

[vanity-complex]

Genuinely, I think people are very out of touch with the reality of what a revolution is and, instead, have a romantic vision of what they want revolution to be. I think this is because the word revolution has been entirely removed from the words civil war. There is no such thing as a 'quick' revolution. Revolutions are long and bloody conflicts that address great social inequity at the cost of life. Blood is spilled, life is ended, and people suffer. The reality of revolution is that suffering has grown so immense that war does not feel like suffering in contrast. Revolution is an agreement that the social contract has rotted to its very core, and that the only way to fix it is through violence. It is to risk everything to create a power vacuum where an entirely new society and order is created. Revolutions do not settle in a few months - they take years, decades, centuries. The French Revolution, perhaps the most famous romantic revolution, was not just cutting off the head of a king or queen, it was the indeterminate slaughter of a social class and any who dare question the morality of it followed by centuries of new governments. Today in Syria we see revolutionaries finally take hold of their government after 13 years of intense fighting, and still there is so much up in the air for them as they approach creating a new government. In other cases, a monarchy falls and dictatorship takes root. Perhaps an imperfect democracy falls and a new monarch is found. This is not to discredit revolution, as it is a useful tool of the masses to effect change, but it is a reminder that revolution is a tool that is powered by blood and you must ask yourself: is the blood that rots as people suffer greater than the blood that will be spilled to right those wrongs? If so, then organize and revolutionize, but know that life will change forever and, once you start, there is no going back and no telling what lies on the other side.