#it's hard to explain it without mentioning any plot points but i think you get the idea

[netegf]

Hate It When You Leave

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you are trying to cope with the fact that you're hopelessly in love with your best friend. he's trying to cope with the fact that you don't go after the things you want... including him.

warnings: 18+, best friends to lovers trope, use of Y/N, mentions of alcohol and past drug use, non-graphic references to violence, some angst & jealousy, fluff and smut (public sex, teasing, oral female receiving)

word count: 6.5 k

There are parts about wearing your heart on your sleeve that no one ever talks about.

For instance, that it's hard to fix your face when the threads keeping that heart together feel like they're getting tugged, cut, and re-bunched into an ugly knot. 

The water bottle you're holding hardly has any life left. Even Kelce comments as much when he rounds his kitchen island, limbs swinging and loose thanks to the red Solo cup in his hand. He takes one look at the tight smile on your lips and tilts his head to the side, fingers twitching upward to your chin as he turns your head to face him. 

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" He asks, voice a little slurred, but thick with concern.

That was Kelce. Polarizingly good at getting to what someone was hiding underneath. 

But appearances went a long way for him. And he was so agreeable, it made him easy to lie to. Especially when he and Topper had practically begged you to come to this party, his first one since graduating college. Everyone would be there, he'd said.

And he was right, they were. 

"Nothing, Kels, it's just my stomach being a little funny." You tell him with a renewed sense of enthusiasm. You gaze at him warmly and quirk a brow, smiling genuinely. "How do you always know?"

"We've known each other our whole lives!" He barks in a laugh. "There's nothing I don't know about you."

You feel your heart squeeze again, like there's a too-tight belt around it. But you humour him with a sweet giggle and convinced nod, and it's all Kelce needs before he's walking away to mingle with another. 

How shocked he'd be to know that there was something you were hiding. 

You keep the water bottle you're holding close to your body as if it would fall straight out of your hands otherwise. When you watch the brunette seated next to Rafe on the couch squeeze his bicep again, you think it might just fall anyway. 

Some things don't change. 

The sun goes up and down. The moon makes a nightly appearance. Kelce never dresses for the weather. Topper claims everyone else is cheating when he loses. 

You love Rafe Cameron.

"Fucking sucks, doesn't it?" A voice rings next to you.

You slowly turn your head from where you're sitting on the kitchen island to see a familiar face lounging on one of the high-chairs. 

Topper, apparently, had always had an inkling. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Top." You grumble, casting your eyes away from the blonde protagonist of most of your dreams. Some of your nightmares, too. 

You watch as Topper rolls his eyes without so much as glancing at you, a small scoff escaping his lips. He takes a hearty sip from his cup of brown liquid. Tracking his eye-line, you're unsurprised to find that he's staring wistfully at the very same blonde's sister. 

Sarah Cameron is dancing in the corner of the room with John B., her boyfriend. 

A Pogue at a Kook party... the thought still makes you skeptical.

Not because you didn't like John B., or more accurately, like him for Sarah. But because a few short years ago, all this seemed entirely impossible.

Nonetheless, Sarah was important to all of you. 

And, like she'd said, Rafe listened to you better than he did anyone else.

When you explained to him how smitten his sister was with the boy, and considering how their relationship had endured far past those murmurings of 'young love' to, what was at this point, years together, he'd begun to understand that John B. wasn't going anywhere. 

Much to Topper's devastation. 

He promised he was over her, and he dated like it, too. But there were those moments where he had a few drinks in him and it made you think otherwise. 

"Oh, okay. My fault." Topper replies sarcastically, downing what's left in his cup and finally turning away from the couple he's burning holes through. "I thought we were being honest."

"I am being honest."

He glances at you sharply. 

"Uh huh. Hey, don't freak out, but, your nose is like, growing really long. Never seen anything like it before. It's like in that movie! What's it called, again? Puppet boy? No, that can't be right..."

"Very funny, Topper." You say dryly, but the hint of a smile on your lips sells you out and he chuckles next to you. 

"I was thinking Pinocchio." He fake recalls, nudging your elbow. 

This time, you laugh with your chest, and when you lift your head up to take it all in again, your eyes meet familiar blue ones from across Kelce's living room.

By now, you know how to mediate the warmth that blooms at the base of your spine and consumes you completely. 

There's a comfortable silence between the two of you before Topper starts speaking again. 

"You know he would do anything for you, right?" 

You chew on your bottom lip, still holding eye contact with Rafe who gives you a crooked smile. The girl next to him leans in to whisper something in his ear. He keeps looking at you. 

"Yeah, I know." You mumble half-heartedly. "I just feel like I might need to cut my losses at this point." 

Topper frowns for a moment, then stands up from his seat. 

"Well, you suit yourself." He pinches your cheek affectionately. "Because I, for one, want to crash and burn."

You snort at Topper's words and just as quickly watch him round the kitchen counter to grab another drink. 

Preoccupied with the way he extends that gesture to you, fixing some gross concoction of different sodas for you to sip on, a shiver rolls over your skin when it feels like Rafe's smouldering eyes are still lighting a fire on your face. 

Aron Andersen is a douche, but he means well. 

At least, that's the excuse you aways placate Rafe with when Aron inevitably runs his mouth, the blonde's fists tightening nearly every time in conjunction.

Typically, you opt for the pacifist approach because blood is a bitch to clean, Rafe whines when you clean him up with saline, and frankly, Aron isn't worth it.

But tonight, he seems to enjoy testing your threshold for patience like no one else before him. 

You suppose he's not entirely to blame. Kelce makes his drinks strong, and half of Figure 8 is sucking up all the oxygen in the room.

Maybe that was why Rafe had almost swung on John B. only a few minutes prior, claiming the younger man was feeding his sister lies about him. Perhaps it was just one of those nights. 

Still, you sigh when Aron drunkenly makes his way over to your new spot in the backyard, and press your lips tight together when he shoves a beer in your direction.  

"I'm not drinking tonight, Aron." You tell him plainly. 

Aron haphazardly plops down into the lounge chair next to you with his glossy, red eyes narrowing.

He grudgingly pulls the beer back from you and takes a sip that pools around the sides of his mouth, then drains down his throat slow and loud. 

"That sucks. You're more fun when you do." He scoffs.

Your mouth falls open as the words leave his lips, head spinning to meet his annoyed gaze. The faraway look in his eyes makes you gulp.

In no particular mood to be berated, you have half a mind to scoff back and get up to leave. But there's something about the way he speaks completely unadulterated that keeps your body locked in place.

Like you're dying to know what someone really thinks of you.

"Why not?" He presses, gesturing with his finger accusingly. 

"I'm driving."

He continues to stare at you blankly.

"I'm driving." You reiterate, irritation seeping into your tone. "And drunk driving is illegal, Aron. You do know that, right?"

Unintentionally, your eyes flicker to a slightly rowdy and staggering Topper across the room. Aron zeroes in on that and rolls his eyes emphatically. 

"Now it makes sense. You're taking your boyfriends home." He pitches the word in a scornful taunt, squinting over your shoulder. "Where is Cameron, anyway?"

You feel your heartbeat rage in your chest, tongue numb and mind in disarray. 

"Don't be a dick, Aron. They're my friends." You bristle. But he seems unfazed, lazily quirking an eyebrow. 

"Please don't tell me you're that stupid, Y/N. Friends?" He laughs obnoxiously. "I get you're in love with the guy, but you run around for them like a maid. You ask me, the least you should be getting out of it is a good fuck."

Your fingers twitch at your side as you shoot up from your seat, really and truly considering that pouring his beer over his head might be the best option.

Given that Aron routinely takes up two parking spots to park his Range Rover and cheats on his girlfriends, you think it might be a long time coming. 

His words hurt for more than one reason. Of course, because he'd sooner die than recognize that you very much could maintain a healthy, platonic, and meaningful relationship with your friends of over a decade.

But also because, when it came to Rafe, he was goading you with a kind of intimacy you knew you'd never be able to access. At least not in the way you wanted. 

When a firm hand grips Aron's shoulder strongly and whips his body around, you soon realize you don't have to resort to such a physical display. 

While it was true that Rafe's face didn't make him look particularly kind, he'd only been seriously pissed off, to the point that his stomach felt like caving in on itself, a few times. Like in those months right after he'd graduated high school and felt like a big question mark. Every time his dad looked at him disapprovingly, it affirmed that sinking feeling in him, and he learned that he sometimes articulated his sadness in anger.

These days when he's mad, he mulls the feeling over a few times in the interest of scraping for another feeling underneath. 

Now, though, all Rafe feels when he meets Aron's arrogance with an intensity of his own, is unbridled rage. 

"What the fuck did you just say?"

Rafe speaks at a low register that makes your breath quicken. His movements are a little clumsy, blue eyes slightly glazed over, and his dirty blonde hair kisses his forehead that's speckled with sweat. Cheeks dusted red in that way that you love, more prominent when he's inebriated.

His fingers are still pressing harshly into Aron's shoulder, pressure concentrated and steady if the way he winces is any indication. For a second, his eyes flit over to you and the frown on your face, and they begin to soften. But then Aron is sputtering and stealing his attention and he hates him all over again for it. 

"My bad, bro." Aron offers lamely, hands jutting upward in surrender. He attempts to step away, but Rafe keeps him locked there. 

"Yeah, it's your fucking bad, bro." Rafe sneers.

He roughly shoves Aron backwards as he lets go of him and the man quickly scurries away knowing that if he sticks around, Rafe will probably force him through clenched teeth to apologize to you.

You feel your heart hammering in your chest for a different reason.

Your mind is trapped in a loop, repeating every word you said to Aron over and over again, wondering how incriminating they were, and debating how much exactly Rafe had heard.

And if he had, if he was coherent enough to either dismiss or believe the accusation that you loved him. No, not love, you shudder... in love. Aron had said, verbatim, that you were in love with him. 

"I would've handled it." You mumble with your arms crossed over your chest.

Rafe sighs as he turns his body to face you, rubbing a hand over his jaw, now partially relieved of the tension it was holding. He chews on his bottom lip cautiously, like it'll help break the fall of the words bound to spill out of his mouth, a little too unrestrained in his drunk state for his liking. 

"I know that." He nods slowly. "I just wanted to help to help you... handle it."

He stumbles a little as he moves toward you and you instinctively wrap an arm behind his torso, holding him against your body as a human splint. 

"Plus, I kinda have a reputation going for me. No one's losing their shit if I fight a guy."

"Or two." You say pointedly, thinking about his almost altercation with John B. earlier in the night. 

Rafe buries his head into your shoulder, groaning loudly into the bare skin as it heats up and vibrates. 

"Fuck, not you, too."

He lifts his head up to continue, and you lug his body towards the living room where you spot Topper talking with Kelce and some others. Without speaking, Topper seems to understand what you're saying, nodding then pointing to himself followed by the stairs. 

He'd driven you to Kelce's and you promised to stay sober and drive him back home. But now, it seemed like the plan was going to shift.

Topper would stay the night at Kelce's and take his car back in the morning. You would take Rafe's truck back to his place and walk the rest of the way. You were practically neighbours, anyway. 

"If she wants to talk shit about me to her boyfriend, that's one thing. But him, talking shit about me, to her? What's he trying to do? Turn my own sister against me?" 

"I get it, Rafe. I really do." You nod, an amused smile on your lips as you tug him out of the front door and towards his truck. "But you promised Sarah you'd be nice, remember?"

"I am being nice." He protests with his hands tapping at his chest. "I didn't even fucking touch him."

You scoff lightly as you strap Rafe in his passenger seat, noting the way his eyes begin to flutter shut. Humming softly, you poke a cold finger at his cheek and watch as they blink open again. 

"I'm taking you home, okay?" You murmur gently. 

"No!" He objects, large hand circling your wrist. He rubs his forehead with the other one, trying to remember something. "Got a meeting in the morning. Ward is gonna flip if he thinks I've been out all night fucking around."

You look at him uncertainly, waiting for the thing that you don’t want him to say, but know he will.

"Your house? Please?"

There was a time when sleepovers with Rafe were a common practice. Sometimes, after parties like this, with Kelce and Topper.

Other times when you convinced the boys to binge a new movie or TV series, usually ending with at least two of them falling asleep. Rafe made a habit of grumbling his critiques of the things he watched, but always stayed up with you. 

For a while, when he hit an especially rough patch with his dad and spent more nights than he would've liked getting high out of his mind.

As much as he'd tried not to pull anybody else into it, he found himself seeking comfort in the warmth of your bed. It helped that you always received him with open arms, even when his early morning phone calls were disorienting and he cried silently into your shirt in the hours after. 

Those nights felt so distant, and yet, like you could touch them if you reached out just far enough.

Rafe had girlfriends on and off, and sometimes that version of him felt like a stranger. You felt a strange pity for yourself when you realized that it might've been a good thing. That he was getting better and without falling back on a crutch, even if that crutch was you. Suddenly, him sleeping at your house felt weird and misplaced more than anything else. 

"I don't know, Rafe...," you begin to trail off, but the blue desperation in his eyes makes you reconsider. He's still holding tenderly at your wrist. "Fine. But if you puke on my sheets, you're done. Do you hear me?" 

Whether or not Rafe hears you is unclear, but you take the delirious smile forming on his lips as a non-verbal affirmation. He huffs out a long breath as if he can feel himself finally relaxing. His eyes start to close again, too, as you start his truck and drive the short way to your house. 

"Don't even think about falling asleep on me, Cameron. I am not lugging you up the stairs."

"You're strong." He reasons smoothly, lids still shut as he smirks. "You were about to deck the shit out of Aron Andersen when I found you."

Getting Rafe up to your bedroom goes better than you'd imagined, now with a few years of experience under your belt. 

You get him to sit down on your bed, and he fiddles with the items on your nightstand while you rummage through your armoire for an old pair of his pajamas. He complains when you throw him a pair of sweatpants and a sports t-shirt he used to wear in junior high, claiming that it'd be too tight over his arms and chest.

Plus, he'd added, it was far too hot to be wearing a shirt, anyway. 

"I love these." 

Changing into sweats of your own, you exit the bathroom to find Rafe sitting up in your bed, part of his bare torso obscured by your white sheets. His attention is fixed on a small group of rings on your bedside table, silver and gold hues reflecting under the dull rays of your lamp.

He slowly picks one up.

"Yeah, I'd hope so." You snort, tentatively slipping into bed next to him and painfully aware of the sorry excuse for space between you. "You got them all for me... kook."

Rafe cracks a sleepy smile, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You wouldn't tell me which one you wanted." He shrugs like it's the simplest thing in the world. 

He sets the ring back on the table and switches off your lamp, blanketing the room in a stroke of darkness. Rafe lies on his back and you opt to turn to your side, facing the wall.

Looking at his face only a few inches away from yours, when he's about to sleep in your bed, feels like it will be too much. 

"Asking for what you want is weird, Rafe. Nobody likes it."

You chew on your bottom lip in the dark.

"I do." He says in a scoff that turns into a yawn. "How else is anyone gonna know? People don't usually stop you and beg to find out."

You swallow roughly. That was true enough, they didn't.

But Rafe did. He always did. You revered him for it.

There's a long silence between you and all that echoes against the wood framing of your bed are the heavy and sometimes irregular sounds of your and Rafe's breathing.

Against your better judgement, you think he might've fallen asleep and almost turn around to check. 

"Is it me?" He asks quietly, voice scratchy with exhaustion. "... what you want?"

You feel your shaky breath hitch in your throat. 

"Because if it is... you don't have to ask."

His words linger in the air for as long as it takes your wildly beating hard to calm down.

By the time your body regains some feeling, the sound of Rafe's soft snores pierce the oddly crisp air clouding your room, and the choice to unpack what he said right now, or in the morning, is made for you. 

A shiver runs down from the nape of your neck to the tips of yours toes. 

Rafe is gone by the time you wake up.

The harsh but comforting sound of rain clangs against your roof, and you stretch your limbs to the thought of a cloudy and obscure summer day. 

It's better this way, you think. The absence of Rafe's warmth next to you would feel worse if the sun was shining, teasing. 

Your fingers play underneath your comforter to locate your phone. Scrolling through your notifications, you frown seeing that none of them are from Rafe.

In his defense, it was only about 9AM now, and he'd probably just had enough time to take a quick shower, get himself the smallest bit presentable, and still barely make it to his meeting with a client.

The used bathroom towel in your hamper and flannel pajama pants hastily thrown on his side of the bed are compelling indicators. 

In his defense, he was drunk, and there was no telling if he remembered anything about last night. 

Drowsy proclamations of desire and confession, included. 

You wrestle with the idea of calling him and letting it all spill out.

Kissing him on your front lawn, in the rain, with dewy blades of grass nipping at your feet. Hands threading through his wet hair and tugging, hungrily, because you're starving and happy, and these are liberties you can afford in imagination.  

But you settle on seeing him later tonight, in person. It's your dad's charity after all. 

"I just wish you would have told me earlier." Your disappointed words hang in the air for a few moments as you play with the hem of your silky baby blue dress.

Your father had mentioned to you once before that his new business partner had a son about your age, newly graduated from UC Irvine. 

He hadn't mentioned, though, that this mystery guy would be attending the charity tonight, and he'd offered you up as his own personal tour guide.

Your father hadn't used the word date explicitly, but that's what it felt like when you were handed an odd-smelling bouquet of flowers, standing awkwardly next to the brunette who you were apparently to keep the company of all night, though he might as well have been a stranger. 

Daniel was nice enough.

He complimented your dress and your makeup, smiled and pulled out your chair before you sat down at your assigned table.

But it felt weird accepting praise and chivalry from him when your heart was busy beating erratically at the simple thought that your dress matched Rafe's eyes.  

The venue is extravagant like it always is, what with it's elaborate crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, and floral center pieces larger than your head. 

At your table, you note your and Daniel's name cards labeling your seats. Next to them, are Topper, Kelce, and Rafe's. There's a sixth seat that has no label and you tilt your head to the side thoughtfully, considering that Topper or Kelce must be bringing a date. 

"This place is incredible. Your dad is so impressive." Daniel says in awe from the seat next to you. His eyes trail around the room, wide in amazement, reflecting back all the vibrant lights in the brown of his pupils.

You smile weakly at him, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear that always seems to take flight despite your attention to detail.

"Yeah, he's really something. Likes to orchestrate a big show. You should see him at the winter ball. Live doves, and everything." 

Daniel nods, moving on to say something that starts to sound unintelligible when something else piques your interest. Someone else. Multiple someones, entering the banquet hall. 

Craning your neck, you make out Topper and Rafe. And a girl. 

No. Topper... and Rafe and a girl. She has her arm tucked around Rafe's as he escorts her in the direction of your table. He's wearing the grey tux you like, the one he wore to Rose's sister's wedding with the ornate thread detailing. His smile makes the two halves of your heart squeeze together. 

"Hey, you okay? You're squeezing that wine glass pretty tight there."

Daniel likely means well, eyeing the way your fist clenches around the stem of the glass you've yet to take a sip from. You shoot him an embarrassed smile and release your straining fingers.

An emotional support water bottle sounds like it would be really nice right now. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little nervous... my dad always gives a speech at these things." You explain.

As the trio begins to approach, you realize it's Shelley Thompson gripping Rafe's arm, a sweet girl you knew from the Kook Academy.

Even now, she always waves when you run into her at the Island Club, and she has a swing on the golf course like no other.

She's a good match for Rafe. You hate to admit it, but it's true.

When Daniel speaks again, you can barely hear him.

"I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." Daniel chuckles. "I have a hard time imagining that your dad would be bad at anything..."

Topper, having heard the tail-end of your conversation, plunks himself down in the chair across from yours and rubs his forehead tiredly. You shudder at the way he smiles empathetically at you. Like there's something to be consoled about. 

"Hangover?" You ask, shoving the shaky feeling down and shooting him a teasing smirk.

He groans loudly and buries his face in his hands.

"That's the understatement of the year. Feels like I'm getting my skull bashed in." He mutters through the skin, then he peels his head away and grimaces at the screechy music being played. If there was one thing your dad was bad it, it was decent music taste. Topper laughs heartily, shaking his head. "Then again, maybe I am." 

The lightheartedness is interrupted for a moment as Rafe and Shelley pull up to the table, taking their seats accordingly. Rafe rakes his eyes over Daniel for a few seconds, but otherwise stays silent and it makes you frown. You look at him, desperately trying to uncover if he remembers any details from last night, but his expression is unreadable.

Shelley, on the other hand, grins at you enthusiastically and starts to chat with you about the time she interned at your dad's company. 

You find yourself glancing at Rafe every so often, each time catching him staring blankly ahead or at his lap, and always fidgeting with his fingers. 

"Who's this?" He asks suddenly, nodding his head at the man next to you. 

"Oh." You swallow. "This is Daniel."

Finding that insufficient, Daniel takes it as an opportunity to formally introduce himself. 

"That's me." Daniel waves sheepishly, gently squeezing your shoulder with his other hand. "Y/N's been showing me around. Well, her and her dad. I really love what Mr. Y/L/N's been doing with his company. He does some incredible work out here. It's not often that you see-,"

Topper snickers when he cuts him off. 

"Maybe he should've been your date."

Daniel laughs it off, blushing slightly and concealing it in a short cough. But you kick Topper under the table in retaliation, ignoring the way he holds his shin and groans out a soft "Ow!". 

After that, Shelley, Topper, and Daniel divulge into conversation, shifting from topic to topic and at some points, sharing boisterous laughs together.

Rafe keeps his lips pressed together and his words concise. While you fiddle with your utensils, you feel his eyes on you, igniting heat under your skin. 

He stares at you hard, like he's waiting for you to say something. Begging, even, with the way his forehead tenses and his brow stays quirked.

But you didn't know what to say.

Or maybe you didn't know how to say it. Especially not here. Especially not when he had a date. 

Rafe rolls his eyes and chews on the inside of his cheek, standing from the table abruptly, the movement making the cutlery tremble.

"Hey, I have an idea." He says while tugging on Shelley's hand. "Let's dance."

You watch as Shelley squeals with excitement, jumping from her seat to follow Rafe towards the center of the large room where the music is playing. 

"Couldn't pay me to get closer to that band." Topper mumbles offhandedly. You're sure he's trying to make it sting less, but some pains don't have a perfect antidote. 

Daniel sends you a look, silently asking if you want to join them. 

"Maybe later." You reply quietly. 

Watching Rafe wrap his arm around Shelley's waist, you feel your heart sink slowly into your stomach.

In the middle of Daniel's rambling and Topper's occasional acknowledging hums, you rise from your seat and stumble into the courtyard for some fresh air.

Surely, your heart would keep sinking if you saw any more, and your heels were too tight to fit anything else. 

The courtyard is a beautiful mix of greenery, fairy lights, and concrete statues, but it does little to ease the ache in your chest. You sit on a stone bench and try to control your breathing with your head between your knees. 

Though it's turbulent and shallow at best.

"What's wrong?"

You know it's Rafe without looking up. Sighing into the palms of your hand, you slide them down from your face and lift your head up. Surely, your makeup is smudged, and the thought makes you more miserable.

"Nothing." You say more sharply than you intended. "Nothing's wrong. Just go away, Rafe."

He looks at you completely scandalized. 

"Are you... mad at me?"

You let out a deep breathe, averting your gaze to the ground as you collect yourself. "No, I'm not mad. Why would I be mad?"

Rafe scoffs, entirely unconvinced. He rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. 

"Well, fuck, if this is 'not mad', then I don't want to see what mad looks like." 

"Can you just drop it? Please, Rafe? Drop it?" You beg, sniffling slightly as you stand. You hadn't noticed when your cheeks started to get wet. Likely too much in denial.

Despite the way it's honoured you in the past, crying was offering no release at this point. It's not like any of this was Rafe's fault. Even if he had gotten your hopes up last night, he wasn't obligated to act on drunken pillow talk. Maybe he hadn't meant it in the first place and was only trying to make you feel better.

"You won't talk to me." He says sadly.

You bite down on every explanation you want to give him. Chest pain heavy and unrelenting.

"Just... go back to Shelley, Rafe. She's probably waiting for you."

Rafe looks puzzled when the words fall weakly out of your mouth.

Then, he nods, like something finally clicks for him. He meets your eyes with fervor as he presses his lips together.

"So, this is about Shelley?" He asks.

Your head hangs and silence intensifies between you. It speaks for itself.

"The same Shelley that's been fucking Kelce on and off for the past two years?"

He watches your mouth fall open and eyebrows furrow, continuing as you stare at him.

"Kelce promised to take her out on a real date, but then he got caught up at work... asked me to keep Shelley company until he showed up. We didn't come here together, together, Y/N. I thought you knew that." 

Your mind buzzes as he speaks, bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

So, he wasn't here with Shelley. And he probably did remember both what he heard and said last night if he could recognize that you were jealous.

Jealous. It makes you squeeze your eyes shut. The feeling was always two-fold. A person would feel jealous, then humiliated that they had. You don't know which one is worse.

You peak an eye open, chewing through your words. "Why couldn't Topper do it?" 

"Have you met Topper?"

That was a good point. 

Still reeling from the new information, you look down at your lap pensively.

"But you did." Rafe begins after a few beats of silence. When you frown in confusion, he clarifies. "... come here with someone."

You crane your neck up to look at him. There's something you can't place in his eyes, but it's cloudy and all-consuming. His hair is a mess from the way he's been ruffling through it, and his cheeks are flushed and tight.

"What, Daniel? Are you kidding me? I only brought him because my dad ask-," you begin to explain, but Rafe cuts you off. 

"I don’t care why he thinks he can touch you. I just want him to stop.”

Despite the small gust of wind that blows past you both, you feel a warmth at the base of your neck... in the palms of your hands. Maybe it was the beams of light overhead, illuminating your bodies amidst the greenery.

Or, maybe it was just Rafe's words.

The intensity of his gaze. The way he steps towards you as he speaks them, warm hand eventually reaching out to graze over your cheek in a way that makes you gasp in a mixture of shock and excitement. 

For a moment, you think about yourself and the many soul-crushing nights spent watching Rafe talk to and touch and kiss other people, the overlapping visuals making you queasy. 

"I know the feeling." You say quietly, hot breath fanning over his face.

Rafe frowns a little, soaking up the meaning of your words. He nudges his face closer to yours, until your noses are touching and his lips just barely graze over the pair he desperately wants to taste. He draws back suddenly, suspending all the air in your lungs. 

He eyes you cautiously, challenging silently as he licks his lips.

"Not gonna do anything unless you ask." 

You nearly cry out in response. "Rafe, please. I... I want you." Ignoring the way your desperation makes your skin feel tingly and your head spin, you shut your eyes tightly, realizing that only really skimmed the surface. You try again, gulping. "I've always wanted you."

"Fuck." He breathes out, eyes fluttering shut. "Never stop saying that." 

Stifling the sound of another whine from your lips, Rafe kisses you feverishly.

He moves his soft lips in tandem with yours, swallowing each of your breathy moans. One of his hands traces over the swell of your jaw while the other stretches tenderly around your throat. "Know what I wanted to do when I saw you sitting there next to him?" 

You nearly scream in protest when Rafe pulls his lips off yours, but fall silent when he trails kisses down from your jaw to your neck and collarbones, sloppily sucking the skin then laving his tongue over the afflicted areas. Unsatisfied until your pushing his head away from the sensitivity. 

"Wanted to knock his fucking teeth out." He murmurs with his head buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent and leaving searing kisses. "But I don't do that shit anymore. So I'll ruin his night a different way."

Rafe moves your body with his until the backs of your knees hit the concrete bench. Your mouth falls open as he sits you down on it, kneeling in front of you. He presses a ticklish kiss to your knee and his bright blue eyes peer up at you through his lashes. When you nod, he parts your thighs and pulls your panties down in a single unbroken movement, committing every second to memory.

He stares longer than he should, groaning at the way your wetness collects on his finger when he traces a finger over your slit, spreading you apart. 

"Can't believe," he moans into your mound, running the flat of his tongue over your center again and again. "... you kept me from this pussy for so long." 

You throw your head back at the sensation, finding nothing but air and Rafe to support you as pulls you closer to his mouth.

"That," you say in a broken moan at the feeling of Rafe's tongue inside you. "That's your fault, remember? I was always here — shit! Waiting for you.”

Rafe hums against your pussy at that, neither agreeing or disagreeing. His nose nudges your clit as he tastes you greedily. You tug at his hair to dissipate some of the energy building inside your core, but it only makes Rafe work harder. 

"Didn't think I deserved you." He admits, pink lips mesmerizing and wet with your slick and his spit. Rafe takes your clit into his mouth and sucks obscenely, the slurping sound sending a flash of heat through you. "Doesn't matter now. I'm good at making up for lost time..."

Your thighs clamp around Rafe's head as he fucks you with his tongue. It's only now, as gasps and high-pitched sounds fall wantonly from your lips that you come to the reality that you're letting Rafe eat you out in the courtyard, and anybody from the party could come here and find you. Still, you moan less controlled than you would have hoped when he suckles at your clit again, drinking at your sopping pussy.

"Hey, have some common decency, huh? There's some very nice people in there trying to enjoy a party." 

Rafe smirks when you pull at his hair even harder, mostly at the thought that you think it could be reprimanding when he likes it so much. His teasing does more to turn you on than you'd care to admit and he can tell with the way you gush around him.

"One of em's your date." He adds, laughing slightly as he curls his tongue inside you. Entranced at the way it makes you whimper and writhe like putty under him. He starts rubbing your clit with his thumb at the same time, chasing the crest of your orgasm. "C'mon, baby. Give it to me. Come all over my tongue." 

Your release makes your back rise off of the slab of cement you're seated on, thighs slotted over Rafe's shoulders as he licks you through your climax.

The pleasure is insurmountable, your mouth falling open and your eyes screwing shut as that familiar feeling completely overwhelms your senses, the burn of your elbows against the cement keeping you anchored to the ground. 

Rafe smiles when you pull him by the belt of his dress pants to capture his mouth in a long and sweet kiss. It helps clean up the residual wetness. 

By the time Kelce makes it your father's charity event, he sighs tiredly into the crown of Shelley's head, pressing a wet kiss there in greeting. On his way in, he got trapped in a conversation with your father and some guy he'd never seen before named Daniel who was more inclined to kiss your dad's ass than he was to breathe.

Finally taking his seat next to a very drunk Topper, he squints his eyes at the sight before him. You and Rafe, unable to keep your hands off each other, giggling at nothing in particular. And when not giggling, kissing.

"Are you seeing this shit?" Kelce asks Topper, gesturing towards his two closest friends shoving their tongues down each other's throats. Shamelessly, at that.

"Dude." Topper groans, sighing like this was no surprise to him. "Where the fuck have you been?"

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

[twistedbloodstain]

I have two ideas for the marquis de framing that I think you’d do great writing!

1: where the reader is interrogating the marquis (meaning she kidnapped him) and through there, they start to get feelings for each other

2: reader (who had a relationship of some sort with the marquis) fakes their death because they couldn’t take the assassin world. The marquis is devastated (lots of angst hehehe). They meet again while the reader is trying to help someone (maybe John, lol)

3: reader who is part of the high table meets the marquis for the first time. Sorta like live at first sight.

vincent de gramont x reader: i could never give you peace | what’s meant to be is supposed to be

plot: the one where he finds you again.

warnings: the reader’s a medic/healer in here SORRYYY…, she knew john from before, he rats her out lolz, kidnapping except vincent doesn’t do it this time..(yay! cuz he forced someone else to do it!!!), anon im so sorry i focused too hard on one part, i will do an extra (i swear)

masterlist

“stay still.” you mumble.

mr. wick lets out a small grunt while you sew his wound back together, nothing too fatal (at least in his standards) but without the help of any anesthesia or alcohol to soothe the pain, the assassin had no choice but to follow.

“don’t worry, it's almost done.” you whisper almost finished with patching up the flesh on his back. “and..there..”

he immediately gets off his seat and reaches for his shirt stationed on a random desk scattered with medical supplies. he digs into his suit jacket and fishes out a coin and hands it over to you, you accept it eagerly and begin cleaning up.

“you need any help with transport?” you inquire while you discard your bloodied gloves and utensils.

“yeah.”

“on your way out turn left and find the guy with a gray jacket. he’s one of winston’s men, he’ll help you out. where are you headed?” you inquire while washing your hands. he hesitantly answers before offering a reply.

“paris.”

“oh.” you stop in your movements and look at him. he stands near the door way all dressed up with blood caking his temples, he still looks rugged and in no shape to do what he has to do in pairs but your opinion likely doesn’t matter to him.

“good luck, i guess.” you mutter.

“you’ve been there.” he says.

“i..have.” you hope he doesn’t press any further.

“what’s in paris?” he questions but doesn’t take a step further.

“for you?” you uneasily say, he doesn’t reply.

“a dangerous man. i..think you’ll die trying just to get what you want, mr. wick. but hey, who knows? maybe, it’s now him.” you explain.

“the guy who had the continental demolished, was it him?” he sternly asks.

“..yes, i think it was him.” you confess, avoiding his eyes.

it had been almost three years since you left that country.

three years since you left him.

you can’t even bear to say his name because if you do, all of it will spill out. how he met you, how kept you and how he loved you. 

he nods, “and for you?”

“an even more dangerous man.”

 ever since mr. wick entered and left your clinic. you've been in a constant state of anxiety. the mere thought and mention of him had you nervous, especially when you heard that he was in new york a few days ago. you thought it was all over, that he found you and was going to rip you from your freedom in this city.

the following news shocked you to your core, the new york continental being demolished was not in your bingo card as to why he’d be here. all because of an excommunicated assassin which you had tended to almost a day after the bombing.

although you’re horrified with the state of events, relief flooded you when you realized he wasn’t there for you. you’d still be safe from him.

but you can’t help but think what all of this means for him. at some point, you know that john wick will kill him, and you somehow played a part in it. you feel a tinge of regret for him but it’s quickly overshadowed with the horrors he’s done and you don’t feel as bad.

he did like you though, when you still worked at france for him as his estate medic. whenever he found himself wounded in the line of fire in an ambush attack, you were the one who tended to his wounds and saw him at his weakest. you don’t know why but a strong sense of trust was established between the two of you.

you thought it to be a friendship but fleeting glances of affection would seep through when you talked or when a large bouquet of flowers suddenly appeared in your clinic after patching him up. 

you toyed with a pin he gave you, his insignia. only he wore it proudly on his coat and truly, it warmed you to him. he did make you feel appreciated, small touches on your back and sometimes fiddling with your hands whenever you sewed his wounds, gave you butterflies in your stomach.

with you he was just…vincent.

soft words and touches with soulful eyes looking into yours, just gentleness and affection present in him. it made you indulge into it too, that he isn’t the cruel man people made him out to be. he isn’t heartless, that’s just how the world is.

a naive perspective.

a perspective that was easily shattered when you’d hear a bloodcurdling scream from the barn, and he walks out with blood on his hands and a disgusted look on his face from his clothes being stained. gunshots echoing beneath the servant’s staircases and thudding bodies being dragged into the secluded forests of the estate. you whisper to yourself those very same words even if all his actions sent chills on your spine.

but the truth of it is that, he is heartless. he is the man people made him out to be and you’re a fool thinking he could be better for you but at the end of the day, he is still the marquis.

it made you think. what if this is all a game to him? what if the moment he finds you uninteresting you become another stain on his suit? 

it’s not a secret that men like him love having delicate pretty things only to break them apart. that’s all you are his current delicate and pretty thing.

you decided to leave. you weren’t staying long enough to find out what would happen to you, feelings be damned when you’re easily replacable to him. you knew that the marquis was like a dog to a bone when he didn’t get the things he wanted, which only pooled fears into your stomach should he find you in new york.

he cannot have you.

you stare at the pin before chucking the pin somewhere in the room, you get up from your chair and begin closing the windows from your clinic.

a knock comes from the door, you chuck the remaining medical materials into a random desk and walk up to the door. wounded assassins aren’t a strange occurrence at this time of the evening but something…felt different.

your gut was telling you to ignore the person on the other side and stay still. you thought that maybe if you didn’t answer the person would go away. wanting to play things safe you don’t mutter a word that would alert them of your presence. it usually worked in some cases.

the knocking persists, much harder and louder now. your hands begins to shake and your eyes start looking around for an emergency firearm to help defend yourself, your actions frantically halt when you hear a voice through the door.

“doc?” a gruff voice asks.

you sight and put a hand on your chest. it’s just john wick. you eagerly open the door to let him in.

“john.” you greet, “come inside.” you invite him as you walk inside.

john doesn’t follow you and a confused expression takes your face, until you take a good look at him. for the first time, john wick doesn’t look wounded to you, his face and hands void of any blood, a new bulletproof suit adorning his body, a french one you notice but it still leaves you questioning things.

“i’m assuming france went successful.” you say.

“…it’s close.” he pauses before replying, seeming as if he’s finding the right words to say.

“what do you need?” you question.

“it’s winston. he’s been shot.” you freeze.

oh dear. you never really approved of the things he did but a soft spot was always present for him and charon. they helped you settle here in new york, but winston took you in even when he knew of your history with vincent. you swore to always help him in ways you could and now the opportunity presented itself.

the car sped down the street with you and john in tow. you hold your medical kit close to your lap, feeling uneasy with the thought of losing the old man. charon had been so recent and you don’t think you bear to lose the friends you’ve made along the way.

you glance at john and he looks calm and composed as usual, eerily so. a week earlier he was calm but you could feel his anger and determination simmering underneath his skin. now it looked like he was taking a walk in a park. you eye him carefully, uneasiness seeping in your stomach.

“did they give it to you?” you ask, he looks at you before clearing his throat.

“just an extension.” he answers, knowing exactly what you were referring to.

“to do what?” you ask again, john doesn’t budge and continues driving, ignoring your question. your eyes stay on him but he doesn’t look at you.

silence settles into the car and you lean back in your seat. you really wish your brought your gun with you right now. you don’t know why but you have a feeling that something is wrong right now, especially with john. he’s not telling you something.

or maybe it really is none of your business. perhaps he wanted to spare the bloody details of how he’s going to win his freedom back. you relax and try to forget the uneasiness, trying to remember that winston is the priority right now, you shut your eyes. all of your fears are gathering together and it’s making you overthink your interaction with john, everything’s okay.

the loud sound of drilling makes you open your eyes, you look at the window and you see a familiar street. 

the new york continental was being rebuilt.

your apprehensiveness returns.

“john?” you look at him once again, “who shot winston?”

“he got hit during the line of fire.” this time he replies.

bullshit. winston would have an emergency plan before the shooting started.

“in new york?” you press.

“yeah.”

another bullshit. you could see through his lies, he’s clearly fresh out of france. what was he trying to do? 

“j-john.” you voice shakes almost as if you’re begging. something happened in france, something that saved both winston and john.

he looks at you with regret in his eyes. not enough to save you for what’s about to come.

“where are you taking me?” you sputter, your heart beating fast in anxiety, “i’ve done nothing but help you, please don’t do this!”

“he took winston with him and he found out.” he quietly defends.

“please help me, i don’t want to go back!” you begin crying, tears rolling down your face, “he’ll kill me!” 

he makes no reply and continues driving. with no hope left with him, you try to open your side of the door. he immediately notices this and grabs your arm trying to stop you from leaving, you begin hitting him with your other arm.

you know that he doesn’t want to do this but it feels so unfair. you’ve saved his life only to throw yours away.

“let go of me!” you scream.

“i’m sorry.” 

you feel a prick in your neck.

you feel a heavy sensation pulling at your leg, your eyes feeling groggy still wanting to keep your lids closed. however the sensation persists and this forces you to open your eyes and sit up.

a dark room welcomes you, only a small lamp helping you take a small look of where you are. specifically, on a plush bed and a decorated room. your body feels heavy  from exhaustion which makes you lean back to the pillow behind you.

pondering what made you feel so tired when you haven’t done much for the night, you’ve sewn back together…a pair of assassins for the night? or was it three? two austrians and…who?a french? no…no..it was winston. 

that’s right.

wait.

only you didn’t treat winston.

you bolt up, your body seemingly sobers from the realization.

john brought you here in exchange for his freedom. 

you look around to see some sort of presence in the room but with the darkness it was hard to tell, nevertheless you hopped off the bed and bolted to the wooden door nearby. no wonder the place looked familiar, only the marquis would have a place as frivolous as this.

you need to leave right now. your hand reaches for the door until you find your body being slammed on the floor. a groan leaves your throat, in pain you massage your forehead and look around.

oh goodness.

a gasp leaves your mouth when you see a chain wrapped around your ankle, you inspect your foot before tracing the lines of chains, which were sourced on the thick foot of the bed you were on.

you tug it to check its strength and to see how long it actually goes. it was long enough to walk around the room but not long enough to reach the door. this is basically your fully furnished torture chamber. 

fuck. fuck. fuck.

a loud creak echoes through the room.

you really hate how things are right now.

he’s going to kill you. kill you for leaving him, how you easily made him look humiliated for being abandoned.

feeling your knees weaken you sit back on the bed and your hands shake in trepidation. the marquis’ simple presence made you scared of him, you felt tears falling down once again and you lowered your head, not wanting to look weak right now.

his footsteps are heard through the room, the door loudly closes shut, a thud echoing. he doesn’t say a word.

you feel everything leave your body. hope,freedom and life mostly.

he walks up to you until you see his shoes on the floor, a blurry sight entering your eyes due to the tears, he touches you, tilting your chin upwards and you do everything not to flinch. was he going to snap your neck?

you look at him and he still looks the same, slightly more mature.

but the same man you met a few years ago, if you jumped back into your rose tinted glasses, you’d probably see the vincent you cherished at some point if you weren’t so frightened right now.

he inspects you, his eyes wandering through your face. searching for something that’s supposed to be there, his lips part almost as if he’s about to say something but you beat him to it.

“i-i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” apologies spill out of your lips, wanting to take the chance of saving yourself, “i-i’m so sorry! i didn’t mean to.” you cry. your hand reaches up to his hand that held your chin and you grip it for mercy, his hold on you weakens.

he doesn’t say anything and leans forward to you. you need him to say something, anything, whether it meant he’d simply say he wants yuu dead.

“please forgive me, just please don’t kil-“ he cuts you off.

with a kiss.

not a firm one but a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips.

he takes your hands into his and fiddles with it, trying to find his place in them just like before, he halts the kiss and leans towards your face. the man right in front of you wasn’t the marquis, it was vincent. 

your vincent.

the one with soft eyes looking at you with relief and adoration. the gaze that looked at you as if you were the most precious thing on earth, he wipes the tears on your cheeks and the next thing he says dissolves all sense of worry out of you.

“i could never hurt you.” he whispers.

author’s note: this kinda doesn’t make sense bc im so braindead rn to expand things but basically vincent finds medic!reader through winston and in exchange for the continental and john’s freedom, john brings medic!reader back to vincent. so basically she got ratted out lolz. this would work better if i made a vincent pov would be fun but i have a bunch of prompts to work on…(tempting) + he literally chained her down to him (hshshsh marriage allegory…) i kinda want to be funky dynamic of obsessed man + “ngl what’s wrong with this guy but i vibe with it” woman

[mrsmaxwelllord]

Summer Storm

Pairing: Harwin Strong x Martell Lady!Reader

Summary: Harwin leaves King's Landing to protect the three youngest princes from the dangerous rumor circulating in the Red Keep. Upon arriving home, he discovers that his father had another plan to put an end to the rumors once and for all.

or, Harwin marries a Martell who can see ghosts.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: For now, only Arranged Marriage.

A/N: I think it's important to make two things clear before you start reading.

There is no Harwin/Rhaenyra in this story. Harwin returned to Harrenhal with the intention of putting the past behind him and the relationship they had is only briefly mentioned.

The Reader can see ghosts and has visions of the future. This is very important for the plot I have in mind, but it will be explained better in the following chapters (It will be important to the plot but have it in mind it isn't the central point, I intend to explore the relationship between the two more).

The only reason Harwin Strong agreed with his father about returning to Harrenhall was to protect Princess Rhaenyra’s children. His sole goal was to protect their honor and keep them safe from the nasty rumor about their parentage. 

He knew he had made an irreversible mistake by letting Ser Criston get under his skin — this was exactly his goal, he realized later —, losing his temper and giving him the reaction he was looking for sealed his fate at King's Landing. He also knew that he had to part with the boys, by staying he would only allow the rumor to grow and strengthen. Even though he loved them so dearly, it was the right thing to do. 

Harwin didn’t question his father any longer and left. The goodbye was particularly hard with Jacaerys and Lucerys, with little Jofrey it cut especially deeper for he would not be allowed to see him grow as he had had the chance with the two eldest boys. The farewell with Princess Rhaenyra was strange in a way he didn't imagine could be possible, not after so many years in camaraderie: she was awkward and had the expression of someone who wanted to confess something, but could not do it. In the end, she only looked at him with teary eyes and nodded her goodbye. He spent the whole trip home thinking about this interaction, wondering what it meant.

Only when the five towers of Harrenhal were visible in the distant horizon and he could see the Gods Eye’s waters,  did his father break the news to him. He was to marry. He was to marry that very same day, as soon as he set foot at the castle in matter of fact. 

He was not only to marry a Dornish Noble, he was to marry a Martell. Not one of the ruling Lord Martell’s children, since he had made clear — not with his words but with his actions thoroughly King Viserys’s reign — that he would not get involved with Westeros’ society, but a not-quite-distant relative. One important enough to join Houses with the King's Hand without being an embarrassment or cause mockery.

Harwin was beside himself with rage. He did not come back to Harrenhall to marry, certainly not to someone he never heard of before. He thought his father old fashioned and archaic for even considering an arranged marriage. They were almost through the castle gates when he calmed down enough to be able to hear the arguments his father was making.

“It will not be enough to just leave, Harwin,” Lyonel reasoned. “I fear nothing we ever do will be enough to silence the whispers, but this could be a new beginning. By marrying we give the people a new narrative and, if the seven heavens bless us, it will make them forget. At the very least, it’ll be something new and exciting to talk about. They will spare the boys.”

It was exactly what Harwin wanted — and desperately needed — to hear: that he could undo the harm he did to the boys. He felt so guilty for unleashing his anger on Ser Criston that his hands started to shake even when thinking about that odious day. So when Lord Lyonel explained to him the proposition in this particular light, he was glad to take it. He would do just about anything for the boys. 

He accepted the marriage and promised his father he’d compromise to learn to be the Lord of Harrenhal. A good, just Lord. And a respectable husband also, even though this part of the promise was more complicated to comply with.

Harwin remembered his mother then. His parents' marriage was also arranged and his mother would occasionally tell him, Larrys stories about her coming to this very same castle. Harrenhal was rumored to be haunted, it was said these halls were full of ghosts and misfortunes, that the ruling lords were cursed to fall every century. Lady Strong never told her sons how afraid she was of the prospec of living in those dark walls, yet they could hear her hidden and forgotten fear; Harwin, who was raised to be Lord Strong one day, remembered one evening swearing to protect his future wife from the curse. A silly thought from his boyhood, he dismissed it. Yet, when thinking about what his bride would be like, he knew it was likely that the same fear could make itself known in your heart. 

Harwin held no grudge against his betrothed, he knew it was likely that the choice was also not yours to make. You were in the same position, to be married to a stranger, so he made another commitment. To himself, this time. Like his parents’ marriage, he wanted this one to work out and, for this, you would’ve to work together and trust each other. But there would be no love involved, it was not possible, he already had his children and his priority was their well being. People would expect him to have heirs of his own one day, but this was a topic for the future. For the time being, he only had the heart to work one compromise at a time.

The first time Harwin met his Wife, he didn't see you entirely: you were wearing a thick veil that covered all of your face and your dressing concealed  the rest of you. Harwin's acknowledgment of Dorne was limited to what the Maesters told him in his youth and what people said in King’s Landing about their costumes, but upon one look at you it was clear you were making a statement. You were clearly dressed in Dornish fashion, a thick satin fabric in a deep shade of blue that he realised was supposed to match his House’s color. The dress did not lack beauty, with its golden suns embroidered on the hems and also the extra piece of gold jewelry you wore in your neck, wrist and fingers. Harwin wondered if the fabric of the dress was enough to keep you warm on this winter day and if all the pretty little details were to spur him on or to show the power of House of Martell. 

The first meeting concerned him immensely. His intention was to study you and decide what course of action he should take based on his first impression of you, but you only managed to confuse him further than he already was with you.

Upon being introduced to you, you were only polite and even-tempered, he dared think you were a bit too… placid. He couldn’t make anything out of your replies, it felt to him you only answered with what you thought he wanted to hear. Which he also thought was in contrast to your so bold choice of clothing.

He sat beside you at the main table and tried to have a meaningful conversation with you — as meaningful as a conversation with someone you know nothing about can be — yet got so frustrated that the only thing he could do to alleviate it was to drink the wine. It was not that you lacked intelligence in your little observations and answers, but Harwin could tell you were hiding something behind your clever words. It was like you were trying to dodge him yet it only made him so much more curious about you. 

When it was time for the bride and groom’s dance, he realised what was wrong. For most of the feast, you drank and ate very little and your hands were always hiding in your lap under the table. Only when he held your hand did he realize you were shaking and cold. So very cold.

You were just as nervous as he was, that comforted him somehow. To know he wasn’t alone in all his mess. 

Harwin danced with you for as long as he could, which wasn’t really much. Yet it was enough to find out the two of you strangely could synchronize well together. He still could not see your face under the veil, but he had a feeling you smiled back at him when the song stopped.

The time for the wedding ceremony arrived faster than you expected it to.

Even though there were fireplaces alight everywhere in the hall, you felt cold. Your hands, which had briefly stopped shaking while you were dancing with Harwin, started shaking again with more force than before. You were terribly nervous, thanking the Gods for the veil preventing your expression from being revealed to the crowd watching you. But soon, that too would be taken from you.

The ceremony itself was short and according to the customs of the Faith of the Seven, after you excused yourself and changed into a proper wedding dress and a yellow cloak symbolizing the House Martell. It happens at the Sept of the Castle, with a rather old Septon blessing the union. After the seven vows were made, it was time to exchange the clocks. Since your father couldn’t come with you to the Riverlands, it was your uncle who removed the clock from your shoulders; then Harwin carefully placed the blue cloak on your shoulders and lifted your veil. 

You held your breath and made sure to look in his eyes to study the expression on his face. The veil was only an old custom, one you were partially glad for, but mostly afraid of. It conceals your expression but also your appearance, not that the way you looked was of any significance. In fact, your appearance didn't make any difference at all for the marriage, if Ser Harwin disapproved of it the union would happen anyway.

To you, the veil only served to make the wedding kiss an even more anxiety-filled moment, the anticipation was killing you and you suspected your soon-to-be husband felt the same way — if his endless questions about you and your likes were of any concern. If he thought of you ugly, you only wished that he could not show it in front of all those watching eyes— it would be your first kiss and the start of your life as a Lady, it would hurt too much to watch his face squirm with displeasure. 

To your relief, there was no squirm of displeasure from Harwin. His eyes initially only looked at yours, then it ran through your face… Your eyebrows, your hair, your cheeks, your nose, then finally your mouth. In which he fixated for as long as he could before he looked up into your eyes again and followed with the ceremony.

“With this kiss I pledge my love” both you and Harwin say in harmony and he leans down to kiss you. His lips are soft and sweet and he kisses you slowly, carefully, with one hand he holds yours and the other he guides your face up to better kiss you. It lasts only a moment yet it leaves you feeling inebriated.

“…and take you for my lady and wife” Harwin finishes, with the delicious thick accent of his.

“…and take you for my lord and husband.”

The feast that followed the wedding was extravagant. With delicious food made in both RiverLand’s and Dornish’s costumes to please both parties, even though your own party was small and consisted only of your uncle, a few knights, and some maids that had come to serve you in your new home. You had brought with you a few barrels of Stronwine as a gift to your father-in-law and he seemed to thrive in its rich flavor and high alcohol content. 

The guests, most of them Lords from Riverlands and friends to Lord Strong, were happy, singing and dancing to the songs. Your brother-in-law was nowhere to be seen. Your now officially husband was seated by your side at the main table and, just like before, kept on asking you all kinds of questions.

You thought it was a good sign, the questionnaire about your family, friends and life in Sunspear showed interest in you. Yet it was difficult to answer it all, you did not know his character just yet and preferred to keep the more delicate matter to yourself until you were sure he was trustworth; that he would not judge and make your life hell. So you kept your replies neutral and tried to keep the conversation about him; you asked him how was being Captain in the City Watch, what was life at the Red Keep like, what he enjoyed doing in his spare time, if he had any. You considered asking him about Princess Rhaenyra and her children, but decided against it. You thought it wise not to corner a hounded man — not when he was known as Breakbones.

You danced with him again and again during the party, actually enjoying his company and quickly quit. Despite your concerns, because you knew he had lost his temper and attacked the Queen’s sworn shield, he seemed to be a gentle and composed man. Harwin is devastatingly more handsome than you expected him to be, his hair is half up allowing you to better enjoy the strong features of his face. His clothes were a dark shade of blue that almost matched his eyes and gave him a solemn aura, you couldn’t help but notice.

When it was time for the bedding ceremony, you were beside yourself with worry. You knew what to expect but the prospects of it did not please you, yet, once again, Harwin eases your anxiety and just leads you to his chambers without drawing attention from anyone instead of following the traditional ceremony.

He leads you to the Kingspyre Tower, where the castellan’s chambers are at, it is the tallest tower and it takes a long time to get up there. Harwin uses this time to ease your worries with comforting words, he says he does not wish to see you concerned. And it almost helps, it is almost enough for you to believe his words.

Once in his chambers, he locks the door from the inside and seats you at the biggest canopy bed you’ve ever seen. You wait for him to start, not sure of what exactly he expects of you, but he leaves you in the bed alone and goes to fix glasses of wine in the bedside cabinet. You decide to take matters in your own hand and quickly unlace the dress, leaving you only in your chemise, then you make yourself more comfortable and wait for him to turn. 

When he does turn, he is taken back by your lack of clothing, but goes to your side and gives the glass. Unlike in the feast, you drank almost all of it. You need the bust of confidence.

“Are you still nervous, m’lady?” he asks with a sweet smile, his tone has that accent of his you came to adore. 

You decided to go with the truth this time.

“Yes, my lord. I find it difficult to feel anything else at this time.”

Harwin takes a long sip from his cup and takes your hand in his.

“I meant it when I said you had nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you” you say, because words are failing you by now. Your hands are shaking again, but Harwin looks at you so gently it becomes hard to believe he’d willingly hurt you. You want to trust him, you truly do.

“I’ll be honest with you” he starts, suddenly looking away and, for a moment, you believe he’ll talk about the young Princes. “I want this marriage to work.”

“As do I, my lord..” you reply, confused.

“We’ll be Lord and Lady of Harrenhal one day and it’ll not come without difficulties. If we want to rule with honor and dignity, we’ll have to understand and respect each other. I want us to work together.”

“I want the same, Harwin.”

“I must tell you a few things then, so we know where we stand. Set some boundaries.” 

“Is it about Princess Rhaenyra’s children?” you finally ask, catching up to his meaning.

It caught him off guard, he turned to you and his expression tells it all. The conformations of the histories you’ve been listening to about your husband. You smile sadly. You had really hoped it was all just rumors.

“So what they say is true.”

Harwin wants to deny it, but he decides to start this marriage with honesty so he simply nods. And it is as a huge weight is lifted from his back, he sighs deeply as if he is finally able to breathe again.

“Do you honestly wish to work together?” you ask him, looking into his eyes. “It’ll take time and a great deal of effort, but I think that if you’re willing to, we can manage it.”

“There’s nothing I want more.”

...

Notes: Couldn't help but write my own piece about the beloved Harwin "Breakbones" Strong. He just screams "arranged married plot"! and I could not simply make it easy from him!! I want to see him suffer a bit.

This will have a follow up!

Let me know what you think!

[brodieland]

.˚ 𓈒 ࣪.𝝑𝝔 Can we finally call a Truce? ´ˎ˗

Percy Jackson x Fem!Hades!Reader Synopsis: Percy finally takes you on that date, who would've thought he was so romantic !!! Warning(s): some swearing Word Count: 2930 A/N: felt like adding some social media into this one, ignore all there faces, imagine whoever you want for the photos

╰➤ MASTERLIST pt4

The shower is your thinking spot. You think about anything. You think about your day, things you have to do, what you're gonna eat later, basically anything. Except now, all you could think about was Percy. The more you think about it, the more you realize how much time you've actually spent thinking about him in the past. Maybe not the way you are right now, mostly just pranking, but still. After about half an hour of standing in the water thinking of Percy, it's time to get out.

After hopping out, and changing into some clothes, you head to your room. You decided to check if you had any messages on your phone. Instead, you found a mention on Instagram from Percy.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝜗𝜚

＠seaweedbrain • 20 min

Liked by wisegirl and others.. ＠seaweedbrain: why is this lady invading my motherland?? ＠StyxGirl View comments..

＠wisegirl: she's added the flare you can't →＠seaweedbrain: ＠wisegirl its literally my home?? →＠wisegirl: ＠seaweedbrain whats your point???

＠deathboynicoo: saying she's invading ur space after asking her out is crazyy😭👋 →＠seaweedbrain: ＠deathboynicoo maybe im bipolar?? what happened to mental health matters?? →＠deathboynicoo: ＠seaweedbrain you actually wanna be me so bad holyy🤦 →＠wisegirl: @deathboynicoo HE WHAT?? HELLO??

＠StyxGirl: when did you get these pictures of me you actual stalker →＠seaweedbrain: ＠StyxGirl she want mee🤭 →＠BeaurengardOnTop: ＠seaweedbrain me and my mama stay plotting on yall‼️

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝜗𝜚

After laughing and going through Percy's comments, you decided to FaceTime Silena and Annabeth. They pick up immediately.

"Y/N" Annabeth and Silena shouted.

"Hey guys" you said calmly, sticking out your tongue.

"Erm, explain??" Said Silena. And you did. You explained everything that happened, starting from when you pulled him out of class, all the way till when Nico sadly interrupted the two of you. He was never gonna let you live that down and you knew it. By the time you were finished their eyes were WIDE.

"Bro Nicos so funny" Annabeth was laughing so hard at that fact Nico pulled you out of Percy's grasp. "Love that kid."

"No cause let me catch him with Will" you said, making to two on the phone laugh even harder. "Let's see whos laughing then!"

After everyone caught their breathes, Silena spoke up. "So tell us, what's happening on this little date." Silena was wiggling her eyebrows as she spoke.

"Well, I actually don't know yet-" you cut yourself off when you saw a text from Percy. "Speak of the devil he just texted me."

"Well what does it say" Annabeth demanded.

'Meet me at my dorm tomorrow at 5. Wear something nice.'

"His dorm at 5. He said wear something nice" you read aloud.

"What a little romantic" Silena said.

"Gods, you and Percy are my favorite show right now" Annabeth said.

"Heyy, thats what my mom said" Silena shared happily.

"Alright guys I'm gonna go now, night night" you said

"Goodnightt" Silena and Annabeth said simultaneously.

After hanging up the phone you remembered to text Percy back before putting your phone down. You decided to grab your laptop and watch some Netflix. After a few episodes of Gilmore Girls, you accidentally dozed off without realizing.

[12:06] AM

You woke up to the sound of your phone vibrating next to you. You picked it up to check the caller ID. 'water boy.' At this hour?

"Percy?" You answered groggily.

"Oh, did I wake up, sorry I'll go" Percy apologized.

"Wait no, no. It's fine, whats up" you quickly spit out. You were now sitting up in your bed.

"Oh um, I just can't sleep, so I wanted to come over. Like last time you know" Percy asked. You smiled at the request.

"Sure Percy," you were kinda warm. "I'll be waiting." And with that you both hung up the phone. Ten minutes pass by and you get a text from Percy.

'Hey I'm here, I didn't want to wake up Nico or something.'

Without responding you, you quickly put your phone down and speedily, but quietly, ran toward the door and swung it open.

"Someones excited to see me, aren't they" Percy laughed as he walked inside.

"Hey you're the one who wanted to come over" you pointed out as you started walking to your room with Percy trailing behind. "Someone wanted a little sleepover" you started to tease.

"And you're the one who let me wake you up and insisted I came over." You stopped in your tracks, turning around to stare at Percy with your jaw on the floor. "Like you just had to ask, no need to twist my arm about it."

"Okay lets just get to my room buddy" you said as you continued to make your way back to your room.

"To your bedroom already? Buy me a drink first maybe" You let out an exasperated sigh.

"Your minds in the gutter. And let's be honest," you turned your head around to look up at Percy "you wouldn't need me to get you a drink to get you in that bedroom." You jokingly threw a flirty wink and made your way to your bedroom, almost leaving behind a flustered Percy. You jumped into your bed and Percy followed next to you.

"Anyways I'm tired come here." Percy said as he pulled you into his embrace, making you laugh. You wrapped your arms around before you looked at him.

"Wow, you really came over to sleep in my bed with me" you said.

"Well of course, why? Did you think I came over for something" Percy smirked at you. You rolled your eyes before snuggling in closer.

"No I didn't, now go to sleep water boy" you said into his chest.

Percy kissed the top of your head before saying goodnight. The both of you were out and started dreaming of each other.

[11:19] AM

When you woke up, you noticed you were alone again. You were sad until you turned over and saw a note lying on your nightstand. AW, Percy wrote you a note with your pink glitter pen. It said

'Sorry to just leave you alone, you seemed so peaceful I didn't want to wake you. I left to go set up for later, see you later styx girl ;)'

You held the note up and smiled as you read it. Styx girl was something he came up with back at camp. You hated him but the name was catchy so you didn't mind it. After finishing you put the note back down and headed out to the kitchen and found your amazing brother, Nico, making two smores pop tarts.

"I hope one of those are for me" you said.

"Oh of course your hungry" um, rude?

"I literally just woke up, what with your attitude kid?"

"No attitude. Here" he threw you one of the pop tarts and you just barely caught it mid air.

"You couldn't just leave it on a plate?" You looked at him wide-eyed as he almost just socked with you a pop tart.

"I definitely could've" he looked at you with a face saying, 'but why would I do that when I could smack you with a pop tart.'

"Okay.." you started to walk away and sat in the living room of your dorms common area. After you finish slumming down your pop tart you start slouching down on the couch and scroll through your phone.

"So Y/N," Nico stared as he creeped on over to the couch. "Do you think you could just sleep over at Percy's tonight?"

You looked up at Nico to see if he was joking but he was looking at you straight faced. "Excuse me" you asked happily, knowing why he made the request.

"You're excused" he said. You continued to stare at him till he said what you wanted to hear. And he knew what you were waiting for too. "Wills sleeping over."

"Of course I can leave the lovebirds alone!" You said as you let out a toothy, close-eyed grin. Nico just rolled his eyes and scoffed as he walked off, annoyed by his sisters teasing.

'Knock, knock'

Who could that be?

"It's Annabeth and Silena, OPEN UP" Annabeth yelled as she banged on the door. You groaned and yelled back at her as you went to open the door before it was knocked down.

"No need to break down my door, I'm right here" you said as you stepped aside to let the girls in.

"We wanted to borrow you before that little boy does" Annabeth joked.

"A little girls day, if you will. Plus we could help you get ready perhaps" Silena said.

"Alright, alright. I think I might have some face masks or something we could do." You said. You and the other two girls spent the day gossiping and just relaxing as the day flew by.

[4:43] PM

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝜗𝜚

＠StyxGirl • 10 min

Liked by seaweedbrain and others.. ＠StyxGirl: feeding my girls before I forced them to help me get ready😛 ＠wisegirl ＠BeauregardOnTop

＠BeauregardOnTop: stop acting like you didn't want us there😘 →＠wisegirl: ＠BeauregardOnTop can we talk about her taking credit for our idea for coming over?? →＠StyxGirl: ＠wisegirl no bc its not even that srs lets take it down a notch

＠seaweedbrain: yoo that girl in the last pic kinda fine who is that?? →＠deathboynicoo: ＠seaweedbrain bro this shit is NOT rizz💀 →＠seaweedbrain: ＠deathboynicoo shut tf up maybe?? →＠StyxGirl: ＠seaweedbrain hey😁 im on my way😁😁 →＠deathboynicoo: ＠StyxGirl your still going after he spoke like that to your beloved brother?? →＠StyxGirl: ＠deathboynicoo didn't you want the dorm to yourself or am I going crazy?? →＠deathboynicoo: ＠StyxGirl stay safe❤️

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝜗𝜚

You put your phone in your pocket and kept walking out to Percy's dorm. You couldn't help but smile on your way over, you couldn't believe it. Percy was setting up a date for you, you. You still couldn't stop thinking about what he said when you guys were out at the beach riding the hippocampi. How he said he should've taken you out before you guys started hating on each other. Is this something he had thought about for a while? Did he always think you were cute or something. Well if he did, it didn't show. Ha.

You kept thinking as you finally made it to Percy's dorm, and you thought it would be funny if you did it again. And by it, you meant banging on the door till there was a hole in it. Though, before you could hit the door a second time, Percy was already opening it.

"Let's calm down with that fist of fury now shall we" Percy said as he took your hand in his. "Follow me." Not like you had a choice, since he never let go of your hand and it didn't seem like he planned too. As he dragged you to this date location, you couldn't help but admire Percy. He cleaned up well. That black button down, with the top button undone and with the sleeves rolled up? Wow. You were truly a simple, simple woman.

And finally you made it, the rooftop. It was a relaxing evening. The sunset was beautiful out, the breeze was gently, and after a few seconds, you noticed it. Percy had set up a little picnic that was set on the edge of the roof giving a perfect view of the sky. "Let's take a seat" Percy said.

When you guys sat down you looked inside the basket sitting in between the two of you. Blue. It was filled blue food, mostly sweets, and it all looked so good. "So Percy is your favorite color pink, just wondering" you joked with Percy. He just laughed.

"Blue food is a tradition thing between me and my mom. Thought I'd let you in on it" Percy explained. All you could think was 'aw.' You knew how close him and his mom were. I mean he even he mouthed off your dad, the god of the underworld, to get her home. That's ballsy. You wondered what he'd think about how you've taken a liking to this boy.

"Wow, I feel so special" Percy smiled at you as you took a bite into one of the cookies. "Holy shit. This is so goood" you were basically rolling your eyes to the back of your head as you said this.

"Wow, they look good, but are you sure its cookies? Are you sure you're not hiding anything somewhere?" Percy said as he quiet down and tried to listen for a suspicious noise. It took you a second to understand his joke before you smacked him in the arm with a shocked look on your face.

"Wow! You expect that on a first date! What do you think I am? A blasphemous whore?" You and Percy leaned over on each other, laughing so hard you couldn't breathe. As you both calmed down you spoke up again. "No but really, these are really good."

"It's my moms recipe, I was worried I would mess it up so I made her stay on the phone the whole time I made them." Percy said.

"Aw you called your mom to help you with a date" you said. His little mama's boy side was something you always liked about him. Wait.

"Yeah I did, she's like Annabeth and Silena. Always pestering me about you" you stared at his with admiration.

"You would talk to her about me" You asked, you were probably grinning from ear to ear.

"Of course I told my mom about the girl who was threatening to kill me every few seconds. She even knows about the snake in my bed." you started laughing.

"Well, I'm glad we're both past that." You laid back and looked up at the sky that was now covered in stars. Percy followed after you. "The views amazing."

"Yeah" Percy said in almost a whisper. You turned to you when you realized he was looking at you when he said that. Making you the amazing view.

You playfully smacked his arm and rolled your eyes before shouting out "woow you're soo cornyy" you giggled out. Percy started tickling you viscously.

"Take it back" Percy didn't stop, not even till you were out of breathe.

"Fine, fine, I take it back. You're not corny, you're the most romantic man I've ever met" and with that he finally stopped. Not before getting you to lay relaxingly on his chest. You were now both stargazing and just enjoying each others presence.

"I'm glad we did this" you said.

"Me too" Percy said as he kissed the top of your head. After he did that, you leaned up on rested on your elbows while your head hovered his. That's when Percy brought his hand to behind you neck and pulled you in. You guys started making out softly. As it went on for longer, it got more intense. You swung one leg over and straddled him. Both your hands in his soft hair while hands gripped on your waist. Slowly sliding lower as he gripped on the top of your thighs and pulled you closer..

[8:51] PM

You were sitting up in Percy's bed, in Percy's shirt, scrolling through your phone. Wow, on a roof. Not expected at all. Finally, Percy walked back in the room wearing a pair of sweats and laid down next to you. He looked at you with stars in his eyes. He lifted his hand up and making soft circles on your neck, tracing the newly formed purple spots on it.

"I stand by what I said the other day, you looked good in my clothes. Maybe even better with no pants on" as Percy said that, you took the hand that was tracing circles and threaded your fingers threw it.

"Aw you don't think of me as a blasphemous whore even after doing it on the first date."

"I could never think of you like that."

You slide over and sat on top of Percy again. "AGAIN?" he looked at you with a shocked face, but not actually shocked of course, just messing with you. You softly smacked his chest before laying down and just relaxing. You closed your eyes and just embraced Percy.

You guys were quiet for awhile before Percy asked "soo, what now? What are we?"

"What do you want us to be?"

"I'm not letting you leave this dorm if you're anything less than my girlfriend." Percy started sitting up, making you do so as well. You couldn't believe what you were hearing, maybe just a little. "I let us go around and hate each other for years, I'm not missing my chance again, so please, let me just be your boyfriend."

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy. SHIT. These few days have been insane. It truly didn't take long for Percy to make you feel things you never would have expected to feel for him in a million years. Who would've thought a night of drinking would've brought you together. Definitely not you.

"I mean if you reallyy want to be, then, yes you CANN be my boyfriend." You were trying your best to finish your sentence without giggling. This second you stopped talking Percy just grabbed your face and kissed you fiercely. You could feel each others smiling as you did so. And suddenly you were back to laying down and Percy was back on top of you.

You now had a boyfriend and his name was Percy Jackson. And you couldn't be happier.

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

Did I eat be honest. Maybe pt 5 if the people still want it.

taglist: @ayanazoldyck <3

[miniwheat77]

Prey. (König x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, rough sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, König being absolutely massive because he comes with his own warning, reader teases König, Porn without plot, poorly translated German, (lemme know if I missed any)

(Summary): Reader teases König until he finally snaps.

This was an ask, you can find it here.

It started out slow. The first few times you’d caught König peeking at you was purely by accident. He was looking and couldn’t help himself, assumed his mask would help him hide.

He was unaware that you knew he took a few glances at you every once in a while, but that left you taking advantage of it. You’d let one of your friends on base in on your little secret and she decided to help you out with it. Anytime you were alone and got the chance to be around König, she always sent him your way. Needing something fixed in your room, needing help writing out a plan, maybe you couldn’t reach something. But every time he came in, you always wore something revealing and always made him so flustered that he’d walk away in a hurry, cock hardening in his cargo pants. He could barely take it.

This plan was definitely the craziest one so far, who wore skirts on base anyways?

There was an easy answer to that, someone desperate.

You wondered how long König would last before finally snapping. This had been going on for months now. You teased him every chance you got. Moaning when you stretched, asking him to spot you when you were working out, whimpers and moans leaving your lips on purpose as you worked out, not to mention your workout attire. Or lack thereof. König was right on the verge of his snapping point. He couldn’t take much more, unsure of how he’d managed to push his body so far. “König, Y/N needs some help hanging up a couple shelves in the women’s barracks, can you help her out with that? I tried asking everyone else first but they’re busy.” She asks. She was being your wingman. König nervously nods his head. He had a love hate relationship with helping you. He hated it because of how flustered he got trying to hide his hard dick, and he loved it because you were sexy and he liked looking at you. When he walks into your room, blood rushes right to his hardening cock. You’re wearing a black pleated skirt, standing up on a chair. “Oh, hey König.” You smile. He explains that your friend had come to ask him for help. “Oh. Thank you for coming, I asked Gaz to hang them for me a couple weeks back but I think he’s been avoiding me.” You laugh. You try to come across as clueless. Like you don’t know what you’re doing, and König has to hold himself back. He nods his head. He’s beat red under his mask. Thankful you can’t see him. “Yeah no problem. How about you get down from there before you hurt yourself.” He laughs. He wraps his arms around you, helping you down. As he sets you down, your skirt comes up and that’s when he notices that you’re not wearing any panties.

A deep breath leaves his lips. He needed to get this over with and get out before he did something he’d regret. Because he’s so tall, he doesn’t even need to reach to hang the shelves. He drills them into the wall with ease, finishing up in just a few minutes. “Do you need anything else before I go?” He asks. “Oh! Yes actually.” You smile. “Put these up there?” You ask, passing him a stack of books. He sets them up on the shelf as neatly as he can. You stare at it. “Hmm.. maybe like this?” You stand up on the chair to adjust them and König take a step back. You lean forward, pushing your hips out as much as possible, and König gets a good look at your freshly shaven mound. He can’t take anymore. You slide off of the chair, ass on full display for him. He rests his hands in his lap, sitting down on your bed. You move back beside him. “They look good from back here?” You smile. He nods his head. Oddly quiet all of the sudden. You sit down next to him, resting a hand on his thigh. “Thank you for helping me König.” You smile. Your warm hand on his thigh has his cock twitching in his pants.

“Of course.” He mumbles. “Is everything okay?” You mumble. He stands up. You follow along, standing up as well. He nods his head rather than replying. “Thank you König.” The way you say his name, he’s done for. He reaches for the door, but the tiny devil on his shoulder has him reaching for the lock instead. You don’t notice that he locks it. He steps back, “did you need anything else put up on there?” He asks. “Oh no, I think I got it.” You smile, standing on your tip toes to slide a couple more items on the shelf. König presses himself right up against your backside, you can feel his hard cock pressing up against you. He takes what you’re holding, setting it up on the shelf. A gasp leaves your lips when he ruts himself into you. You turn around, swallowing hard. Finally being confronted with something you’d been waiting so long for. He slams you up against the wall, hand around your throat. He lifts his hood to smash his lips against yours, teeth knocking into yours with the force of the kiss. “Such a fucking tease.” He hisses. Kissing you again sloppily. The mix of your saliva, his tongue on yours. It gets you hot. “This tiny skirt. So impractical for on base. Makes me think you do this on purpose hm?” He growls, hot breath against your ear. “You want me to touch you? Hm?” You nod your head, lips swollen and pink from his kiss. Your pupils are blown wide, telling König everything he needed to know about how you felt about him. He pushes a hand up your skirt, a moan leaving your lips as he attacks your neck with his mouth. Sucking at the skin. Your eyes roll back, feeling his massive hand sliding up your thigh. When his fingers make contact with your pussy, a moan leaves your lips. He’s still got you pinned tightly to the wall, you couldn’t wiggle out of his grasp even if you wanted to.

He rubs circles over your opening, earning whimpers from your lips. “Such a sweet pussy.” He groans. Nipping at the skin on your neck as his fingers claim you. When he slides one of them into your opening, a gasp leaves your lips, your body moving up against the wall as he begins pumping it into you. His fingers are large and fill you up. “Oh fuck König-“ you gasp. He clamps a hand over your mouth. “ruhig sein, my slut.” He growls. Adding another finger and pumping them into you. You can’t move, body not even being able to shiver with how tightly he’s got a hold on you. The only thing you can hear are your muffled pants and the squelch of his fingers sliding in and out of your pussy, so wet from teasing him. He draws his hands back, a gasp leaving your lips at the loss of his fingers. He lifts you up with ease, laying you down on your bed. “Ich werde dich verschlingen, my prey.”

He positions himself between your legs, flipping your skirt up. He buries his face into your mound. Flicking his tongue over your clit, sucking at it. He’s being rough with you, pinning you down with his grasp on your thighs so that you can’t wiggle away from him. His saliva and your arousal mixes into the perfect concoction, latching onto König and he’s addicted to your taste right away. This will be the first of many times he will be doing this to you. He collects his saliva on two of his fingers, returning them to your opening. He knows he needs to prep you before he fucks you open with his cock. He pumps his fingers into you quickly and you’re being a little noisy. He pulls away for just a second, ripping off his hood and shoving part of it into your mouth as a gag to quiet you. Seeing his face has your eyes widening.

He’s really attractive.

He grasps your flimsy tank top, ripping it right down the middle and getting a good look at your bare chest, he was suspicious you weren’t wearing a bra, this just proved his suspicions. He gives your breasts a squeeze, returning to his assault on your clit. Holding you down with one arm, pumping two of his fingers into your pussy and attacking your clit with his tongue. He grazes his teeth over your clit, teasing you. You’re moaning out into the gag, tears filling your eyes as he overwhelms you. You’re so close, he can tell by the way you keep tightening down on his fingers. “You’re a bad girl, bad girls don’t get to cum.” A little slap to your pussy has your hips jumping. “Werde dich ruinieren, prey.” He growls. “You ready for my cock?” He smirks. The small amount of black face paint on his face where his hood didn’t cover, left a dark cast around his eyes, making them appear brighter. He was much more attractive than you had anticipated. He pushes your legs apart, unzipping his cargo pants and freeing his cock from the hole, not taking the extra time to take his clothes completely off. He needed you and he needed you now. “Relax for me. It’s going to be a lot.” You look up at him, nodding.

The way you’re looking at him makes him swallow hard. The stare you have, it’s more intense than anyone else he’d been with. More passion than he imagined he’d share with you. He presses his tip against your opening, watching himself disappear into you. “Keep it in your mouth, Sei mein gutes Mädchen”

He groans, feeling how tight you are. Your eyes screw shut as he inches into you further, he’s so thick. He’s stretching you so much, something you’re not used to. When he bottoms out, you choke out a gasp into the gag, tears spilling over your eyelids at the sensitivity. He’s massive. You feel so full of him. He draws his hips back, thrusting back into you a couple times. Taking his time to get you used to him. When he slides easier, teeth gritted tightly because of just how tight you wrap around him, he can barely keep himself together. He’s rough, hammering his hips into yours. Your bed hammers against the wall with each thrust he takes, and he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care for even a second if someone walks right in and sees this. He only cares about you right now, how tight you’re wrapped around him, how fucking good you feel. “Just how you imagined hm? I know you teased me on purpose.” He growls. You nod your head, eyes shutting tight. He grasps your hands, entwining your fingers together and holding them above your head. You’re slightly worried with how much noise the both of you are making, but just like him, you didn’t care. You had waited so long for this, the consequences didn’t matter at this point.

He slides out of you, forcing you onto your stomach and lifting your hips up so that you’re on all fours for him. He pushes himself inside of you again, giving your hair a harsh tug, hand clapping down onto your ass in a harsh slap. You cry into the gag, so overstimulated and overwhelmed by him. The sound of his skin hitting yours is lewd. König almost hates that he’s muffling your sounds, he wants to hear you moan out for him. He’s panting hard, that knot building in his stomach quicker than he imagined it would. You’ve cum already, and he wants you to reach a second before he finishes. He grasps a tight hold of your hips, fingertips for sure leaving bruises with how tight he’s gripping you. His high is approaching quickly, but he wants one more orgasm out of you. Just one more. You’re sensitive and overwhelmed, he knows you are. “One more sweetheart. S’all I want.” He groans. “You can give me one more, you can.” He pants. You reach underneath yourself, rubbing circles over your clit. König smirks when he sees this. “Good girl.” He growls. He leans down into you, fingers finding their way to your nipples, stimulating you even more. His thrusts slow, taking slightly deeper ones than before as he ruts himself into you at the new angle. He switches hands, leaning his weight onto the other so he can stimulate your other nipple. You’re still rubbing quick circles over your clit. The way you moan into the gag let’s him know you’re right on the edge, just what he wants. Your pussy clenches around him, his mouth falling open. “Oh fuck- oh fuck!” He cries. “Yes- so tight!“ a gasp leaves his lips. He’s trying to be as quiet as he can. You cry out into the gag as you finish, clutching the blanket on your bed like it’s a lifeline.

Your arousal coats him, wetness gathering at the base of his cock. He admires it, eyes screwing shut as the knot in his stomach unravels and he spills into you, hips stuttering, thrusts sloppy as he fills you full of his spunk. He’s gripping your hips tightly, unholy groans leaving his lips as he finishes inside of you, not caring for even a second. You’re panting into the gag, pink, tear stained cheeks and puffy lips. You’ve got his handprints on your ass, imprints of his fingers etched into your skin. When he slides out of you, you lay on your back. Panting, trying to catch your breath. He adjusts himself before he helps you get cleaned up, finishing up what he came here to do. Your body shows so many marks from him.

Reminding you of what the aftermath of König after he’s snapped looks like.

[nickssidewitch]

Chris’s Dilemma, Pt. 2

Following Chris and Layla’s “escapade” in the Cut The Cameras podcast room, Chris and Layla try to understand where they stand, leading to an interesting phone call…

First Part here: Chris’s Dilemma

Warning: SMUT with plot, Dom!Chris x Sub!OC, phone sex, some fluffy bits

***

Chris’s POV

So… that happened.

I don’t think I need to do a recap.

We all finished our food and hung out for a little bit. Layla taught Matt how to play around with her cat Knight, and even showed him the best places to scratch him, pet him, and all that stuff. The moment was heartwarming, until I heard her mention how he “had to remember those things for the next time she’d come back.”

She wants to come back?

Huh. She wants to come back. It took a second to really understand that. She wanted to come back? To my home? After all of what happened between us? Not that it was bad or anything. It’s just- I don’t know. I would feel pretty awkward to come back to the same house where the person I just had snuck to have sex with lives with his brothers. It was awkward enough to sit down and have lunch with them knowing what had occurred.

Matt offered to walk Layla to her Uber, which I was lowkey jealous about, but I didn’t want to make that too obvious. So, all I did was give her a hug right after Nick, a long one like we’d always done, and gave her a smile and a look into her eyes. I hoped that she could see through my eyes how I truly and deeply felt about her, on some telepathic shit.

As Matt and Layla walked through the front door, Nick grabbed the hood of my sweater and dragged me to the bathroom, shutting the door behind us. “Listen to me, listen to me, listen to me!!” He whispered with a raised tone. “You are despicable!!”

I scoffed as I heard Nick’s words and responded, “It was your plan!”

Nick groaned. “Yeah, well, I didn’t plan on you to fuck her the first time you even admit your feelings to her!!”

I was about to clap back at him, but I raised an eyebrow at him as I realized what he said. “Wait a minute- how do you know we had sex?”

I could hear Nick let out a deep sigh before he answered. “I might be an idiot, but I'm certainly not stupid!!” He answered as he smacked the back of my head and rustled my hair, the action pointing out the obvious post-sex hair that I now sported.

“Oh,” was all I could let out.

“What the fuck did you guys even talk about?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes as he processed (or at least tried to process) what happened. “And please omit the ‘sex’ parts. I don’t wanna hear about that shit.” Valid point.

“Okay, so,” I explained the situation, “Y’all left, she and I were left alone, we started playing 20 questions or something like that—”

“20 Questions??” He interrupted. “Who the fuck plays 20 Questions??”

“We did! We didn’t know what else to do without it being awkward.” I noticed him roll his eyes. “So, we played 20 Questions, told each other how we felt, and one question led to another and… we fucked.”

“That’s so-” He stumbled over his words. “You’re so fuckin-”

“I know! I know! It was a hasty move. I get it. But, I just-” I paused, trying to piece together the best way to put it. But I couldn’t. “It’s hard to even explain. It just felt right at that moment, I guess.” That’s a better way to justify it than anything else, I guessed.

Nick bit his lip as if he was holding back any sort of “buts” or “ands” that he could add to the already awkward conversation. He didn’t want to escalate anything further. It was obvious to us that we both needed time to think this over. So, he dropped the conversation. For now. “Alright, c’mon,” he said as he walked out of the bathroom, and I followed right behind him.

“What were you two doing in there?” Matt asked with a cheeky smirk and a chuckle as he looked down the small hallway and noticed us walking out of the bathroom together. I would’ve normally laughed at him hinting at some sort of incest joke, but his voice made me jump as I thought he was still outside waiting for the Uber with Layla.

Nick scoffed as he began to walk up the stairs. “Don’t be fucking weird, Matt.” And with that, he entered his room and shut the door, a click finalizing his exit from the conversation and the overall day.

I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water from inside.

Matt looked over and noticed the bottle, and the unusual drink choice puzzled him. “Water?”

Water, oh my god, he’s right. I didn’t even notice. I was just too deep in my own head, thinking about Layla, what happened today, and how the future would be. I walked over to one of the cupboards and took a bag of Cheez-Its as I answered him. “Yeah? What about it?”

“That’s new.”

Correct, yet again. I had to think of a rebuttal fast. Then, something clicked. “Remember what I said earlier? I’m changing. Evolving, like a Pokemon.”

“Oh God, okay sure,” he replied, and I could hear a small snicker as he turned the corner to his room. “It’s your turn to wash the dishes by the way.”

****

3rd POV

“So?”

“…So?”

“Tell us everything.”

Layla and her three friends Dawn, Destiny, and Malia were sitting at a random bar in the middle of LA, just having their little biweekly rendezvous as friends usually do. They updated each other about their respective workfields: Dawn with their music endeavors, Destiny and her similar influencer/content creator tasks as Layla, and Malia with her soccer- or sorry, football- wifey duties and sports research stuff that Layla didn’t really understand but supported nonetheless.

“So, I met up with the guy. Him and his brothers, actually.”

“Yeah, we know that part,” Dawn interjected as they took a forkful of their salad. “But, what happened during the meet-up?”

“We had a little moment before filming the podcast where we just spoke about little introductory stuff like ‘Where are you from originally?’ and ‘What’re your favorite things to do in LA?’. They played with Knight a little bit. I feel like they loved him more than me.”

Malia chuckled. “Don’t be modest, Layla. They don’t like your cat more than you,” she applied gloss on her lips as she continued, “And I feel like you’re saying that to stall.”

“Stall? I am not stalling,” Layla protested quickly as she felt her cheeks get warmer. Might as well just tell them, she supposed to herself. They would just constantly ask her about any sexual or romantic interaction she might have had with Chris anyway.

So she admitted, “We fucked,” quite nonchalantly, and ate some of her nachos as she braced herself for their reactions. She could feel their eyes widen and jaws drop without even looking at them.

“Oh my God?!” Dawn exclaimed, nearly dropping the martini glass in their hand. “Y’all did ‘the do’??”

Layla just continued eating as she responded. “Yep.”

Malia grabbed Layla’s container of nachos and dragged them towards herself. She scoffed, and it was clear to Layla that she wanted more details. “Um, excuse me? No more chips for you until you tell us more.”

“We did it in their podcast room.” She glanced at Destiny as she heard her gasp from across the table. “No, his brothers weren’t in the house when it happened,” she added, and she could see the relief take the weight off of Destiny’s shoulders. “They left to get some food for us from Chic-Fil-A. We had a good 15 to 20 minutes to do what we had to do.”

“Ooh, so how was he?” Dawn asked, obviously hinting at certain aspects of Chris that they were curious about. “Not trying to be invasive, you don’t have to tell me anything.”

Layla chuckled. “Good, because all I’m gonna say is that it was satisfying. He was satisfying. All of him.”

Malia let out a squeal of excitement. “Yes, bitch!” She get out of her seat and grabbed Layla in a tight embrace. I’m so fucking happy for you.”

“Nisha won the bet, oh brother,” Dawn said as they rolled their eyes. Nisha was another friend of all of theirs that was unfortunately not there for their little girl-chat due to a little business trip she had with her NBA boyfriend. “She bet me $50 that y’all were gonna fuck. She’s not gonna stop bragging about it.”

“Y’all are so unserious,” Layla said. “Betting on my sexual ventures.”

Dawn shrugged and laughed. “Well, your pleasure is of the utmost importance to us.”

“So, when are you gonna see him again?” Destiny asked.

Layla answered, “Hm, I don’t know. We haven’t spoken since that happened.”

“And when did that happen?” Malia asked, lifting an eyebrow as she started her point.

Layla replied, knowing where Malia was going with this. “It happened one day ago.”

Malia tapped on her wine glass with her nail, almost as if she was literally pointing out the obviously bullshit circumstances. “Exactly. One day ago. Honestly, men are weird. And he should have contacted you about it that same night about it. But, I’ll give him a one-day grace period, which ends in,” she looked at her phone’s time, “3 hours. So, if he doesn’t text you or something in 3 hours, I’ll personally drive to his house and whoop his ass for you.”

A chuckle left Layla’s lips as she nodded her head. “And I know you would actually do that.”

“I don’t like when men play games. Especially not little white boys,” she looked directly at Layla as she added, “No offense.”

“None taken ‘cause I understand,” Layla said with a grin. “Honestly, I think he’ll come to his senses tonight. I hope.”

“Layla, we got your back regardless,” Dawn reassured her. “Also, there’s someone else here who has a boy problem that we need to discuss.” All eyes at the table shifted to Destiny’s direction. Oh boy…

***

Layla arrived home after her night of girl-talk and gossip, laying herself onto her bed after taking off her heels and her dress. She laid with her bra and panties still on, wanting to calm herself down before getting ready for bed.

Suddenly, her phone dinged with a notification. She searched through her purse and unlocked the phone, and that’s when she noticed that she was sent a text.

And it wasn’t any text from any person.

It was from Chris Sturniolo. He passed the Malia test.

And the text read, “Hey, you up?”

A “you up?” text? Really?? Layla thought to herself and cut her teeth. He was really the type of guy to hit you up randomly with a “you up?” text? Was it out of boredom? Did he just want to have a little stupid chat? Or did he want to be serious? Did he want to talk about what had happened the day before? Was this a booty call? Fuck…

Layla texted him back. “Hey, yes, I’m up. You good?”

The speech bubble with the ellipses that indicated him typing appeared on her screen, and her anxiety gradually increased the more seconds she waited for his response. Until-

“Yeah, I’m good,” he replied at first, making Layla figuratively wipe the sweat from her forehead. But, the text bubble with ellipses popped up again, and Layla braced herself for his continuation. “I wanna talk about what happened the other day— not over text though.” There it was.

Layla could feel her heart speed up its tempo. He wanted to speak to her on the phone?? Like, hear her voice? Listen to the words coming out of her mouth? Oh, God, help her.

Despite her worries, she replied, “Ok, we can talk right now.”

A small thumbs-up popped up over Layla’s text bubble, indicating an unwritten “okay” from Chris, and within a second later, Layla’s phone rang. Thank God it wasn’t a FaceTime call, she sighed in relief. She was a bit nervous, and seeing his face would probably make her have a breakdown.

“Hey,” Chris said. His voice sounded so sexy over the phone, but not as sexy as in person. It was good to hear from him regardless.

“Heyyy,” Layla drawled out in reply as she brought the phone to her ear. “It’s nice to hear from you.”

A quiet chuckle came from the other side of the line before Chris said, “Yeah, you, too.” Silence. And then, “I missed your voice.”

Fuck… Layla said to herself mentally. He missed my voice? Should I tell him back? “I missed yours, too.” Silence.

And then his voice came on, “I’ve missed you. A lot.”

This man is fucking with my head. “Me, too. A lot.”

“Yeah?” Another chuckle. “What about me?”

Layla could hear his smug little smirk from the tone of his voice, and it lowkey pissed her off. Well, not really. This man has her by her neck. “Your face, your smell-”

“My smell?”

“Yes, Chris,” Layla rolled her eyes.

“Did I stink?” The sound of a sniff came from Chris’s side of the call, and Layla laughed as she could only assume he sniffed himself for comedic effect.

“No, you smelled rather pleasant. For a man,” She joked.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, actually. Men are icky,” he continued on with her joke, and it worked as he could hear her laugh. There was some more silence before he continued. “Have you been missing me in other ways since then?” His voice said with a slur as he thought about the many ways that Layla could reply.

“Yes,” she answered, her teeth taking a nip of her own lip as she held back a soft moan. If he knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t be talking to me with that tone.

“Yeah?” he repeated in a darker tone, intentionally egging her on as he noticed her voice holding back a note of lust. “How else have you missed me?” He spread his legs on his bed as he felt himself harden. He had a feeling he knew where this conversation would go, and even if he wasn’t ready, his dick sure was and he couldn’t deny it even if he tried.

As if she could see his actions, Layla spread her own legs and softly felt herself through her panties. She was warm, and felt her arousal start to seep through. “I thought of how you looked on top of me.”

Chris sighed, trying not to chuckle. He wasn’t trying to make fun of her, no. He was trying to toy with her, trying to make her flustered through the phone. You see, his initial plan for the phone call tonight was to talk to her about their little sexual endeavor. He wanted to get some things off his chest and clear the air about his true romantic feelings for her. But, when he finally dialed her number, something struck him– some sort of lust bug. Not a love bug, a lust bug, AKA his libido. So, he winged it and decided to speak to her with a hint of arousal in his voice. And it was working, obviously, as he could hear her hold back little moans and hear some hint of lust in her own tone of voice.

“What else, Layla?”

He sounds delectable, Layla thought to herself. It was like her mind wanted to slow down and really try to comprehend the encounter happening at the moment, but her mouth just spoke without restriction. “I thought about the way you would grip onto my body. Your hands felt so fucking good…” She rubbed her fingers over her panties with more pressure, stimulating her clit with the circular movements.

“They did, sweetheart? Nice and tight for ya, huh?”

A subtle mhm escaped from between Layla’s shut lips as she continued to please herself. Her left hand found some way to put her phone on speaker, and she placed it onto the nightstand beside her. She needed some more relief for the aching between her legs.

“What else, pretty girl?” The palm of Chris’s hand rubbed his dick over his trousers as he needed to relieve the ache in his body, too. This girl had a hold on him, for sure.

Layla struggled to speak as she began to slip the fingers of her left hand into her panties, yearning the feeling of something inside of her– something that mimicked the feeling of Chris’s dick inside of her. “I thought about the way you felt inside of me.”

“How did I feel?” Chris continued to palm himself as he spoke.

“So good,” she answered with a moan laced between her words, “so fucking good.”

“Are you touching yourself, Layla?”

Fuck. “Mhm…”

A beat of silence came with the subtle sounds of Layla’s fingers stroking inside her wetness in the background. And then-

“Good.” He bit his lip before adding on, “Good girl.”

“Fuck,” was all Layla could respond with as she continued her movements. Her fingers went as far as they could go, which wasn’t as far as Chris went, but it managed to help her somehow.

“Keep fucking yourself– make yourself feel good. Imagine it was me. Imagine I’m there, fingering you, making you feel good.”

Layla whimpered as the fingers on her clit fastened their pace, and the fingers inside of her were doing their best to satisfy her.

Chris continued, “Imagine I’m looking up at you, and my tongue is licking at your little clit. You’re not ignoring your clit, are you, Layla?”

“Nuh-uh,” was all she could let out as she went on with her movements. Her stomach started to warm, hinting at a climax building up.

“Gooood,” he slurred out, “keep thinking about me eating you up, just lapping at that pretty fuckin’ pussy. You got the perfect pussy, you know that, honey?” Chris could hear a moan from the opposite end of the call, which spurred him to start jerking himself off. Thank God, he lived on the lowest level of his and his brother’s house where they wouldn’t be able to hear any of the lewd acts happening in his room.

“Keep going, I know you’re close,” If he was correct with his discernment, he could hear Layla’s pussy make squelching noises. She was definitely getting close. “Keep going, that’s my good girl. Just imagine me.”

Layla’s back arched off the bed as she neared her orgasm, and her toes curled as the pleasure increased. “Chris…”

“I know, mama, I know,” he reassured her. “Just feel good, baby.”

As if on cue, Layla came around her fingers, clenching around them with a tightness she could say she had never felt before. It was like they'd been strangled and had fallen victim to that man’s voice.

Chris soothed her, trying his best to settle her down from her orgasm. “There you go, that felt good, yeah?”

Layla chuckled as her chest heaved. “Yeah…”

“Don’t move your hands from your pussy, though,” he said. The beginning of some sort of calming atmosphere was immediately snatched by the tone of Chris’s voice. It seemed to sound even darker than before, like it had some sort of malicious intent behind it. “Keep your hands right there.”

Layla followed his words immediately, resting her hands back onto her labia as she awaited for more of his instruction.

“I want you to slap it for me.”

If it was any other man, Layla would have laughed at this request. Slap her own coochie? It just sounded silly. But, with Chris, it was different. He had something commanding, nearly dominating, in his voice, and it kept her in a trance that she would only need an orgasm to break from.

“I didn’t hear you, Layla,” he said a bit impatiently.

Layla regathered herself and nodded as if he could see her, letting out a slap on her labia. Her body quivered at the sudden impact, which she could guess was Chris’s idea in the first place.

And her guess was correct, as she heard a low chuckle from his end. “Good. I would’ve done it myself if I was there– slap you silly to mess with you and get you all flustered again. Except I wouldn’t have just done it with my hand.” Chris pulled out his dick from being encapsulated under his pants. And no, he wasn’t wearing underwear because who the fuck wears underwear in their house? Definitely not him. And it was quite convenient for the situation occurring.

“Keep slapping your pussy, princess. Like how I slapped my dick on it a couple of times in the podcast room. You remember that?”

Layla sighed, and something sounding like a growl came from her throat as she got impatient, “Chris…”

Chris didn’t like her impatient tone. “Give yourself one final slap, but make this one harder. And I wanna hear it sting.”

Layla whimpered and gave her pussy a final slap just as he commanded and winced at the sting it gave her. A rush of arousal mixed with anticipation and the now stinging nerves on her pussy made her moan.

“Geez, I felt that one,” he said playfully, as if he wasn’t the one who told her to make it hurt. But, the show went on. “Put your fingers back inside– not deep, but just enough. Like I’m putting the tip in,” he continued, and his suggestion made him stroke the tip of his actual dick, going through synonymous motions with her.

Layla dipped her fingers inside of herself once again, only doing as he told, using a small bit of her fingers to stimulate herself.

“There you go… You feel me, baby? Feels so good?”

Layla nodded as she fell back into the trance he put her in earlier. She really wanted to focus on his voice to maximize her own enjoyment.

After a couple more strokes of his own dick and until he thought she had enough of her own movements, Chris instructed, “Okay, now I want you to go deeper. You can do that for me, right princess?”

“Mhm,” the girl answered and went deeper, curling her fingers which caused her to yelp a moan.

Chris tsked at her reaction. “If you’re curling your fingers, we’re not at that step yet, baby. Be patient. Just go in deeper and stop at your second set of knuckles. Go in and out, in and out…” His own hand motioned similarly, stroking only a small section of his shaft before going back to the tip again, repeating this every stroke.

And Layla followed, pumping only up to the second set of her knuckles at a decent pace.

Again, after a couple more strokes, Chris began his instructions. “I want you to finger yourself faster and rub your clit slowly, alright? Stay at the same length of your fingers and do not curl.”

Layla followed him again, speeding up her pace, and began to rub slow circles at her clit, which was still a bit sensitive from rubbing it earlier. She winced a bit loudly, causing Chris to notice.

“I know, mama, you’re still sensitive from earlier. That’s supposed to happen,” he assured her, “You’re supposed to feel sensitive. That’s why you hadn’t forgotten what happened the other day between us. It’s how you remembered the way I felt touching you, gripping you, fucking you…” Layla moaned as he continued, “I made your body so sensitive to me. That’s why you missed me, baby. That’s why you’re fucking yourself to the sound of my voice right now. You’re sensitive to me.”

“Chris,” Layla moaned with a drawl. Her jaw hung open a bit as she continued fucking her fingers into herself. The circles around her clit fastened, and her belly started to ache with bliss. She was close. Curse him for being right. Curse him for having this effect on her. Curse him for–

“I know, princess, shh..,” He cooed. “I want you to do something for me, okay?” Layla moaned, which was a thumbs-up for Chris to continue. “Bring your fingers as deeeeep as you can down that pretty pussy, okay? I want you to feel me right down there, by your belly. Just like when I put my dick so deep inside you. I want you to feel me,” Layla’s moans got louder, and he drawled out, “There we go… The tip of your fingers should be as deep as where the tip of my dick should be.”

Layla moaned, “Yes, fuck! Please…”

“You can curl your fingers and keep going, baby. Keep fucking yourself. Let me hear you clench around your fingers. I love the sound it makes when you’re close.” Chris continued to talk dirty to her as he gave himself longer and faster strokes, yearning for his own orgasm as it neared. “Fuck…”

Layla could hear the sound of him stroking his dick, and this was the final straw. She got so close to her orgasm- she could feel her heart galloping like a horse nearing the finish line of a race. When all of a sudden–

“Stop.”

Layla halted her movements abruptly, his voice immediately taking her out of her state of euphoria. She huffed in confusion. No one has ever stopped her from having an orgasm in their control before. Did he just edge her?

A chuckle sprang up out of the phone, followed by a loud guffaw as Chris seemed to get a kick out of this. “You thought I was gonna let you cum?”

Layla grunted, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Aht-aht! Don’t give me any attitude, young lady,” he started, “I don’t want you to cum until the next time I can actually put my dick inside of you again.”

Layla rolled her eyes as she heard another laugh from him. “You’re aggravating.”

“And ‘aggravating’ I shall be.” He laughed as he put his dick back in his pants. “This was just as hard for you as it was for me, y’know. I got blue balls now.”

“Good,” she replied deviously. “So, you can’t cum till we meet again either.”

“Wasn’t planning to, sweetheart. I’m saving these puppies for you.”

Layla’s eyebrow rose. “‘These puppies’? Are you referring to your-”

“Yes, I’m referring to my sperm as ‘these puppies’.”

‘Well, don’t do that again?” She faked a gag into the phone and heard laughter in response.

“Alright, alright,” Chris complied, letting out a sigh to regain his composure. “Layla, I hope you know I’m serious about you.”

Layla’s heart skipped a lub-dub or two as she processed what he said. “Serious?”

“Mhm. I’ve really been thinking about you all fucking day since we did the pod,” he explained. “I don’t wanna lose this, whatever this is. I don’t-” he paused as he battled with himself as to what to say next. But, he didn’t care if it came across as fast or forward. “I don’t wanna lose you.”

Layla couldn’t believe this. Seriously, she could not believe this. It’s not that she didn’t wanna hear what he had to say– she genuinely anticipated this. But, it was all so much. Just a whole sensory overload. “Chris… I feel like we should talk about this in person.” Chris gulped as he listened to her continue, “I thought the phone call would be enough, but we literally just fucked to the sounds of each other’s voices, and we’re still on that high.”

Chris sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have called.”

Layla quickly refuted his statement, “No, no that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that having a serious talk like this shouldn’t happen after sex. Look, let’s set up a date where we can have a proper conversation about this. Okay?”

“Okay. You’re making sense. You’re so smart,” he complimented her, and Layla swore she could envision him giggling and swinging his feet at his own words.

“Okay, buddy, relax. I know I’m smart,” she said with a laugh, which he followed with a laugh and smirk of his own. “Chris, I’ll text you tomorrow. We can set something up.”

He smiled. “Yeah, sure. I don’t wanna hang up, but I also want you to get a good night’s rest. Hm, what should we do about that?”, he teased her playfully.

“Ugh, goodnight, Chris,” Layla said with her own playful tone.

Chris let out an exaggerated groan and playfully replied with a tone matching hers, “Ugh, goodnight, Layla. Don’t let the bedbugs bite– that’s my job,” he said, followed by a few nom-nom-nom’s.

Layla laughed before hanging up.

This man got her hook, line, and sinker.

[wangxianficrecs]

💙 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark

💙 Stunted, Starving Juvenility

by TomatenMark (@tomatenmark5)

E, WIP, 686k, Wangxian

Summary: At sixteen Wei Wuxian is—through some strange twist of fate, or a nick in the layer between parallel universes, who knows—out of the blue confronted with that one incense burner dream one night. While his curious mind is left unable to stop poking at this new perspective on Lan Wangji, circumstances in the Cloud Recesses begin to change and Wei Wuxian is suddenly presented with life-altering opportunities. Maybe Gusu isn’t so bad after all? (Or alternatively: The fic where I get to give Wei Wuxian the academic scholarship he deserves while simultaneously getting him hitched early on.) Kay's comments: Honestly, if you haven't heard of this fic yet, then you've probably lived under a rock this past year, haven't you? It's definitely The Fic™ and has been for a while now and it's already been recommended a few times by followers already, but I need to give it a personal shout-out as well, because I adore this story. It's living rent-free in my brain and despite already having more than 600k words, I re-read it like every other month and never get tired of it. One of the highlights is definitely TomatenMark's incredible attention to detail. Something will get mentioned once in chapter five and ten chapters later it'll suddenly be a major plot point. I also really adore the numerous characters TomatenMark has added to the story, they are all working so beautifully in the story and I find myself caring for them very much! As for the plot, it's basically a Cloud Recesses canon-divergence where WangXian get together and get married during the lectures and it kickstarts a canon-divergence that looks much better than the original timeline while also staying true to the characters and not sugarcoating things. If you haven't already, you should definitely check this story out! Excerpt: “I regard Lan Zhan highly,” he tried to reassure and Lan Xichen interestedly hummed, prompting him to add, “If I ever make him unhappy in some way I’d be the first to beat myself up over it.” Lan Xichen nodded and twinkled at him but Wei Wuxian didn’t dare to relax. “You seem to be quite dedicated,” the other noted. “And Wangji seems to return the sentiment given how he returned without any protection from the storm when I was quite sure I had seen him leave with his coat that afternoon.” “Ah. Er, yeah, Lan Zhan was so kind as to lend it to me when it started to rain,” Wei Wuxian explained, feeling on edge from the other’s roundabout way of hinting at something Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure he was even knowingly hinting at. “However, I have noticed that your neck was quite bruised when you returned, Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen went on. Wei Wuxian’s head snapped up from where he had held it politely lowered before. Lan Xichen’s eyes were overflowing with mirth. He definitely knew what he was hinting at!! “I hope you two didn’t get into a fight?” the Lan sect heir innocently mused and Wei Wuxian felt his resolve break. “Zewu-jun, please don’t torture me like this,” he begged.

pov wei wuxian, canon divergence, cloud recesses study arc, sunshot campaign, getting together, falling in love, first time, first kiss, developing relationship, period-typical homophobia, kink exploration, fluff and angst, cultivation sect politics, genius wei wuxian, inventor wei wuxian, marriage, minor character death, scheming nie huaisang, burning of the cloud recesses, wei wuxian has a family, bad parent jiang fengmian, top lan wangji, bottom wei wuxian

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[marunalu]

Careful long rant incomming! If you are a bakugou fan its better to not read any further, so you are warned!

So regarding the new chapter. Well, like I already said, when I actually didnt believe hori could turn bakugous fake death and resurrecction even more terrible then it already was to begin with, he surprised me again. Its just SO bad!!! I have no idea what he thought when he wrote that bullshit and I really dont get how some people can defend it. I have seen many MANY terrible written fake deaths in fiction, but bakugous takes the crone! It didnt contributed ANYTHING to the story! It was just there to shock the readers and that backfired so hard that even hardcore bakugou fans were like "yeah right.... as if hori has the balls to kill his biggest money maker off". It was written in such a cheap way that NO ONE believed even for a second that bakugou would really stay dead and it pissed people on both sides (bakugou lovers and haters) off! And then, just to proof that it was indeed just for the shock value, right in the next chapter best jeanist and edgeshot come to the rescue. And in fact the most unlogical rescue I have EVER seen in shonen! They do a heart surgery on bakugou IN THE MIDDLE OF A BATTLEFIELD, with edgeshot desinfecting himself with SOAP BUBBLES before entering bakugous body and him and best jeanist stitching up bakugous RAPTURED heart and the hole in his chest, without giving him any oxygen or a blood transfusion for 30 MINUTES and he still didnt fucking die!!! Two guys with ZERO medical knowledge managed all of this, but now comes the best!!! They couldnt make his freshly operated heart beat again (lets also completly ignore the bloodlose and lacking oxygen!!!) so WHAT does it instead? A FUCKING SWEATDROP?????? THAT EXPLODED IN HIS BODY AND MADE HIS HEART BEAT AGAIN??????

WHAT THE FUCK HORI????? 🤣🤣🤣🤣 How can anyone defend that shit?!?! Listen you dont need to be a medical genius to know that a small exlosion near a heart will absolutely not make it beat again!!! Honestly I think, just like @tengoku-izumi mentioned in the comment section of one of my posts that hori is aware how terrible he fucked up bakugous "death" and resurrecction to the point even bakugou fans had to facepalm themself and now is desperately trying to explain his crap writing. There was ZERO reason for this! Bakugous "death" didnt do ANYTHING for the story! If he wanted bakugou out of the way for a while to focus on other characters he didnt had to "kill" him just to resurrecct him in the VERY NEXT chapter! And now he didnt even had the balls to kill off edgeshot despite that it was said, he wouldnt be able to return! 🤣🤣🤣

Absolutely no one of the hero side fucking dies in this final WAR, how I am supposed to care or be worried about the chatacters if I know for a fact that hori doesnt have the balls to kill them off. Its supposed to be a war! People DIE in war and not only the bad guys! At this point he could rip someones head off and I wouldnt be worried at all that the character doesnt survive!

Now lets go to the bakugou vs afo fight. First off, the mere thought that bakugou should be able to FIGHT after he just woke up from a heart surgery, lost A LOT of blood, didnt got any oxygen for HALF AN HOUR, but still for some fucking reason can fight against the main villain now, is the most utterly ridiculous plot armour shit I have ever seen! He shouldnt even be able to MOVE!! And now BAKUGOU gets to fight the main villain AGAIN, not the actual mc of the story, NO the most horrible written side character in shonen history?!?! Are you fucking kidding me??? 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

It almost feels like as if hori all of a sudden realized that bakugou is the only more prominent character in the story who doesnt have his own villain and was like: "uhmmm well uhhhhhh.... lets just give him the main villain then." At this point its not my hero academia anymore but "bakugous hero academia". Not only is he the one who safes all might (I would be fine with that even if he shouldnt be able to move in his condition), he also gets to fight the main villain, while the mcs fight against shigaraki till to this point happend almost completly OFFSCREEN!!!

There is just one good thing about the fact that bakugou fights afo. It proofes even more that there is a connection between afo and izuku. Hori really REALLY doesnt want izuku and afo to interact (yet) with each other! He is hiding something. There is no reason to not let afo and izuku see and interact with each other. Afo is the main villain and NOT ONCE did he and izuku directly talk or see each other face to face. And I think its maybe because izuku would recognize afo. There is no reason otherwise. Hori could still make bakugou fight against afo, AFTER afo managed to reach izuku and tomura but he stupornly makes sure afo and izuku dont interact and thats suspicious as hell! Also Im still confident that afo has an ace up his sleeve (like the overhaul quirk for example). Also this is the perfect oppunity for afo to mention little tsubasa (on of bakugous childhood friends/minions) and to explain what happend to him. Espicially if afo actually wanted to turn bakugou into a nomou, but he had to be fine with tsubasa, because bakugou was always to close to izuku to vanish unnoticed.

All in all it was an horrible written chapter. The worst hori has written so far. Bakugous plot armour really destroys this manga for me. I think I really need a break.

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT, I was reading one of your wonderful responses and you mentioned you don't love what they did to Remus, and I have to say I 100% agree. In my opinion his relationship with tonks is weird (regardless of whether people think he had chemistry with Sirius) like he's at least 10 years older than her and he tries to leave her and it just seems like he goes along with HER infatuation without really caring about her very much. It also puts Tonks back into JKR's frequent dynamic for women, which is "badass who really wants to be with a guy who doesn't seem to appreciate her much" (see Hermione/Ron).

Do you have any further thoughts on that? I always found JKR's writing about women in relationships/who want relationships really weird. You definitely do it better.

JKR has many strengths as a writer, but I don't think anyone would say her romances are one of them. I think a lot of authors either consciously or subconsciously look down on romance as a genre because it's associated with sensuality and frivolousness, but writing and selling the idea that two people should and do want to kiss each other is like, really fucking hard to do, and it requires a certain set of skill checks as an author that not everyone has. Just like writing good horror or good fantasy, good romance has tenets and rules and things you can do to get the audience on board with you, and JKR didn't execute a lot of those things (to my satisfaction, YMMV) in the books. Bad romance is also a high-stakes problem, because it risks flattening out your characters and pitching them into OOC territory if the audience doesn't buy that the dynamic evolution is natural. But again, that's something you don't know if you haven't written romance, or tried to, before.

Mostly, you have to really lean into the vulnerability of the thing. Romance is silly and goofy and embarrassing. It makes you say dumb things and act in dumb ways. It can't be ironic or chilled or demure. At some point, to make a real human connection, someone has to get down, take off their dignity, and bare the rotten core of themselves. When we propose, we kneel on the ground. We get dirty. And all authors have a great terror of embarrassing themselves. They're doing something tremendously vulnerable; of course they want people to think they're cool and intelligent. It's embarrassing to put yourself in the head of a 15-year-old boy with a crush. It's embarrassing to write about a suitor earnestly confessing their love, because — what if this is too much? What if it's corny, what if it breaks the audience's suspension of disbelief? What if my readers are laughing at me? What if I'm the butt of the joke?

Anyway, I think a lot of really great books have terrible romance subplots for that reason. In The Great Gatsby, we never actually see Gatsby and Daisy alone together. We get their story second-hand, from people who can deliver it in a cool, reflective tone of mystery; we don't see them undressed, undone, emptying their hearts to one another. And Nick and Jordan, the romance we actually get to see develop, are easily the weakest plot in the book. Meanwhile, authors like Tolstoy have an incredible gift for writing romance that feels right, and is sensual without verging into purple prose. But Tolstoy is one of the greatest writers of all time. JKR wrote some very good books that a lot of people loved very much, but for her, the romances were accessories to the story. They weren't a focus. I'm certain she cared about Remus and Tonks's relationship, in the same way she cared about Ron and Hermione's relationship. Both take up too much space to explain otherwise.

TLDR: Writing romance is hard because it's really easy to fuck up, even if you care about it. I don't know that JKR put all that much thought into selling us on chemistry and interpersonal dynamics of the couples she threw together; I think she writes for plot, and the couples emerged as a part of that. That means the couples that don't necessarily make sense on paper lose out majorly because the audience doesn't know exactly what they're rooting for, and the couples that do make sense on paper lack a certain... I dunno, va-va-voom.

[liketolaugh-writes]

I know I've talked about this before, but God, I'm never going to stop resenting the hold that Harry Potter has on me.

As an autistic person, special interests never really leave you, and that's more true for longer-standing ones. I really can't explain how all-consuming they are, how much time and energy and love you pour into them, how much joy and comfort you get from them. I'm kind of between special interests right now, after finishing both Constellations and Blue Food Project, and it's unsettling. Makes me restless, leaves a lot of time in my day. (Time I can use to look for jobs! Positives.)

Anyway. Harry Potter was definitely my longest-standing special interest to date. It was my SI through most of elementary school, and given the choice, I would do nothing except reread them, over and over and over and over again. My parents had to institute a rule where every time I finished the series, I had to wait a certain amount of time before I read it again, and I always did as soon as the time was up. There are parts of it, useless stupid lines, that I can still recite from memory. ("And he was even brave enough to nibble the end off a funny gray one that turned out to be pepper" has always been my favorite example.) I don't engage much with the Harry Potter fandom, because it's a mutant factioned thing that kind of scares me, but the story stays with me nonetheless.

Like many other fans, this letter broke my heart; I'm sure you know the one even without clicking the link. She's only gotten worse since then (every so often I still look at her Twitter account and mourn) but this was the beginning of the end. Most authors, I can forgive their transgressions; I can trust that they've grown, I can accept that their work is flawed, and I can enjoy what I read despite that.

Every since that letter, and plenty of the subsequent scandals besides, I've been unable to do that. I read any part of Harry Potter and I can see nothing but flaws. I see sexism, and ableism, and cultural appropriation and colonialism and hypocrisy. I think, why are there so many crowds of tittering girls? and why does everyone hate Fleur seemingly just for being French and pretty? and why did she design the Slug Club without any acknowledgement of 'this is literally how to break into a career field?' There is nothing there for me but frustration and hurt.

I've seen people in the trans community complain about cis folk asking if they can 'still enjoy' Harry Potter, which I understand. (I consider myself nonbinary, but my gender identity is so unimportant to me that I still consider my place in that community tenuous.) But this isn't that. This is frustration. Harry Potter was carved into me years ago, and I can't seem to dig it out, and I have yet to decide what to do with that.

But the story stays with me. The memory of it is inescapable. I don't even really need to reread the books to write fanfics, most of the time; I know every plot point by heart. How could I not? And every unanswered question, every point of shoddy worldbuilding that drives me nuts about that world - I can fix those. I do it all the time in other fandoms. It's really not that hard to create the answers to the plot holes that bother you.

Most of the Harry Potter fics I write are crossovers - Harry Potter goes well with just about any world, kind of like Avengers does. But there's one I've been playing with that bugs me in a special way.

I mentioned finishing 'Constellations,' my two part series where Percy Jackson goes to therapy for everything he goes through in the PJO and HoO books. That was a love letter to Percy Jackson, to Rick Riordan's writing. Like any writer, he has his flaws and weak points, but I love it nonetheless, every part of it. I wrote it with the intent to supplement and highlight canon for everything I love about it.

Now, I find myself writing a similar fic for Harry Potter, with Harry Potter going through therapy. It's in the beginning stages yet (such stories are obviously difficult) but it's such a fascinating topic that I can't shake it. What happens when a survivor of such vicious neglect suddenly is accused of seeking attention at every turn? How can someone so victimized by the Ministry come to trust them enough to work as an Auror? Did Dumbledore truly understand what he subjected Harry to with the Dursleys?

But with Constellations, I had respect for Riordan's writing that I don't have for Rowling's. Such a story would come from a completely different place. And that's fascinating, too. It's just complicated.

I'm not going anywhere with this, I guess. It's just- frustrating, to so thoroughly resent a story and a cast that I also love so much.

[mimpinightmare]

Fandom question aaaaa:

What moment in Supa Strikas & Rookie Season made you fangirl the hardest?

OH??? A Supa Strikas Fandom Question???

FOR MEEEEE????~~~

(Thank you @alsoamalthia for the fandom question! You're like... the first person to ask me, in my 'Ask Me Anything Box'-)

"What moment in Supa Strikas & Rookie Season made you fangirl the hardest?"

OH GOD! WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN TO EXPLAIN MYSELF FOR THIS FRANCHISE?? BECAUSE THERE SO MANY- (So I hope me having multiple answers is fine-)

(Tad bit' Spoilers for Rookie Season in some of the Questions- Nothing grand or anything for the plot, just things mention in Rookie Season)

Well, for starters, one of the things that make FANGIRL, REAL HARD is just seeing the Supa Strikas boys, or any of the Super League team players having tender moments, like just hanging out or having a bro moment together. Multiple times in show makes me 'heart warmed' by just seeing Supa Strikas just being there for each other.

Like, in "Own Ghoul S3E3", where Big Bo was bothered by his past and terrified to tell the guys what went down between him and Spike Dawson, but Dancing Rasta and the others ensured him they're be there for him. Or something like in "Man in the Iron Tank Mask S5E2", where Klaus was insecure being in the roll of a Supa Strikas player, that he thinks he needs to become a Superhero to prove himself to be someone. And the guys were REALLY SUPPORTIVE in that moment! Dancing Rasta saying Klaus is always a hero every time he plays soccer with them, and North making a point that Iron Tank is TERRIFIED of Klaus' skills, that they need to think of a plan to stop him. (When I watched this episode, I was REALLY WORRIED how will it end, because Klaus mostly is the center of the joke in most episodes and I was scared the others might blame his ego or self-doubt for his actions, which Klaus is the episode CLEARLY needs some words of affirmation and support from the guys. I'm glad they Validated him in the end! :D ) And in "The Perfect Match S7E8" when Shakes got dogpiled from the guys and Dancing Rasta says "Teammates are closest of all!". Like, THAT'S CUTE! YOU CAN'T TELL ME THAT DOESN'T MAKE YOU AT LEAST SMILE!!! Sure, the guys sometimes bicker and fight, I'm not denying that, but when they do have a moment, IT'S THE SWEETEST THING!! I SQUEALED INTERNALLY AT THEM BEING BROS!!

There's not alot of 'Bro Moments' when it comes to the other teams (Is mostly either Technicalli or Iron Tank, although Iron Tank's 'Bro Moments' are mostly insulting each other-) But when it happens, it makes me happy. :) Like, pick ANY Technicalli episode around 'Season 3' to 'Rookie Season', there's chances of the guys are supporting each other, despite Toni Vern's treatment towards them. There's also this really short moment in "Dooma's Day S3E13" I really like, where Skarra scored for the team and Automatic, Dingaan and Dooma was celebrating with him. And you can clearly see Skarra wasn't sure how to feel at the moment, by he gives in and joins with them. I know it's short and in the end of the episode, there's havoc ensuing. But when I rewatched the episode, that's the few moments I saw from Skarra actually seems like he feels loved and fits in (without being a 'Bad Boy'). Especially knowing more of the context from 'Rookie Season', he probably never had something endearment in a long time since 'Rookie Season'... It's not much, but I take moments like these to HEART! ✨💜💛💜💛💜💛💜✨

Other than that, I get REALLY excited when there's little scene where you can miss them if you weren't paying close enough intention. And sometimes it cause me to speculate VERY DAMN SCENE IN THE SHOW- (But it's fun! Never regret this mind of mine~)

Like... DID YOU KNOW, in "How To Get a Header, In the Super League S3E8", there's a brief moment where North Shaw has a Barka FC jersey WITH HIM???? When I first notice that back in 2021, I thought to myself:

"BRO, WHO GAVE YOU THAT JERSEY?! WHICH BARKA FC PLAYER GIVE YOU THAT??!! I NEED TO KNOW!"

Like I was feuding with that particular scene in general- 😭😭

Or that short scene in "Broken Record S6E7" where LIQUIDO IS SHAKING SHAKES' HAND???? LIQUIDO IS SHOWING GOOD SPORTSMANSHIP?!?!?! I JUST KNEW THIS LIKE 2 WEEKS AGO?!?!?!?!!?

And this little scene in "Live and Kicking S4E3" where you can briefly see 'Rock Rockin' Howar' (not sure how to spell his name-) the Motivational Trainer back in "Dribbler on the Roof S3E10" where he works for Sheik. Now he's working FOR MS. ALTIVO??!!??!! I guess he's meant to work with powerful people-

Speaking of Speculating, I've been analyzing non-stop with this show- I love just thinking of ideas that would fit into the context it was given to the audience and I just analyze it, piece by piece, like not a sane person-

Like in "Hypno-Test S2E10", where Rasta claims him and 'Old Chuck T. Chipperson go WAY back!' And I NEVER BROUGHT UP AGAIN??!??! So, were they teammates before they join the Super League?? Were they Colleagues??? (YOU CAN'T PUT THAT IN THERE AND NOT TELL US, WRITERS!!! 😭) I've been fixated by that piece of dialogue for AWHILE-

Also, in "Score To Settle RS E6" where it shows Thor being all emotional, singing about his feelings and got angry when he caught off side- So, it's canon then? Thor has been struggling with, not only his anger issues, but also his masculinity. I've always thought that Thor is the softest one out of the buff guys, and was struggling with his gentler side because of the hyper-masculinity environment in Iron Tank. (Hope in the future, if there will be more seasons being made, I like to see Thor embracing his soft side, like the CHAD HE IS! >:D )

And in "Total Replay S5E12" where when Shakes (and then Supa Strikas as a team) was playing against Legendary Football Players in the simulation, every football team (even Colossus FC) have a player to represent them... EXCEPT FOR 'INVINCIBLE UNTED'.

Huh, I WONDER 'WHY'???~

(There's seen Invincible United' flags from the audience in the simulation, but I double checked that there's indeed, no 'Invincible United player' there.)

("COACH! VINCE! You have some EXPLAING to do!")

(This is just an excuse to tell you my thought process~ :)))) )

(OKAY, THIS IS THE LAST ONE, AND I'M DONE RAMBLING-) Other things that make me Fangirl HARDDDD, is Dingaan. Short answer-

LONG ANSWER is that I just LOVE THIS MAN WITH ALL MY HEART!!! When I came back to the fandom this May this year, I really thought Klaus would be my favorite (HE STILL IS, JUST NEXT TO DINGAAN-). But, MAN! That guy grab my attention. I've always have a soft spot for him back in 2021, BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT CAME OVER ME TO HAVE SUCH A FIXIATION OVER HIM NOW-

Maybe is the silliness he brings when he shows up on screen? Maybe is because deep down his a 'Heart of Gold' Guy, who so happens to be in a very antagonistic team.

Or maybe I relate to him in a personal level, where he shows signs of neurodivergence and people around him would take advantage of that and his kindness. And when they're finished with him, they will think he's stupid for following their plans and use his loyalty to gain more benefits for themselves. And will underestimate him because of his "stupidity", when actuality he's more capable than people would realize. And also gets ridiculed for being himself and his interests because they think is "stupid" or "silly". And deep down he is actual a sweet guy and wouldn't hurt a fly, but unfortunately under circumstances, he could only obey under the abusive hierarchy in the system he is in. And the only thing he can show to people is his 'Aggressiveness", that is also been taught to him, under that hierarchy, and is semi-rewards him if he follows it accordingly, next to 'Doing your job Right'. But they won't award his achievements, because the system is meant to make you inferior than the HigherUps. And Dingaan is trap, probably not knowing, he himself is not going to be seen as equal to them because of his status and neurodivergence, and will punish him if he slips once. And when he shows him being himself, he will get punish, because being his neurodivergent self is not the standard in the system and they will "correct" him, like they want him to be.

.... No idea why I like him so much, but HE'S MY BEAUTIFUL BOY, AND I WOULD PROTECT AND DEFEND HIM IN MY HONOUR! (I will one day make a Analysis Post dedicated to Dingaan. YOU'LL SEE!!)

I know I don't talk about him much here, and only show drawings of him here, like 3 times. But behind the scenes, he's the few things when it comes to Supa Strikas is on my mind. And I've grown appreciation for Dingaan as days goes by. He's on my mind SO MUCH, I rewatch episodes of Supa Strikas he's BARELY IN- (NO, LITERALLY!! I rewatched "On Klaus Inspection S6E8" so many times, JUST TO SEE DINGAAN AT THE END- AND IT'S A KLAUS FOCUS EPISODE😭😭😭) (I still see the episode for Klaus, but is MOSTLY for Dingaan- 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♂️🏃‍♀️)

⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑⁓⁑

AND I'M DONE- DEAR GOD, This took 3 hours- Thank you again to @alsoamalthia for the fandom question! It was really FUN writing this!! (AND I'M SOOOO SORRY FOR NOT ANSWERING SOONER FOR 2 WEEKS- 😭😭 I was busy at the time and was working on another Supa Strikas related work that I'm also writing. Was burned out from the writing that I need to find my groove again-)

If you finished reading this far, thank you for the patience to read this LONG post. Maybe, I got ALITTLE carried away with the answers, when it's just a simple question- Regardless, hope you had fun reading this, and hope you have a great day and tomorrow!!

Thank you again for reading!!!

(EDIT: I think I misread the question.... DAMN MY UNDIAGNOSED NEURODIVERGENCE!!!)

- MimpiNightmare

[littlecello]

Lazarus Ending

Hello again!

First, I need to say a huge thank you to all of you who interacted with the write-up I did the other day. I honestly was a little worried to air out my negative feelings of that afternoon, especially because the audience as a whole (mostly comprised of middle-aged white men, I have to add) reacted so positively to everything - Fern and I felt so uncomfortable by the end. So to come here afterwards and have both our fears and feelings confirmed by so many people, it was a huge comfort. And also, I kind of feel like the fandom seems to have risen from the ashes (hah) somehow, in solidarity after this? Which is just wonderful to think about. So, again - thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I'm so glad we have this little space here that we've carved out for ourselves. 💕

Now, without further ado! I will do my best to summarise what Ashely Pharoah told us the overall arc, as well as the ending, of Lazarus would have been.

Caveat 1: They didn't tell us much, because apparently they're still trying to make Lazarus happen in some shape or form - the most likely option, according to AP, is going to be a graphic novel (good luck to the artist trying to get John Simm's likeness right lol), but nothing is confirmed. Still, this meant they really didn't want to go into detail on plot points.

Caveat 2: This is going to sound mean, but: Ashley Pharoah is a terrible public speaker. He explained the ending of Lazarus, but it was pretty jumbled and disjointed, so I'm having a hard time recalling it and putting it into one cohesive summary. I will do my best!

First of all, here is an addition to the summary of the pilot, which is relevant for the ending - I didn't think to add it for my first write-up, but have since added it for better understanding of the overall plot:

[In 2024] Sam returns to the crime scene once more, convinced that rapist PC was murdered. There, he is snatched by two men (who turn out to be two of the officers who most vocally turned against Sam) and brought to a carpark somewhere. As he's dragged out of the car, his eyes are blindfolded by bandages, and the script specifically stated "like in the music video for David Bowie's Lazarus" - this is where the Lazarus iconography was the most blatant. Sam also catches glimpses of a black star throughout the episode. It is implied that the officers, including rapist PC, are all part of an organisation that whose insignia is exactly that black star. The officers threaten him not to investigate rapist PC's death any further, but when Sam finally manages to get the blindfold off, the two men are nowhere to be found. This is when Sam decides to drive back to the care home to pick up Gene and take him for a drive, in hopes that it will jog Gene's memory or the car he had an argument with.

Now, with this in mind, please do your best to recall everything you can from both LoM and A2A, because here goes:

It turns out that the Black Star is the uhh logo? Sign? Of all the "bad cops" who have escaped "bad cop hell". Meanwhile, the "Police God" or "God of Police" (I swear Ashley said those words in exactly that order, I am not joking) has decided that Gene has done a good enough job as a guardian angel and is ready to go into The Railway Arms. But Gene doesn't want to? And then Gene, Sam, Alex etc realise that, indeed, the "bad cops" have escaped from "bad cop hell", and need to be caught. Which, I think? Is what they end up doing throughout the planned two series of Lazarus? And then at the end Gene does end up going into the Railway Arms and they all have a happy boozy party, and everyone we know and love is there (Ray and Chris got a name mention). Then, as the party goes on, the camera pans to the side to reveal a boy with two differently coloured eyes and slightly snaggly teeth sitting at the piano (three guesses who that is) and starts playing "Life on Mars?". All the cops fall silent and pause to listen, because "they all know what it means". Oh, and outside of TRA we see a black woman - she is introduced in the pilot as being Sam's Chief Superintendent in 2024, I can't remember her name unfortunately, but we also meet her as a 16 year old in 1977 and I think she was meant to start out as like Gene's informant? Anyway, at the end of the show, she's stood outside of the Railway Arms, and it turns out it is now her turn to be the guardian angel of cops.

Again, apologies if I got anything wrong, I found it REALLY hard to follow what Ashley Pharoah was saying, especially because by that point I was already so mentally worn down from all the shitty stuff and the men around us having a whale of a time, and some fairly awkward "questions" from the audience. But there you go. Anyone else who was there, please feel free to add anything I forgot to mention!

[snugglesquiggle]

I have a question, how do you structure your stories? like Hostile Takeover for example. What is your technique on plotting?

there are two answers to this question. “do as i say”, and “do as i actually do”

here’s the most direct and unhelpful to this question: to plot stories i think really hard about what would be cool to happen in the next chapter. then i write five chapters and now journey and destination are both unrecognizable and my crops are dying

for all that it doesn’t much matter, Hostile Takeover actually has the unique distinction of being the first story i’ve both outlined and polished. while i have a lot of stories that are written like stories rather than summaries, and while i also have a lot of outlines, usually i end up with one or the other

on 2023-10-31, not long after reading Tessaract, i had a thought about how to structure a J/Uzi dynamic. (it was your classic ‘what if Uzi reminded J of Tessa?’ idea, but back in 2023, i didn’t see anyone else thinking of that yet)

i noodled on the thought some, ended up crossbreeding this idea with an old V/Uzi idea that didn’t pan out, and the pieces started clicking together

now, to be clear, at this point i still had no plans to write this. i wasn’t a fanfiction writer. instead, i pulled open up a brainstorming channel on discord and starting typing. i didn’t stop typing till long after it had grown far, far too long to post on discord

i wrote 10k words that day, in fact. if you’ve been following me for a while, you’ll know this is a pretty common pattern. i think of a story idea, lock into hyperfocus, and yap a whole novella trying to explain why the story idea is so cool

if you dig around on my site, you can find a few example of outlines written in this fashion. the fact that i went on to flesh out that outline with actual prose is what seems most miraculous about hostile takeover — without exception, this is the step that has killed every other outline

but i’m really getting off track here. you asked about how to structure stories, so circling back to talk about my outline process rather than my fleshing-out process seems prudent. (but put a pin here, we’ll come back to this later because there’s a big caveat to mention)

also i should probably put a read more thingy here for the people scrolling past this

there’s a difficulty in me talking honestly about outlining, because i barely structure my stories, at least consciously. i first notice an idea is really cool, and i think about who in my friends list i’m going to subject to my bullshit explain it to, and it naturally adopts an “okay, but before i can get to that, you first need to hear about this so that everything hits just right” and on and on until i’m starting off ten pages away from the actual point.

but i guess there is a structure even in that, because i’m not consciously thinking about these sentences i’m writing either, yet that’s not because i don’t know how to structure nouns and verbs, it’s that i’ve spent so long thinking about them that i don’t need to anymore.

there’s something deceptively, lede-buryingly coy about me acting like i have any difficulty talking about outlining. i think my tumblr audience largely doesn’t know, but i’ve been writing essays about how to write for years. outlining might be the thing i’ve written about the most!

the three most relevant are, “Ur-Development”, “Outlines as Temporarily Embarrassed Drafts”, and to a lesser extent, “Pacing is Madness”

Embarrassed Drafts is the one i’d suggest you read, if you’re going to read one, because it’s specifically my response to a friend asking me a very similar question (i.e. “how does one start plotting a story”)

Ur-Dev is an old essay, written two years ago a this point, and i’m not linking it because it’s a bad essay. mediocrely written, and i don’t fully agree with its prescriptions as much as i once did, but it was still a major turning point in how i thought about stories. it’s essentially my take on the hero’s journey (part of why i dislike it)

but the outlining essay was written before i wrote hostile takeover, so i have about a year’s more experience now. so here’s how i would boil it down in 2024

telling a story is just raising then answering a question using drama and detail. now, drama comes down to how you write characters, detail comes down to how you write prose (or render images) — but the questions themselves? that’s what plot is

vaguest of all, this is questions like “what happens next” or “how does it end?”

but these questions suck because they ask you to draw the rest of the owl. the really good questions are ones like “how does this happen” or “why is she like that” — they’re directly prompts for you to explain

now, i don’t think think in terms of questions. like i said, i think of cool stuff first

if you read or watch videos about how to write, you’ll quickly run into the idea of “plotters” and “pantsers”, and i think the essence of this distinction is whether the answers or the questions come first

and how best to answer this ask depends on which you are — do you have a premise that you want to explore and find a story in, or do you have a payoff that you want to lead the reader to appreciate?

i’m ambidextrous myself, i’ve gotten good results from either approach, but i identify as a planner just because i can never feel comfortable starting paragraph unless i already know what the last word is.

but both kinds of writers are producing the same thing in different orders. the structure that arises when you raise and answer questions has three steps: presentation, transition, and conclusion. (or if you prefer, beginning, middle and end)

to make this all less abstract, let’s sketch out an example. i have a whole vault of juzi fic ideas i dont have time to write but one of them is based on a simple idea: what if Uzi pointed her gun a little lower when she fires the first shot in the pilot, taking out N’s core?

and since i’m the one writing it, this will lead back to juzi somehow. that already gives us two tentpoles to structure a story around

my first piece of advice for the presentating the beginning is that stories should start in a state of ambiguity or falsehood. what every the story is about, whatever the big question might be, in the beginningwe must not know the final answer.

to see what it looks like if you don’t do this, imagine we wrote the fic like this. Uzi kills N. she goes “holy hell” and does a fistbump, and walks back to the outpost high on her accomplishment. she tells her dad and her classmates about how she killed a murder drone, and they’re all impressed. she goes to bed feeling super cool. the end.

now in fairness, it’s all about the execution. this could very well be a good fic! (i think there’s a nice oneshot to be written in the sheer novelty of uzi actually doing what she planned to in the pilot and winning her dad’s respect and stuff). but i think a good fic would only be good by virtue of adding stuff that’s not there in this short summary.

this summary isn’t a good story (arguably not a story at all), and there can exist one-paragraph ideas that are good and story-shaped

the problem is that all those scenes of uzi walking back and talking to other drones don’t add or explore anything that wasn’t presented at the start with her killing N. it doesn’t inform the audience of anything or transform the ideas, it’s just a repetition of the “Uzi killed N” core idea

here’s an improvement. it goes mostly the same — Uzi’s thrilled, the whole colony is proud of her, everything seems great, but then that night when she goes to sleep, there’s a tremor of unease. she’s remembering the battle without the thrill of digital adrenaline, and did she see that yellow cross flicker to fear a frame before the end? that night, she has nightmares, witnessing silver hair and yellow eyes torn apart as she watches.

this is would be a pretty cliche story, but i do think it’s a story, and it illustrates what i’m talking about. here, we’ve decided the core question is “how does Uzi feel about killing N?” and the this fic starts with a false answer to that question (“she’d think it’s awesome”), and builds to the real answer (“she’d actually feel a bit guilty about it”)

but here’s another angle. uzi killed N the same way she canonically killed J at the end of the pilot — this implies that after Uzi leaves, we’ll wind up with eldritch N worming it up. we know that material collection starts off pretty stealthy, so we might imagine that when J and V return, N’s corpse has already skittered off.

J could be thrilled to be rid of a synergistic liability (or maybe she knows he has backups), but V would be shattered. her whole reason for playing along with killing workers was to protect N. maybe she spends night after night searching for sign of him, or sinking into a depression, but either way J immediately grow frustrated with her tanking productivity.

meanwhile in the outpost, there’s celebrations at Uzi’s accomplishments — but one drone is giving her a very significant look. for once, Lizzy and Doll aren’t laughing at Uzi. Lizzy’s smiling with all the rest of them, of course, but Doll has a calculating stare. that night, when Uzi goes to her room, Doll’s waiting for her, red eyes shining the dark, a cheerleader jumpscare.

Doll has a question. she watched her parents be killed by murder drones. but her father managed to snap a picture of it. she shows that to Uzi, asking if the goth killed that drone. she hadn’t. Uzi expected disappointment, but Doll smiles. excellent, she says. i’m going to kill this one — you may assist me. Uzi’s indignant — assist her? excuse me? she’s the hero here! Doll doesn’t respond, simply stating to meet in the locker room after cheer practice if she’s interesting.

i’m getting carried away here, so let me stop before i outline a whole fic. the point here was to illustrate the other way to draw a proper story out of a premise.

more complex than correcting a false answer to the question, you can extrapolate a chain of answers. characters react and make plans and new scenarios arise as a consequence of what happened before.

what happens when j & v arrive to an empty nest? what happens when Doll and Uzi work together to take down V? in order to answer these questions, you have to go step by step

now, there’s hidden magic even in this tutorial. i could have written this scenario any number of ways — i chose to have Uzi make it home, instead of encountering V and J in the spire, or along the way back. i chose to have J and V react in a way that pit them against each other. i chose to have Doll want to recruit Uzi rather than be jealous, and i specifically chose to have her appear all creepy-like in Uzi’s room.

part of plotting stories is coming up with these ideas and making these choices as to how events progress. some of these choices make for better stories, but it’s hard to give much specific advice for learning how to generate and evaluate these idea-seeds — “keep reading and writing stories” will get you there, though

i do want to highlight how i already i can see neat beats to steer this nascent story towards. for instance, what does Doll and Uzi’s partnership look like on the every day level? wouldn’t it be interesting if, riding on the wave of fame and appreciate Uzi gains from her heroics, Lizzy and Doll tried to integrate the goth into their clique — genuinely preparing her to be popular?

but ideas are honestly cheap. the beginning of the story is all about presenting interesting questions to the reader. the middle of the story is all about exploring, developing, and working out the answers to that question.

the word i used earlier is transition, but transition to what? you can’t really understand middles or what their purpose is until you understand endings.

many centuries ago, the greek philosopher aristotle said something i love to repeat. the conclusion to a story should be surprising, yet inevitable. (i think there’s a single word that captures this spirit: ingenious. or perhaps even just creative)

this is why i insisted that a story should start in a state of ambiguity or outright falsehood regarding its core question. the final answer can’t be any surprise if it’s something we already knew, so we should be uncertain or falsely sure until the very end.

that can’t be all of it. after all, “Uzi kills N. will she go home or stay in the spire?” is a question we start off unsure about. but this can’t be a core question, because there’s nothing surprising nor inevitable her choice either way. it’s filler worth eliding over, as i did in my summaries above.

except we can make it a more interesting question. what if Uzi wanted to scavenge more than the railgun macguffin from the murder drones lair — what if the murder drones had tons of useful supplies that she could bring back to the outpost. …but her railgun is in cooldown and as she looks around the base, she sees clear signs there are other murder drones.

so, is Uzi the type to risk it, or play it safe? posed that way, suddenly it not only seems like she would stick around in the spire, but it also feels like it’s satisfying writing to resolve the dilemma this way.

…except, remember that she nearly died in her fight with N. remember that he stuck her hand with his nanite acid, and this time he’s not around to kiss it better. uzi can barely hold her railgun, let alone scavenge for supplies.

(her return to the outpost will play out differently, won’t it? instead of celebrations the next morning, she’d probably stagger in, exhausted from pain and oil loss, wake up in the repair bay with her concerned father giving her a stern talking to.)

but i digress again. you might notice that i’ve incidentally been demonstrating what it takes to craft a middle here. story transitions are all about drawing out the reasons why a plot point ought to go one way or the other, pitting them against each other and crowning the victor.

payoff needs to be earned; transitions are about building toward the conclusion. if stories about about answering a core question, why not just write out the question and the answer? “what happens if Uzi kills N? she’d feel guilty about it. the end.” that’s lame as fuck. you need the triumph and celebration, to see Uzi getting the recognition she always craved, so that when she lays down and feels that one atom of guilted unease tug at her, it lands like a poignant gutpunch in miniture.

middles are so hard because they serve two contradictory purposes. you have to convince the audience that this is all building toward the final conclusion, and you have the convince the audience that it’s not gonna turn out that way at all ;]

surprising, yet inevitable. too inevitable, and the audience loses interest in the predictable slog. too suprising, and the audience starts to think you’ve lost the plot and forgotten what the story is supposed to be about.

there’s another stumbling block for endings. remember worm N? what was i cooking with that? there’s a very similar version of this post where i never mentioned or thought of material collection at all, and just said Uzi kills N like she killed J in the pilot and continued plotting out the rest.

i can already tell you, i have ideas for where that story goes from there, and right now worm N doesn’t factor into any of them.

it’s a loose plot thread. sometimes, in the process of trying to answer one question, you raise another that you have no interest in answering. but the audience has no way of reading your intent, so they could be following along expecting a synthesized "Giggle." and never getting it.

really, there’s a whole host of missteps i probably should have brought up before now. sometimes, you try to raise a question and the readers dont catch it, or they don’t care for it. it’s not enough to ask “what if Uzi kills N?” (though fanfiction has the definite advantage that, because we’re murder drones superfans, we already care enough about these characters to be piqued by that alone). you have to convince the audience that this is a really interesting question, and they need to see where you’re going with this.

but i dont know how much of that is a question of plot stucture vs writing well generally.

so let’s start wrapping up this essay

you can explain a lot of otherwise finnicky writer-speak through this lens.

what is a hook? it’s the core question the story aims to resolve. it’s the protagonist’s goal, it’s the mystery, it’s the crazy what if scenario.

what are stakes? it’s the possible answers to the question presented early on, especially ones that that would be bad for the characters we’re invested in.

what is setup? it’s plot points and exposition that give the reader the pieces that’ll eventually click together into the final answer.

what is tension? it’s pieces that don’t fit; it’s setup for one of the bad ends specified by the stakes.

what is payoff? it’s when all the build up finally arrives, in spite of all the tension, at the answer promised by the hook.

so, what is my technique for plotting a story? start with the hook or the payoff. whichever one comes first, i know that the other has to be different, inverted via a surprising twist. then figure out what faultline of conflict runs between those two points. what interacting plotlines must collide to transform one to the other?

after that comes the detailed work of crafting lines of logic that follows that flow.

and this, finally is where i pull out the pin in that big caveat i mentioned thousands of words ago — this is where i finally start talking about Hostile Takeover.

i mentioned that i outlined Hostile Takeover from start to finish in one day, producing a 10k word first draft. but in a meaningful sense, that outline was not hostile takeover (on my computer, i now have it saved as “Lethal Acquisition”)

Hostile Takeover is 186k words, and barely covers the first thousand words of the outline. here’s what that looks like

Chapter 1

j&v are out hunting drones. v’s making a mess as usual, and j’s a bit annoyed at her splashing oil all over her. then, on the visor of one dead drone, the absolv glyph flashes. v gets super spooked and it leaves her off balance for the rest of the hunt and j ends up calling it early

back at the spire, j’s trying to do a debrief or postmortem of their last hunt but v is all of out of sorts, unresponsive. (she’s having flashbacks to cyn). this keeps going until j’s about to do something invasive — reboot her? mess with her configuration? — but n steps in to protect her, saying he’ll talk to her and get her back to normal without hacking her. j rolls her eyes, but leaves them to it.

j’s mad, and copes in a private room while straightening her hair. she rants to herself about their quota and how at this rate they’ll never make best team. n’ll fail, he usually does, and when he does then j can reformat v, but till then she’s stuck with two synergistic liabilities. fuck it, j will just go on a hunt on her own. she’s better than them anyway. she’ll fill their quota singlehandedly if she has to.

Chapter 2

j is interviewing the new disassembly drone. at first, she’s relieved at her team getting an extra hand, but it quickly becomes clear this drone is even more defective than v or n. in fact… a lot of this isn’t adding up. she’s missing the last few hours of her memory, one of her sensors is offline — this isn’t a disassembly drone, is it? j requests some data transfer so she can confirm the drone’s identity. uzi of course refuses, starts to run — but j easily overpowers her. with her sensors offline she cant be sure she didn’t just attack one of the company’s drones for no reason, so she checks uzi’s memory.

it’s becomes obvious this isn’t a murder drone, but she plays back her fight with the drone from another pov. she sees uzi’s shock at seeeing a murder drone. but her first thought was: pigtails? why does it have hair? why does it look so… immaculate? j’s laughs. because she’s just that great. but then her eye is caught by something else: the sick as hell—, excuse me, highly effective magnetically amplified blah blah

j steps out of uzi’s memories and sighs. with uzi pinned, she sighs and starts monologuing. uzi struggles to get up, but it’s ultimately in vain, so she has to suffer through it. uzi says, “i can’t believe i lost to the one murder drone on copper-9 who monologues. j’s like, you should feel honored, toaster. do you think i monologue for anyone? i’ve killed thirteen drones today. do you know how they died? she presses a claw to uzi’s throat.”snip, sip. i’m not v. i don’t make messes." “so why?” she holds up the railgun. “this. it’s a remarkably effective weapon. shoddy, unreliable, but the concept? if it were manufactured to jcjenson’s standard of quality… well. do you think your colony’s walls could withstand this?” uzi’s eyes hollow, then she’s like, “ha, outpost three has the finest doors in all of copper-9. my dad made them. do you think i’d create something that could destroy them?” “oh well, it doesn’t matter anyway. all of this is tragic preamble. it never mattered. because you’re a worker drone, and my orders are clear. you would have made a good disassembler.” “is that a compliment? just fucking bite me. i’m nothing like you.” “are we really so different? ha, what am i saying, of course we are.” j stabs uzi and it’s over.

Chapter 3

j’s dragging uzi’s body back to the corpse spire, so she notices when the absolv glyph flashes on her screen. “oh uzi, even in death you’re interesting.” instead of placing uzi with the other corpses, she stows her away in her room.

the next day, j’s flipping through the schematics she stole from uzi’s memories, trying to reproduce them and failing, growing increasingly frustrated. that worker drone wasn’t better than me. n stumbles across her like this, and he smiles. oh j, have you taken in interest in human technology? she snaps at him, then regrets it a moment later. say n… she contemplates giving him to specs to puzzle it out, then stops. nevermind. she doesn’t want to share uzi’s schematics. why?

v hasn’t had her fill of oil in a while now, and is getting hungry. she checks the spire’s corpses for dregs, most of them cold and congealed, or empty, but there’s one fresh, warm one, brimming with oil. did someone forget to drain this one? v doesn’t question her luck, tears off a limp and eagerly feed.

j walks in on this.

Chapter 4

seeing v feed on uzi, j attacks v. (in the course of the battle, she bites v and feels that familiar sour taste of another disassembler) j says “that was mine.” “ugh, someone’s stingy. aren’t we teammates?” “aren’t we disassembly drones? you wouldn’t be so hungry if you were doing your job. did n talk sense into you yet?” “you have no idea what you’re talking about. you think you’re in charge, but you don’t understand anything.” “i understand that i’ve given you an order. this drone is mine, and you are not to feed on it. am I clear? by disciplinary code 31c, insubordination will result in—” “i get it. i’m sure overheating is just what i need to get back to hunting. your drone tastes like shit anyway.” j glares at her, and v glares back. then she leaves.

j watches uzi’s corpse. the absolv symbol is faint, flickering. despite being dead, claw right through the motherboard, there’s still electricity humming through her. her oil is still warm. even in death. “oh uzi, uzi, uzi.”

n is bouncing a ball towards v while v occasionally, carelessly, knocks it back. despite her apparent disinterest, n is consistently able to catch it, and he whoops in joy. v sticks a knife through the ball when j shows up. “j”. “that’s captain j to you, serial designation v.” she rolls her eyes. “am i going to get flagged insubordinate for reminding you of something?” “why, it is foundational to jcjenson’s philosophy to maintain and open and receptive relationship between employ—” “that’s corporatespeak for no, right? i was thinking about what you said, j. we’re disassembly drones. so it seems odd to me that you haven’t disassembled that drone you keep in your room. you know that’s the whole point, right?” j lunges at v. (n watches on with concern.) “while we strive to remain open and receptive, I can’t but feel your reminder isn’t more than a dressed up personal attack on my intelligence and capability. and that—” “—is insubordination, yeah yeah. whatever j, that’s not the point and you know it. disassemble it. you know what happens if we don’t.” “what happens, v?” she asks sweetly. “you don’t know. neither of you know. neither of you remember. ugh. can you trust me, j?” “i trust results, v. there was a time, not too long ago, when i thought i could trust you. maybe we’ll go back to that.” “i’m not playing games, j. if you take too long it might be too late.” j grins. “that sounds like a lot of employee incentive, doesn’t it? get back to work, v.”

back in her room, j is calming her nerves by fixing her hair. she glances at uzi. she fixes uzi’s hair too. then, she connects to her system, and checks to see how her abberent processes are handling the lack of motherboard. she pings and gets a response. she’s excited (why? shouldn’t she disassemble uzi?), and queries the system for a log of activity and errors. and that’s when she finds op codes that are very familiar from diagnosing herself and her teammates, and never any worker drones. it’s repairing itself. it’s draining its oil reserves. just like us. “we really aren’t so different, are we? maybe jcjenson did send me a new teammate”. J feeds uzi some of her spare oil, piles on the parts of discarded drones hope it’s enough mass for repairs to commence.

what you’ll notice about this outline is that it’s mid as hell. all of the most interesting parts of HT aren’t here. now, some of the drafting process involved repurposing later beats earlier than expected (the first tessa flashback was at the start of chapter 6, acting as a sort of bridge between “act one” and “act two”; and N and V’s hunt together repurposes some ideas i planned to introduce in battle among a field of windmills) but that can’t explain all that bloat and sprawl.

it would be a understatement to say HT grew in the telling. it’s not so much outlined as loosely inspired by the outline.

i say that in the tone of a joke, but this represents my new outlook on what outlines are for. it’s not like guidelines in a sketch layer, where subsequent inking and rendering might refine bits of anatomy and tweak the pose while being defined traced over what came before. it’s a musician improvising new melodies and chords while playing an old standard.

the outline is the prototype, the test run. it’s a route from A (the hook) to B (the payoff), but it’s just one route through the landscape. it lets you get familiar with the terrain, spot some of the landmarks and hazards, but it’s a birds eye view; when you’re traveling on foot, you’re going to have to diverge, and you’re going to stop and smell the flowers.

the embellishments that define what HT really is are nonetheless the result of applying these principles at the lower level, though.

the outline called for an AS glyph to flash on a random drone’s screen just because. wouldn’t it be more of a payoff if it’s hidden in the catacombs beneath a church the squad has to battle to penetrate? and if there’s a whole spooky solver cult, that definitely suggests other plot developments, and this is how things compound and snarl

this post has gotten long. maybe, just maybe, i managed to convey a thing or two about how i plot stories.

thank you for the ask and for sitting through all that; i hope it wasn’t too long and rambling.

[bluecladone]

Ngl if Varric dies in DA:TV it's going to severely impact my enjoyment of the game. I'll still play it, of course. I'm not the type to completely write a game off because of a plot point i don't agree with, to make no mention of the money spent. I'm sure the game is fine as a whole and I want to see Solas's story--and by extension, the DA setting--come to a close. But God, to kill off Varric of all characters...more under the cut.

Like don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan of angsty, high stakes, kill-your-darlings type of plots, but it MUST have some kind of point. Killing Varric right at the start doesn't really serve much of a purpose. Like we don't need any motive or other driving force when we've been given plenty enough already a la the events and ending of Inquisition. We're well aware of the stakes. Killing Varric away from the people who loved him best (Hawke and crew, or whoever's left) surrounded by strangers (with the exception of Harding and Solas) would be such a disservice to his character. Add in extra yuck with the way EA/Bioware treated his writer, Mary Kirby. It just feels like an extra 'fuck you.' Besides, using him as such a heavy marketing tool for years only to kill him off is so cheap.

Maybe the writers didn't know what to do with him. (And maybe this is a direct result of Mary Kirby's layoff) Maybe they were afraid of the criticism they'd get if they just wrote him into retirement. I get it. Varric is a notorious busybody who shoulders a lot of responsibility, and he's so tied up into the story at this point. He's had a hand in most major plot points in the series. Not everyone would be satisfied with the retirement card. But the guy is getting old. I'm hoping and praying that they'll just settle with destroying Bianca and maybe injuring him enough to where he's like 'I'm way out of my league here, plus I've got a city to run. Time to pass this along to someone more capable.' He'd make a good advisor/mentor figure--there in the background, but still involved with the plot just enough. I feel like the team was so worried about people being disappointed that they couldn't have him as a companion that they jumped to the extreme to give us a good reason why and a chance for D✨️R✨️A✨️M✨️A.

Honestly, I wouldn't mind so much if they chose to kill him at the end, or shit--literally any point besides the very beginning. It's the last game in the series. Much like in Mass Effect 3, the world as we know it is ending and the stakes are ever higher. Not everyone is gonna make it. I know nothing is confirmed, but the set up in the trailer is so obvious. As soon as Varric tells Rook to take care of things, i got a sick feeling. Maybe they'll surprise us, but I doubt it. It's hard not to be cynical after hearing about the layoffs at Bioware and watching in real-time the development hell this game has gone through for the last decade.

Like imagine in Mass Effect Andromeda, say someone like Garrus or Liara shows up only to die right at the beginning of the story. They had no effect on the plot, other than explaining to Ryder the plot of the last 3 games to let them know why what they're doing here in the newest game should be important to them. Then they die to kickstart the plot and for Ryder to shake their fist at the villains and exclaim 'this time it's personal!' Ryder doesn't know Garrus/Liara. They met like a week ago. Plotwise, the moment falls flat emotionally when we know that Ryder wouldn't mourn Garrus/Liara as much as we know Shepard might. It should go without saying that a character dying would impact your main character more if those characters got to know each other throughout the story, but it's what I'm saying. I think it's better to shock your characters more than your audience.

And that's what this is. Shock value for the audience, to make us clutch our pearls and shake our fists at whoever is responsible for a beloved character's untimely demise. To make us care about a plot we're already invested in, and have been for 10 YEARS. Or maybe to get away from the uncomftability of having a character with an arc they don't know how to end gracefully. If they go the way I think they're going, anyway. Fingers crossed so so so hard that they surprise me.

[alwida10]

Hey! I just saw that you reblogged a post of mine on Loki's powers a while ago. And while I completely agree with your tags (Loki's powers in the tv series among other things), you also write that the show was originally written for a different character and only the names were changed and the magic added later on. I've never read that anywhere, could you explain? It would make so much sense given how different Loki is in the show and how his previous experience is largely disregarded.

Hi there!!

It took me a while to answer this because of real-life stuff, but now I’m there!

By saying the show was written for another character I referred to this analysis on Twitter which again links back to another analysis on Tumblr. (The original link in Twitter is broken, but I found the post manually). I read this analyses a while back, and admire people who were able and willing to read Waldron’s original script. For me, it reads like an insincere column on what a deeply conservative person assumes would be what a left-leaning, progressive audience would like to hear without understanding anything about the points he tries to mirror. I can't add much to the original posts.

However, Waldron’s comments about Loki, including the “he’s an ass and that makes him easy to write” as well as his jokes on never having watched Thor 1 before writing the series can certainly give you the idea he never knew much about our beloved blorbo before writing him. The fact that he thought making Loki say “he doesn’t enjoy killing people but does it anyway for his personal gain” (rephrased) would make TVA Loki in any way redeemable is telling imo.**

Now, technically this is all I can say to your ask, BUT I realize I never truly elaborated on the stuff I mentioned in said tags, so here is an explanation for everyone who would like more about it.

I read those a while back and took my basic analyzing skills to the test by taking a look at Loki and how writing for a character works in general. This has two aspects (I can think of from the top of my head).

If a work is written for one special character it should be impossible to achieve the same plot if he was replaced by another character without the special abilities.

One thing I read a while back (and sadly forgot where) is that both sex and fight scenes are both character exposition scenes. This is true for magic as well, just it gets rarely used since in all of literature there aren’t that many characters who possess magic.

In the Thor movies, Loki’s magic is masterfully used, showing that the works were actually written with Loki in mind. Both Thor 1 and the dark world would simply not work if you put -let’s say Fandral- in Loki’s position. Loki’s skill to find the pathways between worlds is essential. And his ability to make himself invisible is essential for Thor 1. I could go on, but you get the idea, and I don’t want to get this too long to read.

Regarding the character exposition, Loki’s magic in the first movies was a mirror for his characterization (as it should be). He could make himself invisible, for he has been invisible to his family. He could cast illusions since he learned that people preferred an illusion to his real self. He could make others manipulate into saying what he wanted them to say because that was how Loki survived on Asgard (post-credits scene of Thor 1).

In TDW, we see Loki’s anger and frustration manifest in a telekinetic blast that ruins everything around him, and if that isn’t a masterful analogy for his arc I don’t know what would be.

Now coming to the series. All magic Loki uses is cosmetically or for show. He dries himself, he makes sweet little fireworks. How is that connected to his characterization? The show tells us he is insecure and loves only himself. If you squint real hard you might argue the drying is a sign of him being used to comfort. But I thought he was pampered and spoiled? Wouldn’t that mean he had other people to dry him?

And then there is the hiding/teleportation* scene on Lamentis. What does it say about his character? If it IS teleportation what does it say about him? That he can go distances without walking, perhaps, which would fit his line “I never walked so much in my life”, but doesn’t fit that scene from Thor 1 where we see how long he had to walk. And if he can teleport why doesn’t he spare them the walk? And if it doesn’t work for long distances, why does he run for cover right when they realize they are on Lamentis and doesn’t teleport? Why doesn’t he teleport onboard the spaceship? IF they wanted to use the fight as a character exposition, they should have made him use illusions. That’s his trademark.

Next is the “lifting a building” stuff. What does that say? I guess if you limit the interpretation to the series, it could be considered foreshadowing for the “we are stronger than we think”. And like so many stuff of the show it lacks any connection to the former canon. Loki isn’t known for brute strength, either of the body or of the magic. That’s Thor. Loki is known for being the intelligent one. Interestingly, the scene spells rather “we are dumber than we think”, too, since making two steps to the side would have achieved the same effect without any flexing of inexplainable telekinesis muscles.

The same goes for the fireworks in the train (characterizing Loki as sentimental, ok fine, and later as a dumb drunk who can’t control what illusion he casts, 😒). The plot would work without that magic. Just like it works without the drying, the building lifting, and all the other magic Loki used.

So, yeah, magic is Loki’s specialty that sets him apart from many other characters. Someone who writes a story with him in mind will use that automatically. They didn’t. Because it wasn’t him the show was written for. But the worst guy of all time.

Since I only talked about the magic here, I would like to recommend this marvelous analysis on Loki’s speech pattern and body language in the shown in comparison to the former installments.

* The only thing the “I don’t enjoy it” achieves is taking possible sadism out of the equation. TVA Loki is still irredeemable because he decided his sense of superiority would be worth more than the lives of the people in New York. This is egoism and a total dismissal of other people’s lives, something that cannot be “unlearned” by learning to love himself. That only removes the former motivation for the slaughter. Should something else motivate him to kill people, he would act just the same.

On the other hand, OG Loki has been coerced, not only by torture as we see it in The Avengers but also under the influence of the mind stone. Whenever we see him having the choice he acts morally better by sparing lives where he can.

**I don’t consider it teleportation since there is a time delay between Loki vanishing and re-appearing, and imo teleportation is instantaneous. Also, he vanishes feet first but reappears head first which doesn’t sit right with teleportation, and rather with making himself invisible and lifting invisibility again, but that’s for another post.

[cheylouwho]

i’ve been thinking about this a lot lately and i want to hear someone from SPHS’s thoughts.

i know you’ve noticed the “tiktok” fan base- the ones that only watch clips of the show and then say they’re fans. i read one of your posts talking about these types of fans and making blatantly incorrect headcanons. that’s something that bugs me, but another thing that bugs me is the fact i do not believe south park is tiktokable. i’ll use family guy as a comparison for my points.

first of all, compared to family guy, the humor is different, pretty much everything they explained in the cartoon wars two parter explains what i mean, m&t are not fans of interchangeable jokes and are able to give characters emotional progression throughout the episode. that’s one huge factor, i hope you get what i’m trying to imply with that. m&t are passionate about their story telling and it pays off in their episodes. i know not EVERY SINGLE joke follows this, but there are jokes made better by understanding the characters and the circumstance of the episode. the episodes work best in their entirety. (that was difficult to explain so i fear it can be misinterpreted easily)

the characters are another thing i want to mention. i watched the episode TSST with two friends awhile ago, one of which who had never seen an episode and didn’t understand cartmans character. she kept asking questions about him, or said how weird his hitler obsession was. the other friend hadn’t finished south park and said he hated cartmans character and it’s hes one of the bad pieces of the show. i believe even if you don’t like cartman as a personal preference thing, you should at least appreciate him as a character and his placement, it’s hard to understand him (despite us watching an episode that really dives into him, they still didn’t know much about him before). with family guy, one episode is enough to grasp the character, hell, even a single scene is i’d say, while m&t are very good at developing and fleshing out character personalities over time. it’s why they can pull off making sad episodes (like kenny dies and assburgers), heartwarming episodes (like tweek x craig and even bits of episodes like in raisins) all while still being a comedy show. they understand how to make the characters react in a way that can make you feel something while maintaining a good amount of jokes in the episode.

i dont know, theres more i could add but i’m just writing whatever comes to mind first so it might make no sense or it might be wrong. also, i’m by no means an old fan. i’ve rewatched the series quite a few times, watched commentaries, researched through wiki pages and am constantly trying to better my knowledge of the show, but i know i’m not quite there yet and could just be making a mistake GAHAH

No anon, I actually totally get this and agree 100%. SP as a show is not something that works well with out of context clips (and even then, the ones that do work are usually from very early in an episode before the plot fully gets established and stakes as drawn). Until pre s18 when they started soft continuity (and then s19-21s full continuity, after that is a whole other discussion entirely), the shows syndicated nature did make it easier to hop into any episode and watch it in its entirety and enjoy it without much prior knowledge of the show or it's characters. However, even then, you really needed to watch the *whole* episode to get the big picture of it's message.

And I get it, SP full length episodes are not as accessible as they once were. People these days don't know how or aren't willing to pirate things if they don't have the streaming service SP is hosted on, and beyond that, south park used to be free to watch on their website. Like, that's how I ended up catching up on the show when I finally decided to take it all in other than a handful of episodes and scenes I'd seen during my childhood back in 2013. It was all entirely available (save for Super Best Friends, 200 and 201, which I had to go track down on other websites) for free, with ads unless you used an ad blocker, right at your fingertips. And that's how M+T wanted SP to be consumed, because they explicitly noted that they didn't care about making money on streamed episodes, they cared about getting their show out there. (I will have to go find that interview, I know it's somewhere).

But still, regardless of that, you're right. SP is not something that you can consume short form as a brief tiktok video, and that's why I think we have newer fans with such big gaps in knowledge that seem like they would be easy to fill in. It's not that they're being willfully ignorant, they're just being fed a very piecemeal version of the show through social media, which is how we get people thinking Pip is a he//llpa//rk OC (augh!!! dont get me started) instead of realizing this dude was actually in the fucking show, or headcanons that are very easy to contradict with canon itself by watching like 3 episodes. That's not me knocking HCs btw, go wild and do whatever you want, but these people don't even know it's ooc, and that's a little troublesome. I've made some outlandish character decisions in the past but I at least KNEW they were not evidence based.

What that means for the fandom down the road I don't know, and its made a lot of discussion and analysis more shallow-- it's so hard outside of my SPHS friend group to find good breakdowns these days. I'm hoping maybe something will change, but who knows.

TLDR fuck tiktok and its watering down of media