#leaning towards the second option because more than one person has given me feedback that she just sucked

[likeabxrdinflight]

possibly the most interesting consequence of letting my therapist read through my trauma memoir is the way she still sees things in what I wrote that I don't. like I wrote quite a bit about the ways I was taught about and experienced religion that she pointed out were kinda fucked up in ways I didn't even think about. things like having little kids sit and pray the rosary every week, or dedicating an entire afternoon just to religion class, or preparing for first confessions- these things were so normalized to me I'd have never even considered them all that unusual in the context of a religious education. but they were details that stuck out to her as being a lot of ask of fourth graders (she was a lot more weirded out by confession than I'd have expected), and that fascinates me. because it was so normalized. all of it was so normalized, I think I've still only really considered the most extreme aspects to have been the most toxic parts.

the other interesting part for me is that the majority of this narrative is about the impact a very specific teacher had on me. the whole point of writing this was to sort of go back and re-live that experience and present it in a narrative way that makes sense of the story and helps me conceptualize it. and it served that purpose, I think. but throughout it, this teacher was a figure that I tried to write as honestly as possible because it was tempting to depict her as 100% a villain. and she is the antagonist of the piece in the end, there's no mystery about that, but part of this project, for me, was treating her like a human being and exploring what that meant for me. it's not about having compassion for her so much as for myself, for why I was ever vulnerable to someone like her. so I do not want her to come across like a mustache twirling cartoon villain- if anything I kind of want the hypothetical reader who knows nothing about me or my life to feel conflicted about her in the early parts of the story. I want the reader to feel torn between liking her and not being so sure if they should, because that was what it was like for me.

now my therapist was always going to be a little biased, given she already knows the bones of the story I'm telling. she knows the ending. but despite going to great lengths to keep this teacher feeling like a human, my therapist still told me that she came across, to her at least, as "cunningly manipulative" (her words). she felt like this teacher's way of teaching religion throughout even the earliest parts of the story was quite sinister. so either I'm just not doing a good job of keeping my present-day negative perception of her out of the narrative OR this bitch really was just that shitty of a person and I need to trust more in the reality that yeah, it kind of was that bad...

[felassan]

Article: ‘Mass Effect 3 Could Have Had A Completely Different Ending’

The Mass Effect 3 ending has been a controversial subject for nine years. As it turns out, it could have been completely different.

This article is part of TheGamer’s Mass Effect week. 

Highlights:

This [the RGB endings] wasn’t always the case. According to Mass Effect 3 writer Chris Hepler, the end of Shepard’s story could have been radically different. 

Hepler started working on Mass Effect right at the beginning. Although he wasn’t formally part of the team yet, he did additional design, chipped in for playtesting, and offered a fair amount of writing feedback during development of the first game. He had a much more active role on Mass Effect 2, writing the Codex entries, the Galaxy Map, and spearheading the Cerberus Daily News initiative. By the time Mass Effect 3 rolled around, Hepler was writing EDI, Thane, Citadel missions, and was generally considered to be the project’s “loremaster.”

“The ending relies on space magic, and the lead writer, lead gameplay designer, and executive producer all just embraced that and owned it from the get-go,” Hepler tells me. “‘Any sufficiently advanced technology’ and all that. They wanted and got a really big decision that affects the whole galaxy. If you give it a moment's thought, none of the three options are perfectly moral or the ‘right’ answer for everyone. Destroy may not solve the problem of AI and organics; Control rewards the Reapers; even Synthesis, which is harder to get than the other two and sounds like it'd be permanent peace, basically violates the entire galaxy's bodily autonomy without consent. So that part, I think, works.

“Did it satisfy the fans? Hell, no, not at first, and I found a lot of the criticism to be legitimate. The Extended Cut gave us a second chance to make an ending that acknowledged many more of the players' choices, and was about as good as we could reasonably make given the decisions we'd already made. I felt a lot better about myself and us as a team after the EC came out.”

Hepler explains that fans had observed several hints throughout the trilogy that pointed in completely different directions. For example, there are aspects of the lore that actually lean towards the Citadel species allying with the Reapers in order to collectively tackle a dark energy anomaly, as opposed to the Reapers remaining as the Big Bad right up until credits roll. Hepler confirms that there are explicit lore details that lean into this idea, but that he never personally heard about capitalizing on them. Remember, this is coming from the Mass Effect loremaster - if he says there is lore to back up a dark energy anomaly that only the Reapers can save us from, it certainly exists.

“Now, what would I have done?” Hepler asks. “I wouldn't have done space magic at all. I planned to write three Codex entries on the Crucible rather than one, reflecting on what scientists think it is at first, what it appears to be once construction has really made progress, and a third detailing how it will kill the Reapers, readable right before you return to Earth.”

Hepler explains that he wanted to take inspiration from Nancy Kress’ novel, Probability Moon, in order to have the Crucible use a strong nuclear force as a weapon. Kress’ superweapon is designed to create a massive burst of energy that is completely harmless for objects that have a low atomic weight, like organic flesh made of carbon chains. This means that the vast majority of Citadel species would be virtually unaffected by a blast from this weapon.

Objects with a much higher atomic number, however, would be annihilated by the beam. This weapon is constructed in such a way that it emits life-killing radiation for anything made up of heavy metals. “So cybernetic creatures like the Reapers and husks would have their organic parts fried because they're right next to the heavy metals, but the organic creatures a safe distance away, like a civilian population, would be just fine,” Hepler says.

“The rebuilt Shepard, who had a fair bit of cybernetics, would die heroically, but that was always likely to be on the cards. In talking with Ann Lemay, another writer on the project, we theorized that the metal most likely to be the atomic weight cut-off-point was niobium, which today is used in piercings and surgical implants because it doesn't rust and you can embed it in flesh without ill effects. It's even blue when exposed to oxygen, like the glowing blue husks we've been fighting since [the first] Mass Effect. So it would make sense as a building block for the Reapers and their ultimate weakness.”

So, what happened? Unfortunately, Hepler never got to pitch his ending. The design leads moved lightning quick with their Destroy/Control/Synthesis trifecta, to the point that the whole premise had been approved before Hepler even got around to finishing his second Codex entry. As a result, he hadn’t got a full description of how this pertained to the entire galaxy yet - although looking at it now, it could have borrowed from the best bits of each ending. The Reapers would be neutralized, but the tech would be there. Given that Mass Effect is largely about the coexistence of humans and cybernetic creatures, it would also have had an impact on other aspects of the universe - what would happen to EDI?

“I [also] had some concern that Nancy Kress might notice and sue us if I didn't do my homework,” Hepler says. “And there was no time to do that homework, which would be me telling all the leads to hold off for a week while I exchanged a crap-ton of emails with my subject matter experts. ‘Sufficiently advanced technology indistinguishable from magic’ was far easier and had much more project momentum. “I recycled some of the strong-force-as-a-weapon tech into the Reaper infantry weapon, the Blackstar. In retrospect, I wish I'd spoken up more, or thought it all out faster, but them's the breaks.”

As well as Hepler’s own ending - which obviously never made it into the final game, despite sounding as if it had a lot more hard science behind it - Hepler is a big fan of the popular Indoctrination Theory. However, he was pretty open about the fact that this wasn’t something BioWare consciously designed.

“The Indoctrination Theory is a really interesting theory, but it's entirely created by the fans,” Hepler says. “While we made some of the ending a little trippy because Shepard is a breath away from dying and it's entirely possible there's some subconscious power to the kid's words, we never had the sort of meetings you'd need to have to properly seed it through the game.

“We weren't that smart. By all means, make mods and write fanfic about it, and enjoy whatever floats your boat, because it's a cool way to interpret the game. But it wasn't our intention. We didn't write that.”

[source]

[lovingrosewho]

Flunked

Hii so, as some of you may guess by the summary, one of my teachers failed me in a project in which I put a lot of effort in:( I had to take my anger out writing this haha, I hope you like it, as usual, any feedback or suggestions are well received! English is not my first language, etc. Enjoy!

ONE SHOT

Pairing: Crowley x Reader

Rating: T.- Fluff

Word count: 2.1k words

Summary: Crowley finds you crying in your room because you failed a really important test

Warnings: mentions of sex, curse words, protective!Dean which of course counts as a warning

You had been taken under the Winchesters wing for a while now, they agreed to share the bunker with you as long as you didn’t drop out of school after that wendigo hunt that had left so many scars, physical and emotional. They had warned you about the dangers of being a hunter and how it would eventually kill you and the ones you loved around you if you decided to take it up as a job. They kind of saw you as the little sister they never had, to be protected at all costs...

But when it got to the King of Hell, well, that was a whole other story.

Crowley had been around you a few times, the boys did not want him anywhere near you, had it been for them they would’ve put up a 12 feet round salt circle with you in it, but of course you would’ve argued.

You didn’t see the King of Hell as a threat, you even found him charming. His witty comments mocking Sam and Dean made you laugh in silence more times than you could count, his confident stand and even the pace of his steps made your insides nervous, ticklish. When he was around, he’d salute you with a slight tilt from his head and a “Kitten”. Nickname which would make the Winchesters roll their eyes and tell him to focus with, frankly, nearly not any manners.

The first time you talked with him properly, even though the boys were around, was kind of cute. You were helping them with some research and he went to stand by you, eyeing whatever you were reading, you had to suppress a laugh at how his eyes squinted trying to read the tiny letters.

“Something funny, Pet?” he asked you, a hidden, smug smirk in his lips. Sam and Dean gave each other a look, which shifted to Crowley afterwards.

“No, no, nothing” you assured him smiling, returning your gaze to your book “I’m guessing this snooping around is due to boredom, your Majesty?”

Crowley now grinned notably whilst Dean’s head snapped back at you.

“What did you just call him?” the eldest Winchester asked quite annoyed, but you dismissed him anyways.

“How’s hell, Crowley?” you said turning to him, ignoring Dean’s question and Sam’s glance at you.

“It’s okay Squirrel, I think (Y/N) here can take care of herself just fine” he said without taking his eyes off of yours and winking “Hell’s fine, by the way. Sweet, boring hell, which I should be getting back to right now, I hope by next time I drop by you’ll actually have something to show me”.

His eyes flew to Dean’s flared face with annoyance, then Sam’s and finally they fell back at you.

“I’ll be seeing you around, Kitten” and with this he vanished.

After that, Dean had scolded you, repeated once again what Crowley was capable of and how you shouldn’t be joking around with him. You shrugged it off just like Sam did, because nor him nor his brother were able to keep Crowley at bay with you after that. He’d drop by even more than he did before, and most of the times his words were directed at you, not the boys, talking about Hell, hunts, and overall non-important stuff. The Winchesters finally gave up and had to deal with the fact that, inevitably, you and the King of Hell were close.

A few months passed since your first little chat with Crowley, Dean insisted in scoffing and rolling his eyes every time he made a flirty move on you, Sam just smiled, guessing you probably had a thing going on for him as well.

Things stayed that way until the last term of the semester started, then you were buried underneath books, essays and projects. You still talked on the phone with Crowley at least once a week, but seeing each other personally was nearly impossible, he did not want to distract you.

When he was sure you were just days far from finishing school, he appeared at the bunker with the classical “Hello boys”, scanning the library, but you were nowhere to be seen.

“Looking for something?” Dean mocked, which caused Crowley to gave him a boring look.

“Very funny, Squirrel. You know bloody well who I’m looking for and I don’t see her in this room” he answered giving them a sarcastic look.

“Now’s not a good time Crowley” Sam affirmed without looking up from his laptop.

“Whatever do you mean, Moose? I’ve been told (Y/N) is almost finished with the semester, she should have less deadlines now” he argues when Dean interrupts.

“She failed a test and she has been... moody, the whole day, I wouldn’t even touch her if I were you, hell, I wouldn’t even go near her” he suggests winking at him. Crowley grunts at his, yet again, unsuccessful attempt to keep him far away from you.

“That’s because you two morons don’t know how to talk to her, I’ll just go to her room” he says beginning to walk, causing Sam to stop paying attention to his laptop and instead getting up all of a sudden along with Dean, who’s decided to stop Crowley.

“Wow wow wow, you’re not going into (Y/N)’s room” Dean declares laying a hand on Crowley’s chest so he doesn’t make another move “You’ve never been to her room”.

Crowley removes Dean’s hand with visible disgust.

“Oh Dean, I thought we were past the whole ‘Stay the hell away from (Y/N)’ deal. Listen Squirrel, if you don’t let me see how (Y/N)’s doing, I’ll just zap myself over there, understood?” he demands, and Dean is about to say something when Sam interrupts.

“Dean... maybe he’ll be able to cheer her up” he encourages timidly.

“What? Oh so you’re on his side now?” Dean reclames and Crowley can’t help but roll his eyes, snap his fingers and there he is, inside your room, standing in front of you.

You are laying flat on the bed when the unexpected smell of sulfur, whiskey and citrus invades your nostrils and makes you smile slightly.

“Crowley” you greet him lifting from your bed, inviting him to sit at the edge of it.

“Hello, darling” he says smiling back and accepting your offer of taking a seat next to you. When he gets closer he notices your swollen, red eyes “Have you been crying, Pet?”

You avert your sight and say nothing.

“Pet?” Crowley prompts “Are you alright?”

“Yeah” you lie “It’s nothing really, just some stupid test”.

“It’s not ‘stupid’ if it’s important to you. What is it? I know you. You can’t tell me you forgot to study or something like that”.

“I didn’t! I-“ your voice cracks again and you have to clear your throat to keep speaking “Of course I didn’t forget. I studied. Hard. But my professor said that ‘my answers weren’t clear enough’ which I totally disagree and I... I just find it unfair”.

“Huh” he says listening to you ramble whilst he gets up and starts walking in circles around your room. You glance at him and see his thoughtful look “Perhaps we could arrange an appointment between your teacher and my hellhounds”.

You laugh lightly and shake your head.

“Whatever it’s... it’s fine, I suppose the boys told you” you say “Guess now I’ll just have to drop out of school and take up hunting again”.

Crowley rolls his eyes for the eleventh time this day. Even if you’re joking he doesn’t like the thought of you being in danger, much less getting hurt or even... or even killed.

“Quit being dramatic, (Y/N), it doesn’t suit you at all” he tells you arching an eyebrow “Besides, we both now I’m the dramatic one in this relationship”.

You chuckle.

“Is that so?” you ask.

“Yes” he answers walking towards you and cupping your face with his hands, wiping the last tears from your eyes. You let a sigh escape.

“How did the boys let you in anyways?” you say changing the subject. Crowley scoffs at your question.

“They didn’t. In fact, they surely must still be discussing my quite essential stay with you today” he answers, taking his hands off your cheeks and sitting beside you.

You nod in understandment, amused.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Kitten” he assures you, placing his hand in your leg, yours instantly flies to it.

“I know” you tell him, moving your other hand to his cheek and making him face you “Thank you, for being here...”

He grins softly.

“Anything for you, love” he says and you smile. Slowly, you start leaning forward towards his lips. Crowley stares at you perplexed, but does nothing to stop you, instead, he shifts to touch the nape of your neck and leans into the kiss.

The kiss is swift. It begins with slow, careful movements, eager lips brushing over yours, turning into a heated passion as Crowley requests for entrance with his tongue and you jump to his lap. He explores your mouth until you’re both out of air.

“Well that’s an interesting turn of events” he tells you arching his brows and you laugh giving him a mild smack in the chest with your elbow.

“Shut up” you say pecking his lips a few times “You know... if Sam or Dean come in they’ll kill you right?”

The boys are right outside the door waiting for you or Crowley to go out, conflicted if they should go in, or knock, given that they’re not able to listen to anything you say.

“They’ve been insanely quiet in there” Dean’s mind begins to wander in the possible escenarios where you’re involved with Crowley. In your room. And he doesn’t like any of them.

“So what Dean? Maybe they’re just catching up” Sam says, exasperated with his brother.

“No, no, no, I could hear murmurs just minutes ago, now it’s total silence”. Sam sighs.

“Do you really want to go in there? Like really?” he questions giving his brother a look.

Dean considers his options for a few seconds.

“You know what? I’m going in” he asserts and Sam laughs.

“Suit yourself, I’ll be right behind you, covering my eyes”.

“Don’t be a baby” Dean snorts, but to be honest, he’s praying he doesn’t find you having sex with the King of Hell.

They come in the room to spot you in Crowley’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck, eyes closed, his mouth grazing over yours.

“Crowley you son of a bitch!” Dean yells at him, taking long strides to get to you.

“Squirrel” Crowley says sighing, whereas you do the same, adding an eye roll “Didn’t your mommy teach you how to knock?”

Sam is just laughing in the back, glad that at least they didn’t find you naked.

Dean is about to continue yelling at you and Crowley just raises his hand, snaps his fingers and you’re on his throne in hell.

“I believe that was our cue, love” he tells you with a half smirk in his face. You outburst in laughter.

“After this Dean’s definitely making me sleep with the dog” you state. Crowley chuckles lightly “Well, if we had a dog”.

“I thought that was Castiel” he says pretending confusion, you snort and shake your head, a grin not leaving your face.

Crowley takes a lock of your hair between his fingers and starts playing with it. At the same time, he leaves a trail of wet kisses that go from your mouth to your neck.

“Those Winchesters are lucky I was too busy admiring you to shove them out the room and lock the door” he acknowledges, continuing tracing kisses along your skin.

“They’re lucky they found us with clothes on” you admit and he chuckles again.

“Now now, Pet, never took you for the naughty type” he jokes “Quite honestly, I figured this was eventually going to happen, but I always thought I’d be the one to invite you out”.

“You want to invite me out?” you tease “Never saw that coming”.

Crowley smirks, faking annoyance.

“I’m asking to date you, (Y/N), but of course you would tease me about it” he says. You giggle, he’s right “So, what’s your answer?”

“Yes” you speak without hesitation, covering his lips with yours in a long, deep kiss.

“See? If Dean Winchester decides to kick you out the bunker, which I’m highly doubtful, you get to sleep with the King of Hell, not the dog” he tells you with bedroom eyes.

You bite your lips and nod, proceeding to keep making out with the King for a long time, spending the night with him. Dean’s chide can wait.

MASTERLIST

[serenasoutherlyns]

Precedent

Tracey is falling in love, fast. She seeks the help of an expert.

Law & Order: Trial By Jury and Law & Order. ~1.4k words. Tracey/Kelly, Tracey & Jack friendship with a bit of Jack/Claire. Any feedback is appreciated more than you can possibly know. I wrote this quickly and didn't do much in the way of editing so forgive any errors. ao3 link.

"Jack, do you have a second?"

"For you, Tracey? I'll find ten." He's always liked how she refuses to indulge him with anything more affectionate than an eye roll (he knew how much better that was than many of her myriad expressions). And he does have time. He's finishing some notes with one hand and some noodles with the other.

"There's something I could use your perspective on," she says as she clicks his office door shut behind her. It wasn't like her to come to anybody, let alone him, for advice on cases. He figures it must be a big one, though he thinks she'd go to Arthur for that, even though he knew she hated to. The woman was mysterious, but never deadpan.

"Whatever I can do," Jack says, gesturing to the seat across from him. And he is genuinely willing to help. He likes Kibre. He thinks her spiky reputation is well-earned and well-fitting. She's damn near as good as he is and that, he'd testify to (he expressed a sentiment like this one once, to Serena, who had called him an "egotistical ass," which he guessed he deserved. He missed her sometimes).

"It's not a case, actually it's not exactly work," she says, and Jack is even more surprised. If he doesn't think she'd come to him with work problems, he really doesn't think she'd come to him with personal problems. He raises his eyebrows as if to encourage her to continue. He closes his notebook and brandishes an extra set of chopsticks towards her. Her utterly horrified look is both wounding and amusing.

"You'll have to forgive me," she says, "I despise rumors, but nobody else around here has the same ones you do. I hoped you might have some," she narrows her eyes slightly, looking for the right word, "expertise, in this matter. I've consulted the Standards and a few more popular ethics publications,"

"And there's nothing in any of them about whether or not you can sleep with your associates." Tracey looks relieved for only a second at his commiserating smile.

"Possibly 3.1-7, but,"

"That concerns relationships to defense counsel." Tracey nods. "I know. Terrible, isn't it? That there isn't something somewhere that reads '4.1.: don't do that.'"

Tracey laughs begrudgingly. "Indeed. But when you don't have a statute, you seek out precedent... I truly exhausted my other options, I hope I'm not making you uncomfortable."

"Not at all," Jack says, and he's being truthful. There are elements of him, people with whom, circumstances in which he can be an open book. Tracey is clearly in a tough position and he knows she'll keep his secrets, if only for the possibility of using them against him down the line.

"And none of this gets to Arthur."

"My lips are sealed. So," he says, trying to strike a sensitive tone. "Kelly Gaffney?"

"Yes."

"You two are,"

"Not yet."

"But you're going to. Or you wonder if you should."

"Right." Jack thoughtfully places a stickful of stirfry into his mouth and chews.

"Is there any stopping it?" He asks, knowing that the answer is no, that if there was, she wouldn't be here.

"Not as far as I can tell. I mean, I wouldn't resign, and I couldn't ask for either of us to be reassigned,"

"And you also can't take another celebration scotch or late night research session?"

"You really have been there," Tracey says, with a wistful smile fighting her furrowed forehead. Jack nods. "So, should I just prepare myself for disaster? Or push her away, or... I don't know, take the risk?"

"You're sure she likes women?" Jack says, giving her a purposefully inquisitive look.

"Oh, come on, Jack," she says. He raises his shoulders. "Yes."

"I wouldn't've asked!" he replies defensively.

"Manhattan is a small town. I knew before we started working together."

"How?" Jack asks, but the look she gives him makes him concede defeat. "Maybe you should talk to her," he says, going against everything he did."

"Did that ever work for you? I mean, what would I even say,"

"You overestimate how well any of it worked."

"Do tell," Tracey says, "that is if you're comfortable," she says. With her eyes turned down, she looks almost demure.

Jack knows he can trust her. "Well," he starts, settling in for the storytelling, "Ellen fell pregnant very shortly after we started sleeping together, and then I cheated on her with Sally Bell, who lost interest very quickly. She's a good person, you know." He shrugs. "Diana, was, eventful, from start to end, as I'm sure you know." He takes the last bite of dinner and pushes the container elegantly aside.

"Wow," is all Tracey says, and Jack thinks that he wouldn't want to be like him either.

"You asked," Jack says, weakly smiling. "It's some pattern of behavior, I know."

"I never have," Tracey says. "I've had this bureau chief position ten years, just two associates. Before Kelly I worked with Elizabeth Lynwood,"

"Lutheran Lizzie, I remember," Jack chuckles and Tracey smiles back.

"The nickname was unfair," Tracey says, "Just barely. She's doing well, by the way, in Minneapolis. And before that I always had male bosses, and I defied any of them to look at me. Besides I was usually in one relationship or another," she says. Jack wouldn't've taken her for a serial monogamist.

"So you're not a repeat offender then, Ms. Kibre," Jack says, mock-serious. "Good. After Diana was Ted Baer and, Dan Tenofsky, so I was in the clear, there." He braces himself for the next thing, because he knows it's going to hurt. And he doesn't want to scare Tracey, and he's done a good job (he thinks, hopes) of gluing the pieces together. "And then, Claire Kincaid."

The way he says her name is almost reverent. He's quiet, but more than that, soft, with his hands resting on the table. Tracey feels for him, the moments sitting across from Claire in these very chairs, the way her ghost (and Tracey doesn't believe in the spiritual) must follow him around. Tracey had been fond of Claire, though she never knew her that well. She was a kid, all of 26 when she started with Ben. She was intelligent, scarily so. Curious, passionate, all those traits with productive and dangerous sides. Jack had broken in half and the sound it made was loud enough to shut everyone up around him for as long as it was going to take.

"She was different?"

"Than anyone."

They look at each other for a moment, neither one knowing how to get back on track.

"She's," Tracey says, breaking the heavy silence. "Relentlessly moral. She's funny. Her, capacity for compassion is, superhuman. She second guesses me, but not nearly as much as she could, not as much as she does herself..." Tracey breathes into her next words, "she's pushy."

"She makes you want to be better?"

"More than anyone I've ever met."

"And,"

"Impossibly beautiful," she says, with the kind of smitten smile that makes a person look 20 years younger.

Jack leans back, her expression turning infectious, stretching his arms behind his head. "Look, Tracey, I have regrets. How I treated Ellen, getting involved with Diana in the first place... Some things I said to Claire. But I never, once, regretted falling in love with her." Tracey nods, thinking. "I tried, you know. To stop myself halfway down the cliff."

"All that happens then is you hit the rocks before you hit the water."

Jack rests his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the table. "Does that help?"

"Yeah, it does, more than the Standards, anyway."

"I beat the BAR association!" Jack says, in that boyish tone Tracey knows lots of people find charming.

"Don't get too cocky," Tracey playfully warns him. Her cell rings, and her pulse quickens when she sees it's Kelly calling. She flips it open and catches an entertained look in Jack.

"Hey," she says breathlessly, softly, and Jack knows he's given her the right advice. "Sure, I'll meet you there. 20 minutes, yeah. I'll see you." He looks at her smugly. "I meant what I said, McCoy," she says as sharply as she can manage as she stands from the chair, pulling on her coat and picking up her attache. She stops in the doorway.

"Thanks, Jack."

"Anytime."

---

taglist: @voltives (look you're special!)

[blushingreid]

Eye Love You

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N: shout out to @pumpkin-goob for this request💛 I absolutely love it bc I’m blind af, so it’s a vibe. S2 Spence always has a special place in my heart. Pls enjoy & slide me feedback <3

Note: I use the technical term for the equipment: phoropter (in case you’re privileged with 20/20 vision or you’re like me & just called it the eye machine your whole life).

“You know, three out of every four adults require glasses or contacts. Of the 75 percent of adults that need vision correction, 64 percent of them wear eyeglasses, while 11 percent wear contac-,” Spencer’s ramble cut short as he clumsily bumped into a display entering the eye doctors.

“Easy there Pretty Boy. Can’t have you wrecking your good looks,” Morgan teased, steering him towards the receptionist’s desk.

“Hi, what brings you in today?” the man at the desk asked, not even bothering to look up.

“Um I have an appointment for new glasses for Spencer Reid.”

The receptionist gave Spencer a nod before tapping away on the computer. After a couple minutes of awkward silence, he finally looked up at them. “So from our records it appears that you need to have your eyes examined for any changes in your prescription before we can get you new glasses. Just have a seat in the waiting room and the optometrist should be out soon.”

Spencer sighed as he and Morgan headed towards the waiting room. He just wanted to be able to see clearly and it wasn’t even his fault.

His glasses had gotten knocked off his face and crushed during one of the BAU’s recent cases. Spencer had been chasing after an unsub when out of nowhere, the unsub’s partner struck Spencer. Next thing he knew, he was basically blind.

Hotch had given Spencer the next couple days off until he got new glasses, since he wasn’t much help blindly stumbling around the bullpen. Morgan had volunteered to be Spencer’s “guide dog” until he regained his vision.

“Spencer Reid?” The optometrist called out.

Spencer looked up at the blurry figure and shyly waved his hand.

“Hi, I’m Doctor y/n y/l/n and I’ll be doing your examination. If you could follow me and we’ll get you checked out.”

“She’s very cute,” Morgan whispered in Spencer’s ear.

“Since all I see is her silhouette, I’ll take your word for it,” Spencer whispered back before getting up and following her. Morgan chuckled as he watched Spencer try his best not to bump into anything.

Once he made it safely into the examination room and onto the chair, Spencer turned towards y/n. He involuntarily squinted his eyes, hoping it would temporarily clear his vision long enough so he could assess her. Unfortunately, it didn’t do much.

“I see you’re here for new glasses. Any particular reason why?” Y/n asked as she cleaned and set up the phoropter.

Spencer felt embarrassed all over again, remembering why he needed new glasses. “Yeah uh they got ruined in a work incident,” he nervously laughed off.

“Well your job must be very interesting and hectic,” y/n replied before pushing the phoropter towards Spencer. “Please place your chin up on this bar, and lean forward until your forehead rests on the cushion. I’ve added your latest prescription, so we can see if there are any changes.”

Spencer placed his chin onto the cool surface, leaning forward so his forehead touched the cushion letting him see into the phoropter. He heard a small click before the darkness he saw in the machine was filled with light, and a clear view of the television on the room’s wall with rows of letters in various sizes displayed.

“Great! Can you see clearly now?” Y/n asked, wheeling her chair directly in front of Spencer and the phoropter.

Oh he could definitely see clearly and he certainly liked what he saw, given the heat that immediately coursed through his body once y/n came into his line of sight. It was most certainly love at first eyesight. Y/n was breathtakingly beautiful. Spencer had never seen anyone more perfect than her. He mentally appreciated the dimly lit examination room.

“Yes, uh things are much clearer now,” Spencer quickly said, realizing he had completely zoned out. Spencer was relieved and filled with glee that he would be able to admire y/n without her realizing it, through the phoropter.

“Perfect! I’m sure you know the drill with this thing, but I’ll explain it anyways. So I’m gonna block out your left eye first and each round, I’ll switch between two different lenses and each time you’ll tell me which one is clearer. Then, we’ll repeat the process with your other eye after,” y/n explained before flipping and turning the many parts of the machine to block out Spencer’s left eye.

A tiny hint of sadness hit Spencer when he realized he’d only get to admire her one eye at a time.

“Okay one or two?” Y/n asked as she flipped between the two lense options.

Spencer immediately saw that option two was clearer, but he didn’t want his time with y/n to be over too soon. “Um could you do that again, a couple more times?”

“Yes, no worries. Sometimes these are very close, so just let me know if you need more time or repeats.”

And so he did. What should’ve been a quick 10 minute examination became a 40 minute one. Not that y/n minded, she found Spencer very attractive and his presence quite comforting. Normally, she would’ve told a patient that they could say if they thought both were similar, and they’d immediately move on. However, she didn’t mind spending more time with Spencer. She just assumed he was an indecisive person. After the exam, she discovered that his prescription barely changed from his last one.

“We’re putting a rush on your glasses, since they were your only pair and you still want the same frames. You’ll receive a call letting you know in the next couple days when they’re ready,” y/n said as she lead Spencer out of the room back to the main lobby.

“Pretty boy! What took you so long? You said this would only take at most twenty minutes. I’m starving,” Morgan whined before extending his hand to y/n. “Hi there, I’m Derek Morgan, Spencer’s coworker, best friend, and current guide for his blind ass.”

“It was a pleasure to meet both of you, and good luck with your new glasses,” y/n said after shaking Morgan’s hand and giving them, mostly directed at Spencer, a kind smile.

As she turned to walk away, Morgan nudged Spencer. “Um hello, are you really going to let her get away without asking her out? There’s a chance you might not cross paths for a long time.”

“I can’t. I’m not good at that type of stuff like you are,” Spencer sighed, turning to look at y/n one last time. He wanted to remember every detail about her before he leaves.

“How about you just be yourself and ask her out,” Morgan advised. He was not going to let Spencer walk away from this woman. “Hey Doctor y/n!” Morgan yelled, before shoving Spencer towards her. “Spencer here has a question about his uh retinas that he forgot to ask.”

Y/n turned towards her name being called and was met with Spencer stumbling into her arms. As she helped steady him, she felt a blush rise to her face at the sudden close proximity they were in.

“Uh sorry about that,” Spencer apologizes as he steps back. “Ignore what he said. I uh actually came over because um I think you’re very b-beautiful and you i-intrigue me. A-Anyways, I was wondering if you would maybe um like t-to go out to dinner uh sometime. I completely understand if you don’t want to though.”

Y/n smiled at Spencer’s adorable nervousness as he asked her out. She’d been waiting all appointment long for him to ask her. After waiting a couple seconds, pretending to contemplate his invite, y/n slid her card in Spencer’s hand before leaning up to his ear.

“Call me once you can see again.”

[obscure-sentimentalist]

flommy, “I have pillows, blankets, supreme comfort, and all that’s missing is you.”

[So this one’s been nagging at me for probably about a year now? It had been sitting half-started for ages, as I never really knew how to carry out the idea I had, but I did my best in coming back to it now. Bit lighter on the Flommy interactions this time, but in exchange we get Tommy and Thea siblingness and some Tommy thoughts.]

From the Comforting Cuddles starters list

“What do you think about ‘I have pillows, blankets, supreme comfort, and all that’s missing is you’?”

“Do you need me to take you to the ER?” Thea deadpans from her perch on the cushioned window seat in Tommy’s room of the hotel suite without looking up from her phone. “Because it sounds like you got one of those Hallmark cards from the airport gift shop lodged in your throat.”

Tommy slowly lowers his own phone and rolls his head towards his sister, expression settling into one of loving annoyance. “What I’m getting out of that is that I have a future in the greeting card industry.”

“The future you should be more concerned about is the one where I spin-kick you in the head before the emotional trauma of hearing my brother workshopping romantic texts to his girlfriend sets in.”

“Hey, I’m keeping it perfectly PG,” Tommy defends, pointing at Thea with his free hand for emphasis.

That finally gets her to set her phone aside and swivel in her seat to face Tommy, giving him a striking, raised-eyebrow look. “I think the subject matter automatically makes it PG-13.”

“It’s a hotel bed!” Any exasperation behind the words trips right out of the gate, stumbling into nervous laughter.

Thea just continues to stare, swinging her legs back-and-forth unevenly as her feet dangle above the floor.

“That’s… achieved the perfect ratio of softness to firmness for an excellent night’s sleep?” Tommy can feel his ears reddening as they disappear into his shoulders. “Also, those pillows. Heavenly. Remind me to check with management to find out who the supplier is, I’m going to place a personal bulk order once we get back to Starling.”

“Right,” Thea says slowly, legs finally stilling. “So the high-quality comfiness is the thing worth writing home about. No other reason why you’d express missing having a plus-one to enjoy it.”

Had his mouth not dropped open with a scandalized pop instead, Tommy might have swallowed his tongue. “Thea Dearden Queen, you’re going to stop right there before I also ask about the hotel’s highest-strength cleaning supplies and if they can be applied directly to my brain.”

“You asked for critique,” Thea reminds him, but backs off by raising her hands sarcastically in surrender. “Just pointing out insinuations you may or may not have intended. You’re welcome.”

Chagrined by both the acknowledgement that he’d asked for help and his sister’s frankness in delivering said feedback, Tommy turns his attention back to the blinking cursor in the half-filled message box. The wittiness of the greeting has dulled significantly since the lightbulb first flicked on, even without the suggestive commentary. It’s a grim admission that spurs Tommy’s thumb to find the delete key and hold, consuming the carefully-crafted words before his eyes until he’s greeted once again by blank space.

The fact that Thea’s sigh is louder than his own is what pries Tommy away from his seemingly insurmountable task with his eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“You really haven’t done this sort of thing before, have you?” Thea asks, waving a hand vaguely at the room as she sinks back against the window. “The out-of-town business trip.”

Admitting defeat (at least for the moment), Tommy tosses the phone onto the bed and crosses his arms, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I mean, if my business was pleasure...”

“So no, then,” Thea cuts in with a fond eye-roll. Her face goes soft a moment later, though, and she glances back at Tommy with a strange sort of knowingness. “Which means you especially haven’t done it when you’ve been in an actual relationship.”

Tommy offers up an entirely sheepish look. “I think that’s a given.”

Thea makes a little shrug-like expression with her lips, conceding that point. She pulls one foot up to rest on the cushion and hugs her knee to her chest, before giving Tommy another gently pointed stare. “It’s okay, you know.”

“Hmm?” Tommy rocks back on his heels as he lets the questioning hum slip, and rolls his lips under for a façade of innocence. These last few exchanges have been drawing them dangerously close to vulnerable topics—it’s still Tommy’s carefully-wired reflex to either clown about it or just play dumb.

Too bad Thea knows those moves when she sees them, and her narrowed eyes suggest that she’s still considering the earlier threat of a spin-kick in the head.

“It’s okay to miss her,” she says, stripping Tommy’s anxieties bare with a single statement.

For a split second, he thinks he might have preferred stewing in the awkward surrounding the Bed Text for just a bit longer. Incidental innuendoes are familiar territory, even if being called out for them by his younger sister adds a new layer of humiliation.

The notion doesn’t linger, though, but it’s due less to the embarrassment than it is to his brain bouncing from point to point like a pinball machine from hell. The mortification just ricochets back to the almost-slip in question, and—true to pattern as of late—propels his thoughts to a flare of fondness and Felicity. The thing that makes Tommy want to bury his face in one of the pillows that started it all, though, is the fact that the ball rebounds again to the current conversation, seemingly inescapable.

“It’s not weird?” The question comes hesitantly as he uncrosses his arms, immediately bringing one hand to rub the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s only two nights, and one already down—we’re back by tomorrow afternoon, no time at all. I feel like it’s too much, just me being unreasonably clingy.”

Experience seems to back up that impression, after all. Two years, five, more have created gulfs between Tommy and his loved ones, and even then, his longing and loneliness came off as exaggerated and one-sided.

But maybe that’s not entirely fair, he immediately scrambles to note. Oliver was working through his own problems at the time (in questionably-at-best healthy ways), caught up in a different storm of emotion and trauma that instinctively repelled Tommy—familiar magnets flipped to the same pole for the very first time. Perhaps it took more time and effort than either of them could have expected, and still never returned them to where they left off, but they did manage to establish a balance better suited to who they are now.

(Even Tommy’s being in this hotel room—as one of three co-owners of Verdant, joining Thea in exploring options for expanding the club outside of Starling—is evidence enough of that reconciliation and understanding.)

As for his father’s absence and return…

Well, any expression of emotion comes off as an overreaction when compared to Malcolm, and should not be counted.

Almost as if she senses Tommy’s once-solid evidence crumbling to dust, Thea pushes off the window seat, landing gracefully on her feet. “You’re overthinking this, especially with the texts. Just call her, all right? We don’t need to head out for at least another hour, so there’s plenty of time.”

Still lagging a little bit from trying to detangle his anxieties, Tommy nods absently in agreement as his eyes follow Thea’s movements towards the door. When she crosses the threshold to head back into the suite’s living area, though, his brain finally catches up. “Hey! How is it that you’re the one giving me relationship advice?”

Thea grips the doorframe and leans her full body back into the room, one eyebrow arched as she tilts her head to look at him.

“I mean, isn’t it supposed to be the other way around? You know, older brother’s prerogative and all?” Tommy defends weakly, wilting under the sharp stare.

“Seeing as I ended up with emotionally-constipated brothers on both sides, I think that privilege has been revoked,” Thea declares, smoothly propelling herself back upright and reaching for the doorknob. She pulls it behind her as she finally departs, but not before shooting Tommy a cheeky, “I’ll give you some privacy to relay the magical properties of a hotel bed.”

Tommy imagines his immediate response is the sound an ostrich would make if strangled. “Okay, look…”

The door closes firmly before he can get any more words out, but not fast enough that he doesn’t catch Thea’s laughter.

“Brat,” Tommy mutters affectionately under his breath, before teetering backwards to flop down on said bed. The impact bounces his phone an inch or two above the comforter, only to land face-down right next to his hip.

Tommy’s breath catches in his chest as his attention is drawn again to the device, a mere hand-twitch within reach. Hardly any effort at all to pick up, and selecting Felicity’s name from his recent call log to re-dial is no more complex a step. But his hand seems to be declining all calls from his brain, remaining unmoving at his side without even an itch in the fingertips.

He’s overreacting—he has to be, and for real this time. It’s been barely a day since his standard morning protest of Felicity’s alarm (involving an exaggerated yawn and an arm stretched across her stomach to secure her in place for just a bit longer) was met with a laugh and a set of ice-cold toes pressed to his shins in retaliation. Barely a day since Tommy lumbered past the bathroom door on his way to the kitchen and couldn’t (wouldn’t) fight the grin that bloomed upon overhearing Felicity’s murmur-singing of some earworm while getting ready. Barely a day since she’d swept into the kitchen, all color and curls, to accept the travel mug of coffee from Tommy’s hands in exchange for a soft, lingering kiss and wishes for a safe flight.

A one-day break from routine—one that’s still a few months fresh, at that—and certain comfort shouldn’t be this jarring, should it?

After all, it’s not like they’ve been completely out of contact for the last 24 hours. Tommy had passed along travel updates (and a couple pictures taken mid-flight of Thea, tuned out with her neck pillow, eye mask, and earbuds); in turn, Felicity had relayed the shift between her day and night jobs, and confirmed her safe return home following the latter. There may temporarily be a few hundred miles of physical distance between them, but Felicity is still firmly here in Tommy’s life.

And yet, he can’t help but linger on the memory of waking this morning: rolling onto his stomach and reaching across the bed, only for his arm to land flat atop a mattress completely devoid of another body’s warmth. How the confusion and pinprick of hurt struck faster than the recognition that said bed wasn’t his own and why, and the clarity only served to transform it into a yearning ache. Even brushing his teeth was a more solemn affair, with Tommy still half-listening for Felicity puttering around and starting her day.

Maybe Thea… has a point.

Before Tommy can tend to the gentle bruise to his ego from admitting his younger sister has relationship wisdom where he does not, his phone buzzes with an incoming call. Synapses finally firing as they should, his hand wraps around the device and lifts it to his face to glance at the screen.

His fingers nearly fumble and drop the phone directly onto his face when he sees Felicity’s contact photo (one he’d surreptitiously taken shortly after they’d moved in together, when he’d caught her pleasantly lost in thought at the kitchen table) and the banner requesting a video call.

Thankfully, Tommy manages to spare himself that painful landing by adjusting his grip and scooting back into a seated position against the headboard. He takes and releases a deep breath to compose himself, before his thumb finds the Accept button.

Within an instant of Felicity coming into focus, Tommy feels his lips tug into a broad smile to compliment her still-sleepy one.

“Morning,” she greets with a little finger-wiggling wave, before she pulls a steaming mug of coffee into view with her other hand. After a second, she curls her fingers into her palm and wrinkles her nose in thought. “Wow, that was weird.”

“What, saying ‘good morning’?” Tommy asks, raising an eyebrow teasingly.

Felicity mirrors the expression and throws in a shrug. “I rarely get to open with it, at least. It’s usually beat out by someone requesting that I ‘please keep hands and feet and body inside the bed at all times’.”

“Always best to take those safety messages seriously, you know,” Tommy notes sagely. He can feel the corners of his mouth twitching, threatening an even bigger smile, but the impulse immediately extinguishes once he sees Felicity worrying her lower lip between her teeth and averting her gaze in uncertainty.

“I missed it today,” she blurts, catching them both off-guard after a (seemingly agonizingly long) beat. A light flush comes to her cheeks at that, but she confidently lifts her eyes back to meet Tommy’s and amends, “I missed you. Waking up with only a tangle of blankets trying to keep me in bed, and then getting ready on my own… I mean, it’s not unusual or unfamiliar, I did get by for many years this way. But I guess going back now, after getting into new and shared habits, is stranger than I expected.”

Felicity takes a breath to duck her head a little and push a stray curl behind her ear with her free hand, before picking up steam. “It must be something about the distance that’s getting to me—for no real reason, because it’s only been the one day and you’re back tomorrow—but I wanted to call and say…”

“I have pillows, blankets, supreme comfort, and all that’s missing is you.”

Only once Felicity pauses, lips frozen in a little “O” and only a single surprised blink to prove that the connection isn’t buffering, does Tommy realize he’s landed himself right back where he started. This time, though, he’s backed by Felicity’s own testimony, and that changes the game.

The lights on the pinball machine of his thoughts are going wild, that’s for sure.

“What I mean by that,” he starts, punctuating mid-sentence by awkwardly clearing his throat, “is that I miss you too. That I was actually looking forward to cold feet on my legs this morning, and hoping to hear you singing in the bathroom, and…”

Tommy trails off, disguising a small wince. Thea’s going to be smug about this for the rest of the weekend, and almost certainly for a while after they return to Starling.

“And I think that, if we’re both feeling this way, maybe we’re not overreacting so much as we’re… on to something.”

It’s difficult to determine what that “something” is, beyond the sense that it feels right. That they—Felicity and Tommy, together—feel right, and even a temporary deviation from pattern (no matter how small or odd) is a shock to the system.

It’s okay to miss her.

Felicity remains silent on the other end—the stunned expression having melted off her face and into something more thoughtful, but much less readable. Even though their conversation up to this point made their alignment apparently clear and she’s likely just turning the implications over in her mind, Tommy can’t help but subtly squirm from the suspense.

“Yeah,” Felicity finally speaks up, lips spreading in a small, soft smile as she nods in agreement. “Maybe we are.”

Despite that being the very answer Tommy was hoping to hear, he has no immediate idea how to respond.

“Oh. Uh, good,” he fumbles. “Because I’m hoping you’ll feel the same way about these pillows if I manage to find out where they’re from and get my hands on a few.”

Something in Tommy’s chest swoops as Felicity cracks out a startled yet amused laugh. “You’re really stuck on those, huh?”

Tommy meets that with a casual shrug and pats the one next to him for emphasis. “I’m a connoisseur. These meet all the necessary criteria, and then some.”

“And I’m a tough sell,” Felicity retorts, settling back in her seat and bringing her mug to her lips. “I know what I like, and I’m seeing only one pillow here that I want for sure by the end of the weekend.” To drive the point home, she bobs her head sharply to give Tommy a once-over.

“Well, now that I will gladly arrange,” Tommy agrees, and lets the grin spread unrestrained across his face.

[mybg3notebook]

Loving your analyses of Astarion's behaviour and character so far! It has really reaffirmed in my eyes just how much of a bastard he really is. (I say that fondly, of course.) Do you have any thoughts on why the general reaction on tumblr has leaned so much towards woobifying him? After looking at his actual (explicit and implicit) morals in game it seems quite odd that some people are reading him as an edgy soft boi who just needs a hug from the right person to fix him.

Hello!

Thank you very much! I really enjoy seeing chars in a deep way. It makes me change my opinion on them, sometimes. That's why I like to do these analysis, even though it's a lot of work for a person who doesn't speak English as a native.

Lol, please, I won't be offended. Astarion is a bastard in the whole sense of the word, lol.

However, I find Astarion an interesting evil (evil neutral imo) char to explore the narration of “abuser who found a greater abuser”, with all the topics I talked about in those posts. I would feel a bit disappointed if Larian suddenly changes him into a man who always had a gold heart (because for that, you need to give hints, even in EA, and none of that has been seen so far).

An example of how this is done is with Shadowheart, she is evil and she supports a lot of cruelty that Astarion does too, but we got meta-knowledge (and not so much meta when we see her heavily drunk after killing the tieflings) that gives us enough reasons to believe she has some heart in her, despite Shar and her teachings. I do not support the idea of “she is a softie”, because she is not, but she doesn't have the same level of cruelty nor revels in murder so much as Astarion does. They represent different degrees of evilness. What plays in her favour is her face, which gives the idea of more softness than she truly has; the same happens with Astarion. Lae'Zel is less cruel than Astarion in general, with more logical reasons to be so because her brainwashed culture made her to be more pragmatic than a taster of cruelty, and yet, she receives a lot of more hate in the fandom... and it is clear to me why: she is not “beautiful” in the traditional white euro-centric standard sense.

And this is my point to answer your question (remember all this is personal opinion): I think there are many reasons why people woobify Astarion (not only in tumblr, but also in Reddit or in Larian Forums, it's a big part of the EA fandom).

First and foremost, I believe it's his appearance. If he were a bugbear or a goblin, few in this fandom would give a thought about his abuse, his pain, Cazador, etc. They would focus on his “bastard” side and leave it at that (again, Lae'Zel has this treatment). I want to make clear that I'm not questioning people's taste, everyone can like whatever they want to. I'm saying that, for me, there it proof enough to sustain this idea that Astarion is woobified because he is beautiful: when you read that a lot of people in this fandom never had an interest in Larian's previous games, or isometric rpgs, or even turn-based combat games (there are some people who are giving feedback against the game being a turned-based combat one! It's the nonsense because it's basically Larian's style), but they bought bg3 because they saw Astarion, even though they knew nothing about him.... All this, clearly, shows to me that a lot of people approached this game for only one char, for only his design (a big amount of them say it explicitly), and it is not far-fetched to know that people justify more easily beautiful villains than ugly ones. We can explore a lot of examples of this in many fandoms. People can love villains because they have real complex reasons to be so (like Loghain in DAO), but they also can like whimsical villains just because they are “hot”. I feel this is Astarion's case, he is a “beautiful villain” who apparently has always been evil. His reasons for his whimsical evilness is more like “it's always been in his nature”. Unless the family part has a different role in his backstory (mirror option) and it's not a mere line for a player to play a “good aligned” Astarion when picked as Origin. I don't like to read much about it in that scene because the game still doesn't have companion Tags; those options in the mirror can be there just for the player to pick, flavoured with each origin, but not necessarily the three of them are canon. This will be seen once we have the companion tags activated as it happened in DOS2.

What we can say for sure is that Larian knew what they were doing when they picked Astarion's design; they choose a dangerous white guy with white hair and evil alignment: an archetype that catches a lot of people in many fandoms.

Part of his woobyfication process has a deep root there, in my opinion. Again, if he were a bugbear, a goblin, a githyanki, a monster-humanoid... we would not have 90% of the EA fandom collapsed with his image, or Larian focused on him to the point that after 4 patches he had new scenes, lines, corrections, and development, while Wyll is still there, sitting in the bench of “the less developed chars” (with around 2k less lines than the rest of the chars, and his personal quest bugged since the first day). Yes, I don't like the preference on one single companion when I am seeing the “future Beast” (from DOS2) in Wyll.

Second, he is a vampire. Vampires are a great element in any fantasy narrative. You know you will have a lot of fans behind a vampire char. Not by chance Vampire The Masquerade is one, if not the most important product of White Wolf, which keeps still giving them a lot of profit despite being decades old. Vampires are always a good element of personal horror, of lack of control of your own body, and also an allegory of abuse, power, and rape. This concept of “being a monster without control” that they embody helps a bit more for the woobification.

Third, people tend to mix a lot headcanon with what a character gives us as canon. We can have a long useless discussion about which is more worthy: canon or headcanon, or about why one should or should not respect canon, but putting all that discussion aside, and considering the previous two points, I see that a small part of his woobyfication comes from the fact that people love denial and self-projection instead of analysing of what they are given (and let's be honest, we know in tumblr, reddit and others social networks, people lack of reading comprehension skills, which makes analysis all about self projection without a real effort in understanding the character's perspective. It's all about the player unilateral perspective. How can you analyse a char you didn’t play with or explored in all its paths? ).

So if their beautiful character is behaving in a way they don't want to, they start considering him “random” (I read this so much that confuses me, because Astarion has clear patterns for everyone who wants to see them, like the rest of the companions. He is not random, he follows pretty well all what I listed here, that list helps you to predict what he will disapprove or approve) so they end up filling this apparent “randomness” with headcanons and self-projections. Don't get me wrong, I don't despise headcanons, I love them, I have a lot of them and create with them. But I also like honest analysis and separate what I want from what I get from a company (to correctly give them feedback, otherwise I will be giving them my headcanons).

If you don't want an aspect of a given char, and you want to deny it, it's perfectly fine. Do it, it's your entertainment, but be honest with the fandom about it, acknowledge this is a personal denial you enjoy. And mainly, don't use headcanons and self-projections to attack the rest of the chars you don't like in their own tags. We know how aggressive some people in this fandom are, and it's a bit frustrating to see aggression without the slightest effort in understanding the character they hate.

There is also something sad to say, related to self-projection, that contributes to Astarion's woobyfication too: a lot of players are survivors of abuse who connect with him from trauma, and I can understand if denying his past is a way to help them to release any kind of pain or need for vengeance against their abusers. It's a natural and totally understandable projection. The woobyfication, then, ends up in an intense self-projection where they give to the char something that they needed because their own trauma.

This is why I would like Larian to give us other survivor chars that people can project onto, whose stories are really about survivors of abuse who were not evil in the beginning. Because I feel a lot of people approached Astarion as a narration of a “victim who will become a victimiser” or as a “bad behaved victim”, instead of what I think it's shown: an abuser who found a greater abuser (and his story is about punishment of the abuser and the concept of justice in a world which has none), so trauma survivors will end up with disappointment if they think Astarion is something similar to the representation of what they experienced. Plus, vampirism is never good to use as allegories of abusers/victims because the relationship Sire/Childe is too sick and twisted. So, again, this is a mere opinion from all what I've been reading since the game came out.

I hope Larian sticks to the narration they seem to follow with Astarion: an abuser who found a greater one, and now wants to become the next Cazador, and this woobifycation doesn't change the real potential of a dark deep story that I believe they want to give us: not every char is redeemable, and sometimes evilness is capricious. We had chars like these in bg1 and bg2 after all. 

[pogueshomecoming]

you’ll always have a place here x john b routledge

requested? yes: Can I make a request pls? Perhaps something along the lines of John B meeting your family for the first time, you guys are pogues but slightly richer than the typical 'pogue' and when they ask him about his family even though its a touchy subject he opens up to them which then your family make it their mission to include him as much as possible and make him feel loved and part of the family as much as they can? (hello anon! this is such a cute idea, and i had fun writing it. thank you for sending it in.)

description: after meeting your boyfriend once, your parents make sure john b always feels welcome in their home

fill out this survey to join my taglist(s), here’s my masterlist, and requests are open

Warnings: i don’t think this is angst or fluff so,,,, there’s that.

word count: 1.6k

so if anyone would want it, i might make another part or two of john b actually spending time w the family? Idk, i feel like i didn’t fully answer the request

++

You hadn’t been dating John B for long when your parents requested you bring him over for dinner one night. They had always been protective of you, considering you’re their only child, but this put you and John B on edge. 

Not because your parents were bad people, but because sometimes they were too much. Overenthusiastic, as you liked to tell everyone on your front porch before they entered your house for the first time. 

Both John B and your parents had been given pep talks beforehand. John B had been warned not to get your dad started on anything political, and to compliment your mom on her vintage dishes she’d most likely pull out for the special occasion. She’d been collecting them for years. 

However, your parents were a little tougher. You were painfully aware of the way they liked to dig into your friend’s lives, whether they meant to or not. Honestly, they just wanted to know the background of their daughter’s friends, but for John B, you told them that wasn’t an option. Given John B’s family situation and everything he’d been through in the last year, you warned them to be careful. 

So when you hear the doorbell ring, you immediately jump up, beating your parents to the door by a split second. “Shoo, let me open the door in peace. Trust me, you have all night with him, and that’s plenty.”

After they’ve disappeared from behind you, you take a breath and have a moment to yourself. It’s going to be a good night. Everything will go smoothly. There’s no way this can be messed up. Well, there absolutely is a way, lots of ways actually, but maybe drilling the boundaries into their heads was effective this time. 

John B greets you with a hug and a kiss, trying to hold on to you for as long as he can. He’s nervous, you can already tell. With parent figures being absent in his life, this was a big deal. It felt like a make it or break it situation for him.

The first half of dinner was fine. You thought that things couldn’t have gone any better. When John B complimented your mother’s matching dishes, she talked about them for a whole twenty minutes, and it moved things along quite quickly. Things started spiraling when your dad said, “So, what’s your family like?”

You felt your breath catch in your throat, immediately shooting daggers with your eyes at your father. This was on the list of things he couldn’t ask about under any circumstance. John B notices you tense and squeezes your hand. 

“Don’t answer that if you don’t want to.” You lean over, intending for it to be a whisper, but when there are only two other people in the room, it’s hard to keep anything a secret.

John B clears his throat and shakes his head, throwing a side glance at you to let you know it’s okay. 

“I didn’t mean to overstep. If it’s an uncomfortable topic, we can find something else to talk about.” Your dad tries to make amends, more so for your sake, because John B doesn’t seem too bothered. You’re the only one at the table who knows that your boyfriend is very good at keeping his composure when he wants to. 

“No, sir, it’s fine. I want Y/N to be in my life for as long as possible, so it’s only fair that you know about me, right?” John B offers a small smile, turning towards you for just a second. You refrain from rolling your eyes at the fact that he could sweet-talk his way in or out of absolutely anything. 

It’s silent for just a beat before John B spills his life’s details. His mom leaving when he was young, and his dad spending a lot of time researching until it eventually leads to his death. Can’t forget the deadbeat uncle who left his nephew to the sharks that are also known as DCS. 

The shock on your parents’ faces as John B ends his spiel with, “So, pretty much I’m an orphan.” is evident. They’re not even trying to hide it. Your mom looks like she’s about to cry, and your dad just looks hugely uncomfortable. John B shifts in his chair, looking down at his plate like he’s ashamed. 

“Uhm,” Your mother clears her throat, gathering her plate in his hands, “We’re going to go get the dessert from the kitchen, alright?”

She gives your father a side glance, and he follows her into the kitchen. It’s your turn to let your jaw fall. First, your dad blatantly asks about something you told him not to, and then they just leave the room. What had gotten into them? 

John B is already looking at you when you finally look over to him. Your cheeks feel hot with embarrassment. “I am so sorry. That was ridiculous, and I’m embarrassed. I told them not to cross the boundaries. I don’t know why they’re so rude. Like, are you kidding me? I’m going in there to talk to them.”

As you angrily ramble, you start to get up, but John B pulls you back down. “Hey, it’s fine, Y/N. Maybe they didn’t know how to respond. I’m a little uncomfortable, but they probably are too. I get it.”

You know that John B can pretty much see the steam coming from your ears, but before you can ask if he’s saying that for your sake, your parents come back. The apple pie your mother slaved over gets put in the middle of the table. A pin falling to the floor could be heard with how silent it is. 

Thankfully, your dad breaks the silence. If he’d waited for a second longer, you would’ve exploded with anger.

“John B, we apologize for walking out like that. It was just a little bit of a surprise is all, we aren’t here to judge you or think any less of you because of what you’ve been through. I’m sorry if I overstepped by asking.” Your dad slightly bows his head as a way to solidify his apology. 

“No, sir, there’s nothing to apologize for.” JB places his hand back on your thigh under the table, and you put one of yours over the top of it. 

“We also want you to know that we want you to feel like this is a second home to you. Anything you need, we’ll do what we can to help you. We’ve got an extra bedroom, even. It’s not an empty offer, either, so don’t be afraid to ask.” Your mom is already an emotional person, so by the time she’s done speaking, the tears have welled up so far in her eyes that you’re sure she can’t see anything. 

John B smiles, and so do you. It’s the last thing you would’ve expected them to say based on their previous reactions, but it makes your heart swell. They like John B enough to welcome him into the family already. Of course, you never had any doubts that they’d like him, but you hadn’t ever thought of this outcome. 

“I appreciate it. I really do. Thank you both for being so kind. This pie looks delicious, should we cut into it?” He switches the subject causing your father to laugh. 

“How about you cut the first slice?” He passes the knife over to John B, and you let out the breath you’d been holding. 

It was fine. Everything was okay. Maybe it wasn’t how you imagined the night to go, but as you watched John B joke with your dad while eating apple pie, you weren’t concerned anymore. Laughter from all four of you filled the room when John B accidentally dropped a piece of pie off the server. 

“That one can be mine.” John B shrugged, scooping it onto his plate before he placed a new slice onto yours. He sends you a wink, leaning over to place a soft kiss to your cheek. 

It’s not long before it’s time for John B has to leave. He promised JJ they’d go night fishing and you weren’t going to let him miss it. For a minute there, you thought you were going to have to drag him from the dining table yourself. JB stands up, reaching to shake your dad’s hand but is surprised when he pulls him in for a hug instead. Your mom is next. 

“Please, come back any time, John B. We loved having your company.” She kisses his cheek as she pulls away, and you groan. 

“Okay, mother, he’s going now. John B can’t be late.” You pull on his hand, and he lets his weight fall in your direction before he takes steps to follow you. 

“Thank you so much for having me!”

The two of you step outside onto your front porch. The yellow light by the front door casting a glow over both your faces. He takes a step down, so you’re closer to the same height.

“That went well, right?” John B asks, pulling you by the waist into his arms. 

“Better than I could’ve imagined, but I thought it was going to take a wrong turn there for a second.” You press your forehead to his and smile. 

“Do you think it’s too early to ask them to check in with Peterkin every now and then, so DCS isn’t on my case?” John B laughs, only a little bit joking. 

“I think we can make that happen.” You bring your chin forward, meeting his lips with yours. 

Suddenly the door opens, ruining the one moment you had alone with John B tonight. Your parents stick their heads out as you both turn to look at them. They’d probably been eavesdropping through the screen door, and you suspicions are confirmed when your mother says,

“You’ll always have a place here, John B.”

++

thanks for reading! don’t forget to reblog or send me feedback :)

john b taglist: john b taglist: @pogue-h , @shawnssongs , @hopelesswritingxd , @millie-753 , @thatsonobx , @jjtheangel , @ohbx , @babysbestlife , @psychicforest , @fanficscuziranout , @maebanks , @diverdown06, @thelocalpogue , @maybe-maybanks , @extratragic , @alexandracheers , @a-brooding-bird , @ughitslizz , @damonsalvawhore27 , @beth-winchester21 , @sunwardsss , @outerbanksbro , @collecting-stories , @yelyahryan ,

[theoriginalladya]

December Challenge (Hot Drinks) for Rydenko

from this list

On AO3 here

Oh my goodness, this one started one way then went another and now I grabbed a couple of other prompts from this list to combine to do a follow up and ... and ... and ...  SEE WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO ME?!  LOL  

Thank you so much for asking for them!!!  I’m discovering the joy that is writing Scott - he’s such a loveable dork!  Enjoy!

Under cut for length

~~~

Scott exits the galley, but thankfully doesn’t have far to go before he’s elbowing the door.  “Pathfinder,” he calls out, “do you have a second?”  

He waits a minute.  Two.  Ignores Cora peeking her head out of the crew quarters down the way with a knowing look and a smug grin.  Rolls his eyes at the amused snickering from Liam somewhere behind her.  Scott tosses a scowl vaguely in their direction then turns his attention fully toward the door.

After what seems an eternity, the lock disengages which is great … except he’s still left with an impossible task.  Okay, well, he’s been through tougher situations than this – some even in the presence of the Pathfinder – and just like then, he will figure out a way to manage.  On his own.  Failure is not an option.  Right?

He juggles the two mugs in his hands, somehow without spilling the contents.  Right. I’ve got this.  Yeah.  The only question is; how?

He inhales sharply as the heat from the two mugs over sensitize his fingers, burning them to the point of pain.  Grinding his teeth, he bites out, “Hey, SAM, help me out?  Please?” He ignores another hoot of laughter from behind.  He’ll figure out a way to get back at Liam later.

“Of course, Ryder.”

The door slides open within seconds and Scott finally enters.  He’s met by near darkness; the lights dimmed far more than usual, and it takes a good minute to locate Kaidan in the shadows.  Eventually, he finds him.  “Ah, there you are.”  

The Pathfinder is laid out on the couch, a pillow beneath his head and one arm flung over his eyes.  Scott hesitates; having his instincts proved right in this manner isn’t how he wants to show the Pathfinder he’s more than qualified to be on the team. Silently, he chastises himself.  I knew this was coming.  I should have been faster.  

He gives the length of the sofa a wide berth so as not to accidentally bump into the man and takes a seat at the open end of the couch.  Carefully, he sets the two mugs on the table.  “Bad one?” he asks while keeping his voice low.

Eventually, Kaidan mumbles, “Bad enough.”  

Scott glances over; the arm remains over the Pathfinder’s eyes.  Bad enough, indeed.  Scott leans forward, resting his arms across his legs, keeps a concerned gaze on the man. “Mom used to get bad migraines at the end, you know?  Drugs didn’t seem to help her much, but there was a tea she liked.  Said it helped take the edge off the worst of it.”

Kaidan shifts, arm lowering enough Scott can see his eyes; the tightness at the corners, the way the left lid barely opens, the way his jaw clenches.  “Yeah?”

Sitting back, Scott gestures at the two mugs on the table, steam wafting upwards.  “Brought some if you want to try it.  It’s nothing fancy; just chamomile and ginger with a hint of rose hips tossed in.”

Kaidan makes a small noise; it’s a challenge for Scott to determine if it’s dismissive or appreciative in nature.  He eventually opts for the latter, especially once Kaidan rises.  Upright, the man tilts his head in a hesitant nod.  “Might as well try it.”

Scott carefully hands a mug over.  Ever since their arrival in Andromeda, ever since Alec Ryder made Kaidan the next human Pathfinder, what is already an awkward situation has become doubly so.  Scott knows from personal experience that the former Alliance commander is quite skilled at hiding things, most especially his reactions, but these days he seems better at it than ever.  As a result, it’s like having a damned door slammed shut in his face all the time.  

Moments like this, however, where Kaidan is unable to hide from him, are rare indeed, and Scott plans to make the most of it.  

Several minutes pass in silence in which Kaidan cautiously sips at the hot drink.  Scott has one for himself, of course – not the headache blend, but something else – and though he usually prefers talk over silence, even inane chatter at times, something he’ll only admit to himself, right now he’s content to let the silence reign.  

It’s a good five or ten minutes before Kaidan asks in a rough voice, “How did you know?”

Startled from his thoughts, Scott looks over at him blankly for a moment.  “Oh, the headache, you mean?”  Kaidan’s lips press into a thin line, the only acknowledgement.  “Ah, well, remember the one you got during our mission back in the Milky Way?”

Kaidan blinks in astonishment.  “You … knew about that?”

“Shouldn’t I have?”  Scott sets his drink down.  “I mean … like I said, Mom used to get bad ones.  Really bad ones.”  He sighs and averts his gaze out the window.  “Sometimes I think Dad was so focused on creating SAM because he didn’t want to see her in pain.”

SAM takes that moment to interject, “An accurate conclusion, Ryder.”

Huffing softly, he continues, “But only sometimes. The rest of the time it was in the hopes SAM might help cure her, I guess.”  

“Also accurate.”

Kaidan sips again from his mug.  “But how did you know I had one?”

“Hmm?  Oh.” Heat fills Scott’s cheeks, but given how little light is in the room, he hopes Kaidan doesn’t notice.  “Well … I guess it’s just that your tells are very similar to hers.  The small twitch at the corner of your eye, the way your jaw clenches.”  He shrugs.  “The way you just kind of … stop talking to people and withdraw.  From everyone.”

Kaidan sighs and takes another sip.  “Do the others notice?”

Another shrug.  “Like I said, I have history with Mom; her headaches, her research, the things Sara and I learned about side effects when we received our implants. Plus, you and I worked together before. I suppose Cora might be able to tell, her being biotic and all?  But, outside of that, I wouldn’t think anyone else does.”

Another couple of minutes pass in amicable quiet. “It was that battle.”

Scott turns to look at him; Still upright with mug in hand, Kaidan’s back is ramrod straight and his eyes are closed. “Overclocked?”

“No … something with the remnant, I think.” Kaidan rolls his neck slowly, stretching.  “It was almost like some sort of feedback?”

Ryder frowns.  “The remnant themselves, or the panel to access the ruins?”

Kaidan’s shoulders lift slightly then fall back. “The panel, I guess, but seeing as we were fighting the remnant tech about the same time, it could have been them.”

Pulling up his omni-tool, Scott jots down a few notes. “SAM, can you send me the data recordings we have from that battle, please?”

“Of course, Ryder.”

Kaidan’s eyes open and he frowns.  “What are you doing?”

Rising to his feet, Scott grabs his mug, walks over and pats Kaidan’s shoulder in gentle reassurance.  “I’ve just figured out what to do for you for Christmas,” he says with a grin before turning to walk backwards towards the door.  

“Christmas?”  Kaidan looks startled.  

It’s rather amusing, and something Scott didn’t know could even happen; the man’s reputation does precede him, after all.  “Haven’t you checked your calendar lately, Pathfinder?” he teases with a soft chuckle.  “Back home, we’d be in the week before Christmas.”  He lifts the arm with the omni-tool.  “Consider this my gift to you.”  The slides open behind him and he backs through it.

“But I don’t even know what you’re doing.”

“Good!  It’ll be a surprise.”  The door closes and Scott turns to scramble up the ladder to the left.  He has a plan now; nothing major, unless, of course, it can stop the migraines.  He doubts that will happen, though, given the nature of the L2 implant.  Once he’s up top, he turns in the direction of Peebee’s room.  If anyone can help him with this project, it’ll be her.  Her experience with the Remnant far surpasses just about anyone else …

[artificialqueens]

Girls Interrupted, Chapter 2: She Wants To Dance Like Uma Thurman, But She Can’t (Vatya) 2/2 - Maeve

A/N: Hi, it’s Maeve here, and holy fuck this is long! Sorry for the wait, everyone, it’s been a real time. I’ll admit that I spent a lot of time collecting firsthand accounts of real teen parties because homegirl has never been to one of the cool kid ones. I feel no personal shame! I hope you all enjoy it. I’m a one woman show over here, but I’ve tried to be as accurate as possible with the characterization of the queens. There are some parts of this chapter that might be a little confusing, but that’s because the story is told through Katya’s eyes and she doesn’t always have all of the information. She will soon, though! As always, constructive criticism (really feedback of any kind) is welcome. If there’s interest, I’ll drop my sideblog one of these days. Here’s some petty teenage bullshit to take your mind off of the outside world.

What do normal people wear? What’s ‘in’ with the youths? Katya furrowed her brow. She grew out of following trends in middle school. The clothes weren’t her, and they didn’t magically assimilate her into a friend group either. So Katya was no manic pixie dream girl, more of a manic sexy carny And that was okay…most of the time. There would be a wide variety of teens at the party—Alaska ran in many different circles—but all of them had eyes, and Katya wasn’t about to make Alaska question her judgement over unironically worn Hawaiian print. She’d have to pass for artistically different. Dresses were risky, so Katya opted for a pair of skintight black denim shorts and a well-worn Warner Brothers Studios shirt. A good french tuck and a statement jacket were just enough to polish off her shabby-chic ensemble. It would have to be good enough.

Katya’s freshly washed hair had dried in loose waves that framed her face beautifully. Two things she refused to guilt herself into were shaving her legs and putting on makeup, and she wore her bangs down to hide the hairline she was so self-conscious about. It wasn’t like she was trying to impress anyone. Katya had given up on that a long, long time ago. She glanced at the clock. It was only a few minutes past 6:00. Living in a constant state of perpetual anxiety was a real bitch.

Katya sighed, Wheel of Fortune and Diet Coke it is. Her parents were at the neighborhood’s annual Back to School Barbecue, so she had the entire house to herself. She hoped there would be a familiar face or two—or at the very least caffeine—at Alaska’s house.

Katya could hear the music coming from the inside of Alaska’s house through her massive front door. It was a hot and humid evening, yet Katya chose to linger in the yard. She wasn’t the first one there, and she wouldn’t be the last one, either; there was just something about crossing the solid oak barrier that made her presence…pressing. Awkward, even.

Alaska wouldn’t have invited you if she didn’t want you to be here, Katya reminded herself. She knew this was true—Alaska Honard was an absolute sweetheart—but her paranoia got the best of her. She pulled out her phone and sent a message to ‘Bianca del Realest’:

I’m outside. Walk me in? I don’t wanna know if pigs’ blood comes out of denim.

Her phone vibrated seconds later with a response from Bianca:

Pussy.

Soon, the door opened, revealing a smug Bianca del Rio. Katya grinned, “Yes, I do have a pussy, mama, and I’m serving fish all night.”

Bianca howled, “I don’t put things in me if I don’t know where they’ve been, and you’re a filthy whore.”

“You rotted cunt! That was a rash, not a herpes sore!” Katya protested.

“Just get your ass in here, Zamo, before the neighbors call the police to report a solicitor on the premises,” Bianca stepped aside so Katya could enter.

The first thing she saw was an ornately framed oil painting of Alaska and her family. It had to be at least her height. “Holy mother of pearl…” Katya gaped.

“Mother of Alaska, actually. Father and sister, too,” Bianca corrected. Katya gave her a shove. “What? I do this out of love, honey.” The blonde rolled her eyes. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet,” Bianca grabbed hold of Katya’s arm and steered her towards the kitchen.

Alaska’s kitchen—which was a literal gourmet kitchen—was relatively empty save for an entire island of snacks and several coolers with drinks. She could still feel the thrum of the bass in her teeth, but the walls muffled the music’s full volume. What Katya found most shocking was actually who was in the kitchen. Trixie Mattel was leaning against the sink in a pair of light wash jeans and a flowing pink top.

Wow, Katya’s eyes went wide. She was in the same room as Trixie Mattel, about to be introduced by their apparently mutual friend, and she desperately needed to be able to pull herself together.

“Oh, honey, send in the clowns!” Trixie exclaimed, noticing Bianca’s return.

“I prefer to be called an erotic clown,” Bianca shot back. Katya snorted. “This is the creature I was telling you about.” Bianca gave Katya a small shove forward.

“Hi, I’m the chemical burn from the spiral perm, Trixie Mattel,” Trixie introduced herself extending a well-manicured hand. “I sit across from you in English, but we’ve never really talked.”

“Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova. But your dad just calls me Katya,” Katya winked and took Trixie’s hand, gently kissing her knuckles. Inside her head, Katya was screaming, Fuuuuuuuck. However, Trixie’s smile only grew. The life-sized Barbie doubled over with laughter.

Trixie turned to Bianca, “I’ll keep her!” Katya scrunched up her nose. She didn’t realize she was for sale.

“Just make sure to walk her often. She’s not house trained,” Bianca warned.

Katya wasn’t given the chance to retort because the door that connected the main room to the backyard flew open, and all three girls reached to cover their ears as Travis Scott’s voice grew three times as loud. An out-of-breath Jinkx Monsoon stood in the doorway, and her mouth began to move.

“What?” Bianca shouted over Sicko Mode.

Jinkx came further into the kitchen and screamed, “I said the hotshots just pulled up! If you don’t wanna get trampled, we should probab—”

“Bottoms up, bitches!” Willam shouted from somewhere in the hall. A cacophony of voices seemed to flood the space all at once, and then the kitchen was swarmed with all of the juniors on the cheer squad and football team. Hands and bodies were everywhere. Katya, standing at 5’1”, was swept away in the sea of future frat boys. Thankfully, the kitchen was only a stop on their route, and once the kitchen had been successfully raided, the four girls could get their bearings.

Jinkx straightened her dress. “Leave. I was going to say leave,” she finished her earlier thought and slumped against the kitchen island. “The real party’s out back. Now with added kegs.”

“Now, this I gotta see,” Bianca chuckled, “You in?” Katya shrugged and followed Bianca and Trixie past the horndogs sucking face in the living room and into Alaska’s massive backyard. She didn’t know what she’d gotten herself into, and she didn’t see it getting any better.

The glass doors let out onto a patio with a cabana and firepit. Stone steps led down to yet another seating area and a resort-style pool filled with floats, fountaints, and colored lights. There must’ve been at least a hundred people outside. She’d never seen so much illicit activity in one place. What was the word? Collusion? Collusion. Collusion vibes but not in a good way, Mama. We’re all going to hell, Katya swallowed thickly. The blonde was overwhelmed by the sweaty bodies, loud music, and flashing lights. Was this what a rave was like? The kegs by the pool were a happening place, and she planned to avoid them as much as possible.

When she looked to her right, she noticed Bianca had slipped away unnoticed, leaving her completely and utterly alone with one Trixie Mattel. Fuck. Again.

“Come get a drink with me!” Trixie insisted. She might not have been entirely comfortable alone with her crush, but tagging along was a significantly better option than hiding in a corner. The two pushed their way towards the booze. Trixie filled a red solo cup for Katya before grabbing one for herself and maneuvering them over to the poolside loveseat.

Katya’s drink felt awkward clutched in her hands. She knew that most highschoolers had experience with alcohol, but it was different watching her peers getting trashed. What’s the point? Katya wondered.

“That’s gonna get warm, you know?” Trixie snapped Katya out of her thoughts.

Katya gave her a sheepish smile, “I don’t really drink. Like at all. I just took it so you didn’t think I was lame.”

“Oh, honey,” Trixie began softly, “I would never judge you for something like that. Here, let me take that.” She made a grab for Katya’s cup, but Katya pulled it away.

“One sec!” Katya stuck two fingers of her free hand right into her beer and pulled them out. She saw the confusion on Trixie’s face and gave her a mischievous look. Katya took her beer fingers and wiped the alcohol across the pulse points on her neck. Playing it safe, she repeated the action until all the places she’d usual spray with perfume were sticky with beer. She was sure she smelled like a distillery. Perfect. Once again, Trixie made a grab for the cub, but another hand beat her to it. Alaska Honard in all her glory snatched it from Katya and drained its contents.

“Thanksss, Kati,” Alaska slurred. “Jus’ needed a lil’ liquid courage before I go on.” She swooped down to give Katya a sloppy kiss on the cheek. Alaska was sloshed. Her makeup was smudged she was swaying on her feet, and she smelled worse than Katya, who had just taken a bath in her beer.

“Go on what, Alaska?” Needless to say, Katya was a bit concerned. Because the two had done most of the work for their partner scene the previous class, Alaska and Katya were able to spend the day’s 3rd period chatting away. The demure girl from earlier was nowhere to be found. She was beginning to wonder if her friend had even processed her question when Alaska finally responded.

“‘M gonna be a star, Kati,” Alaska giggled. “Britney, bitch!” She then proceeded to fist up the fabric at the bottom of her dress and try to pull her black bodycon sequin gown up and over her body. Katya could only watch as she writhed around and made pitiful whining noises in her attempt to undress. “Off!” Alaska pouted, giving Katya her best puppy dog eyes.

Katya shared a look with Trixie before standing up and carefully spinning the blonde around. Her small hands were perfect for pulling down tiny zippers, and the dress slid down Alaska’s lithe body and pooled at her feet. Katya’s throat went dry.

Underneath her dress, Alaska wore a lacy, black strapless bra and a matching set of panties. Katya could not handle it. She didn’t mean to stare, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. Soft, pale, flawless, Katya took in the beauty in front of her. Talk about body-ody-ody. Alaska was toned with the supple legs of a dancer—unfortunately, she lacked a dancer’s poise. Katya’s aneurism was cut short when the cheerleader stumbled trying to get out of the offending garment.

“Geez, Alaska,” Katya exclaimed, “Would you be more careful?”

“I may not be graceful…” Alaska trailed off, beginning to sway on her feet.

“I need my Lasky!” Detox shouted from the edge of the pool. Alaska visibly perked at her nickname and gave Katya a sloppy goodbye kiss on the cheek before teetering off towards Detox and Roy.

What the fuck? Katya raised her eyebrows. She turned to Trixie in search of an answer as to what just happened, but all the blonde had to offer was a shrug. Katya looked back to Rolaskatox and noticed a few pertinent details she’d missed in her first glance: Roxy and Detox were also in their skivvies, three chairs were now in a row on the bridge that separated the two halves of the pool, and the music had stopped.

Katya tried to do the math in her head: liquid courage + 3 scantily clad girls x 1 chair - Kendrick Lamar = ???? She had to be missing something. “‘I’m gonna be a star,’” Alaska had said…Fame = liquid courage + 3 scantily clad girls x 1 chair - Kendrick Lamar. Katya’s brows knit together. Some kind of performance? And then it hit her. “‘Britney, bitch,’”…They’re performing a Britney Spears number practically naked. Obviously the ideal way to spend a Friday night. Katya could think of no other explanation for the weird happenings of the last few minutes, but the answer she’d arrived at wasn’t any less of an acid trip.

The three girls took their places behind the chairs, and Roxy, who had at some point manifested a microphone, gave pearl a thumbs up.

“Where my party people at?” Roxy shouted into the microphone. Praise Putin for Pearl because the feedback on the mic might have made their ears bleed. The crowd around the pool hooted and hollered. Yuck, Katya gagged on the high school movie realness. “We’ve got a special treat for you tonight! Our little Lasky here,” Roxy pushed Alaska forward, “Didn’t think that she was going to make the varsity cheer team.” Alaska flushed at her friends divulgence and squirmed in her grip. Naturally, Roxy paid no attention to her friend’s discomfort, “So Toxy and I, we made a bet: if Lasky didn’t make varsity we’d have a Golden Girls marathon, but if she did…she’d have to show off her sweet moves at the Back-to-School Bash!”

“Hit it, Pearl!” Detox shouted. Roxy tossed the microphone to someone near the end of the walk, and the three girls took their places by their chairs. Alaska was clearly less thrilled about the performance than she was when she had been talking to Katya minutes ago. Liquid courage? No dice. The instrumental intro into Britney Spears’ “Toxic” began to play from the outdoor speakers, and Alaska’s gyrated her hips mechanically to the beat.

Baby, can’t you see

I’m calling

A guy like you should wear a warning

It’s dangerous, I’m falling

Katya was dumbfounded. Mouth agape, she wondered, Does this shit happen at all high school parties? Mother, I swear I’m sober. She hadn’t had anything to drink, so she couldn’t have been drugged or anything crazy like that. This was, in fact, happening. And Katya had thought she was fucking mental. A glance to her side told her that she wasn’t the only one questioning her sanity; Trixie’s eyes were bulging out of their sockets.

There’s no escape

I can’t wait

I need a hit, Baby, give me it

You’re dangerous, I’m lovin’ it

Dangerous. There was something sinister about the atmospheric red that bathed the trio and spilled into the audience. Her hands began to tremble. Brenda, not now, she willed herself to calm down.

Too high

Can’t come down

Losin’ my head, spinnin’ ‘round and 'round

Do you feel me now?

It wasn’t just her shaking, though. Alaska’s body was vibrating with tension—not ‘loving it’. Her sisters in scandal moved a lot smoother than she did, and she was concentrating hard on keeping herself from falling off of her chair. How much “‘liquid courage’” did this bitch have? The trio had gotten up on their chairs at the beginning of the chorus and were doing what looked like Christina Aguilera choreography circa Genie in a Bottle. Katya wouldn’t be surprised if Rotox had actually gotten the wrong blonde when choreographing. Katya frowned, Alaska, please don’t crack your head open.

With a taste of your lips I’m on a ride

You’re toxic I’m slippin’ under

With a taste of a poison paradise

I’m addicted to you

Don’t you know that you’re toxic?

And I love what you do

Don’t you know that you’re toxic?

She regained her breath when the chair acrobatics were finally over. The dance routine had evolved into what could probably qualify as softcore porn. Roxy, Alaska, and Detox were writhing on the platform in an obscene manner. Katya thought they looked like cats in heat. Alcoholic cats in heat. Which was actually quite a shame because real alcoholic cats in heat were something that Katya would totally like to see.

It’s getting late to give you up

I took a sip from my devil’s cup

Slowly, it’s taking over me

Too high, can’t come down

It’s in the air and it’s all around

Can you feel me now?

Britney Spears you are a cruel bitch, Katya chewed her lower lip. She was trying her hardest not to feel anything.

With a taste of your lips, I’m on a ride

You’re toxic, I’m slippin’ under

With a taste of a poison paradise

I’m addicted to you

Don’t you know that you’re toxic?

And I love what you do

Don’t you know that you’re toxic?

Don’t you know that you’re toxic?

If she weren’t so put off by the course the night had taken and concerned for her friend, she might have been more than a little turned on. There was no denying that Alaska was attractive—even as she flopped about like a fish on a marble platter—but her mother raised her right. We do not objectify women, and we definitely do not allow others to take advantage of inebriated ones.

Taste of your lips, I’m on a ride

You’re toxic, I’m slippin’ under

With a taste of a poison paradise

I’m addicted to you

Don’t you know that you’re toxic?

With a taste of your lips, I’m on a ride

You’re toxic, I’m slippin’ under

With a taste of a poison paradise

I’m addicted to you

Don’t you know that you’re toxic?

Katya had to admit she was impressed. There really was no better way to draw attention to yourself than repeatedly slamming your pussy into the makeshift stage. It certainly seemed to be working now; she might just have to try it sometime.

Intoxicate me now

With your lovin’ now

I think I’m ready now

I think I’m ready now

Intoxicate me now

With your lovin’ now

I think I’m ready now

Roxy, Alaska, and Detox all struck their final poses. Katya could see their chests heaving wildly as they held for the raucous applause of the party guests standing poolside. It was certainly strange, but she couldn’t knock their performance. Kids would be kids, right? She was about to chalk it all up to a bit of harmless fun, after all, when tweedle dumb and tweedle dumber broke formation and pushed Alaska straight off of the platform. Suddenly, the tall blonde was in the water, limbs thrashing about in response to the sudden change in environment.

“Pool party!” Willam shouted, stripping off her own dress. Leave it to Willam to make a splash. Literally. For some reason the most inebriated of the guests decided that it was a fantastic idea to accidentally drown themselves instead of their sorrows. Soon, the pool was full of bodies and she could no longer keep track of her friend.

Alaska finally scampered to the steps with the stability of a newborn fawn. She all but fell out of the pool and took half of the water with her. Alaska’s mascara streaked down her cheeks, and her hair hung limp and matted. Roxy and Detox were nowhere to be found—either to help her clean up or to read her for filth. Coco Montrese and her longtime frenemy Miss Alyssa Edwards, however, were more than happy to fill in.

They sound like those brain dead hyenas from The Lion King, Katya snickered to herself. Maybe not that lady one, though. That bitch was fierce.

Alaska coughed up a mouthful of water right at their feet. “Hey, Coco,” She began, “Your makeup is terrible.” Coco wasn’t laughing anymore. Point Alaska.

“Have you seen yourself, mama?” Coco fired back, The blonde rolled her eyes and snatched the drink in Coco’s hand. Alaska tossed it back all in one go.

“Thanks,” Alaska drawled, tossing the empty cup back and wrapping herself in the first available towel.

Katya turned to Trixie with a question on her lips. “Does this happen often?” She asked. Trixie gave a low whistle.

“Pearl has dragged me to a lot of weird shit, but I think this might just be a first,” Trixie answered with gusto. She checked her watch, “And it’s not even 10:00! The night is still young, honey!”

Right, Katya thought, the night is still young. Just great.

Trixie soon ditched Katya for Pearl—something about the stupid pumpkin carriage coming to steal her friend after midnight—and Katya hadn’t known Trixie long enough to reasonably protest the abandonment. She hoped Bianca was somewhere inside the house.

There were still people in the living room, but it looked like the horny gremlins from earlier had finally gotten a room. Literally. Unfortunately, the cheerleaders that had taken their place were not much better. Head bitch Violet Chachki had her legs draped over one of the arms of a stately armchair in a carefree yet superior manner. Why anyone would want to be queen of the hot messes? Katya couldn’t tell you. But apparently power—or at least the perception of power—gave one Violet Chachki a raging hard on. Gag.

Bianca wasn’t in the room, but the blonde was determined to see her valiant quest through. Hopefully, she’d stumble upon a nunnery with some sexy ladies along the way. Sneaking past the wicked bitch of the west and her flying monkeys, she regrouped in the kitchen. Katya went down her mental checklist: Keys? Check. Assorted limbs? Check. Clothes? Check. Inhibitions? Check. Virtue? Debauched. Sanity? Remaining hopefully optimistic. Bianca? Still M.I.A. The kitchen was empty due to the commotion happening poolside. Chips crunched under the soles of Katya’s sneakers. That was another reason she didn’t enjoy being out in the general public for extended periods of time: bitches be nasty.

The second floor was significantly cleaner than the first. An entire floor of the Honards’ house was dedicated to entertainment. Katya knew that Alaska had an older sister, Nebraska, but she couldn’t fathom why any child—or two children for that matter—needed an entire floor to play. How could the rooms not feel so…empty? Katya wondered, shuddering involuntarily. The blonde couldn’t picture Alaska spending much time up here now. She felt as though she was looking at an abandoned playground and couldn’t help but think it made Alaska sad, too.

After a few moments, it became clear to Katya that Bianca wasn’t there, but she continued to linger on the landing. Her blue eyes were drawn to the set of stairs that would take her to the third floor. It was an idea for the pantheon of bad ideas; she was tempted nonetheless. Katya could hear her grandfather’s words in her head: ‘Curiosity killed the kitty, лисичка,’ What her Deda didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, I’m not that kind of pussy, am I? She justified.

Katya crept up to the dark third story of the house with the innocence of an intruder—she’d plead the fifth if necessary. The second door down from the landing was ominously open. Honestly, there may as well have been a big red arrow pointing towards the room because Katya’s feet were already carrying her towards it. Darkness engulfed the room, itself, save for a rectangle of warm light.

“Jinkxy, is that you?” Alaska groaned, presumably from the same direction as the light. “Jus’ leave the dress on the bed. Save the lecture for the morning.”

Katya cleared her throat, “Alaska? It’s Katya. Can I come in?” She received a grunt in response. The blonde followed the sound into what turned out to be Alaska’s master bathroom. Her friend was curled up against her marble tub with a beach towel wrapped around her.

“How was I, Kati?“ Alaska drawled.

Katya took a seat in front of her and pulled her legs to her chest. She thought for a moment before speaking, “80% sexy, 20% disgusting…like me.” Alaska whined. “Why are you still in your wet clothes?” She asked. Her friend shrugged. Right, Katya sighed. Alaska was half asleep; this wasn’t going to be a one woman job. Thankfully, Jinkx appeared moments later with her heels in one hand and Alaska’s little black dress in the other. Katya raised her hands in surrender. “I swear she was like this when I found her,” she blurted.

“This isn’t even the worst of it,” Jinx spoke candidly. She tossed her shoes onto the floor and pulled up her long, red hair. “I’ll wrangle the monkey if you go and find her some dry underwear and something to wear to bed.” Jinkx’s tone left no room for questioning.

Mother, I never thought I’d be a panty snatcher, much less an invited one, Katya made a face. Alaska’s dressers were easy to find, and she felt undeniably dirty as she began her game of panty roulette. Pulling open the first drawer, Katya sprang back, ready to strike. Assorted pajamas were hardly a foe, and she vanquished them swiftly. Rebel athleticwear laid in wait behind drawer number two. They, too, were no match for her feet of fury, Katya kicked the drawer shut with a battle cry.

“Katya, what the hell are you doing out there?” Jinkx called.

Katya had the dignity to look sheepish. “Nothing!” She shouted back. “Be there in a second!” The underwear turned out to be in the next drawer down. She thrust a hand inside without looking and tightened her grip on the first piece of fabric her hand found. Her feeling of triumph only lasted the few seconds it took for her to realize what she’d managed to retrieve: a lacy black teddy. Katya dropped the offending garment as if she’d been burned. I am going to hell, she shook her head, Straight to hell. I will not pass go, nor will I collect $100…Deuces never loses, right? The scarlet thong she fished out next begged to differ. Her face was almost as red as the fabric, itself, when she flung it across the room. Fortunately, the third time was the charm. The pastel pink boyshorts seemed like a more appropriate item to put on a drunk girl, so Katya returned to the bathroom to present her nightwear bounty to Jinkx.

The motherly redhead, unsurprisingly, was not impressed. Jinkx arched a brow expectantly.

“You see,” Katya began, “I wasn’t comfortable—I didn’t um feel right digging through her things without, you know, her permission?” She swallowed thickly. “So I thought maybe it would be less creepy if I just reached in and grabbed the first thing I touched. Well, you see, Alaska’s got such a wide range of tastes, and it-uh…It took a hot second to find something appropriate…for the…occasion?” She was expecting to find disgust when she raised her eyes to meet Jinkx’s, but the redhead cackled loudly instead.

“Lemme guess, you saw something you didn’t want to see?” Jinkx chortled. Katya managed a weak nod. “I’m sorry, doll, I forget that not everyone is as acquainted with Miss Honard’s unmentionables as little ol’ me.”

Not everyone is as acquain—Oh! Blue eyes threatened to burst from their sockets as Katya processed her words.  

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, not like that,” Jinkx exclaimed, reading the thoughts reflected on Katya’s face. “Lasky and I did community theater together. I’ve known her since the first grade. Drunk proof her nightstand for me? I’ll dress blondie over here.”

“Does this happen often?” Katya asked Jinkx after Alaska’s door was closed. The incapacitated cheerleader was finally sound asleep in her bed, and the two girls didn’t think she’d be up anytime soon.

Jinkx sighed sadly, “It didn’t use to. Roxy and Detox are more toxic than Drano, and there’s no one to stop her from going out with them. Look, Lasky’s a sweet girl. A good, smart girl. But she makes bad choices sometimes, and there’s nothing that I—that we—can do about it. She’s gotta be the one to say enough is enough.”

Katya understood. Katya understood more than she wanted to. She’d been a shell of a girl drowning in the voices in her head not too long ago. It didn’t matter how many hands reached out to her if she refused to take them. Alaska—happy and hopeful Alaska—might just be drowning, too. Katya wondered if she drank to impress, to keep up, or to forget.

Jinkx promised that she’d look over Alaska until the next morning, so Katya reluctantly chose to rejoin the land of the living downstairs. The first floor was significantly louder than it was when she left it. Games of flip cup and beer pong had picked up in the dining room, and Violet’s flock had not only grown, but had grown to include both Trixie and Bianca, who were trying their hardest not to laugh at the spectacle in the middle of the living area. Willam and Courtney were having a major bitchfest for all to see. Normally, Katya would run for the hills, but if Bianca and Trixie weren’t afraid of getting caught in the crossfire, she figured it was safe enough to stick around and tuned into the conversation.

“Your tone seems really pointed right now,” Willam pursed her lips. She was clearly the calmer of the two, as Courtney was beet red and positively radiating tension. Katya could tell Willam’s nonchalance was only winding the Australian up more.

Courtney folded her arms defensively. “Well, I’m sorry you think that, Willam,” she took a deep breath. “I feel like everything I say kinda comes from the heart, and I’m truly hurt that you threw yourself at Daniel when you knew how I felt about him.”

“Sorry ‘bout it,” Willam scoffed, picking at her nails. Her words reflected everything but the sentiment they were meant to.

Katya knew that Willam was a bitch, but this was a little much even for her. Willam and Courtney had been best friends since Courtney moved from Australia the summer of their freshman year; it was hard to believe that Willam would throw their relationship away. Katya held her breath. Everyone in the wings was uncomfortable during the pregnant pause. The scene before her was straight out of a 90s teen movie, and she didn’t have the popcorn to go with it.

All movement stilled when Willam finally looked up. “I tend to think emotions are for ugly people,” she deadpanned. The room let out a collective gasp. Courtney was across the room in a flash, and her palm made contact with Willam’s cheek. It would be logical to assume that Willam, who was just slapped across the face by her best friend, would be the most in shock at the sudden turn of events; it would also be the wrong conclusion. Courtney’s features were frozen in fear. The offending hand still hovered in the air, trembling like a leaf.

Willam was the first to react—and in a very uncharacteristic way. She engulfed the smaller girl in a tender hug. Courtney began to sob muffled apologies into her neck, and despite her obvious desire to recoil, Willam continued to hold her close.

Maybe Willam actually does have feelings, Katya’s eyebrows raised. The sight of Willam whispering words of reassurance into Courtney’s ear was enough to make even the coldest heart melt. Well, the coldest heart with the exception of Violet Chachki’s. Katya was pretty sure the stick up her ass was a permanent installment.

When the two pulled apart minutes later with smiles on their faces, they were met with a round of applause. Courtney wiped at her eyes, careful not to smudge her makeup. If she noticed Willam’s arm around her waist, she didn’t give any indication as she addressed the spectators that had gathered, “Well, I’m gonna need to be less sober before I spill any more about myself. Truth or drink, anyone?”

Truth or drink? No thanks, Katya turned to sneak out. Unfortunately, Bianca had also chosen that exact moment to glance in her direction, and Katya was caught in the act.

“Bitch, you can’t leave yet. It’s not even midnight!” Bianca half whispered, half hissed.

And Bianca doesn’t associate with losers, Katya reminded herself. Don’t be a loser. “If my locker gets filled with worms next week, I will personally marinate you like a chicken,” she promised her friend.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Blame it on Bianca Del Rio. Take a number, sweetheart, you’re holding up the line,” Bianca patted the space next to her on the floor.

Laganja had batted her eyelashes—and used her mouth—to coerce one of the mindless jocks to bring in one of the kegs from outside for their “slumber party secret sesh”. There were fifteen girls, including Katya, who stuck around for the potentially risky game, and Katya wasn’t thrilled to be playing with most of them. Adore finished off her beer and placed the empty bottle in the center of the circle.

“Party!” Adore shouted before giving the bottle a good spin. Around, and around, and around it went before coming to a stop at Coco’s feet. “Miss Coco Montrese, truth or dare?” She asked.

“I’ll pick truth, mama,” Coco answered.

Adore thought for a moment before speaking, “Are you afraid that you’ll always be the runner up?” There was a chorus of oohs. Everyone knew that the race for junior varsity squad captain their sophomore year was a sore spot for both girls. It was no secret that Alyssa was originally chosen to be captain by her teammates. However, when she became implicated in a cheating scandal, Coach Calhoun was forced to denounce her and give Coco, Alyssa’s best friend and the candidate to receive the second most votes, the position. To make matters worse, it was rumored that Coco was the one who suggested that Alyssa had committed academic dishonesty in the first place. Alyssa and Coco had patched up their friendship over the course of the last year, but there was no telling whether or not the structure would hold if tested.

“Out of respect for me and Miss Alyssa, I am going to drink,” Coco responded without hesitance. Adore poured her a shot, and Alyssa gave her hand a grateful squeeze as she tossed it back. “Ain’t no use bringing up what’s past.”

Coco spun the bottle next, and it chose Trixie as its victim. “Truth or dare?” Coco asked.

“I think I’ll pick dare?” Trixie responded with hesitance. Katya didn’t know much about Coco Montrese, but for Trixie’s sake she hoped Coco was one of the nice ones.

Said cheerleader gave Trixie a small and genuine smile, “Okay, mama, I dare you to let Miss Pearl over here do your makeup. Something has got to be done because you aren’t doing a pretty girl like yourself any favors.” The reactions to Coco’s dare for Trixie were mixed. Some of the she-demons tried and failed to hide their amused laughs, Pearl’s eyes opened fully, Violet’s grip on her chair tightened, and Trixie seemed to be not entirely opposed to the idea.

“Pearlie girl,” Trixie began, standing up and crossing to her best friend on the opposite side of the circle, “Treat my face like a princess and then fuck it like a slut.” The life-sized Barbie batted her eyelashes animatedly, earning her a laugh from pearl and a glare from Violet. The ice queen’s elevated irritability prompted Katya to reconsider her previous assessments—maybe it was an entire branch up her ass.

When Pearl and Trixie left, there was a void that seemed to swallow Violet whole. The physical space around her remained largely unchanged, but Katya could feel the emptiness that moved to fill the space Pearl left. And for the first time it occurred to her that Violet Chachki might be alone. I guess there might be some truth to the saying, she mused. After all, if you’re at the top, how can anyone else be? When you stripped away the glitter, the makeup, the clothes, you were left with a girl—albeit an arrogant, entitled, straight up cunt—plain and simple.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown, huh?” Bianca nudged Katya’s arm, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“What?” Katya asked. Had she missed something while she was contemplating the character of Violet Chachki?

Bianca chuckled, “You’ve been staring at Chachki since Trixie and Pearl left.” The blonde feigned innocence. “You know how I feel about that 48 Hours show, Zamo. Share with the class before your peanut brain short circuits.”

“What’s her problem?” Katya whispered. “I mean, aside from her general disdain for anything that has a pulse and moves.”

“With Trixie?” Bianca confirmed. Katya nodded. “Oh, this is old news. Her Royal Hardass doesn’t share, but Sleeping Beauty’s got a soft spot for one Trixie Mattel.”

The dots aligned in Katya’s head once again. “Violet’s the pumpkin carriage!” She whisper-shouted.

“Bitch, that was not English,” Bianca snarked, “You been hanging around with Jose Cuervo?”

Katya rolled her eyes at her friend’s question, “I have ninety-nine problems, and substance abuse won’t be one of them if I have anything to say about it.” She turned back to the circle just in time to see the neck of the bottle stop on Bianca, who didn’t even flinch. Katya was secretly proud; her friend had bigger balls than most of the ‘macho men’ at the party—this was going to be interesting. Since Trixie had gone upstairs to get her face redone, Detox decided that she would be the brave volunteer to issue the next truth or dare.

“Bianca, truth or dare?” Detox asked smugly. Katya couldn’t guess which one would be worse. Unsurprisingly, Bianca chose dare. “I dare you to ask Max for his number.” There was, again, a chorus of oohs, and it was Bianca’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Really, bitch?” Bianca asked. She stood up and righted her denim shorts before striding over to the meatheads playing beer pong with a clear purpose and her head held high.

Because Bianca could run with the boys, no one batted an eye—unless she wanted them to. She hoisted herself up onto the pool table in front of Max and held out an upturned palm. They were too far away to make out their conversation, and Katya was a terrible lip reader at best, but she could picture how the exchange would go down:

“Gimme ya’ numbah, beefstick,” She imitated Bianca in her head. The 1920s gangster voice was a bold choice, but she wasn’t going to mock it just yet.

“D’uhh…okay,” Fake Max droned.

The blonde chuckled to herself as the real Max stuck a fist in the pockets of his jeans and fished around. Finally, he produced what looked like a wadded up gum wrapper and snagged a pen from his pal, presumably jotting down his number. Bianca hastily took the offering and sashayed back to the group of girls. She dropped the wrapper in Detox’s lap before taking her seat by Katya.

While the hens squawked over her success, Bianca leaned over to Katya and whispered, “Never let a bitch see you sweat.” Katya had so many questions, but she wouldn’t be able to ask them until later. It was Bianca’s turn to spin the bottle, and Adore, unsurprisingly, chose truth when landed on.

“Adore, which girl on the squad is the skunkiest?” Bianca waggled her thick, black brows. Because she was the mascot and didn’t change in the locker room, she genuinely had no idea how rank the girls smelled after practice or a game. Sue her; she was curious. What Bianca also didn’t know was that the question had a definitive answer, and that answer would do damage far beyond her intent to poke a little harmless and innocent fun at one of the girls.

Even completely sloshed, Adore recognized the gravity of the question. “Fuck! If I drink any more, I’m gonna be sick,” Adore groaned. Her teammates looked at her with pity in their eyes.

“Yeah but it’s not like anyone’s ever died from drinking too much!” Laganja came to her rescue, topping off her cup, “What’s one more?” Adore could only offer her a weak smile.

“Uh, I think I’m just gonna spin the thing now…For everyone’s sake,” Adore informed the group. The bottle landed on Gia, and she picked dare.

The turns only seemed to bleed together as time went on. After Gia drank from the toilet, Roxy refused to reveal her weight. Laganja told her dad she was eloping in Vegas, and when she spun the bottle it landed on Violet. Because ladies don’t kiss and tell, the brunette tossed one back instead of revealing the number of sexual partners she’s had. Alyssa confessed that she was afraid she would never achieve her dream of owning her own dance studio. Courtney shared that she’d never been in love, and Willam exposed her entire browser history, telling Katya a lot more than she wanted to know about the girl. For obvious reasons, Joslyn refused to eat a raw egg. Detox followed by removing Adore’s socks with her teeth. Katya played it safe and suggested that Bianca would be a bad date because she’s insulting people all the time before daring Gia to reveal any childhood nickname she had. Things didn’t start going downhill until the bottle landed on Violet a second time.

“Violet,” Gia cooed, “Truth or dare?”.

“Truth,” Violet answered with an unreadable expression.

Gia thought for a moment before asking the first truly problematic question of the night, “Who in this room do you like the least?”

Ruh-roh, Katya winced.

Violet didn’t waste a moment before answering, “Willam.” There was a collective gasp across the room. Willam, on her part, didn’t seem to be phased in the slightest. Then again, you could never really read Willam Belli.

Pearl and Trixie returned, arm in arm, before Violet could spin the bottle. Katya’s jaw—along with all the other girls’—dropped. Trixie looked gorgeous. Pearl reclaimed her seat next to Violet, much to the cheerleader’s delight, but brought Trixie with her. At the group’s insistence, Trixie was allowed to take the turn that she missed, and Detox was dared to call a random number in her phone and deliver the worst pickup line she could think of. Katya was glad for the change in the room’s atmosphere after Violet’s confession until Detox took her turn. After the call, Detox dared Violet to spend the next hour trapped in a bathroom with another girl from the circle chosen at random. Anyone who didn’t know Detox might think she was trying to create a seven minutes in heaven type deal, but even Katya could pick up on her intent to stir up trouble. She pitied the poor soul who ended up stuck in there.

Of course that poor soul ended up being her, and she wasn’t about to pussy out in front of the most popular girls in school. Peer pressure was a bitch. Judge, jury, and executioner had all decided it was her time, and she accepted that; she just wished her death march had a better soundtrack. Katya would be cooped up in one of the Honards’ bathrooms with a less than pleasant—soon to be considerably more less than pleasant—Violet Chachki. She was going to punch Detox in her stupid mouth.

Katya entered the bathroom the same way she’d rip off a band-aid: quickly and without much thought for the immediate consequences. Violet, who was perched on the bathroom counter, had been engrossed in her phone when the door swung open to reveal the one girl that she just couldn’t seem to get away from. Unsurprisingly, the cheerleader wasn’t thrilled.

“Really, bitch?” Violet griped, giving Katya a once over. It wasn’t like the situation was ideal for either of them.

Katya put her hands on her hips, “You know what you can suck? My whole dick.” She unenthusiastically plunked herself down against the wall opposite of the door. “We’ve got two options, Chachki, we can either suck it up and spend the next hour in here in silence, or we can French a little.” Violet was aghast at her words. If Katya were a proper woman, she might have been able to hold in the cackling fit prompted by the girl’s scandalized reaction. Violet wasn’t impressed with her wheezing, either. Katya finally calmed down and attempted to explain herself, “Sorry, I could have been more clear, but your reaction was priceless.” She wiped at her eyes. “Thanks. I needed that. Detox said she was “‘feeling generous,’”  and if we so choose, we can suck face and then get the hell out of Dodge.” Violet sneered, and Katya wondered if it was with anger or disgust; she didn’t know which one was better.

“As fucking if,” Violet scoffed, clearly feeling as though Detox’s so-called coup de grâce was more of a personal attack.

“Well, I don’t see anyone lining up to get the kiss of the spider woman, either,” Katya observed. “I told you that you weren’t going to like it.” The cheerleader exhaled sharply, and she was surprised not to see steam come out of her flared nostrils.

Violet pursed her lips, “Just shut up and stay on your side of the room.” With that, Violet returned her attention to her phone, but Katya didn’t fail to notice that her expression didn’t soften. If Katya weren’t trapped in the room with her, she’d probably find Violet’s situation hilarious.

Katya had made the mistake of leaving her jacket—and consequentially, her phone—on the coat rack in the hall. Call her old fashioned, but it was a force of habit. Besides, she didn’t need her phone because Bianca was supposed to be there to pull her out of trouble if it arose. But are we really surprised to find ourselves here? Katya asked herself. No. Not at all. At least she found herself entertaining. Hoping to bring forth inspiration, she laid back on the floor, let her gaze unfocus, and tried to lose herself in the plain ceiling. Katya didn’t know how long she’d been drifting for when Violet’s voice shattered the silence.

“Fuck!” Violet cursed, and the sound of hard plastic hitting the floor made Katya’s whole body go rigid. She squeezed her eyes shut. I am not going to be equipped to handle this, Katya bristled. Maybe if I just keep my eyes closed, I can fall asleep. It seemed like a feasible plan until she heard the first sniffle. Of course I find out she has feelings when I’m stuck in a room with her, the blonde facepalmed inwardly. Why today, of all days, to be railed in the ass by life? Her left eye opened first, searching for any signs of danger before being followed by her right eye.

“I knew you didn’t like me Chachki, but I didn’t think you found me this repulsive,” Katya spoke. “Quite frankly, it’s offensive.”

“Fuck you,” Violet spat, but the usual venom in her voice was gone. Katya propped herself back up against the wall to get a better look at the girl on the counter. Her attention was unwanted, and Violet turned towards the door with a huff.

Clearly comedic relief wasn’t the answer. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Katya tried again. No response. The girl’s side profile was growing red and blotchy, and Katya had sent her mom enough photos of her crying to know that Violet was trying and failing to stifle an emotional response. Go figure. “I won’t tell anyone if you cry, you know?” She said softly. “Bottling it up is just gonna make you feel shittier than you do now.”

“Do you think I’m a goddamn idiot?” Violet barked. She wiped furiously at her eyes before whirling around in an attempt to intimidate the blonde. “Better make your fifteen minutes last.”

Katya was genuinely taken aback. Does this bitch really think I’m in on this? She shook her head incredulously. Her airhead friends would literally eat me alive, and I’m pretty sure I haven’t given her any reason to think that I’m faker than Malibu Barbie. If I were made of plastic, why in the hell would I keep my hands this small? “Are we really back on this bullshit, Violet?” Katya snapped. “I’m sorry you think that the universe revolves around you. I hate to burst your bubble, but I have better things to do than conspire against you with your teammates over scones. Get over yourself, Princess.” In her head, Katya blew the smoke from the pistols in her hands. Call me perestroika, Mother, for I am reforming problematic practices, she hooted.

“Whatever,” Violet grumbled. Katya, on the other hand, wasn’t willing to let this go; some conversation was better than nothing.

“How’s the back?” The blonde inquired and was pleasantly surprised when Violet outright snorted at the shift in conversation. Katya took her in as she threw her head back in laughter. There was something about this Violet—the unguarded and natural Violet—that captivated her. Violet’s eyes crinkled, and she clasped a hand over her mouth in a flimsy attempt to stifle the noises she was making. It was frustratingly endearing.

Violet cleared her throat before answering, “Fucked. I’m considering outlawing acrylics on the squad. That shit’s not even practical for a cheerleader, and it’s hurting like a bitch to corset.”

“You’re wearing a corset?” Katya gasped. For the first time that night, she took all of Violet in. She wore a nude illusion dress with a loose black lattice pattern. It covered just a little more than her ass and was cinched at the waist with a rocker belt, squeezing her in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. How in the world do you hide a corset under that? Katya wondered. In addition to the dress, she donned thigh high, slick black boots and a thick, black leather choker that looked more like a collar. Hot damn, Katya could n e v e r, and she knew it. She finally composed herself, “First of all, you’re literally a cheerleader with a body to die for. Second of all, why wear something that hurts you?”

The cheerleader didn’t even seem phased by the inquiries, almost like she’d dealt with them hundreds of times before, “Pain is beauty, and I’m the prettiest.” Katya couldn’t argue there. Violet was beautiful, but she still thought her ideology was questionable.

“So what actually happened at the pep rally? We all saw you fall, but I’ll believe it was your fault when the garden is full of ducks holding pastry in their hands. You’re too much of a hardass.”

Violet raised her eyebrows, as if daring Katya to say it again, “I will let that slide only because it’s technically a compliment. And you’d be correct; I am a professional, unlike others. You’d do well to take note: one of my biggest pet peeves is when people don’t take the things I love as seriously as I do. I accept nothing less than perfection.”

“That must be lonely,” Katya couldn’t stop the words from spilling from her mouth. “You know, having such high standards? Does anyone ever make the cut?” Opening her mouth was clearly a mistake because Violet seemed to shut down all at once.

“What do you know about how I feel?” Violet fired back, crossing her arms over her chest.

Keep digging yourself deeper, why don’t ya? Katya shook her head. She needed to tread carefully. It was a miracle that she had even been having a civil conversation with Violet in the first place, and she didn’t want to ruin the progress they had made. “I know that you work harder than anyone else on that squad, and nobody gives you credit or appreciates you for it,” Katya began. “I know that people are fast to discredit your talent because of how young you are. I know that you’re waiting for the day those bitches stop hoping that you’ll screw up or get hurt, the day you can finally stop looking over your shoulder, the day that you no longer have to prove yourself. I know that you’re tired of fighting tooth and nail for the respect that you’ll probably never earn, and I know it’s fucking hard for you to pretend that your peers aren’t harboring resentment towards you. I know that at night you try to wash it all away because you’re still holding out hope that it will all be worth it in the end. Cheer and theatre aren’t that different. It was obvious in the gym, and it’s obvious now.” Katya took a deep breath. Maybe she’d been thinking a little more about Violet that afternoon than she’d like to admit. She hadn’t meant to go off on a tangent like that, but she certainly didn’t regret what she said. Based on Violet’s reaction, however, maybe she should have. The brunette’s hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides, and tears began to roll down her cheeks. Katya tried to backtrack, “Violet I—”

Katya was cut off by the bathroom door swinging open. Pearl, who stood oblivious on the other side, immediately noticed the state of her friend. “Vi?” Pearl approached her hesitantly. Violet’s gaze didn’t move from the floor. “Hey, what’s going on? Talk to me.” She moved to lift Violet’s chin up, but Violet recoiled from her touch.

“Don’t touch me!” Violet shouted, her voice almost frantic. Katya’s eyes darted from one girl to the other. Pearl, who was visibly shocked by her reaction, looked hurt, which was very uncharacteristic for the mellow girl. Katya, herself, had never seen anything but characteristic nonchalance reflected on Pearl’s face, and the change made her uneasy.

Pearl took a reluctant step forward and spoke in a whisper, “Violet, did something happen? You know you can tell me anything.”

“Is that the truth, Pearl?” The brunette questioned. “Because clearly I don’t know you as well as I thought I did.”

Pearl shook her head in frustration. “Cut the crap, Vi,” She demanded, “You’re literally my best friend, and—”

“Bullshit!” Violet interrupted. “I call motherfucking bullshit!” Both girls were standing now with less than a foot between them, the situation escalating by the second, and Katya was stuck in the middle of it. She tried to push her back further into the solid wall behind her, but there was nowhere for her to go. Fuck me! Katya grimaced. Why is Toxic so damn appropriate right now?

“What the hell, Violet?” Pearl shouted back. “God, you’re fucking impossible.”

“Fuck you, Pearl!” Violet pushed Pearl, and the blonde hit the wall with a dull thud. “Fuck you! You and I are done! You hear me? Done! Save your goddamn lies for that pathetic dress up doll. I never want to see you again.” With a huff, Violet stormed out of the bathroom, leaving an uncomfortable Katya and a drained Pearl alone. What the fuck just happened? Katya tried and failed to process the encounter.

She was caught off guard when Pearl finally acknowledged her presence. “Forecast predicts drinking to forget,” Pearl deadpanned, nodding her head towards the door Violet had just stormed through. “Want in?” Katya shook her head furiously. Getting piss drunk with those two would be like making smalltalk with a Molotov cocktail. She’d pass. She’d pass hard. Pearl seemed to understand. “It’s flazéda or whatever,” The corners of her mouth turned up slightly. “Just do me a solid and remind me to fuck with Willam’s weed on Monday.”

Katya didn’t know what “‘flazéda’” meant, or the why and how of Pearl tampering with Willam’s weed, but the questions weren’t enough to persuade her to stick around the party longer. When Pearl left, Katya made a run for the Honards’ front door. She grabbed her jacket before taking off down the street. The blonde didn’t stop until she could no longer hear the music pulsing from the house. Her phone buzzed in her pocket with a text from ‘Bianca del Realest’:

Bitch, where are you?

What the fuck happened in there?

Earth to Yekaterina?

Katya sighed and pocketed the phone again. She’d call her when she got home. That would buy her some more time to put the experience into words…and to decide just how much information she should share.

The drive home from the Honards’ was quiet—too quiet. Music normally made being in the car enjoyable, but there was something about the night that didn’t allow Björk to keep her out of her own head. It didn’t feel real, and that terrified the shit out of her. Life was monotonous, life was mundane, life was one of those stupid time loop movies where you had to learn from your mistakes over time and find out what was important in the stupid haystack of chaos. Violet Chachki and her ex best friend potentially ex best friend were not supposed to have the Chernobyl of all relationship meltdowns in Alaska Honard’s guest bathroom right in front of her. Katya didn’t know who opened this tragic can of worms, but when she found them, she was going to slap a bitch silly.

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: Part Eleven is finally up. Again, I deeply apologize for the wait. I had a good reason, I promise. For now, though? Here we go... As always, feedback is incredible. If you want tagged, please send an ask or message so I am sure to see it. Same goes if I missed your tag. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Mostly Smut. Rushed, bathroom/public sex. A little reference to the movie Focus. Some feelings. Not enough editing. That’s all, I believe.

Word Count: Roughly 3,100

“Dance with me?” You looked up to a little old man. Even though his dark skin was wrinkled and worn, his eyes vibrated with life.

Alice and Bane were having a get together at their place. Something normies got to indulge in. You had gone to help set up. A simple enough task. However, before you could dip out? The guests had begun to arrive, and Alice had insisted you stay. You hadn't even known she knew that many people not involved in the life.

“Sure,” You got up to your feet slowly. Completely out of your element.

“Anyone ever teach you how to salsa?”

“No,” You answered honestly. More than a little weary.“You willin' to teach me?”

“I'd be honored.” His face lit up, making him look ten years younger.

Sam watched as your hand landed on the elderly man's shoulder, and the other on the crook of his elbow as his hands settled on your body. What is she doing? A few minutes later, he couldn't help the smile on his face as he peeked back up.

You were stumbling a little, moving to the beat of the music with a large smile as you worked with the man. A simple, peach colored skirt swung around your legs as you stepped where instructed. The white tank top would have been immodest if you hadn't paired it with a cream colored cardigan. Showing almost more than it covered.

The guy had been sitting by himself for the longest time, until he'd sought you out. Nothing but darkness coating his wrinkled face. Now? He looked as if you'd given him the most precious thing in the world. Helping him find his youth in the small crowd.

Over the past week, a careful distance had been kept between you and Sam. You kept looking at him as if you wanted to try and repair the damage, but never found the courage to make the first move. His pride was still stinging. However, it didn't keep him from being aware of you. Only, this time, it was more than just your body.

He'd zeroed in on everything he'd missed before. The way you chewed your lip when you concentrated. How although you had a mix of modern and classic literature, the classics came off the shelf most often. You didn't have a favorite musical genre. Instead, you listened to whatever suited your mood. A glow spread across your face whenever you saw Ava smile a gummy little grin up at you. More often than not, if you were out? You'd gone down a path that led to a smaller pond to take in the nature. How restless you seemed to be since you'd gotten out on the road again. The way you turned away from your own gloom to entertain an elderly man you'd never met...

“You're still thinking about her.” Cas's voice made Sam jerk lightly as he turned to the angel. “Sorry,” His gruff apology wasn't quite enough to take away the frown on the hunter's face, “didn't mean to startle you. Or listen in.” The last bit was added in as an afterthought.

“You can't help it,” Sam grumbled, turning his head back to the scene in front of him. Then the words sunk in. “What do you mean by 'still'?”

“Almost every time I'm by you? I pick up something about her.” Castiel shrugged lightly. Simply speaking matter of factly. “It's fascinating, really... how many different thoughts there are regarding one person.” That made Sam pause, and turn back to watch you trip over your own feet. Laughing all the while. “I was human for a short time, Sam... It allowed me a bit of insight,” The angel smiled a bit at how foolish you were on the floor. Missing some of the roughness both boys carried. “But, I never got to experience something as...” He paused for the right word, “intense as what you're experiencing.” Sam's hands shoved into his pockets. Despising the truth in the words. “I'm almost jealous.”

“Feel free to take her off of my hands.” Sam suggested readily. Wishing he could escape the flood.

“You don't mean that.” He wasn't as sure as Cas seemed to be over that claim. “Is she leaving with you two?”

“Dean wants to bring her.” Sam shrugged out. Trying to act indifferent. “Hasn't asked her, though.”

“If it helps, Sam,” Cas turned back to his friend. Blue eyes boring into the hazel. Making sure the earnest words sank home. “You're not the only one struggling.” His lips pulled up lightly, “She's thinking about you, too...”

–

Hands came out from the bathroom, yanking you towards a looming figure. Your fist came out instinctively, connecting with the perpetrator before you had processed that you knew those hands. As it clicked, you meekly looked up.

Only to find Sam's wry, pained grin aimed at you,“You have a heck of a swing.”

“You had that coming.” You shrugged, turning to see if anyone had seen you get snatched. When you were sure it was clear, you pushed Sam further in and shut the door. Ensuring that you wouldn't be found with the enemy. “What are you doing?”

“Take a guess,” His eyes trailed over your body. The golden brown in them shined through that day. Full of heat. That look alone had you squeezing your thighs together. The necklace from before was hidden in the swells of your breasts, making his gaze linger there. His nostrils flared lightly as he took in the exposed skin. “I've been dying to know what you have on the end of that chain.” Your hands came up to play with it in response. Unintentionally rising to the bait.

“I figured you were still mad over the word vomiting incident.” You stated, moving over to  the counter to sit. Noting the way he turned with you. Leaving no room between your bodies. He wasn't even trying and you were almost ready to rip your clothes off. “You haven't pulled any sick tricks, lately. Just ignored me.” You sat looking at him patiently. Waiting for an explanation.

At one time, you might have been relieved by his behavior. But, not anymore. The dynamic had shifted enough that the distance bothered you.

“Well,” He moved over to you, letting his hands settle on your knees, “there's two options in a situation like this.”

“I wasn't aware this is something you had experience in.” The teasing in your tone couldn't be denied. You leaned back, supporting your upper body on your hands. Making it easier to look him in the eyes.

“Oh, I don't... The internet, though? It has answers to everything.” He replied seriously. As if he hadn't pulled the answer from thin air.

“The more you know.” Sam tried to keep his face straight, but he broke at your tone as you played along. A small laugh revealed his dimples. The sight enough to melt away the rest of your worries. There'd been guilt, before. For all his rough edges, you hadn't intended on injuring his ego. “So, what are the options? Since you're clearly educated on the subject.” Your lips had turned up at the sound of his chuckle.

“Well, there's the easy one.” His hand started drifting higher. Thumb grazing along the bottom of your inner thigh- just under the hem of your skirt. “We let that be the end, and go onto other partners. Pretend it never happened.”

“And the second?” Your breath hitched lightly as his fingers tightened on the soft skin he'd found.

“We don't stop.” His other hand reached around your back, pulling your body closer to him. Stretching you out more along the counter as he settled in between your legs. His lips dipped down dangerously close to yours. “Keep going til we figure out just what you think is missing...”

“What's your vote?” You asked, bringing your hand between your bodies. Toying with his shirt. Chewing on your lip as you waited for a response. You didn't even care in that moment that your uncertainty had become his challenge to conquer. His hands moved up to your face. Cradling you as he kissed you hungrily. Not bothering to use words. You pulled away from his lips just long enough for one, husky word: “Agreed.”  

His mouth was back on yours in record time. Then trailing down your neck to the tops of your breasts. Kissing. Licking. Sucking. The occasionally bite mixed in. All marks were gone almost as soon as they appeared. But, you were past the point of caring. It felt too right to consider the consequences.

Your hands pulled open his red and blue plaid shirt. Desperate to get down to skin. Rounded nails scratched against the firm flesh. He tugged off your cardigan as his tongue tangled with yours. Nearly ripping the material in his haste. The two of you moved as if it had been years instead of days without touching.

“Please tell me that you're ready.” The husky tilt paired with his lack of breath went straight to your crotch. You just sent him a seductive smile while yanking open his belt. “Thank God.”

The soft material of your skirt was hiked with ease. Sam didn't slow down. Didn't wait for you to lift your hips. Instead, his fingers tore at the fragile lines of your panties. Making quick work of them.

Your own fingers were busy. Yanking at his button. Ripping his zipper down. Before his pants hit the ground, common sense prevailed.

“Condom?” There was no way you were giving up any method of birth control. Sex god, or not.

“Check my wallet.” Nothing. “Damn it.” He growled out, taking it from you to check himself before tossing it to the side. Another heavy, sexually frustrated curse leaving his lips. “Give me a second.” He started searching the medicine cabinet and drawers like a man possessed.

“Oh, this is so wrong,” You huffed out. Leaving all morals aside to hunt down a form of birth control in your friend's home. No luck. “Shit.” You were aroused. More than a little annoyed. A deadly combination to be sure. “Wait!”

“You are not leaving me here like this.” Sam ground out, seeing the wheels turn in your head.

“I'll be back in two seconds.” You promised. Crossing your fingers over your heart symbolically before adjusting your clothing back into semi-decent shape.

“Y/N-” You stopped him by pulling his head down to yours. Kissing the protest right out of him.

“I have more clothing on.” You managed to get out against his mouth. “I get caught? Less of a big deal.”

“Fine.” He said after a second of frustrated silence. Knowing it was that, or a longer wait. “You leave me like this, and I swear...” He trailed off, letting all kinds of disastrous images line your mind.

“While that sounds fun,” Your inner minx couldn't be contained. Cupping his erection in your hand, you continued. “I have much more...pressing issues.” Your thumb stroked over the bulge, making him practically hiss. A quick peck against his lip, and you were gone.

Sam's hand rubbed over his face as he waited. Awkward, now that he was on his own. Wondering if you really would be mischievous enough to ditch him- he knew you could be. Or if you needed him just as badly as he seemed to need you.

It had built throughout the day. Castiel's words only encouraging him further. Goading him until he'd planned on doing something about you that night.

Then, you'd walked by. Innocent fun was the only plan when he'd pulled you into the bathroom. Then, hormones ruled the moment he had you alone. A little foreplay to warm you up. Something that would make the night that much sweeter. That idea lasted until he'd touched you. Fucking the entire plan up.

He sat leaning against the counter with his shirt open. His belt and pants still undone, and a hard on for the ages pressed out angrily. A pair of destroyed peach, lace panties rested by his feet. His wallet was over on the other side of the room. If anyone else stumbled across him, he'd have a hell of a time explaining it. Luckily, you spared the Winchester.

“Got it,” Locking the door was first priority. Something that hadn't been thought of before.

“Where the hell-”

“Your brother is an easy target.” You pulled the wallet out of your top. Knowing right where the protection was stored. “Now...shut up and make use of this.” Dean's wallet was tossed over by Sam's. No longer worth your attention.

It took two steps for him to reach your side, and slam you into the door. His lips sealing over yours again. As the kiss deepened, his hands gripped your thighs. Silently demanding you jump. He didn't hesitate, pulling you up to his waist when you gave him what he needed.

You held on as he carried you. Not breaking contact with his mouth as he moved you back to the counter. Knocking over several toiletries in the process when he tossed you back onto the counter.

It was impossible to keep your hands off Sam. Your fingers got in the way, trying to help him lose the pants. Rolling the condom into a place.

A small squeeze of his erection led to a growl from the man above you. An answering bite to your lip drew a breathy moan from your lips as he moved your hands away. Your skirt was pushed back up. Fingers just barely ghosted over the wet folds as he lined up.

Sam's mouth swallowed your cry when he filled you with a snap of his hips. Your hands tangled themselves into his shirt and onto the base of his neck. Ankles locked around his back, digging your heels into his ass to help set the pace. Hard and fast.

Pulling away your lips, you turned them to his throat. Tasting his skin as he had yours earlier to draw a groan from him. Letting that muffle the sounds he was forcing from your throat.

His teeth held his lip as he moved, rolling his body into yours. Keeping himself as silent as possible. Not wanting to be caught anymore than you did. Wanting the moment to last.

You had no idea how long you two were locked together. Grasping. Thrusting. Whimpering at the rush. Every push and pull sending you closer to oblivion.

As you got close, your head fell back away from the taste of his damp flesh. Your teeth dug into your lower lip harshly, but it wasn't enough. Skin slapped harshly together, echoing through the small room. Then you heard it: voices.

Sam paused. Bringing his hand to your mouth, he covered it gently. Gauging your reaction to his action, as the sounds of your bodies meeting didn't lessen. You didn't complain, letting him protect the both of you two. Instead, you nodded your consent.

Neither of you stopped the push and pull you'd started. Not even when the voices were right outside. Rocking into each other all the while. Eyes locked, you held each other through it. Whoever it was didn't stay long.

You ground yourself against him as soon as they were gone, wanting him to speed back up. To send you over the edge. Needing it.

Luckily, Sam understood. Wanting the same thing, himself. His head buried into your shoulder. Bracing his free hand on the counter, he slammed into you. The once covered whimpers turned to cries as you clung to him. Your body clenched tight as you came, encouraging him to follow you. Thighs trembling all the while.

With every thrust, his rhythm grew more sloppy. Fighting to refrain. But, it was all too much. Sam's teeth sunk into your shoulder to keep his own shout from being heard when he came.

Breathing heavy, you pulled apart as soon as you were able. Almost shyly cleaning up and getting your clothes situated as best as you could. You helped fix his hair while he wiped off the smudged liner under your eyes.

Not much was said. Especially regarding the 'missing piece' that seemed to be standing like a brick wall between you two. That is, until Sam picked up the wallets.

“How'd you get this, anyway?” Dean's leather was waved as he looked at you.

“He was grabbing a beer, and talking to Bane in the kitchen.” You shrugged, slipping on your cardigan. “I walked past, grabbed it out of his back pocket, shoved it in my bra, and got up here.”

“Without him noticing?” Sam didn't buy it. Dean was too good of a hunter to have missed that trick.

“There's a skill to it. You just touch directly while grabbing what you want.” It seemed too easy. “For example,” You touched his bicep while looking at your hand, and his eyes followed. “I touch you here.”

“Okay...” He trailed off in confusion.

“And, I pick this up.” You wagged the wallet that had been in his back pocket in his face. “Easy. Even if the other person hunts? Their attention is diverted.”

“You're nothing but trouble, aren't you?” He grinned, pulling the leather from your grasp. Shoving it into his pocket for the second time.

“All I had to do is tap his arm from behind. Say excuse me. Done.” You unlocked the door. “Take your time, will ya? I'm going to schmooze. Play innocent.” As you walked out, you stopped and looked back at the younger Winchester. Eyes still full of fire, “Oh, and Sam...My door won't be locked, tonight...” You winked when his nostrils flared in response before leaving him alone to over think.

When he finally walked out, he was sure you two had gotten away with it. Another item kicked off of his bucket list. As far as he was concerned, he could die happy.

“How long?” Dean's voice made Sam turn around quickly, towards the other end of the hallway. His brother leaned against the wall. Shadowed, still. Maybe I spoke to soon...

“What?” He tried playing innocent. Shouldn't have bothered. It only made the older Winchester's glower deepen.

“How long have you and Y/N been sneaking around?” Well, shit...

Part Twelve

Tag: @burningmusicmachine​ @missmarrinette​ @sherlockedtash88​ @rathersuspiciousbumblebee​ @sasbb23​ @nothinbuttrouble2​ @baby-bunker-pie​ @neii3n​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @malfoysqueen14 @calaofnoldor @hhiggs

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @supernaturalginger​

[milfgritty]

i’ll be good pt. nine | j. hughes & t. zegras

❀ ⇢ requested: yes | no ❀ ⇢ word count: 2.6K ❀ ⇢ a/n: i can’t believe the end of this series is finally here. this has been my longest series to date and to actually finish it is just insane. i might end up posting a bonus part/epilogue but idk yet. anyway, i just want to say thank you to everyone who has followed i’ll be good and i couldn’t be more amazed by the positive feedback it’s gotten. i hope this ending doesn’t disappoint!

having a crush on one person was confusing enough. now throw in one of their teammates and you weren’t sure where that left you anymore.

⇢ posted: 05.11.19 . | . masterlist prev. | next.

“We’re going out for a bit, want to come?”

Rolling over, you shifted the covers down far enough to look at your mom. You pondered the decision for a few seconds, staring at her head peeking in through the cracked door.

“I think I’m gonna stay here,” you told her, words muffled.

She hesitated in the doorway before sighing. “We’ll bring back food,” she smiled sadly, retreating and closing the door behind her.

Letting out a sigh, you burrowed back into the blankets. You were grateful that she was being so understanding, but that didn’t stop you from wishing it wasn’t necessary in the first place.

Closing your eyes, you fought back a fresh wave of tears at the thought. How long was it going to hurt like this? Why weren’t you enough for him?

You groaned loudly, cutting off your train of thought. Distantly, you registered the sound of the front door being closed signaling that you were alone. Shifting again, you stared up at your ceiling blankly. You could probably go back to sleep for another few hours—it was the weekend so you didn’t have to worry—

Your phone buzzed on your nightstand. Head falling to the side to stare at it, you debated if you even wanted to see who texted you. Why bother, you know? Like, did you really want to talk to anyone right now?

Not particularly, but curiosity won out as you stretched your arm to grab the offending object. Settling onto your side, you winced at who it was that sent it. It wasn’t that you were embarrassed that he was the one you called and cried on the phone to—

Wait­—no. That’s exactly what it was.

Yea, he comforted you and said that it was fine but what else was he supposed to say? Blowing out a harsh breath, you decided to get it over with.

‘where are you? we need to talk’

Heart seizing up at the phrasing, you slowly typed out a reply.

‘at home in bed. family’s out rn. why do we have to talk??’

God, you hope this wasn’t him telling you that you couldn’t be friends anymore or some shit like that. One guy dumping you was enough heartbreak; you didn’t need another one adding to it.

‘nothing bad dw is it cool if i come over?’

You tried to ignore the way your heart sped up. Sending back a reply telling him that it was okay, you found the energy to get out of bed for the first time all day. Managing the bare minimum of your usual morning routine was nothing short of an accomplishment, no matter how sad the fact was.

It was only the thought of not wanting Jack to see you as a complete mess that got you going, but still. Progress.

After unlocking the door and sending Jack a text letting him know to just walk in—because what can go wrong there, right?—you made your way back upstairs.

Flopping down onto your bed, you sullenly scrolled through a few different apps to calm your nerves. Seriously, who tells a girl who literally just got broken up with that they need to talk? What do they need to talk about? In person?

The entire thing wasn’t giving you the best of feelings, but whatever. Might as well get some more bad news when you’re already down.

Right as you were finally calming down, Jack sent you a text saying that he was only a few minutes away.

Great, this was going to go great. Totally fine.

Oh god, was he gonna make a move? It hadn’t occurred to you but if he did—

No. No, he wouldn’t. That would be a whole new level of shitty. And even if he did, you weren’t going to just jump into things with him. That’d be so bad. No, new rule. Teammates are off limits.

Actually, hockey players in general. Who needs them? And dating? Not you, that’s for sure.

So lost in your thoughts, you nearly had a heart attack when the door downstairs opened.

“Y/N?” Jack’s voice yelled.

Cursing under your breath, you forced to calm down. “Bedroom,” you called back, pulling your legs up to sit cross-legged.

Fingers fidgeting, your breathing sped up before you worked on calming down again. You listened as Jack made his way upstairs—why did it sound like two pairs of—?

“Hey,” Jack appeared in your doorway, offering you a nervous smile.

You returned the greeting, tilting your head. “So what exactly did we need to talk about in person?”

“Uh, yea. You see, it isn’t just us that need to talk,” he trailed off, watching you with wide apologetic eyes.

Not understanding, you were about to ask when he stepped into the room. The words died in your throat when another figure stepped into sight.

“What the hell,” you sputtered, a whirlwind of emotions exploding inside of you at the sight of your bo—ex-boyfriend.

At least they both had the decency to look shamefaced, you mused to yourself as you sprung up off your bed.

“What the hell,” you repeated, unsure on who to round on.

“I told you this was a bad idea.”

You spun toward Trevor at the sound of his voice, ignoring how despondent it was and how your heart felt like it was breaking all over again. But then his words registered and you were marching at Jack.

“Wha—you brought him here?” you demanded, betrayal clear as day in your voice.

He backed away, hands in the air until he hit your dresser. “We need to talk about everything,” he tried, eyes wide in fear.

Pushing down the hurt, you shook your head bitterly.

“What’s there to talk about? He–“ you gestured at Trevor who had taken an awkward stance “–broke up with me. There’s nothing to talk about. And since there’s nothing to talk about, I want both of you out.”

“Y/N, stop,” Jack pleaded, grabbing ahold of your hands. “You and I both know there’s a lot we need to talk about—shit we should’ve just talked about a while ago.”

“We all fucked up,” Trevor cut in before you could respond. Going quiet, you refused to look at him and swallowed roughly. “And everything got out hand. I found out about you and Jack almost kissing and instead of just talking to you, I thought it would be better for all of us if I broke up with you—don’t look at me like that, I know it wasn’t the best idea now.”

A snort left you against your will, a small smile gracing your features before you caught yourself. “Yea, it was a pretty shit idea, man. You should’ve seen that,” Jack interjected quickly, shrugging innocently at Trevor’s glare but flashing you a smile when he heard your quiet laugh.

“I never claimed I had good ideas, okay?” Trevor attempted—maybe?—to defend himself.

“Can say that again,” you muttered under your breath, sniggering with Jack who heard your comment.

“Rude.” Trevor pointed at you in offense. Brought back to reality, you plopped yourself down on your bed.

“We really do need to talk about everything, don’t we?” you sighed, looking up at them. They nodded in agreement, turning to find chairs to sit down in.

Jack managed to lay claim to your desk chair. Trevor, given the option of the other side of your bed and your sad old beanbag, found himself practically on the floor.

“Be serious, man,” Jack mock scolded Trevor as the latter squirmed in the near flat beanbag. A laugh left you as Trevor flipped him off, and then yet another when you had to look all the way down to see him.

“Dicks,” Trevor mumbled, ignoring both of you as he finished settling into his bag.

“Now that that’s out of the way, where do we even start?” you voiced the unsaid question.

The boys exchanged glances and hesitated. “I don’t know,” Jack said quietly, slumping down.

“Great,” you nodded sarcastically, earning yourself a glare and laugh. The three of you sobered quickly after, realizing that none of you actually knew where to begin.

“I’m just gonna start by saying that before I even asked Y/N out, I seriously had no idea you liked her,” Trevor spoke to Jack before turning to face you. “I did know, though, that you liked him. Which—admittedly—wasn’t great, but still.”

Shaking your head, you tried to wrap your head around that. “That makes no sense. Why ask someone out if you know they like someone else? That’s like setting yourself up for failure.”

Trevor shrugged in response, reasoning, “Spencer is a good hype man.”

Closing your mouth, you nodded. He had a point.

“My thing is,” Jack leaned forward, peering up at you, “why did you agree to go out with Trevor if you liked me?”

Clearing your throat, you resisted the urge to blush. “Right before that, I heard you and the guys talking about some hot girl that gave you her number. After so long of you not making a move, that was just the last straw I guess. I was leaving, thinking about how it was time to move on and then Trevor asked me out and—well.” Ending your words with a shrug, you winced at how bad it sounded when put like that.

“You only went out from me to move on from Jack?” Trevor asked, hurt creeping into his voice. Jack leaned back into his chair, falling silent.

Meeting Trevor’s eyes, you shook your head rapidly. “No! It played a part, yea, but I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t think I could actually like you. You looked all cute and flustered when you asked me and I just—it dawned on me that if I wasn’t hung up on Jack, I probably would’ve liked you for a while at that point.”

Talking about it like this was more than a little embarrassing, especially since you could feel Jack’s gaze on the side of your face.

“And if you’ve liked me for so long, why were you talking about how you were going to call that ‘hot chick’?” you turned it back on Jack, the question having bugged you since you found out Jack liked you.

Eyes going wide, Jack sputtered. “I said I was kidding! That she wasn’t my type, because you’re my type—not the you’re my type part obviously but—didn’t I say that right after the guys calmed down?” He directed the last question at Trevor, putting him on the spot this time.

Trevor went quiet for a second before answering. “I think? I can’t remember, right around then Spencer came in to tell me Y/N was leaving.”

“Spencer was the one who told you I was leaving—?”

“Wait, how did you know I’ve liked you for ‘so long’? I never told you that I actually liked you,” Jack questioned, talking over you.

“I think almost kissing someone is a pretty clear sign you like them, Jack,” Trevor told him condescendingly. Jack rolled his eyes at him, kicking him lightly, before looking back at you.

Avoiding his gaze, you found a sudden interest in your shirt. “I might have overheard the two of you fighting that night you spilled your drink on me,” you mumbled, pursing your lips.

“You did?”

“Oh god,” Jack groaned, covering his face with his hands as Trevor choked.

“Yea.” You drug the word out, grimacing. “Not your best moment, either of you.”

“Is that why you avoided us the first time?” Trevor asked, his head angled to the side. You nodded, confirming his suspicion.

Jack’s sudden laughter startled you. “This is why we communicate, kids,” he said between gasps for air. A snort left you and soon enough you were all laughing at how bad the three of you really are at handling shit.

After your amusement died down, Trevor brought up a valid point.

“What are we doing now?” he asked, glancing up between the two of you. “I mean, we know where we went wrong and all of that, but where does that leave us?”

The question everything came back to, it seemed.

“I still don’t know,” you admitted, darting your tongue out to wet your lips.

Quiet dawned over you again, contemplative and unsure. All of you lost in thought about what happens next.

“You know what? I don’t care what happens as long as I get to be around you,” Jack shrugged. At your curious gaze, he elaborated.

“It’s been too long of constant drama. I just miss being able to talk to you and be your friend.”

“Lame,” Trevor didn’t even bother to hide his whisper. Jack rolled his eyes, flipping him off. You rolled your eyes at the both of them. You missed their antics and agreed with him, saying as much.

“I think we should start over,” you told them, bouncing your leg.

Their heads snapped toward you, forgetting about their bickering. “What do you mean?” Trevor asked, furrowing his eyebrows. Jack mirrored his expression, staring intently at you.

You sucked in a deep breath, trying to figure out how to word it. After a second, you started, “Obviously, even from the beginning, this wasn’t the healthiest relationship if that’s what you want to call it. There was always something holding someone back or coming in the way of things. I think we should just forget everything. Let everything be in the past and start anew. As friends or some sort of weird in between—I don’t care. I’ve just missed both of you a lot and don’t want to lose either of you over something so stupid.”

You couldn’t get through it while looking at them. Your gaze had shifted down to your fidgeting hands at some point. After you finished, they stayed quiet taking in your words.

“I’m okay with that,” Jack said finally, causing your head to snap up. He met your eyes with a soft grin, reassuring your nerves. Your gaze slipped down to a still silent Trevor, anxiously awaiting his response.

He looked up after a few seconds to see the two of you staring at him. “Oh! Yea, I’m cool with that. As long as we’re good and not ignoring each other anymore, I’m fine.”

Letting out a laugh, you shook your head. Relief washed over you, resulting in a goofy smile taking residence on your face. “Great,” you told them.

“See, this all worked out because I cornered you in your bedroom,” Jack told Trevor, standing up and making his way to your bed.

“Wait—you what?” you asked, vaguely noticing Trevor having difficulty getting up and out of the beanbag. He kicked at Jack, waving his hands in the air.

“Yea well this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t kissed my girlfriend,” Trevor shot back at him as he pulled him up.

You stared up at them, trying to get an answer from one of them. Jack pushed you over, sliding down on your left while Trevor took a spot on your right.

“You cornered him—?”

“Get over it already, that was so last week,” Jack ignored you, tugging you down beside him. Trevor snagged one of your hands, lacing your fingers together. Your heart soared at the familiar gesture and you let yourself be maneuvered.

The bed barely big enough for all three of you, you tried again.

“What’s up with you and cornering people in their rooms?”

The boys bursting into laughter at your genuine confusion on each side of you, you found yourself smiling widely.

This is good, you thought to yourself.

Everything is good.

[tryintheirbest]

Pain Is So Close To Pleasure - Part 1

Pairing: Joe Mazzello x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: swearing, talk of cheating, angst and a touch of fluff

AN: I thought of this concept after listening to Pain Is So Close To Pleasure on repeat at 2am. I’m thinking of making this a 3-4 part fic, so hopefully y’all enjoy. Shoot me an ask if you would like to be added to my tag list. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!

There were some things you just couldn't imagine your life without: coffee, warm blankets, music, and Joe Mazzello. He had become a permanent part of your life when you became friends with him on the first day of 4th grade. You got partnered with him for a science experiment in class and, noticing you were a little nervous, took the lead. Ever since then, the two of you have been inseparable. Joe was always the person you went to for everything. If you were happy because you got an A on a test, Joe was the first person you told. If you were in pain because of period cramps, Joe would be the one to try and make you feel better. When you were nervous and couldn't sleep the night before your high school graduation, Joe was the one who stayed up with you until you were calm enough to fall asleep.  He would celebrate with you, laugh with you, cry with you. He was always there for you. Especially whenever you were going through a breakup. Joe became your shoulder to cry on. He would always hold you and try to talk you through it while telling you how shitty the guy was. It was like this for every break up. There were a few times when you asked him if it bothered him, but he always said he just wanted to see you happy.

"Look, I'm all for it if it's what you 100% want to do, but maybe you should think about it first." Joe had been pacing around his living room for the past 10 minutes. It started when you showed up at his door, car packed full of your things, telling him of your last minute change of plans. " I have thought about it Joe. I want to go to this school. It's a nice school and I'll be close to Chris." You let out a sigh and closed your eyes, waiting for the outburst to come. "You want to be close to Chris? Is that why you suddenly changed where you're going to college? Because of that dick?!" You nodded, meeting Joe's eyes. "He convinced me that it would be a good thing for us." Joe scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, he convinced you? How, by telling you the school has co-ed dorms so you two could share a room? He just wants you there so he can fuck you, Y/n! He doesn't care that you don't want to go there." You stood up, suddenly angry. "But I do want to go there. And why do you care if I'm going so I can get fucked by my boyfriend? I made my decision, Joe." "A fucking shit decision!" Joe yelled. You made your way towards the front door, stopping with your hand on the doorknob. You turned and opened your mouth to say something, but, seeing that Joe already had his back to you, left the house and slammed the door behind you. You left Joe’s house in a hurry, not caring if you were over the speed limit a little. You just needed to get out of there. You kept telling yourself you left without saying anything because you needed to start unpacking in your dorm, but even you didn’t believe that. You could feel tears begin to run down your face. You didn’t want to leave on a bad note with Joe. You thought back a month earlier, when you had first brought up going to the school. He had been surprised, to say the least. You had talked all through high school about going to college out of state. He knew that you wanted to explore the world, but still wanted to get a degree, so out of state seemed like the best option. So he was taken aback when you told him the last minute change in plans. You had told him about the good art program, which is what you wanted to get your degree in. He had seemed a little out of the conversation until you asked him to apply for the same school. “What? Y/n, you know I’m taking a gap year.” You nodded, getting up to go back home. “Yeah, I know. I just thought it would be cool if you were at the same school as Chris and I.” You left before Joe could say anything, but that is when he realized the real reason for your change of plans.

You came back to reality after you pulled into the parking lot outside of your dorm. You looked up at the building, to the window of what would be your dorm room. It was on the third floor and you were already dreading having to carry all your stuff up there. You sat in your car for a few minutes, thinking about your argument with Joe. You hated having arguments with Joe. It rarely happened, but when it did, you felt awful for days. This one really had you shaken up. Maybe he’s right. You shocked yourself with that thought. You were so worried about trying to defend yourself, you never thought about what Joe was saying. He was right, Chris had convinced you on the basis of co-ed dorms and being able to share a room. He had told you all the things he would do to you and it ended with him taking you from behind. You looked up at the building again, a feeling of worry settling in. What if this was a bad idea? You rested your head on the steering wheel and closed your eyes. You took a few deep breaths before getting out of your car. You opened your trunk and grabbed a box of clothes. You looked around, and seeing there was no one in the parking lot, decided to leave your trunk open to make it a little easier on yourself. You walked up to the door of the building and took a minute to shuffle the box around in your arms so you could grab your keycard out of your back pocket. Once you got inside, you breathed a sigh of relief to find the elevator empty. You balanced the box on your hip as you waited to reach your floor. When the elevator doors opened, you were greeted with a familiar sight. You had only been to your dorm once before, at orientation, but it felt familiar. The dark blue carpet, beige walls, white doors that had already been decorated by the occupants. You walked down the hallway, your room being at the end of the hall. You smiled at the few people you saw, also moving into their dorms. Most people were already moved in, there being only a week until classes started. Since you had registered late, you were moving in later than most people. You set the box down when you reached your room. You and Chris had decorated the door at orientation. There were little heart stickers surrounding a “Chris + Y/n” in the middle. It made you smile, remembering how much paint the two of you had gotten on yourself. You laughed to yourself, not knowing how the two of you got covered in paint when you only painted two words, and Chris had been in charge of the stickers. You glanced up at the clock on the wall. It’s only 4:50. Chris said he wouldn’t be here until 5:30. You fished in your pocket and pulled out the key to your room. Before you could unlock the door, you heard him. 

Chris was already in your room. Your eyes widened a little, wondering why he was already there. You started to open the door when you heard it. A woman’s voice. You froze. You couldn’t move. You didn’t want to believe what you were hearing. Before you could stop yourself, you picked up the box of clothes, walked back down the hallway, and all but ran down the stairs. You could feel yourself crying for the second time in a few hours. You made it to the ground floor and burst through the front door. You ran over to your car and threw the box of your clothes on the ground. You leaned up against the side of your car and put your head in your hands. You kept replaying what you heard. “Come on, Chris. You know how I like it.” Your shoulders began to shake as you sank to the ground, sobbing. You couldn’t believe that Chris was cheating on you. Two years. Two fucking years I was with him. For nothing. You sat there, next to your car, crying for what seemed like hours. You just couldn’t wrap your mind around it. You had thought Chris was going to be the one. You had given him everything. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Eventually, the tears stopped and were replaced with an empty feeling. You didn’t know what to do. You were sad, angry, you felt betrayed. You stood up on shaky legs, grabbing the box off the ground and putting it back in your trunk. You got into your car and found yourself in the same position as earlier: eyes closed with your head against the steering wheel. Although, it wasn’t to calm your nerves this time. This time, it was to help yourself think. You just sat there in silence, trying to piece together what had happened. You had a million questions. Who is the other woman? When did it start? Why did he cheat on me? Was I not good enough? You could feel more tears welling up in your eyes. You sat back in your seat, wiping your eyes, before reaching to turn your car on. Before you could turn your key, you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket. You pulled it out, not really caring what the notification was, but you thought checking would at least distract you for a moment. A distraction is not what you got when you saw it was a text from Chris. You scowled at your phone when you read the message, “Hey, baby, I’m gonna be running a bit late. See you in a few minutes.” You looked at the time, seeing it was 5:25. That son of a bitch is lying. He says he’s running late so he has time to get that girl out of the room. You felt the rage inside you begin to boil over. As if it wasn’t enough that he was cheating on you, but he was still trying to make it seem like the two of you were in the same happy relationship.

You threw your phone onto the passenger seat and got out of your car. You walked back to the building, fumbling with your keycard. Once you got inside, you decided to forgo the elevator, knowing you could get up to the third floor faster if you took the stairs. You ran up the stairs, your anger only growing the closer you got to your room. You stormed down the hallway and stopped in front of your door. Seeing the “Chris + Y/n” on the door made you sick to your stomach. You leaned in, trying to hear if the girl was still in the room. You could hear quiet sounds that made it seem like they were kissing. Then you heard Chris say, “Alright, I’ll see you later. She’s gonna be here soon, so you unfortunately have to go.” Before you could do anything, the door opened. You were met with a girl about your height, with blonde hair and hazel eyes. She’s pretty, was all you could think as her eyes went wide when she realized who you were. “He’s right, I’m here, so you have to fucking leave”, you said, the calmness in your voice surprizing even yourself. She nodded, squeezing past you and quickly walking away. You stayed where you were, glaring into the room at Chris sitting on the bed. What would have been your shared bed. You took a step in, making him stand. “Look, Y/n, it’s not what you think.” This made you laugh, a dry chuckle. “Oh, it’s not? Then what is it? Because I think you’re a cheating bastard.” He looked down, as if we were ashamed. You walked toward him, pointing a finger into his chest. “Was I not fucking good enought for you? I gave you everything, but you still felt like you had to go off and fuck another woman?” He shook his head. “It was a stupid mistake, Y/n. It was only this one time.” You took a step back, “Stop fucking lying to me. How long has this been going on?” He looked down again. “8 months”, he said quietly. You let out another chuckle, this one darker than the first. “I can’t fucking believe you. 8 fucking months of this shit, sneaking around behind my back, lying to my face. What did I do to make you feel like you needed another girl?” 

Chris looked up at you, anger taking over his features. “You really don’t know? It barely felt like we were in a relationship, Y/n. You are constantly spending time with that douche Joe. What the fuck was I supposed to do?” You stood there, looking at Chris like he just asked you the stupidest question. “Are you fucking serious? You could have talked to me, Chris. Joe is my best friend. I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to spend time with my fucking best friend.” Chris took a step closer to you. “You should have been spending time with me, your fucking boyfriend. Joe was stealing you from me. He fucking-” You cut him off, “Stealing me from you? I don’t belong to you, Chris!” It was Chris’s turn to laugh, “Yeah, I realized that when you would rather spend time with that piece of shit than your boyfriend.” “Don’t fucking talk shit about Joe. He’s not the cheating piece of shit!” You yelled. “Well at least he gets to spend time with you! I had to get another girl and go to the same school as her to feel something even close to affection!” He stopped, realizing what he just said. You let out a strangled breath. “That’s why you wanted to go to school here? Because of some fucking side girl? Then why the fuck did you ask me to come here! You knew I didn’t want to come to school here and you were already getting some “affection”, so why the fuck did you want me here?” Chris threw his hands up in exasperation, “I don’t fucking know. I should have just let you stay in that shitty town with that worthless piece of shit you call your best friend!” You moved before you could stop yourself. Next thing you knew, your hand was stinging and Chris was holding his cheek. “Why the fuck did you slap me?!” “Don’t ever fucking call Joe worthless. You’re the one that’s worthless, Chris.” You turned on your heel and started walking out of the room. You stopped in the doorway and turned to see Chris looking at you, his cheek bearing a red mark in the shape of your right hand. “Have fun with that slut you call your side chick. And stay the fuck away from me.” You slammed the door behind you. You took a deep breath, noticing the door opened across the hall. There was a girl inside, looking concerned as she walked towards you. “Is everything okay?” You had seen her around, but never got her name. “I just found out my boyfriend was cheating on me, so not I’m leaving.” The girl turned back into her room, returning a short moment later with something in her hand. “Here. Use this on the door.” She handed you a pocket knife. You look at her, a small smile breaking out on your lips. You turned to the door and used the knife to cross out your name. It made you feel better. You handed the knife back to the girl, thanked her, and headed back to the stairs. 

When you reached the ground floor again, you stopped._ I can’t go to school here, not with him here_. You left the building and walked over to the administrative building. You hoped someone was still there. Thankfully, there was a woman at the Registration desk. You walked up and said, “Hi, is there any way I can unregister from my classes?” She looked up at you, “Yeah, I can do that for you. Are you sure you want to though? Classes start in a week.” You nodded and the woman started typing on her computer. She asked for your name and your ID number. In just a few minutes, she had unregistered you from all the classes you had signed up for. “If you’d like, I can refund you right now. Do you have a card?” You nodded, taking your credit card out of your wallet. The woman took it, entered the information into the computer, swiped the card, and gave you a receipt. “There’s your money back to you. Good luck with your future.” You thanked her and left the building, walking back to you car. You found yourself sitting in your car outside your former dorm for the third time that day. You let out a sigh of relief, knowing that you would not have to go to school with your ex-boyfriend. You sat there, replaying the things Chris had said to you. You could feel yourself starting to cry again. You turned your car on and pulled out of the parking lot. I’m glad I didn’t actually unpack anything, you thought as you started your drive home. 

You drove in silence, not even the radio on. You had been crying the entire time you’d been driving. You had stopped on the side of the road and called your parents, telling them what happened. Although they were a little upset that you had just dropped out of school, they understood that it was what you needed to do. You had sat on the side of the road, crying, for about an hour. Your eyes were puffy and red, and your nose had been constantly running. You pulled into the driveway of your house and got out. You opened your trunk and started taking your stuff out. You walked into your house with a few boxes in your arms. You put them down when your parents walked up to you. “I’m so sorry, sweetie” you mom said, pulling you into a hug. “I never liked him anyway. You’re better off without him.” you heard your dad say, smiling a little at his way of comforting. They helped you bring the rest of the boxes back into your room, leaving you alone after it was all done. You sat on your bed, surrounded by the boxes it took you forever to pack. You laid back, your head hurting from how much you’d been crying. You felt yourself falling asleep, not caring that you were still in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. You curled up on your side, falling asleep and hoping everything was just a bad dream.

You woke up a few hours later, not feeling rested and your headache not gone. You walked into the bathroom to take some aspirin. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were red, your hair was a mess and your shirt was wrinkled from sleeping, and the collar of your shirt had water spots from where your tears fell on it. You let out a sigh, not having the energy to do anything about how you looked. You checked the time, it’s already 2am?. Your parents were asleep, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep. You walked to the living room, deciding that maybe watching TV would distract your mind. You sat on the couch and noticed a letter on the coffee table. You saw that it was addressed to you. You picked it up, and let out a little laugh. It was from you and it was dated from 10 years earlier. You opened it, not remembering writing a letter to your future self when you were 8. You started reading, not knowing what your 8 year old self had to say to your 18 year old self. “Hi Y/n! It’s you, from 10 years ago. Joe and I decided that I should write this to you, because you probably forgot about the time capsule I buried in Joe’s backyard. It’s buried by the corner of his house, by the flower bed. I hope you like what I put in it!” You sat there, on your couch, memories of burying the time capsule coming back to you. You had no idea what was in it, but you wanted to go to Joe’s to find out. This was a great distraction for you, so without giving it much thought, you wrote a note to your parents telling them you would be at Joe’s. You got in your car and started the short drive to Joe’s house. I could have walked, you thought to yourself, but it was too late now. You stopped in front of Joe’s house a couple of minutes later. There were no lights on in the house. That’s when you realized that 2am probably wasn’t the best time to go dig up a time capsule. You sat back in your seat, trying to decide if you wanted to go back home. Before you could leave, your phone rang. 

“Hello?” you said, not bothering to look at who was calling before you answered. “Y/n, why are you parked outside my house at 2:15 in the morning?” Joe asked, sounding like he had just woken up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I couldn’t sleep. And I got a letter from me when I was a kid about the time capsule I buried in your backyard, but I realize this is not the best time to dig it up.” Joe let out a laugh. “Well, are you going to just sit out there all night, or are you going to come in here?” You rolled your eyes, “I’ll be in in a second.” You hung up, getting out of your car. You walked up to the front door of Joe’s house and waited. After a moment, the door opened and Joe smiled at you as he held it open for you. None of the lights were on in the house, but you made it to Joe’s room with ease. You sat down on his bed as he turned on a lamp, giving the two of you a little bit of light. Joe sat down next to you, and when he looked at you, concern took over his features. That’s when you remembered what you still looked like. You tried to look away, but Joe put a hand on your arm, making you look at him. He took in your red puffy eyes and your tear stained shirt. In a serious voice, he asked “Y/n, what happened?” You took a shaky breath and started to tell him about one of the worst days of your life.  

[trenttrendspotter]

What Recovery Looks Like

COVID-19 arrived and has not yet left. As a society, we initially dealt with the shock, learned to adapt to the “new normal” and we continue to power through. Now, consumers and the brands they use need to dive into the recovery process. The pandemic has made us more resourceful and resilient and we therefore expect the spa and salon industry to come back stronger.  

Traditionally, in a recession, companies that have lean operations, relevant value propositions and a loyal client base will survive. It has also been said that brands that invest during a downturn capture three times more market share. Conversely, going dark in a recession, downturn or crisis can cause more suffering. The more marketing is cut, the longer it will take to recover.  

On the road to recovery, companies need to evaluate what they know, what they learned and how they changed culturally during this crisis.

Factors to consider include:  

● Shoppers were forced to try new things (i.e., virtual consultations) and started to seek out the familiar (at-home self-care).

● People quickly adapted to all things virtual despite early discomfort for many, which has left them craving real-time, in-person interaction.

● Consumers have learned to be quite happy staying at home but it hasn’t stopped the itch to get back out.

● Health consciousness and the desire to boost immunity are on the rise.

● Quarantined clients have been forced to skip hair removal and hair color.

● People have placed more pressure on themselves and peer pressure has risen as the public spends more time surfing and posting on social media.  

We have all realized new needs. Based on these contradictions and behavior patterns we can expect customers to want more connection, truth, meaning, bonds and simplicity.  

Moving forward, consumers will want support, quality, inspiration and versatility. They will have the following questions about every purchase:

● Do I need it?

● Will it work for me?

● Can I get it?

● What are my other options?

As a beauty brand you need to answer these questions before the consumer even asks.

Additionally, your brand should quickly build loyalty with an irregular customer looking for a temporary fix. Ultimately, what many in the cosmetic business have learned was that the core of the business must be expanded to whatever consumers need in the moment, which changes from week to week.

Consumers coming out of the pandemic will have more self-confidence and trust in their abilities and decisions. They will be less dependent on company sales pitches and more aware of what is necessary to live, be healthy and happy. They will value your experience and know-how as well as the quality of their experience with your products or in your facility while using your equipment.

It’s not what you say, it’s how you make people feel. Everyone wants to feel good about the future. You need to show your clients that they can be confident that your business will make it. Your customers want to be on the healthy, winning team. People vote with their dollars and they want to be aligned with the brands that are giving back.  

The companies that were able to pivot to digital, delivery and donations are the companies that will be first to thrive.

6 Companies’ Journey to Recovery

1. Spa Revolutions

With the current state of the industry, Spa Revolutions, the creator of patented thermal wellness massage tools, began an affiliate program for new and existing clients that affords them a 30% commission as credit toward inventory purchase when their clients purchase at-home spa products.

When signing up for the program, affiliates also receive free samples of the new ThermaBliss Charges. The charges heat up using only tap water to eliminate the need for electrical appliances so users can deliver five-star spa treatments anywhere the client would like. More than 250 spas inquired about the free sample program and affiliate program, and more than 540 samples have been sent out.

Tools like this are coming in handy as there is going to be a burgeoning need for enhanced mobile spa services.

Glenn Hogle, co-founder of Spa Revolutions said, “We feel like one of the lucky ones and we are grateful because the comprehensive line of thermal wellness solutions for professionals truly answers the call for safety and sanitation in this new COVID-19 reality. All ThermaBliss treatments ensure the highest sanitation levels, deliver continuous radiant heat for the duration of the service using only mineral energy and water for total portability in on-the-go services—all this while eliminating the need to purchase, lug around or plug in electrical appliances.”

Spa Revolutions’ self-heating Lava Stones massage tools are non-porous and sanitize in seconds compared to the traditionally porous and hard to sanitize hot stones with their communal turkey-roaster-water-heater pot. Cal-a-Vie Health Spa is in the process of removing all its porous stones and roasters and switching to Spa Revolutions non-porous stones for sanitation purposes.

Cal-a-Vie Health Spa’s director, Traci Trezona, said, “We have learned to keep an open mind for how things can be done differently and more effectively regarding sanitation. We are ensuring that all of our products are sanitary and client-exclusive [single use].”

2. Peet Bros.

Another fortunate business to be in is the soap business, even if the brand is new.

David Bass, president of Peet Bros., stated, “Just like everyone else, these unprecedented times have forced us to think of the world and how we run our business differently. The good news for our business is that we are in soap and personal care, which consumers will always need in some form. The not-so-good news is that we are a new brand in the market, and we are trying to figure out our path. We will continue to focus on our key messages and push the limits on innovation.”

New companies, like Peet Bros., need to get creative about getting in front of the right buyers at retailers and be patient as it takes more time.

3. City Beauty

Known for decades for its plumping lip gloss, City Beauty has been keeping people Zoom-ready in lockdown while lip injections and other popular treatments remain unattainable.  

Allyson Barrio, director of national accounts at City Beauty, said, “At City Beauty, we have a very strong digital footprint and heritage. While many skin care and cosmetic brands are busy learning the ropes of what omnichannel presence means, we are already experts. With the strong educational focus and consumer feedback that we prioritize within our direct-to-consumer models, we have experienced strong growth. Specifically, where industry reports show lip categories performing softly and at a decline, we are experiencing strength like never before.”

With a shift to online consumer spending, City Beauty has been able to gain even more brand exposure.

Barrio explained, "To better serve our customers during this challenging time, we've reduced the price of our products for an extended period. This includes waiving shipping fees, a 15% off site-wide discount and deeper discounts than we normally offer on our top-selling products—up to 60% off.”

City Beauty also broadened its communication channels by adding a live chat feature on its website and modifying email content—including at-home beauty DIYs, emotional health tips and lighthearted, engaging stories.

Kim Ferguson, owner of Kilee Distribution, one of City Beauty’s distributors, said, “I refuse to call it the new normal. I believe in the creativity of independent retailers, and the strong ones will survive this. Because we specialize in serving small retailers, many without an online presence, our business almost came to a standstill. We did manage to service those who were being creative with curbside pickup and even delivery of at-home beauty care packages.”  

Online retailers have had the advantage.

Ferguson predicted, “I have vendors that are now only shipping products to their online retailers even though the small stores are begging for products. The mom-and-pop, small-town businesses do not have a lot of foot traffic at any one time. If they can open back up as normal, I see business picking up to 60% of what it was at closure. Hopefully by Fall [2020] up to 75%. We will lose a lot of stores that were barely hanging on as it was.”

4. SilcSkin

Beauty brands such as SilcSkin, which offers all-natural anti-aging pads made of 100% medical-grade silicone, have also proven to be an ideal isolation beauty necessity for women who cannot get their usual wrinkle treatments.

The patches adhere to the skin to keep trouble spots smooth and wrinkle-free while you sleep; however, 65% of SilcSkin’s business has been to spas and salons that have been closed. The company’s main pathway to meeting new clients has been predominantly through conventions/conferences, which have all been canceled. No refunds were given, only credits for future shows.

Camille della Santina, the Emmy-award-winning celebrity makeup artist and founder of SilcSkin stated, “I’m not sure when or how they will be able to hold these events with large gatherings in the future. It is not financially viable to attend these conferences if the attendance is low. We have partnered with online professional esthetician groups to introduce the product to estheticians. We want to help these estheticians however we can with our dropship program and by removing minimum orders. We will also continue to enhance our partnerships with professional esthetician groups. I really feel this is the new avenue for spa and salon continuing education. While SilcSkin was known for its customer service, we have upped it 110%. I think we really need kindness in these times.”

Many businesses have discovered during this pandemic that they need to stay connected to their regular customers while they are forced apart. Your personal touch has never been more important. You must find a way to do this.

5. Chiavaye

Shortly before the pandemic hit the United States, Kaylyn Easton launched Chiavaye, an all-natural, all-purpose vegan personal moisturizer available at natural grocers. Chiavaye will soon launch in other mass retailers, such as Walmart.

Since the nationwide lockdown started, Chiavaye has had a greater focus on online conversations and being present on popular media outlets.

Easton said, “The Chiavaye YouTube channel has increased viewership and comments. We also send out a special newsletter to our Chiavaye family with date ideas for couples during COVID-19 and fun reading material on female wellness topics.”

6. HydroPeptide

HydroPeptide, which combines epigenetics and peptides, continued to introduce new products including a new hydrating Vital Eyes Instant Awakening Serum as the mask culture will be putting an emphasis on eyes. HydroPeptides’ Vital Eyes minimizes the look of dark circles, fine lines and wrinkles over time using an eye-safe retinol alternative called bakuchiol. The treatment brightens hyperpigmentation and reduces the look of crow’s feet. It has a cooling rollerball that massages with anti-inflammatory caffeine to increase blood circulation and instantly depuffs for a smoother, brighter undereye.

As spas begin to open across the country, many are wondering what safety precautions are being taken to ensure the safety of both employees and clients. Amy Mclain, the spa director for Kenneth’s Salon and Spa in Ohio where HydroPeptide is on the menu, and her estheticians have been preparing for re-opening.

Mclain shared, “This experience has really reinforced the need for human connection in this business. The entire customer experience, from when they call to schedule an appointment to when they leave the spa or salon, is so important. Mental health and wellbeing play a big role in the spa industry, so we have been viewing our business through that lens to ensure we are giving our guests the best, most relaxing experience possible. Things in the spa have not changed too much from before, because we were already following rigorous sanitary guidelines. But we have given everyone 15 more minutes in between guests to clean their stations, and there is no longer a lobby where guests check-in, making room for wider spaces in between blow-dry stations so we can maintain six-foot distances between everything.”  

Recovery will look much the same. Each week will bring new findings and cause new habits to develop and we must continue to adapt, persevere and market to existing and new audiences.

As Seen in Global Cosmetics Industry

[pauperpedia]

Tuesday Brewsday 26: Eyeing Bully with Deluxeicoff

For over a month now I’ve been playing Boros Bully a lot, and have been fairly successful. I’ve topped 16 a challenge, came in third place in the Facebook league, Won a PCT event while coming in 2nd and top 8 in two others. The whole time I was thinking if there was any room for improvements and implemented some ideas. Whenever you want to make changes to a deck however, you need to go back and see what works and the reasoning behind why certain cards are in the deck. Since I wanted to write about the deck regarding this, I thought there was no better person to consult than the original deck designer himself, Deluxeicoff. I asked him four questions about the deck, but first, here is the mainboard decklist I’ve fallen in love with.

1 Sentinel's Eyes

4 Faithless Looting

4 Thraben Inspector

4 Seeker of the Way

4 Squadron Hawk

1 Guardian of the Guildpact

2 Palace Sentinels

4 Battle Screech

2 Rally the Peasants

4 Prismatic Strands

1 Firebolt

1 Electrickery

4 Lightning Bolt

2 Journey to Nowhere

1 Oblivion Ring

1 Secluded Steppe

4 Boros Garrison

6 Mountain

6 Plains

4 Wind-Scarred Crag

So what did the original creator of Bully have to say about his beloved Delver killer?

Q1: Originally you didn’t run Palace Sentinels. What was your reasoning and do you still stand by this?  

A1: Bully was an aggro deck at its start and the metagame at the time didn't have too much Tron, so using Raise the Alarm EOT had A LOT of play options/surprises and game wins...from the obvious fueling battle screech out of the blue, to blocking, to having a double answer to fling with opponents countermagic - its combination with prismatic strands was paramount and I still feel this build is the right call given the metagame and/or shifts in it.  Remember, I placed 3rd in a challenge on its debut, and was a shoe-in for the win if I had one more second.  My last round in the top 8 was vs. familiars and I timed out with lethal on the stack - MEGA frustrating... Palace Sentinels slows the deck down, but is necessary vs. Tron... but I'm still not sure since the addition of it didn't make the match THAT much better, just a bit - moreover the ability to protect monarch via strands is usually the angle.  More importantly was my lack of using Thraben Inspectors - that was a design miss on my end, I leaned heavily on sacred cats for their brutal efficiency and re-use-ability. I've liked Guaridan of the Guildpact mix with Monarch, but I'd never play more than two Palace Sentinels personally.  Just a few weeks later, I placed 2nd in the Rags to Riches tournament in Seattle using 2 Palace main. It has been awesome to see the variations of the list over the last year or so - no right answers, just cool tweaks for the given state of the game. 

Q2: Are there any new cards that would improve the deck?  

A2: From my original design, there is now an instant that does the same thing - but I feel your recent addition of one Sentinel's Eyes is very 'on-brand.'  The DNA of the deck is Faithless Looting - pitching stuff in your yard that can come back makes faithless looting feel like a cheap Treasure Cruise.  Future expansions continue to come, pay attention to abilities like retrace and embalm, escape etc..,  I feel the lack of "Seal of Fire" is a bad call in most lists - this card isn't "NEW" but it is often overlooked...once out, it is an un-counterable option to about 90% of the critters in Pauper.

Q3: What decks typically give this one a hard time? What is the strategy you find best to beat those decks?  

A3: Tron was and is always an issue...decks with recursion locks.  A combination of Monarch, Flaring Pain, graveyard hate, sheer aggro pumps and/or land destruction are all decent ways to attack, but it is usually a hard matchup...which is why I like the surprise value in Raise the Alarm/more aggro approach.  As much as I like to have a 'GOTCHA!" card - Tron is too resilient, and in the end, it is often best to be the problem.  Also, at Pauper's first ProTour LA - I went undefeated -(after a first round scoop due to my lands mysteriously vanishing and taking a loss to start.)  In that list, I ran COP Black - because Nasty's build of Gurmag/Dimir build was very popular, but I had success vs. it with that simple addition...Guardian's of the Guild don't hurt much either there :)

Q4: If WOTC let you design a card for Bully, what would it be and what would it replace?

A4:  Hmm...it would need to be a sideboard card vs. Tron...flexible and have some interaction with the graveyard.

I really enjoyed getting Deluxeicoff’s take on Boros Bully. I still remember the Rags to Riches event held by Card Kingdom in Seattle where I got to share a drink and hang out with him to play some pauper before the event started. If you ever find yourself with some free time on Saturday, Deluxeicoff broadcasts his Pauperganda show via Twitch at 9 am pst. He also has a YouTube channel, a Facebook page, and if you want to support him go donate through buymeacoffee.

So what are my hot takes on the deck and what have I tried to implement? I’ve been loving the fact that Bully can beat practically any aggro strategy out there. With the uncommonly strong (pun intended) Seeker of the Way combined with Prismatic Strands, it’s easy to recover and then take the game away through the air with Battle Screech and Rally the Peasants. Whenever I see a turn 1 island, I breathe a sigh of relief knowing that I have the upper hand in the match. Considering Delver decks are on the uptick and Tron is seldom seen in leagues or community run events, I’d say Bully is in a good spot right now.

Recently I’ve tried out some new cards in the deck to see if they improved upon the ole Bully on the block. I started out by moving towards a more artifact centered deck so I could run Galvanic Blast alongside Lightning Bolt. I did this by removing Journey to Nowhere, Oblivion Ring, and one Guardian of the Guildpact. My reasoning behind this was that it could give the deck more reach and have a shot a taking out Tron once they have a fog lock. In the end I didn’t really like the mashup between Monarch and Bully the deck resembled. Stumbling on mana or constantly having an underpowered blast in the face of artifact removal was harsh. I also felt like the change made some matchups worse like Affinity or UB Delver where I wish I still had Journey to Nowhere. Maybe I just cut the wrong cards to make room for Galvanic Blast, but in my opinion it just made the deck awkward.

Next I tried playing with two copies of Underworld Rage-Hound. I remembered way back when the deck played with Sanctuary Cat, it was such a great feeling to have access to a creature that not only spat in the face of removal, but pitching it to Faithless Looting never felt like a feel bad moment. The problem I ran into though was the same one that plagued the cat, there was no evasion to push through damage. Worse, having to attack every turn really took away its potential as a road block. The only positive I saw when playing Underworld Rage-Hound was when I faced a Tron deck, and even then it eventually got stonehorned. Too many creatures can block it and kill it, and Gurmag Angler just plain eats it.

After that I wanted to explore the escape mechanic further. I had see the success Sentinel’s eyes was having in decks like Hexproof and Heroic and wondered if a deck like this could embrace it al well. So far I’ve really like the inclusion of one copy of Sentinel’s Eyes. Being able to cast it from the graveyard by exiling a mere two cards and paying one white mana has been amazing. It instantly turns any of your birds into a threat, or gives your Seeker of the Way some added oomph. Another feature of Sentinel’s Eyes is that it gives the creature vigilance which Prismatic Strands loves. I really think Sentinel’s Eyes has a home here, but you might want to play around with the card you take out. The deck usually runs 2 Guardian of the Guildpact, but I’ve cut one to make room for it. I could see the deck maybe cutting a Firebolt or Lightning Bolt, possibly even Oblivion Ring instead. Only time and more “eyes” on the deck will tell.

1 Electrickery

1 Flaring Pain

1 Leave No Trace

3 Pyroblast

1 Ramosian Rally

2 Red Elemental Blast

2 Shenanigans

1 Standard Bearer

1 Oblivion Ring

1 Aura Fracture

1 Tormod's Crypt

My sideboard is a bit different than you might see. When it comes to my artifact removal, as much as I love Gorilla Shaman, I think Shenanigans plays really well with the deck’s plan. That’s why I run two, so I can increase the odds of a backbreaking turn two play against affinity.

I’ve always loved Aura Fracture in my white decks. A lot of the time this deck will have excess mana to pitch to Aura Fracture. Being able to continually destroys an enchantment can keep opposing Journey to Nowheres at bay and Hexproof from turning their Bogle into something even Ulamog would be scared of.

On that note I also love Standard Bearer. One of the decks that I hate losing to constantly is Elves. Standard Bearer can shut down their game plan of making huge elves with Timberwatch Elf. It also helps in the burn matchup by eating a bolt. Tireless Tribe has a hard time getting through it without Gut Shot as well. There are a plethora of reasons to run Standard Bearer, which is why I can’t not include.

The last oddball I run is a lone copy of Tormod’s Crypt. I like this over Relic of Progenitus for the reason that it doesn’t hit my graveyard when sacrificed. Being able to cast it for free is another boon when I absolutely need to find it and burn through two faithless lootings leaving me tapped out. It’s happened before and I was sure glad I was running that over Nihil Spellbomb.

That about sums it up. Get out there and bully your opponent in the best way, by swinging for lethal with a rally of birds. I hope you have enjoyed these blogs/articles. I’m always open to feedback and simply want to provide the best content I can. I’m always open to collaborate on a deck as well. Please visit and like/follow my Facebook page pauperpedia, a fan page dedicated to bringing you links to daily articles, videos, and podcast covering Pauper. You can also email me at Pauperpedia@gmail.com if any of you have submissions as well. Till next time folks, have a happy Brewsday!

[renaroo]

The Search (5/16)

Disclaimer: Red vs Blue and related characters are the property of Rooster Teeth. Warnings: Language, Canon-typical violence, Psychological manipulation and trauma Rating: T Synopsis: [Canon Divergence - Alternate S15] The Reds and Blues saved Chorus, but it has been a year and they are still missing. A motley crew has been gathered with the common goal of finding the war heroes, though the road is more troubled than anyone seems to realize.

A/N: YAY. I updated on Thursday again which is like, maybe the first time this week I released something on the right day lol. I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty proud of that record. But there’s some more development and some more surprises this chapter, so I hope you guys are prepared ; ) 

Special thanks to @secretlystephaniebrown, @blaireaters, @analiarvb, @cobaltqueen, @notatroll7, Yin, and JP for the comments and feedback!

Resident Troublemakers

“You want us to waltz onto an entire planet-wide prison in the hopes of finding someone who you think is dead?” Dylan attempted to clarify.

The group was gathered in the cockpit of the ship, circled around Doctor Grey whose blistering enthusiasm was something the reporter had only recently come to be wary of like a double edged sword. Especially when, like just that moment, Grey shifted her entire focus on her. The glint in those eyes were certainly something to be wary of, though Andrews as a seasoned reporter kept staring straight back into them.

If they didn’t solve the Reds and Blues mystery sooner rather than later, one of them was likely to crack.

Andrews was determined to not be the one to bring that prophecy to fruition.

“That was a rather condescending spin on my words, Miss Andrews,” Doctor Grey replied flatly.

“It’s a statement of fact,” Dylan replied. “This… President, on Chorus, who you’ve apparently given a direct communication line to from our illegally traveling vessel, is directing us toward a prison planet. And on that planet, according to records from an AI you downloaded at an aggressive force’s base while they tried to kill us, is a former lieutenant who you all believed was dead for years but is somehow listed in the files of Charon Industries.”

“I don’t seem to detect a question among that rabble, Miss Andrews,” Doctor Grey said, hands on her hips.

“Okay, enough with biting each other’s heads off,” Agent Washington interrupted, holding up hands as if to keep both women back away from each other. “Miss Andrews, we understand the risk of having an open communication channel with this much distance between ourselves and Chorus, but we trust President Kimball. She’s one of us. And with Santa running the program from their end, I have confidence in its safety.”

Dylan looked at them all, completely bewildered. “Santa?”

“It’s an amazingly simple but unnecessary story,” Agent Carolina assured her. “But he’s an AI.”

“He,” Dylan repeated with a hum of thought. “But as an AI shouldn’t it… be an it.”

“How rude,” the FILSS AI spoke from the ship’s speakers.

“Yes, almost as rude as questioning the only one who has been pulling their weight on this trip thus far,” Doctor Grey said, cocking her head to the side as she stared holes into Andrews.

“Emily, she has a right to second guess us,” Agent Carolina reminded her. “She doesn’t have the history or experiences with each other that we have.”

“Thank you,” Dylan replied.

“But we don’t have the time to second guess everything. Especially since FILSS has already directed us to the coordinates of the prison where we can find Lieutenant Husk,” Carolina continued.

“Uh, and because someone’s driving us with those coordinates, hello!” Kaikaina Grif snapped from the pilot’s seat. “Sheesh. What’s a girl have to do to get a little recognition every now and then? Take out my tits?”

“No,” Washington snapped while the alien progeny in his seat still began chortling and honking in laughter at the proposal.

“Well, maybe we should make some time,” Dylan interrupted, undeterred. “Because while I may not have the history of the rest of this team, I certainly have the information of what has been going on in the rest of the UNSC ran territories outside of your single colony planet that, until recently, has had no access to the rest of the Earth-bound settlements.”

Carolina leaned in closer, arms crossed. “Alright. As in…?”

“As in the fact that the prison planet you’re taking us to also should be abandoned at this point, though the record has been muddled since the story got buried during the reveal of the Chorusian situation and all of the scandal that ensued from your broadcast,” Dylan explained calmly.

“Should… why isn’t it certain?” Washington asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Because the final transport ship meant to bring all of those remaining convicts to a more permanent habitual situation was never given a final destination. Instead, it was kept in standby, going from one end of the galaxy to the other, keeping the criminals within from contact with any outside legal counsel,” she continued. “It was a huge UNSC scandal, considering the unalienable right to legal representation… until the USS Tartarus conveniently disappeared from radar.”

Immediately, Carolina, Grey, and Washington looked at each other.

“Wasn’t that…” Carolina began.

“It was,” Grey said confidently.

Washington ran a hand through his hair and groaned. “Our lives are a goddamn circle.”

“Or, a Venn diagram, because I’ve been listening this whole time and still don’t know what the eff is going on!” Kaikaina snapped from the front.

“We know about the Tartarus,” Carolina informed both Dylan and Kaikaina. “It was redirected toward Chorus, and many of its crew were utilized by Malcolm Hargrove to fight the armies of Chorus when they were united under Generals Kimball and Doyle.”

Dylan nearly choked on her own breath. “How… What? If that’s… If that’s true, do you realize what kind of story that is? That the Chairman of the Oversight Subcommittee to the UNSC, already dripping in scandal, was involved with the unlawful detention of over one hundred people and then employed them as his own mercenary force? Don’t you have any idea what that means?”

“I know it meant a lot of additional pain and suffering of my people, Miss Andrews,” Doctor Grey said coldly.

“Hey,” Kai shouted out, gripping everyone’s attention. “Aren’t we supposed to be coming up on a, like, ghost planet? Like no one around?”

“If we’ve got all our facts straight, yes,” Carolina answered, turning to face the front of the ship.

“Yeah, okay, well, that shit’s weird then,” Kaikaina informed them.

“What shit, Li’l Grif?” Carolina asked, leaning over her shoulder.

“We are receiving a beacon of approval to land even though I had not requested permission yet,” FILSS answered. “The approval seems to be signed by a Lieutenant Husk.”

“My stars and garters,” Doctor Grey gasped. “Kimball’s information was right — Husk didn’t die in his attempt to get off planet during the height of the war!”

“Or,” Washington interjected, “this is an obvious trap.”

“‘Kay. I see both your sides,” Grif answered, still focusing on the planet ahead. “But what’s that mean for us? Like, Boss Lady, what’s your call?”

All eyes fell onto Carolina as she stood up and looked at the planet squarely.

“Accept the approval and land. We’ve come this far on the information we have,” she answered. “And even if it’s not Lieutenant Husk, then we can still beat the answers out of someone.”

“Whoo! Violence! Can’t say no to that answer! Or they get smacked. That’s the reason it’s always the best option,” Kaikaina announced.

Warily, Dylan glanced between them all. “Of course…” she said lowly, though it did still grab all their attention, “even if this is your Chorus lieutenant… there are questions that you will need to have answered before we can take his word on anything.”

“Of course,” Carolina conceded. “We’ll be on the defensive either way.”

“Now landing on Gliese 163 c of the UNSC mining federation’s industrial detention compound,” FILSS chirped out happily from the speakers.

“We should let me take the head of this, after all Alexander was a lieutenant in the Federal Army of Chorus when he left. He will acknowledge me by my armor and it will be quicker for us to go through the motions and get answers,” Doctor Grey said.

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” Dylan argued, earning an immediate look of ire from the doctor. “Look, we still don’t know that it’s really him. And if it isn’t, then this entire plan is hinging on the relative drop of your guard as the one who would take the most meaning from this person’s presence.”

“I am more than capable of maintaining my sense of self-preservation, Miss Andrews,” Grey snapped. “You may receive fame from recounting the tales of the battlefield, but on Chorus I am known from surviving them, and making sure the population that exists currently also survived it.”

“It was not meant in disrespect,” Dylan bit back, though she knew saying as much through clenched teeth did not exactly help her cause.

“It sounds as if you’re attempting to put yourself at the forefront of this again,” Grey noted. “Which, I should remind us all, did not work out well last time.”

“Grey’s right in that this will be dangerous, Dylan,” Carolina cautioned.

“Despite what apprehensions you all seem to have about reporters, I have scruples and I have lived with more than enough danger,” Dylan answered sternly.

“Yeah, but you don’t have a gun,” Kaikaina suddenly spoke up, twirling a piston on her pointer finger with far too much comfort. “Even I’ve got a gun. Letting you off the ship on a prison planet — ghosts or no ghosts — without a gun would be like letting the alien puppy out. Probably not the best idea.”

“Give me that!” Wash snapped, yanking the gun off Kai’s finger and then handing it back to her with a proper grip. “Giving you a gun is probably not the best idea.”

Dylan was peeved but Kai’s words struck an odd cord with her and suddenly she was looking around the cockpit.

“Um… speaking of which… I don’t… seem to see…” Dylan began to point out.

Everyone else looked around as well before a collective, “JUNIOR!” was screamed in panic.

“Blaaaaaargh.”

It didn’t matter if it was his prep school or if it was Sanghelios or if it was the stupid ship with his father’s eccentric and loud friends — adults were pretty much all the same to Junior. Annoying, slow, and far too reserved.

And slow.

If they were too afraid to venture out into the planet on their own, then it was up to Junior to get the search for his father and the rest of his family underway himself. Just like how the Freelancers still hadn’t left Chorus yet by the time Junior reached there in the stolen Sangheili cruiser.

As much as they may have acted different, it didn’t seem like his father’s other friends were any more prone to actually taking action over just talking than his father and the Reds and Blues had been before them. Everyone in Junior’s life needed a push.

And since Junior wasn’t a great conversationalist himself, he had long decided to be the pusher.

Still, the further he traversed the long, rocky grounds of the prison complex, and the more his every step echoed, the more Junior began to wonder if, just perhaps, his plan for action had been slightly impatient.

Reminding himself that they were supposed to be meeting with a friendly face, Junior sucked in a large gulp of air then cupped his hands around his mouth before letting out a few loud honks.

They echoed against brick and stone walls around him. In the distance, it sounded as though something was crumbling. Like even the abandoned walls of the prison were unsure of what to make of his calls.

Disappointment crossing over him, Junior huffed and lowered his hands before continuing to walk forward.

He might have been young, but Junior had been in enough space ports already in his life that he knew that air control usually had a station near the landing bay. And if they had a clearance granted to them, that meant someone was in the control room there to give it to them.

It was close to a lead as he could have hoped to have.

Looking around, Junior noticed a tower and decided that it — and its tall radio needle atop — were the most likely place to go to for control rooms and any prospected people that might be within it.

He walked forward at a decent pace before hearing another distinct crumbling noise from not that far off.

Surprised, Junior turned to look in its direction.

Once was nothing. Twice was coincidence, albeit heart pounding.

More suspicious than before, Junior began walking again when the third crumbling noise finally pointed him and his fierce, but also fearful, roar in the direction of his follower.

“The alien’s onto us!” someone shouted from the building above.

“Die, Covenant Scum!” someone else screamed.

Junior’s eyes finally found the followers only to see prisoners in orange garb, half covered in swat armor and various other guard gear. Though, most concerning from Junior’s position, was the woman between them whose armor was more military grade — like that of Agent Carolina or Washington — who came up between them and pulled a rocket launcher from over her shoulder.

“Blargh—“ Junior began to curse.

“JUNIOR!”

Agent Washington hit Junior at full force before he could process that it was the Freelancer’s voice screaming at him. They rolled — Wash holding to Junior tight — into the nearest space between the opposing buildings just before a giant explosion ate up the very ground where Junior had previously stood.

“When this is all over, you better believe I’m going to tell your father about this,” Wash snapped, breathing heavily from their near escape.

Honking, Junior worriedly tried to express that they needed to do something but he began hearing gunshots and the thunks of combat.

“Yeah, your Aunt Carolina’s a bit pissed to,” Wash warned.

Moaning, Junior covered his face with his hands.