#look I like connor as a character but this is ridiculous

[norringtondeservestheworld]

Just remembered of that video on Youtube that showed what happened if Connor found Simon in the roof and how 75% of the comments were about poor Connor having trauma.

Yeah because between the terminator who hunts and/or kill androids just because they want to be free and the deviant who sacrifices himself killing himself to protect the same people who left him is the first one the one who got the worse fate and the one we are supposed to feel sorry for right?

[titsthedamnseason]

YOURE WELCOME FOR THE REMINDER BC I THINK ABOUT THAT POST AT LEAST ONCE A WEEK (and the mbobhft + lilo post) 🫡 i am patiently waiting for the parallels :)

oh yes even when i try i can never think of anyone but lilo during the bridge of that song it’s actually just so fucking perfect (and heart wrenching??? it always gets me teary)

but yeah the day i made the connection with coballoway and so high school something shifted for me. like it’s so fitting that it’s insaneeeee

[kaelaheartsyou]

FEVER DREAM

caitlin clark x reader type | 5.1k words, 19k characters

warnings:

literally pure smut idk guys wtf

mentions of connor mccaffery

it honestly felt like a fever dream.

you had made your way into a small bar in downtown indianapolis with your friend jess.

it was an average friday night, you guys always went to the same bar, on the same day, at the same time.

the warm atmosphere of the place was alive the dim lighting of the downtown bar illuminated swathes of wood and metal, r&b music softly playing in the background. the walls were decorated with framed photographs of local athletes, and the chatter of people filled the air, punctuated by laughter and the clinking of glasses. it was a typical friday night, and the place buzzed with energy—especially after a victorious game by the fever.

even if you didnt follow basketball, you knew who the indiana fever were. who caitlin clark was.

it was here that you found yourself, perched on a stool at the bar, sharing a moment with your friend, jess. you both had decided to revel in the post-game buzz that encapsulated the entire venue. there were fans that had came straight from the game, wearing fever gear to celebrate the win.

from across the bustling space, your gaze landed on what you would've never expected to see. the whole team there, gathered around a few couches playing pool.

sitting next to who you knew was her boyfriend connor, was none other than caitlin clark. you scoffed looking at her, she was dressed quite casually. her athletic build was hidden by a crewneck with the words 'indiana fever womens basketball' splayed across it and simple black cargo pants that spoke both of comfort and style.

you sighed before turning back to jess "look." you said motioning your head to the group.

her eyes widened momentarily before speaking "quite brave of them to show up to a bar, where tons of their fans are"

a small chuckle escaped past your lips "do you think they're actually together? or maybe some type of stunt to prevent people from questioning her?" you asked, shifting the conversation to connor and caitlin.

she thought for a moment before a sly grin appeared on her lips "either way people question her. but you should find out"

you found her words almost comical. ALMOST. instead she just sounded downright ridiculous. idiotic even.

you laughed dryly "you're funny you know that?" you said, but you couldnt help turning your head back to caitlin who had what looked like a forced smile on her face as she watched connor talk to another girl, occasionally saying a word or two.

jess followed your gaze before responding "im not joking though. i mean, how fucking cool would it be to say you hooked up with caitlin clark!" she said a little too loudly for comfort

your eyes widened, not just at how loud she was, but at her words themselves. "oh my god you're being serious?!" you whispered shouted.

she smirked at you "oh cmon whats the harm, shes clearly not enjoying herself"

you assumed from videos and pictures you'd seen online that she was quite literally the embodiment of confidence, though looking at her sitting on the couch with her boyfriend, it was hard not to notice how she seemed to lean away from connor, who was engrossed in conversation with some other girl standing nearby. an amused smile crossed your lips, and you turned to jess to share your thoughts. "god, that’s pathetic," you laughed, shaking your head slightly. you both chuckled at the amusing, albeit unfortunate, dynamics of relationships, not realizing that caitlin had momentarily glanced in your direction.

for a split second, the bustle around you fell away. then jess, still giggling, suddenly stopped. she hit your arm lightly, eyes wide, and motioned towards caitlin. you turned back to see her actively staring at you now, her expression hinting at an undeniable intrigue. there was something in they way she looked at you that made your heart race unexpectedly... or maybe you were just delusional.

but when she glanced away briefly and suddenly stood up, you definitely felt your heart rate pick up a little. you watched as she skillfully navigated through the crowd and towards the bar where you and jess were sitting. you turned your attention back to jess, a small part of you hoping she would come up to you. but unsurprisingly and to your luck, she didnt. instead she ordered a round of shots for her team.

you watched secretly as she leaned against the bar looking around and jess nudged you, raising her eyebrows. you simply scoffed muttering a quiet "stop." to which she put her hands up in surrender, dropping the topic at hand.

after caitlin walked away with the shots, getting some help from connor, jess got up to order a drink and you realized you needed one of your own.

"can you get me something? something strong." you asked and she nodded

after a good 5 minutes she returned, sliding your drink in front of you. you eagerly took a sip, cringing slightly at the burning sensation.

"dude what the fuck is this" you groaned taking another sip.

"long island iced somethin, i dont know! the bartender recommended it" she shrugged before sipping her own drink.

you just sighed, before reluctantly finishing the drink as the night progressed. you knew you were drunk when you allowed jess to pull you to the dance floor without complaining. you danced along side the other people on the floor when you caught a glimpse of caitlin walking into the bathroom. and before your drunken mind could think twice about it, you found yourself following her.

inside the dimly lit hallway leading to the restrooms, the noise of the bar faded into a faint murmur. you hesitated briefly before entering the women’s restroom, where caitlin was already fixing her hair in the mirror.

you were already regretting your decision as you cleared your throat awkwardly, standing a safe distance away from her before pretending to adjust your outfit in the mirror.

she was focused on her hair for a moment before glancing at you in the mirror, giving you a once over. “you stalking me?” she asked slightly amused and your heart nearly stopped.

"no- um..no i just.. needed to fix my outfit" you said quickly. internally groaning at how nervous you sounded.

she chuckled, raising a brow. “uh huh.” she replied, turning to lean against the sink. “and i assume you weren't staring at me earlier either?”

"staring? i wasnt staring, my friend noticed you were here so i simply looked. i didnt stare" you lied straight through your teeth as you turned fully to face her.

a soft smirk played on her lips as she hummed. “right. not staring.” she teased. “so, why did you follow me in here then?” she followed up

and for a moment you completely forgot she was fucking caitlin clark. in your defense you were slightly drunk, not even thinking when you spit out your next words

"nobody followed you in here. i came to fix my outfit thats all" you scoffed, simultaneously rolling your eyes. you hadnt even noticed that she had taken a few steps closer to you. you glanced up nervously, only now were you realizing the insane height difference between you two.

she smirked softly, stepping away from the sink and slowly walking over to you, the smirk still on her lips. “right, right.” she said, nodding. she stopped in front of you, her eyes glancing you up and down. “your outfit looks fine to me.”

you furrowed your brows. what does one even say when they're caught in a lie? "um- yeah, because i fixed it" i said in an obvious tone

“mhm.” she hummed, nodding. she took a glance to the bathroom door.

you bit your lip looking up at her, you were still leaning back against the sink. "you having fun with your boyfriend?" you asked

she raised a brow, stepping closer again, now standing in front of you. her expression was unreadable, but the smirk on her lips told she was amused.

“why do you care?” she asked, her eyes scanning your face, studying your body, slowly.

"just wondering, didnt look like you were having a good time" you shrugged

"oh? so you were watching me the whole night?" she said in a teasing tone, lifting a brow. she let her eyes slowly rake over your body once more, her tongue slowly licking her lips.

your eyes widened momentarily at your slip up "not.. the whole night, i just.. noticed." you said looking back up at her

“righttt.” she hummed, not buying it. she took another step forward, now basically trapping you up against the sink.

“i didn’t think I’d have someone so fixated on me.” she said in a teasing tone, that smirk still tugging at her lips.

"you cant be serious.. you're caitlin clark.. in a bar.. full of your fans" you said amused. nonetheless you couldnt help but nervously look at down at where your bodies practically connected.

a soft chuckle left her lips, her eyes still on yours, taking in your reaction. her eyes flickered down to where your face was fixated and that smirk just grew again.

her smirk widened. “oh, so you're a fan then.” she teased, cocking her head to the side again, her eyes still studying your body.

one of her hands slowly slid up your waist and slowly around to the small of your back, pulling your hips to her.

your breath hitched involuntarily "um..no?" you honestly werent, but you weren't complaining about the position you were currently in.

caitlin chuckled softly, noticing the way your breath hitched. she slowly leaned forwards, her body pressing against yours. “you're not? so you wouldn’t mind if I did…this?” she asked, gripping your hip with one hand before leaning in, her lips hovering over yours

you glanced down at her lips before back up at her "no" you whispered

that was all she needed, her smirk turning into a devilish smile before she pressed her lips to yours. the kiss wasn’t shy or tentative, she was dominating and in charge, nipping your lip before slipping her tongue into your mouth.

you moaned softly into the kiss, your hand coming up to tangle in her hair

she pulled you impossibly close, backing you up so you were pressed against the sink, her hand gripping your waist as if to pin you there. her tongue exploring your mouth, she let out a soft moan as one of your hands tangled into her hair.

slowly she turned us around to back us into the bigger sized stall at the end, pulling away for a second to kick close and lock the door before pulling you in for another heated kiss

her hands were on you in an instant, exploring your body. she let out a another soft moan against your lips, pushing you up against the door, her body pressing against you. she slowly lifted your leg up, resting it against her hip as she slowly broke the kiss to kiss down your neck.

you threw your head back against the door, exposing more of your neck for her. your hand coming to tangle back into her hair

she kissed down your neck, nipping softly as her hands began to roam. exploring your body, they slowly ran up your thigh to your hip, her tongue sliding along your pulse point. she bit down on your neck, sucking on the skin there.

"fuck caitlin" you sighed biting your lip. one of your hands sliding underneath her crewneck, feeling her exposed skin.

she groaned against your neck, her fingers digging into your hips as your hand slid underneath her crewneck, the feeling of your fingers making her shiver. she nipped your ear, and spoke in a low whisper, “you like that?”

"yeah..i do" you said slowly "can i take this off?" you said pulling at the hem off her sweatshirt

she nodded as her lips connected to your neck again, her tongue licking at the sensitive skin. “go ahead.” she mumbled, pulling away to help you pull off the crewneck.

you tossed it on the small counter connected to the wall, glancing down at her body clad in just a black nike sports bra. you let out a slow shaky breath and for a moment you remember that you're literally pinned against a stall door by caitlin fucking clark. her words snapped me out of my trance

her hands were back on your body instantly, the feeling of your eyes roaming her body making her shiver. she smirked in satisfaction, leaning forwards so that she was right in front of you, her hands roaming. “see something you like?”

you simply hummed before pulling her back in for another kiss

she smirked against your lips as you pulled her back in, her body pressed flush against yours. one of her hands slowly went back down to your hip, pinning you against the door as she deepened the kiss. her tongue exploring your mouth, she moaned softly, her hands making their way behind your back to unzip your dress, letting it fall off your shoulders and pool at your feet.

you gasped softly before pulling away to look up at her

she pulled away from the kiss to catch her breath, her eyes raking over your body, taking in everything before her. she bit her lip to hold back a smirk, her eyes slowly meeting yours. “fuck, you’re so hot.” she said in a low sultry whisper, her eyes studying your face and your body.

"thanks.." you muttered as if that was an appropriate answer to being told you look 'hot' by caitlin clark.

she suddenly dropped to her knees her hands running over my thighs, holding your legs apart. she bit her lip, her eyes raking over your body. “you're so gorgeous.” she hummed, her lips trailing up your inner thigh, kissing the sensitive skin.

"oh fuck.. dont tease me please" you bit your lip stifling a moan that threatened to escape past your kiss bitten lips

she glanced up at you, noticing the way your bitten lip was failing to hold back a moan. she smirked again, her eyes darkened, taking in your expression. her hands slowly ran up your thighs, her lips getting closer and closer. "don't tease you?" she repeated teasingly, her nose brushing against your core through your underwear.

"caitlin please" you said gripping her hair tightly, your eyes fluttering shut at the feeling.

she groaned, letting out a soft moan as you tugged on her hair. the sound of you saying her name like that combined with the sound of you moaning, was almost enough to make her give in.

“you want me to stop teasing, hm?” she asked in a soft whisper, running her tongue slowly along your thigh, tasting the skin there.

"yes please. please stop.." you managed to get out through moans

she groaned again at the way you begged, her fingers slowly hooking into the hem of your underwear. her tongue running along your thigh, she slowly began to pull them down. “you have to be quiet though…can you be quiet for me?” she asked again in a low whisper, looking up at you as she tugged your underwear down your thighs.

you all but fucking whimpered at her words, the feeling of her tongue, her hands pulling your underwear down "yeah i can be quiet. please." you got out

she continued nipping at your inner thighs, her tongue soothing over it

"caitlin please. i promise ill be quiet, just please stop teasing" you whimpered softly

she let out another teasing chuckle, her hands slowly running down from your hips. “well because you’re being so good, i guess ill give you what you want.” she smirked

“what do you want, baby? Tell me exactly what you want.” she groaned

"want you to fuck me.. please.." you said looking down at her, tugging her closer to where you needed her

her breath hitched before her mouth connected to your core, groaning as she tasted you on her tongue. she moved slowly, letting her tongue tease you for a while, taking her time. her hands slowly trailing up your thighs, gripping them as if to hold you in place. “god…you taste so good…” she mumbled against you, her eyes slowly flickering up to yours

you squeezed your eyes shut, letting out a guttural moan. your hand tugged at her hair, pulling her impossibly closer as you arched into her touch

her hands came up to hold your hips, holding you in place as you arched into her. the sounds coming from your lips were driving her crazy…she needed to hear her name pass through those lips. “look at me.” She said, her tongue slowly tracing circles around your core.

you fluttered your eyes open to look down at her "fuck caitlin.. dont stop please" you begged absentmindedly

that’s all she wanted…to hear her name coming out of your lips, the needy, broken tone. she groaned, her tongue slowly picking up speed, her hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. “think you can take my fingers too? hm? tell me.” she mumbled, looking up at you.

you moaned before nodding quickly

she groaned at your reaction, “use your words…you have to beg for it.” she said, still moving her tongue at a fast rhythm, her eyes dark and blown out as she looked up at you, taking in the perfect sight before her.

"yes.. yes please fuck me caitlin.." you moaned out and it isnt until she slowly pumps her middle finger into your cunt, that you feel the coil in your stomach on the verge of snapping

"ooohhh fuck.. oh god just like that." you moaned out as she added another finger

she pumped her fingers in and out of you, enjoying the way your thighs clenched around her face as she brought you to your climax "you gonna come for me?" she muttered against your core

"mmhm yeah.. fuck im so close" you rambled before she sped up her actions, pushing you closer to the edge

her eyes darkened at the way how close you sounded, how wrecked she was making you feel. she curled her fingers, pumping them quickly , enjoying the way you squirmed under her touch. “come for me” she demanded, eyes trained on your face

"oh my god-" you moaned out as you came undone on her tongue, her fingers not slowing, instead helping you ride out your high

she watched you come undone, slowly bringing you back down to earth. once she knew you were done, she slowly pulled back, a small smirk appearing on her face as she took in your now wrecked expression. “you okay?”

you took a shaky breath fluttering your eyes back open.. "yeah.. holy shit" you managed to get out

she let out a small chuckle, slowly standing back up until she towered over you again. she bit her lip, her eyes slowly raking over your body before coming back up to your face. “you look fucked out…I did that.” she said with a cocky smirk.

you rolled my eyes "no way thats what you have to say after that."

she chuckled softly "i should get back out there, my team and.. connor.. are probably wondering where i went.." she said sighing

you narrowed your eyes before reluctantly pulling your dress back up your body "yeah you should.."

"you owe me though" she mumbled "give me your phone"

you furrowed your brows before unlocking your phone and handing it to her. she quickly typed in her number, adding her contact, her name simply said 'cait'

she helped zip up your dress before throwing her sweatshirt back on and walking out of the stall, where ironically she went to fix her hair and you your outfit.

"text me yeah?" she spoke up suddenly, turning to you

"yeah.. yeah i will" you said before she smiled and nodded before walking out of the bathroom. you smiled to yourself before walking out a few minutes after her to meet back up with jess.

lord knows you slept real good that night

[pupmkincake2000]

Funny how I keep getting comments like this

And it's not that it's harmful,it's that it's just not right whatsoever 💀 all your reasons for them being together are faulty and are things shared between friends aswell.

So, the dude called me and my ship weird while (and I'll keep saying it nonstop) HankCon is the most harmless ship in this fandom.

Okay, we are not saying that people can't ship whoever they want, are we? Especially in this particular fandom? In which most of the ships have no logic behind them at all, yet people are quite fine with those just because they fit into people's standards of beauty and how guy x guy ships have to look like, in their opinion.

So my questions are like those I've seen on twitter: "why do people find it so hard to be silent haters? like genuinely? why is it so hard to see something you don't like and think "ew weird" without feeling the need to tell the person who likes it that you think its weird/bad/gross/wrong ??"

And here's the answer: It's because they need to feel like they have the moral high ground. Actual virtue signalling. Ewww you like this, here's why you're wrong.

And nobody was able to give me an open answer why HankCon seems so offensive to them. And we do not talk about age gap here, it is too ridiculous to bring this up as an argument even. We are not talking anbout father & son issue because canon relationship is still friends, any father & son as well as romance are headcanons. So why those who like father & son are supported and those who love romance and fucking between the character are hated?

In a fandom (with no canon ships, except maybe Kara x Luther) where people literally ship characters with everyone they want?

Someone on twitter also said that the massive increase in self-insert, kinning etc. has created parasocial relationships with fictional charas. It's always happened but it's more now. Any perceived attack (moral or otherwise) on the chara equals an attack on that person's identity.

But I doubt that's the only issue. Although the theory has its place, given the general infantilization of Connor, which, however, is immediately forgotten when people need him to be an adult.

If haters are here to spread morality and justice, why aren't they doing it in other fandoms? After all, as I've mentioned before, there is the Rick and Morty fandom where people ship a grandpa and a grandson and I've never heard of people hating on this ship. Why these people are not among those discussing, for example, the laws of Japan, where a man over forty can marry a sixteen-year-old (correct me if I'm mistaken) if it is really an age gap that bothers the haters so much? But for some reason they chose as a victim a harmless pairing that does not harm anyone and is not even as popular as it was before? Or the goal is to errase it from the fandom spaces completely? If so, I'd suggest those to go outside and touch the grass.

[poppadom0912]

Money, Money, Money

Characters: Connor Rhodes x Reader, Maggie, Will

Warnings: Canon-typical injuries, overbearing/toxic parents, lots of violence, pregnancy.

Summary: Having money doesn't entitle you to anything. Why don't your parents understand that?

A/N: Haven't written for Connor in a lonnnggg time so here I am. I have mixed feelings about this but enjoyyyy. Posting this today in commemoration of my twin cousins turning one.

*****

Today was just so jam-packed in the ED that it was ridiculous.

One minute, your treating a woman whose half conscious from a car accident and the next your being handed a John Doe who is better off dead than hooked to a bunch of expensive machines.

You were always on your feet, not even having a second to yourself to sit down on a chair at the nurses station. It also really didn't help that Med had been handed a fresh new bunch of students who were all around the place, not knowing what they were doing.

Ripping off your gloves you deeply exhaled, closing your eyes as you stood in the middle of the ED. Everything around you was still a mess but all you needed was two minutes to collect yourself before-

"Doctor Rhodes, Doctor Y/L/N, you're on!" Maggie shouted from across the emergency room, sending you her most apologetic smile while she shrugged, having no control over what happened which you knew and definitely didn't blame her for.

Hastily grabbing what felt like your millionth pair of latex gloves, you assisted the paramedics and Connor wheeling the stretcher into a treatment bay, transferring on his count.

Everything was as it usually was, working together to stabilise the patient who was only half alert. From a mile away, you could smell the stench of alcohol, letting everyone know of what led the man to his current situation. Rolling your eyes, you stepped away from the gurney, allowing a few nurses and orderlies wheel the now unconscious man for an mri.

Aggressively, you ripped of your gloves, chucking it into the bin, Connor following suit, chuckling at your sour face. The only good thing you had going for you right now was having a five minute lie in with your fiance early this morning. Five minutes wasn't long at all but it was all you and peanut needed to fuel you for the long 24-hour shift ahead of you.

Right, you still had another 18 hours left till you could go home. Just flipping perfect.

You felt like collapsing, your body exhausted but the sickly people of Chicago relied on you. With a quick departing kiss on the forehead, squeezing your hand several times, you watched with warmness in your chest as your very attractive man ran off in those very nice black scrubs.

*****

It was an honest to god miracle that everything slowed down. You finally got to sit down, even managing to have a quick snack before checking in on patients. There was also the regular conversation over your baby, all the doctors and nurses betting on the gender while your closest friends pretended they weren't up for potential godparents.

You decided to do a quick round, going around to see if your patients were up and moving, if not then you'd offer your service somewhere it was needed.

At some point during the day, you lost track of how many people came in meaning you forgot who had what and who they were. With a tablet in hand, you scrolled through the man's chart, humming to yourself as you familiarised yourself with both his medical history and his current state, remembering what happened when you saw his blood alcohol levels.

What you failed to notice, too busy reading, was the man who you now know was called Nick was slowly coming to. Not a peep came out of him, blinking as he looked around the room, you being the last thing he noticed.

It all happened so fast from what you could recollect. All of a sudden, he sat up, not even groaning in pain from the several injuries he sustained while drunk and high.

"Nick, I'm a doctor, your in a hospital. No one's going to hurt you." You tried assuring him, jumping back when he lurched forward, forcing himself to stand, his unstable legs holding all of his weight. "You hurt yourself okay? You mind getting back into the bed?"

Despite your gentle and understanding tone, your bedside manner being top notch, Nick didn't even consider listening to you. You could almost see the flaming red flash across his eyes but before you could do anything, he came towards you.

With such a fury, his hand gripped your neck tightly, pushing you against the medicine cupboard that only this room had. Repeatedly, he pushed you into the glass door which shattered upon impact.

Gasping, you tried kicking your feet out but unfortunately for you, your short stature was not helping you were held inches above the ground. Scratching at his hand, your nails digging into his skin, he wouldn't let go.

You were incoherent, not even managing to shout or scream from the extreme pressure against your throat. Inhaling through your nose, you screwed your eyes shut when you saw a blurry fist flying towards you.

Everything was happening so fast but all of a sudden, you could breathe, air entering your lungs like a tsunami but before you could recollect yourself, not even letting your brain register that you were dropped to the floor, you were once again picked up and smashed against the sliding glass doors.

The glass broke on impact, shattering into small shards almost like crystals. Your cries were broken, the punches rolling one after the other.

*****

After having a quick surgery consult, assuring a patient that this surgery would happen, Connor was content. It was finally his lunch and he wasn't needed anywhere which meant that he could see his beautiful fiancée. Hopefully, you could spare a few minutes and he could check up on you and his baby.

The ED was much more quiet, almost too quiet in comparison to the chaos it was drowning in over an hour ago. Whistling, he leaned his arms against the nurses desk, giving Maggie his most dashing smile that all the girls of Chicago swooned over.

"Your fiancée is in six, give her five minutes." She said without taking her eyes off her brick, knowing exactly what the surgeon wanted without him even having to ask.

Before Connor could thank the charge nurse, he was interrupted by the deafening sound of glass shattering, his head whipping around to the source of the sound.

It was when it flashed in his mind that the room with the now shattered door was treatment six that Connor ran towards the mess.

Will and Ethan also came running forward, the two of them pulling Nick away from you while Connor shielded you as best as he could from any further harm.

"Y/N? Honey, you with me?" Connor asked, taking note of your fluttering eyelids and your cracking groan. He held you in his arms, feeling around the back of your head, his fingers coated in your blood.

Lifting you onto a gurney without any help, you were wheeled into a separate treatment room, Connor not once leaving your side and no one tried to pry him away knowing that it would only further anger him.

"Connor?" You tried calling out, struggling to keep your eyes open. "The baby..."

"Is fine, wasn't hurt at all." Connor sighed in relief, handing back the ultrasound wand to a nurse once he was happy with the sight of your baby who was alive and kicking.

Will nodded at Connor, letting him know everything that he needed. Picking up the railing on the side of the gurney, Connor wasn't leaving your side, wheeling wheel you up for an mri.

"You're going to be just fine."

*****

Coming to was more painful than you wanted it to be but because of the growing life inside your womb, you could only take so much medication which you knew and understood but you couldn't help curse out whoever was up there watching everything.

"The baby?" Was the first thing that came out. Your voice was hoarse, your throat aching as it strained from each syllable.

"Is alive and kicking." Connor nodded with a tight-lipped smile, helping you drink some water. "The lack of oxygen only hurt you, not peanut."

"Good, that's good." You closed your eyes, nodding in relief that no harm came to your baby because you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if they were hurt.

"You scared me." Connor whispered, enveloping your hand in both of his, not bothered by how cold you felt. "Don't ever do that again."

"I can't make any promises." You replied with remorse, wanting nothing more than to promise him but medicine was unpredictable, especially when mixed with drugs and alcohol. "I'll try my best though."

"And that's all I ask for." Connor smiled, pressing several kisses on your knuckles.

"Uh, you've got a few visitors anxiously waiting for you outside, what do you want me to do with them?" Your fiance asked, chuckling as he remembered the gaggle of doctors waiting outside in anticipation. They were all pretending to work but found themselves staring at the treatment room you were in.

But before you could answer with a yes, wanting nothing more than to see your friends, you cut off by the loud shout coming from outside the room, at the entrance of the ED. Unfortunately for you, you knew exactly who that voice belonged to.

"Where is my daughter?!" The voice near screamed, oozing with so much urgency that it made you feel sick. It was all so fake that even a stranger could see it.

You could only hear just how much of a commotion was being created outside your room, you and Connor shared a knowing glance, both of your mirroring the others annoyance.

Maggie's desperate attempts of steering the newcomers away from your room was useless. The doors and curtains were pulled opened and you were met with the apologetic faces of your friends and the furious faces of your parents.

"Oh my God, what happened to your face?!" Your mother said in alarm, rushing to your bedside as fast as she could in heels, her slim fingers gripping your chin to inspect all the visible damage to your face.

"Ow! Ma, that hurts!" You winced, pushing her hands away from your face, not wanting her to touch you anymore. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

Your mother huffed, her dull eyes looking over at Connor, rolling her eyes at him before looking back over at you. "Where's your supervisor? You getting hurt isn't enough for your boss to come check on you?"

Before anyone could retort back, more than prepared to defend your boss, you were all stopped by a new presence that wasn't there before standing in the door.

"I'm glad that you could make it Mr and Mrs Y/L/N. I was worried you wouldn't make it taking into account your busy schedules." Ms Goodwin said, the sass dripping off her words, her smile welcoming but also smug. "If you could come with me to my office and we could talk specifics if you'd like?"

"I'd be perfect to do it right here actually." Your mother said, puffing out her chest with confidence she always had surrounding her. "You'll find our lawyers at your doorstep tomorrow morning with a lawsuit."

"What?!" You exclaimed, sitting up straight, ignoring your bruised and battered body screaming for you to stop moving. Despite all the pain, you were ready to throttle your parents.

As gently as he could, Connor pushed you back down without further causing your any pain. Ignoring your rolling eyes and your pout, he was relentless and succeeded in his doings. After doing so, he stood and glared at your parents.

"You mind if we talk outside, just the four of us?" Connor asked but it wasn't so much a question than it was a demand. Without waiting for a reply, your fiance held the door open for your parents and Ms Goodwin, sending the couple a tight lipped smile when they passed him.

“You have no right to be here.” Connor got straight to the point, not wanting to mess around when it came to you. Your parents were spoiled and entitled, thinking they could do whatever they wanted to whoever just because they had more money.

You’d long distanced yourself from them, no longer wasting your time wanting their approval and constant validation for every little thing you did. After years, you were free of their shackles but they always found a way to crawl back in.

This was one way they planned to become part of your life again.

“You will walk out of here, you will get rid of the press that I’m sure is waiting outside and you’re never going to show your faces here again because if you do, I’m not going to be as cordial.” Connor warned your parents, towering over your mother even with the heels she wore.

Your mother tutted, slowly shaking her head in disappointment. She was fully aware of the audience they had, all consisting of your true family and you boss standing to the side but some Rhodes man wasn’t going to get in the way of her achieving her goal.

“You are in no position to tell me what I can and can’t do. That’s my daughter, I gave birth to her.” Your mother fought back, not afraid to get into Connors face.

“Mrs Y/L/N, step away from my doctor.” Ms Goodwin said with authority, gently pushing Connor back. “Your not welcome in my hospital if your going to treat my doctors which such disrespect.”

Your mother scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief about they way she was being treated with such hostility. Something was clearly wrong here with how people took orders and did what they pleased.

“Now if you please leave, it’d be greatly appreciated.” Miss Goodwin said with finality, a smug smile on her lips when she realised she was getting her way.

Huffing, your mother burned holes into Connor, openly glaring at him, not hiding that she hated him. Scanning the room, her glare remained strong as her eyes landed on each doctor and nurse.

Giving Connor one last look from over her shoulder, you mother stormed out the ED, your father trailing behind her like the lost puppy he practically was at this point.

Everyone could breath easier, the air feeling lighter and less contaminated the second your parents left the ED. It was the biggest relief.

“Doctor Rhodes, please get back to your fiancée.” Miss Goodwin turned to the surgeon, giving him a very simple order that he wouldn’t object to.

Connor silently thanked his boss, smiling at her before coming back into your treatment room where you still sat, patiently waiting for your fiancé to come back.

“Do I even want to know what happened?” You asked, a small smile resting in your lips as you urged Connor to come forward and give you a hug.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about baby. Everything’s been dealt with.”

[offside-the-lines]

i'm half-doomed & you're semi-sweet | Connor McDavid (x Male!OC)

Summary: After a painful playoff exit to end the 2022-23 season, Connor just needs to get as far away as possible, all the way to Gold Coast, Australia. He expects some peace and quiet, a reprieve. What he doesn't expect is this happy and carefree bartender, Lucky, to make him question the choice he has been making since he was 10. Title inspo: Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes by Fall Out Boy

This fic is dedicated to @hiding-from-reality-56 for @wyattjohnston's Summer Fic Exchange 2k24. I'm really sorry it's late. Life has been nuts. I really hope you like it! S/O to Demi, Ashley and T for being my cheerleaders, beta readers and editors. Ilysm. Pairing: Connor McDavid x M!OC. This fic features an original male character. Word count: 11.3k Warnings: SMUT: 18 + ONLY. MINORS DNI. SAFE SEX RESOURCE. Angst, lots of (I would say light) angst (first 1/2). Smut, lots of (light to medium) smut (second 1/2). This fic deals with internalized homophobia and coming to terms with your sexuality by way of having your first gay and first sexual encounter (it's hot and sweet, I hope). This was a super meaningful topic for me to write about, and I hope it resonates. Please take care of yourself if this is a topic that is sensitive for you. Connor is also, as I liked to say as I was writing this, Cognitive Distortions and Anxiety and Self-Doubt stacked on top of each other in a trench coat. Our poor boy is going through it in this. The smallest emetophobia warning. Small mention right in the first section (7 paragraphs in). Masterlist | (My requests are currently closed.) | Read this story on AO3

It’s 4 am on May 15th, and Connor’s lying in his own bed. And the only thing he can think about is what should’ve been.

He should be going to Vegas, getting ready to win Game 7.

Or better yet, he should’ve never let it get to that point—needing a Game 7. They should be getting ready for the conference finals.

The humiliation of yet another failed year—a second-round exit, no less—stings deep, and he feels the bile rise in the back of his throat. The taste of ‘This is our year’ sits rotten on his tongue, the number of times he said it to the boys. Momentarily, he wonders if he ever truly believed it. If any of this means anything at all. Or if he really is just a mouse in a cage running on a wheel going nowhere.

The silence in Roger’s Place is all he can hear in the darkness of his own bedroom. It makes him feel like he’s going to crawl out of his skin. The idea of going back to his Toronto house, carrying the looming absence of those 35 pounds, makes him want to throw up.

Or maybe that’s just—

He bolts up in his bed, runs to his toilet, and throws up nothing but bile.

With his head resting against the cold ceramic, he thinks about his parents. He knows they’re not going to be disappointed. They don’t care about the Cu— They don’t care about all that. They care about him, but he doesn’t think he can stomach another off-season of their pitying looks and gentle encouragement.

Another off-season walking around the city of Toronto, feeling like everyone is laughing at him. ‘Look, there goes the Next Great One, the so-called McJesus. What a joke. Look at him, he’s a failure.’ He can hear their thoughts.

They don’t even know about the other thing.

He rinses his mouth and stumbles back to his bed. He picks up his phone and texts his agent about finding somewhere different to train this offseason before he can think better of it. “...in I don’t know. Fucking Australia or something. Just. Somewhere far,” he adds.

He sits on his bed, fiddling with his phone for a while.

He sighs and rests his head against the headboard. He closes his eyes and drifts, picturing what his life might look like if he wasn’t… Well… Him.

He remembers a sports psychologist he was encouraged to see called it ‘maladaptive daydreaming.’ Which—that’s always felt a little ridiculous, given that they also recommend ‘visualization techniques’. ‘Picture yourself scoring the goal, Connor,’ they’d say.

It always felt like the same thing.

He sighs and texts Jeff again. “Totally okay if not. I know it’s super late notice. Just feel like it might be good for me. And for next year.”

The next few days pass like a blur, just room full of people after room full of people. Saying the same meaningless comments over and over. Play the part. Be sad, but not too sad. Be honest, but not too honest.

It doesn’t help that Leon’s grumpy, too. Well, not so grumpy he won’t sit on Connor’s couch—that does occasionally happen—but grumpy enough that he’s been mainly communicating in grunts. But, Connor figures, a grunting Leon is better than no Leon, so they sit in miserable silence as episode after episode of Friends plays on his ridiculously large 85-inch TV.

Which—who even needs an 85-inch TV? Well… Connor does, apparently, according to his decorator anyway. It’s ridiculous, and he hates the excessiveness more with each passing minute. He considers how bad it would be to just rip it off the wall. Probably quite bad. He doesn’t do it. Instead, he pokes Leon in the side with his toe and smiles weakly when he gets an irritated grunt in return and a heavy hand gripping his ankle.

Connor does his duty as Captain and hosts one last team barbecue in his absurd house that makes him feel like a zoo exhibit. He says goodbye to Leon for the summer—every year, it feels stilted and weird; he can never find the right words, but he thinks Leon gets it anyway. Or at least some of it. Not that Connor really knows what “it” is.

Not that Connor really wants to know what “it” is.

Connor swallows down the lump in his throat and turns his phone off, settling in for the flight from LAX to Brisbane, Australia—apparently, Jeff took him literally. He can’t help but think What the fuck am I doing? But that’s the point, right? To not think.

For once in his life, it would be nice to just do something without thinking about it endlessly. To just do something without thinking through the whole play, without reviewing the tape and dissecting everything that could go wrong.

He pops a sleeping pill with the hope that maybe it means he won’t spend the 15-hour flight ruminating on whether or not he should be doing this at all. And then ruminating on whether or not he should be ruminating on whether or not— Yeah. Five hours of rumination he can do—he does it often with the NHL schedule and the Edmonton of it all—but 15 hours seems to be a stretch even for him. So, he pops a sleeping pill.

Besides, he hopes that if he’s asleep, he won’t have to make any more eye contact with the flight attendant whose hand Connor accidentally touched when he helped Connor put away his carry-on. He kept making such earnest conversation with Connor, a smile crinkling the corners of his dazzling green eyes as Connor embarrassingly fumbled over his words, which—

Yeah, he needs to get a grip. And sleep. Hopefully, when he wakes up, he will feel a little less mortified—from experience, unlikely. At least the guy was Australian and didn’t seem to know who he was.

Connor wonders if he would be like this if he worked in something mundane, like finance or sales. If he’s destined to be this way, or if hockey made him this way. At this point, it was impossible to determine where Connor ends and McDavid-97 begins.

Luckily, hockey means he gets the good pills, at least, and he is knocked out for at least 12 hours.

Connor spends the first few weeks in a weird state of suspended animation, just going through the motions of his off-season training. He meets the trainers, who seem to have been briefed by Gary on what he needs and throws himself into the work. No one recognizes him except for a couple of the guys at the rink. But they don’t bother him. It’s a relief. He thinks he understands why Leon fucks off to Mallorca every summer. He wonders why he doesn’t fuck off to Mallorca with him—something else to not examine further.

He takes himself to the beach and watches the surfers and tries to remember to reapply sunscreen every 30 minutes, or whatever, even though it’s “winter”. He fails, of course, and burns bright red after only a few days. He’s forced to return only in the late afternoons.

He finds a pub-thing between his condo and the beach and sits at the bar for dinner every day; nothing better to do. He orders a beer with his dinner at the bartender’s suggestion. He hates it. He drinks it anyway. The bartender—Connor thinks he said his name was Lucky?—probably thinks he’s an absolute freak, judging by the little glances he throws Connor’s way and the amused look he has every time Connor orders.

It doesn’t help that Lucky is kind of stunning. It’s a thought that Connor usually keeps locked up, stuffed in some deep crevice of his mind where he won’t have to examine it, but the longer he watches Lucky—not that he’s watching, he just happens to be at the bar every night, and there’s not much else to do—the more he notices.

Connor watches the messy mop of curls fall in front of his eyes every time he bends over to put ice in a drink and the way he brushes it away with the back of a toned, tattooed forearm. It’s hard to tell exactly how dark his hair is or what the color of his eyes is in the dim interior of the pub, but Connor finds himself itching to know.

But the thing that Connor thinks about as he lays in bed at night is the way Lucky interacts with everyone—playful, easy. He notices the way he flirts—and the guys he flirts with. There’s this weird tightness that settles in his gut, and it twists every time he catches Lucky’s bright smile and the glint in his eyes.

There are an increasing number of days when Connor feels the need to stay until closing. There are a few other regulars he’s gotten to know, and it’s fun to hear about their lives. They will chat with Lucky as he’s cleaning up the bar. 

It has nothing to do with the way Lucky will sometimes take some guy home. Nothing to do with the way it’s just out in the open. Bold, confident, and unashamed. There are never any side-long glances from anyone, no snide comments.

Connor is completely unable to ignore the way his chest feels too small every time it happens. He wonders if he could ever do that. He wonders if he could even look at the thing head-on.

He thinks maybe Gold Coast Connor could.

It takes him until the night before his flight to the NHL awards to decide that Gold Coast Connor can make moves. Gold Coast Connor has the confidence and freedom that Connor McDavid does not. Gold Coast Connor is funny and banters with strangers.

Connor McDavid knows to never have more than two drinks. It affects his performance the next day.

That’s why Gold Coast Connor has 5 or 6. Switches to whiskey after the usual disgusting beer. Lucky chuckles at him.

“I knew you hated that. Was trying to see how long you were gonna keep drinking that for. You should see the face you make every sip.”

Connor's face heats; he knows the ruddy red cheeks look ridiculous against his messy ginger beard.

After the third drink, Lucky shoots him a look. He responds with only a shrug, and he seems to decide to not press the issue.

He knows he’s drunk when he shoots his shot.

“Come home with me today,” he says to Lucky, leaning over the bar conspiratorially.

He laughs, smile wide and easy, eyes wrinkling. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Lucky’s smile shifts, and he stares at Connor for a long moment, lips pressed together. The weight of the look sits heavy on him and makes him squirm. He fights the urge to run.

“Yeah, nah,” Lucky decides, “I think it’s time to cut you off. Switch to water.”

Connor suddenly realizes how this must look to him. “I’m serious,” he blurts out, “about the offer, I mean.”

Lucky laughs. “Good to know.” He winks, and Connor feels very warm. “But you’re six drinks deep when you usually only have one beer. Whatever this—” he gestures at Connor “—is, I’m not sure I want to get involved in that.”

His stomach sinks like a rock, and bile licks at the back of his throat. “Oh.” About twenty different thoughts battle in his mind, fighting for dominance.

Lucky looks at him consideringly and sighs. “Connor, it’s not a no. It’s a not today. Trust me, I am very interested. You’re—Look, you’re going on your business trip tomorrow, right?”

Connor nods.

“Okay, talk to me when you get back, yeah?” He leans in—it makes his biceps pop, but Connor tries not to let his eyes catch on it—something akin to amusement dances in his eyes as his lips curl into a smirk. “You can wait that long. You can be good, can’t you?”

A heat settles in Connor’s gut. “Uh, yeah,” he splutters.

Lucky leans back, his smirk bigger now, satisfied. “I thought you’d be into that. Yeah, we’ll have some fun when you get back.”

Connor swallows thickly; something that might be hope simmers under his skin.

The good feeling Lucky leaves him with doesn’t last long. It starts with the mountain of texts, missed calls, and voicemails that come through as soon as he puts his normal SIM card back in.

It only gets worse when he’s faced with Leon’s fury. Leon is pissed off often, but it is rare to see him genuinely angry.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Leon fumes, steel grey eyes not even a foot from his face as he grips Connor’s arm so tightly he thinks it might bruise.

“Um, look—”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Leon continues right over Connor’s soft voice. “I had to call your agent just to make sure you were still alive. Hey—at least Cameron got a text, right? Nice of you to not ghost your family, I guess. Guess I didn’t make the cut, eh?”

“Leo, I’m s—”

“You know,” Leon grits, “I was going to fly back to Canada ‘cause I thought something had happened to you. But, no. Glad you’re living it up in Australia. Glad you’re having so much fun.” He drops Connor’s arm and steps back, chest heaving as he breathes heavily. “Well, if you don’t want anything to do with me, then you can have nothing to do with me.”

“Leo, please—” Connor’s voice breaks as his throat burns and his chest tightens like a vice grip.

“Fuck you, Connor. Seriously, you’re a fucking selfish asshole,” he says as he walks away, the door of Connor’s hotel room slamming behind him.

It takes too long for Connor to remember how to breathe after that, sitting on the floor of his hotel room, staring at his shaking hands.

The day somehow gets worse from there when he has to ask Mikael Backlund, of all people, why Matthew has a sling on.

Backlund gives him a strange look. “Wh—Chucky?”

“Yeah,” Connor swallows.

After a beat of silence, he says, “He broke his sternum. Game 3 of the finals against Vegas. Played in Game 4 anyway. Didn’t matter in the end.” Backlund winces. “They lost in 5.”

“Oh,” Connor winces in return.

Backlund stares at him for a while. “Heard it was pretty bad.”

“Shit.”

The festivities continue around them. He gives a cordial nod to Nico Hischier and Jack Hughes as they walk past.

“I thought you two were friends; that’s what Chucky used to say anyway,” Backlund finally says.

“We are,” Connor swallows around the guilt sitting in his throat. “I just, uh, needed a break, so I was—Never mind. It looks like duty calls, so I’ll be—” Connor forces himself to stand up and gestures towards the event people waving at him. “Have a good night. See you next season.”

Backlund nods with an expression Connor can’t quite place—he thinks it might be pity.

Connor sleeps so poorly over the next few days, and it’s a wonder he’s coherent when he meets the Bedard kid. He feels horribly ill-equipped to give the kid any advice and fumbles through some generic pointers. Leon was much better, as he usually is at these things.

At least the time together allowed him to earn back some of Leon’s good graces. They part with a promise of photos and texts and a hug that makes Connor feel unmoored. He wonders if Leon can tell he’s barely holding it together and just doesn’t care enough to ask anymore. He hopes not. He really needs it to not be that.

I guess we can add ‘friendship’ to the list of things Connor McDavid can’t do, he thinks. When he closes his eyes, he can only picture Leon’s furious expression, or Backlund’s confused disappointment, or Matthew’s annoyingly amused smirk when Connor finally had the chance to catch up with him and explain his absence. 

Leon’s anger is still the one that stings the most. It’s the one that plays on a loop in his head. It pops into his head at unexpected moments. It’s kept company with all the other failures and misses that haunt him.

He doesn’t sleep a wink on the flight back to Australia. 

It takes Connor a few days to work up the courage to go to the pub again, now more sure than ever that he made a fool of himself the last time. But, eventually, he forces himself to just do it—it has nothing to do with his inability to cook.

Lucky greets him, same as always, with an easy smile and a glint in his eye. It’s so normal that it makes him think Lucky forgot about their last conversation. But, something about the way he reaches across the bar and taps Connor on the wrist as he laughs at some dumb comment Connor made. Or maybe it’s the wink he sends Connor when he catches Connor staring at the way his shirt rides up when he reaches for the top-shelf liquor…

Either way, Connor knows deep down that Lucky definitely remembers their conversation. Which means Lucky knows something about Connor that no one else does. 

It’s a thought that should make his chest tighten and stomach churn—the idea of it alone would usually send him down a paralyzing spiral—but instead, it makes him feel feverish, a small crackle of expectation settling just below his navel. There’s just something about Lucky that eases something in his chest—Well, there just is something about him.

Neither of them do anything about it, though. Connor can’t decide if he’s disappointed or relieved.

A few days later, it’s almost closing and it’s quiet in the pub. There’s tennis on the TV: Wimbledon, Connor thinks, possibly a replay. He isn’t really paying attention. If he’s honest, he’s never really got tennis. Leon likes it, though, so he watches when it’s on.

“So,” Lucky says, interrupting Connor’s trance. He’s leaning against the bar back, polishing a glass—it makes the muscles in his forearm ripple. Connor pointedly doesn’t stare.

“So?” Connor says weakly. He knows. And he knows that Lucky knows he knows. He still doesn’t acknowledge it. He quickly looks around to check if anyone is close by.

“Did you still wanna come home with me?” Lucky says.

He just drops it into the space between them like it’s nothing. He just says it like it doesn’t turn Connor’s world upside down and his guts inside out.

Deep down, Connor knows that he could say no and Lucky would never mention it again. No hard feelings. Easy. They could both pretend like it never happened. Which is what Connor should want—it is what Connor wants. Which is why Connor is going to say no.

“Yeah.” It comes out close to a whisper, but it doesn’t need to be audible because Lucky smiles. Connor feels his cheeks heat, and it’s like every inch of skin suddenly fires up like live wire. 

Lucky turns around and places the glass on the shelf, and Connor blows out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding in a puff. 

“Good,” Lucky says when he turns back around, “‘cause I already asked Kazza to close out for me tonight. I just need to grab something from the office, and then I’m good to go.”

Connor swallows. “Yeah, sounds good.”

Lucky runs his bottom lip through his teeth consideringly before he flashes Connor a heated grin and walks away. 

Connor waits for the pang of regret or guilt to hit; something to tell him to put a stop to this. It doesn’t come. All he feels is the prickling simmer of anticipation.

“Connor?” Lucky says, poking his head around the corner.

“Huh?”

“I meant for you to follow me,” he chuckles.

“Oh!” Connor scrambles to get out of the bar stool—it’s an entirely ungraceful affair—and follows Lucky and waits in the hall.

When he emerges from the office, he hands an envelope to Connor. “Can you hold this for a sec? Just need to put my jacket on.”

“Yeah, sure.” Connor looks down at the envelope, which has Lachlan written in Sharpie on the front. “Who’s this for?”

Lucky freezes and cocks his head. “What?”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—It’s just on the—Nevermind. Don’t worry about it,” Connor mumbles.

“No, no. Wait.” He shakes his head and huffs. “It’s me? Lachlan, that’s my name?” He pronounces it like Lock-lan, which confuses Connor more.

“What do you mean?” 

“Lachy… It’s short for Lachlan?”

“It is?” Connor furrows his eyebrows.

“Yeah, mate! What have you been calling me?”

“I thought your name was Lucky!”

Lucky—or Lachy?—bursts out laughing, snorting a little as he clutches his sides. “I thought you were just saying it weird,” he manages to get out between laughs.

Connor rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, it was loud in there when you introduced yourself, so…” he lets himself trail off. He shifts on his feet, looking at the carpet.

Lachy shakes his head, still chuckling as he grabs Connor’s hand at the wrist. “Come on, this way.”

“It’s a bit weird now ‘cause I’ve been calling you Lucky all this time, and you’re Lucky in my head. I guess I have to change that now,” Connor murmurs, largely to himself.

Lachy hums. He tugs on Connor’s wrist and pulls him forward, swallowing the space between them as he backs them into a door. In a snap second, it’s like all the air has left the room, the world around them focusing in on the one point of contact at Connor’s wrist. Lachy’s hand is warm as it applies some pressure.

There is a beat of silence where Connor doesn’t know what to do but look. The lighting is a little better back here, and it catches on the strands of Lachy’s hair that have been lightened by the sun. In this lighting, Connor thinks Lachy’s eyes might be hazel or maybe a warm amber. He feels an inexplicable need to find out. 

The thing that catches Connor off-guard is the way he has to look down at Lachlan. Connor knew that he’s shorter—has seen him with his coworkers to compare—but it didn’t prepare him for the way it feels. The way that Lachy’s everything makes him feel pinned in place even as he towers over him—the six inches or so of height difference feels meaningless under his heated gaze.

Lachy reaches back with his free hand and grabs the door handle.

“You can keep calling me Lucky if you want, seeing as you’ll be getting Lucky tonight, right?” The corner of Lachy's lip ticks up in a smirk as he bites back a laugh. He leans in. “You can call me whatever you like once I’m inside you.”

Connor chokes. “Um, okay?” he squeaks, spluttering.

Lachy—Lucky?—leans his head back against the door and laughs. There is no explanation for the way the sound seeps into Connor, reaching every single crevice. It should be embarrassing to be this affected by someone’s laugh. Connor doesn’t have time to explore that thought further as Lucky pushes the door open and pulls Connor with him into the cool evening air.

The walk to Lucky’s place is not very long. But it is enough time for Connor to feel the ever-present doubt creeping in, even as Lucky tells him a funny story about a collision he saw while he was surfing that morning. He’s standing so close. Close enough that he can feel the heat of Lucky’s arm against his own. Closer than is normal for two guys casually strolling down the street, which—

Connor knows they’re not just two guys walking down the street. Not at all. He can still feel the anticipation simmering under his skin even as the cold air cuts through his thin sweater.

He tries to focus on the fact that the streets are empty, except for the occasional car, and no one knows him here. Here, he’s just Connor. So he tries not to let the looming shadow of his Name dig its claws in.

The thing is… he has a guy—a really hot guy who definitely knows what he’s doing—who is willing to take Connor home. A guy who seems to be into his disheveled and awkward self for some reason. A guy who inexplicably makes Connor feel safe, thousands of miles away from home and away from everything and everyone he knows.

Connor should take this gift with both hands and say thank you like the good Canadian boy that he is.

He thinks about the visualization exercises and pictures himself taking off the Edmonton Oilers jersey with McDavid 97 on the back and the C on the front. He pictures himself handing it over to Australian customs along with the apple he had forgotten was in his bag.

Connor barely has time to even look at Lucky’s apartment before he’s crowded against the door. Connor sucks in a steadying breath.

Lucky looks up at him, his warm breath tickling Connor’s neck. “I’m sorry if I smell like beer; I know you don’t like beer.”

Connor makes an affronted noise. “I do so like beer. I just don’t like—”

Lucky huffs and cuts him off by slamming his lips on Connor’s. Connor lets out a little squeak of surprise before his body takes over. His eyes flutter shut as he takes in the warmth of Lucky’s soft lips.

It feels so foreign when Lucky slides his tongue over Connor’s bottom lip; the wet heat surprises him and makes him open his mouth instinctively. He’s rewarded as Lucky pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and nibbles on it slightly. Connor finds out he enjoys that as he bites back a groan.

Lucky’s hands move from the door behind Connor to rest on his hips, fingers applying gentle but firm pressure. His hands feel so warm Connor wonders if they would leave handprints for the world to see, like a brand.

Lucky makes a noise against his mouth that Connor can’t interpret. He hums a questioning sound and finds that it tickles a little. He finds out he likes that, too.

Lucky’s hands pull away, much to his dismay, only to grab Connor’s own hands and place them on his sides—Connor runs his hands down the firmness of his obliques and gives them an appreciative squeeze, earning him an approving sound as Lucky rests his hands on Connor’s chest.

Connor doesn’t know how long they just stay like that, kissing languidly as he slowly becomes more exploratory with his touches, sliding his hands over Lucky’s defined back. And Lucky returns the favor, running his hands over Connor’s chest—through the sweater material, it just feels like broad warm pressure—before reaching up to the nape of Connor’s neck and moving him the way he wants to deepen the kiss.

The wet, hot slide of their mouths feels so nice that Connor thinks maybe they could just stay doing this forever. But Lucky has other plans; he slides his hands under Connor’s sweater and hums appreciatively at what he finds. His hands travel up Connor’s chest; when he slides his hands directly over Connor’s nipples, Connor has to choke down a whine.

Connor’s hands move of their own accord, sliding down Lucky’s back and over his generous ass. His pressure is light, but it doesn’t stop Lucky from rocking forward and onto his tiptoes, stealing all the air from between their bodies. In doing so, he presses his hard dick right into Connor’s, the slide sending an electric shock through his body. They both moan at the same time.

Connor suddenly becomes acutely aware of how hard he is and the slight wet patch at the front of his boxers. Connor sucks in a breath through his nose. If he had known this was happening today, he would’ve jerked off before going to the pub. Hell—if he had even a second, he would’ve jerked off in the pub’s bathroom. Anything to take the edge off.

As it stands, Connor feels unable to get a hold of his restraint, like he’s reaching out to grab something just out of reach. It makes him feel underwater and suddenly too aware of all the sensations at once: the filthy slide of their mouths, Lucky’s thumbs rubbing over his nipples, the friction as Lucky grinds their clothed cocks together. It’s all too much as Connor feels his restraint fraying.

“Lucky,” Connor mumbles against his lips.

“Mmm,” he hums, leaning back a little.

This time, when Lucky slides his hands down Connor’s chest, he claws his hands, and his dull nails scrape over Connor’s nipples, drawing an unrestrained moan as he arches into Lucky.

“Fuck, you’re so sensitive,” Lucky mumbles as his hands continue to travel south, as he recaptures Connor’s lips in a messy kiss.

His mind feels fragmented. Split between needing this to stop so he doesn’t come way too soon, ruining the whole thing, and needing to come so bad he thinks he might die. But he can’t figure out how to put that into words, so he just floats in the liminal space between the two.

He feels Lucky slide hook his fingers over the waistband of his jeans and boxers, and it takes him a second too long to figure out what’s happening as Lucky’s hand dips inside. It’s just the brush of a hand over his bare dick, but it’s more than he’s gotten in almost ten years, and Connor panics.

“Wait—no—” he blurts out, muffled by Lucky’s mouth. 

Connor grabs Lucky’s hand and yanks it out of his pants, but it’s too late. He squeezes his eyes shut as he fights the shudder that travels through his whole body as he comes, largely untouched, in his too-expensive jeans.

He tucks his chin to his chest, face flaring so hot he must be bright red. He takes a few breaths to steady himself before he opens his eyes and dares to look up at Lucky.

He immediately winces at what he sees. Connor feels like he actually might die and prays for the ground to swallow him whole.

Lucky’s jaw clicks, his expression one that Connor has never seen on his handsome face before. One of hurt and confusion. Connor swallows.

“Is this a gay panic thing? Because I hate to break it to you, we’d been rubbing cocks for like twenty minutes,” he says, voice low and even.

“What? No! No, it’s not—” Connor stutters, “That’s not—No.”

“Right.” Lucky raises his eyebrows; he clearly doesn’t believe him. 

Connor realizes he is still clutching Lucky’s wrist so tightly it must hurt; he lets it go completely. Lucky takes a few steps back, and Connor misses the heat of his body immediately. He feels the edges of panic closing in, so he just speaks.

“No, I promise. That’s not what’s happening. I’ve known since I was like ten that maybe—” His eyes dart around the room, and his eyes fixate on all the little trinkets around Lucky’s house—it’s kind of adorable. He takes a deep breath. Fuck it. “No. I’ve known since I was 10. I’ve just never… told anyone before. Or done anything. That was… That was great. I really liked it. You’ve done nothing wrong. I’m so—” He runs his hands down his face. “Trust me, that is not what’s wrong. God, I want to die right now.”

His eyes affix to the surfboard mounted above the couch, a point just over Lucky’s left shoulder. It’s suffocatingly silent for a moment as Lucky looks him over. 

“Wait,” Lucky says, his voice low and tight, “Did you just… come?”

Connor drops his head in his hands and straight-up whines.

“Oh my god,” Lucky whispers. “Holy shit.”

Connor wonders if it’s possible to just travel through the door like a ghost. Or maybe blink out of existence.

There’s a shuffling sound before gentle hands on his wrists pull them away from his face. “Woah, hey, Connor. No worries, yeah? It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed.”

“Easy for you to say,” he mumbles. Connor thinks about all the guys Lucky’s fucked before and wonders if any of them had ever come in their pants after being lightly grazed by a hand. Of course, he would be a failure at this, too.

“Baby,” Lucky’s voice is so gentle, “I’m serious, okay? You have nothing to be embarrassed about. That’s… Seriously, oh my fucking God, Connor, that is fucking hot.”

“It is?”

“Yeah, baby, it is.” He gently clasps Connor’s chin so he has to look at him and smiles softly. “Come on, maybe let’s take a break.”

“Oh.” Connor’s chest feels too tight. “Do you wanna stop? I’m sorry. I can go if you want. I’m sorry for ruining it for you.” He knows his voice sounds odd, but he’s too panicked to care.

“Stop? Who said anything about stopping?” Lucky chuckles. “Unless you want to stop, I am very much still very interested.” He directs Connor’s hand to the front of his jeans, where the hard outline of his cock twitches in Connor’s palm. “Trust me. Very. Interested. But I can wait for a second. Come on, lemme get us a drink.”

Lucky walks over to a bar cart and pours two whiskeys. Connor wonders if he should leave anyway, if he’s just being nice. Sure, he’s still hard, but does he really want Connor, the guy who came from a light breeze in his entryway? Connor thinks about all the guys he’s seen Lucky take home before, and he just knows he’s going to be the worst—or at least, the most disappointing. Maybe it would be less embarrassing for everyone if he left now.

Lucky walks over and leans against the kitchen counter opposite him and hands him the drink with a soft smile. 

Connor determines that he should probably stay, given he’s come once already, and Lucky hasn’t come at all. And that’s probably unfair.

“So,” Lucky says, “Earlier, you said that you’ve never told anyone you’re gay?” Connor shakes his head. “And you’ve never… done anything?”

Connor sighs. In for a penny, in for a pound, or whatever. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“Really? Never?” Lucky says, slightly incredulous.

“Well, there was like once or twice in juniors—high school, I mean, uh. Bro-jobs, or whatever, on, uh, school trips.” He shakes his head. “It just felt wrong ‘cause they weren’t gay, but I was. And it felt a little like I was taking advantage of it. So I stopped.”

Lucky snorts. “Well, sucking cock is pretty gay if you ask me.”

It pulls an unsuspecting laugh out of Connor. “I guess. I don’t know. That’s not what I meant—I guess—it was just different for me.” Connor shrugs and bites his lip. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I never did anything again after that.”

“Like… nothing?” Lucky asks, not unkindly.

“Yeah. Nothing.” Connor sighs. “I think you’re the first person I’ve kissed in like almost ten years. God, that’s so embarrassing to say out loud. You probably think I’m so fucking weird.”

Lucky reaches over and squeezes his arm. “Hey, I don’t think that’s embarrassing. Or weird. Different strokes, or whatever. It is what it is.”

Connor didn’t set out to have this conversation. Realistically, he never thought he would ever even have this conversation—not at least for another ten years. But something about the earnest way Lucky’s looking at him makes him want to say it. Like it’s suddenly something that’s clawing at his throat to get out.

“I just…” Connor pauses and worries at his lip again. “It’s different for me. I…” He takes a really deep breath and blows it out. “I work in the sports industry, and, unfortunately, being gay is still a pretty big deal in my line of work.”

“Shit,” Lucky nods. “That sucks.”

“I guess a little part of me always thought that if I didn’t say it out loud to anyone or do anything about it, then it was just something about me that was just for me to know. Something that other people don’t get to know about me. I guess in the process, I stopped really acknowledging it, even to myself. It’s weird. I’m not ashamed of it, but I also don’t want people to know. Which must mean I am ashamed of it, I guess. I don’t know.” Connor clears his throat to push through the tightness there. “I’ve never known another option. Like, I knew this was what I had to do from when I figured it out at 10. It’s like… if this is your reality, you might as well accept it and move on, you know?”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not painful, though. It still sucks. I’m sorry.” 

Connor shrugs as Lucky lets it hang in the air for a bit.

“Am I the first person you’ve told?” Lucky asks.

“Yeah.”

“Wow… that’s…” Lucky smiles. “Congratulations, Connor. That’s a big deal. Thank you for trusting me with that.”

Connor blows out a breath, and it comes out long and shaky. Despite that, his chest feels looser, like one of the invisible chains that wrap around his body loosened. “Yeah.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a bit as they sip their whiskeys, deep in thought. Connor takes the chance to look over Lucky in the bright kitchen lights. Connor finally determines that he has hazel eyes. They’re largely amber with flecks of green, and it makes him feel warm. It reminds him of the start of autumn and the beginning of the hockey season and the hope that comes with it.

The muscles in Lucky’s forearm ripples as he taps his fingers on the countertop to an unknown beat. It makes Connor think of the little hints of his body under the fitted black shirt and black pants. He knows from the way his shirt stretches when he reaches for a high shelf that Lucky has a broad, defined back. He’s seen enough of his arms and hands to fuel his fantasies for weeks. And what he’s seen of his ass and thighs makes him want to dig his fingers in, just to see what happens. Lucky just looks so handsome, beautiful, hot that it makes his head spin a little.

A flash of heat rolls over Connor as he remembers the feeling of the solid planes of Lucky’s body against his. Connor’s a professional athlete. He’s seen so many naked male bodies in peak physical form so many times and felt nothing that he sometimes questions whether he is actually into men. Of course, there’s always someone who would knock him away from that thought like an 18-wheeler truck. Either way, he doesn’t look in the locker room. Rarely even wants to.

This time, though, it’s Lucky. And he’s not a teammate. And he’s gay. And, for some inexplicable reason, he wants to fuck Connor—a thought that sends another wave of molten heat through his veins.

He shuffles on his feet and feels the uncomfortable wet patch in his pants and flushes. Something catches Lucky’s eye because he raises an eyebrow slightly and cocks his head. It’s a minuscule moment, but Connor catches it, and the way the air seems to shift.

Connor thinks about how he’s already here, everything out on the table. Connor thinks about how he might never get this opportunity again—at least not for another ten years—needs to make the most of it. Connor thinks about the weight of Lucky’s hard cock in his hand. Connor—

“So,” Connor finds himself saying, “Are we gonna fuck tonight or…?”

Lucky throws his head back and laughs. It exposes the long line of his neck, and—Connor doesn’t know if it’s the whiskey or some other form of intoxication, but he has a sudden overwhelming urge to bite it, lick it, kiss it.

So he does.

He closes the space between them in one big step and leans down to run his teeth along Lucky’s neck. He moans in response, a deep rumbling sound that tickles his lips. Connor licks it and savors the flavor of salty sweat and the aroma of heady musk. 

“Yeah, baby,” Lucky groans, his fingers finding purchase on Connor's hips and gripping firmly, “I’m going to make this so good for you.” He tilts his head and captures Connor’s lips in a heated kiss. 

This kiss is different to the one at the door. It’s more urgent, incessant, purposeful. It’s messy as their teeth clash and tongues slide against each other. Lucky bites down on Connor’s lip harder than before, and he moans. Connor sucks on Lucky’s tongue, earning a moan of his own, before letting go with a pop.

“What do you want, Connor?” Lucky murmurs against his lips.

“I want you to fuck me,” Connor blurts out, the words spilling out.

Lucky freezes for a split second, almost imperceptible, before shaking his head lightly. Connor feels the stab deep in his gut; the sting of rejection hits him by surprise, and it hurts—more than he thought it would. He tries to pull away.

Lucky shakes his head. “No, I just mean, I’m not gonna fuck you tonight.”

Connor furrows his brows, feeling confused, still trying to step away.

“Connor. Not on your first night. You’re not ready.” Lucky squeezes Connor’s hip. “Next time though…”

Connor freezes. “Next time? There’s a next time?” he hears himself say, voice small and quiet.

“Yeah, baby. If you’re game, there will be as many next times as you want before you leave. You’re here for a few more months, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, breathless.

Connor doesn’t know who closes the gap between them, their lips meeting in a heated kiss once again. Lucky guides him backward until he bumps up against the counter of the kitchen island again. He hears the empty whiskey glass clink as his body knocks it back a few inches.

“So, what are we gonna do then?” Connor asks nervously as Lucky kisses down his jaw and neck.

“Oh, there are plenty of ways I can make you feel good, baby, don’t you worry,” Lucky says against the neck, the puffs of air tickling him. 

“Oh,” Connor breathes.

He leans back. “Luckily,” he winks, beaming, “you’re in very good hands.”

It takes Connor a second to process the joke before a surprised giggle escapes his lips.

Lucky pushes his sweater up, exposing his stomach and chest. Lucky flicks a tongue over one nipple and a thumb over the other. Connor groans, his hands tightening on Lucky’s shirt.

“So sensitive,” Lucky laughs into his skin as he kisses his way down Connor’s front. “So pink. God, you’re so flushed, too. It goes all the way down to… I need to know if…”

Connor doesn’t have time to even process the way Lucky looks on his knees between his legs because Lucky is popping the buttons on his jeans and pulling his jeans and boxers down in one motion.

His dick bobs free, already achingly hard again. The swollen head glistens, wet with a mix of his come from before and the new beads of pre-come collecting at the tip. The air feels uncomfortably cold against him, and it makes him squirm. 

He’s not uncomfortable for long, though, because Lucky wraps one hand around the base of his dick and squeezes firmly before running a hot tongue up the shaft. Connor’s breath catches in his chest. 

He’s given no time to process the sensation before Lucky sucks the head into his mouth, bobbing once before sucking him all the way down with a salacious wink. Connor groans and is, for the first time this evening, happy that he’s come already because it is the only reason he doesn’t blow it from that alone.

Lucky moves, bobbing up and down, his hands resting on Connor’s hipbones, holding him still. It is impossibly hot and impossibly wet and impossibly tight. Connor doesn’t even know what sensation to focus on; the only thing he can think is fuck, that feels so good.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he moans, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to get a handle on his ragged breathing.

He has nothing really to compare this to, but he doesn’t need to compare anything because he feels as though he is on fire, sweat prickling all over him as he focuses on not coming. He focuses on the tension and heat that settles in his gut. 

It’s so different than when he touches himself; it’s just so much more. More everything, everywhere. The sounds, the smells—he hasn’t even opened his eyes yet. He thinks that maybe he can’t open his eyes and see what this looks like from a real POV perspective because seeing it would ruin his life.

Connor likes to think that as a professional athlete, he has conditioned himself to have great control over his body. A theory that is being very much tested as moans and curses fall from his mouth without his input at all.

“God, fuck,” he rasps, his hoarse voice sounds insanely erotic. “Lucky…” Lucky swirls his tongue over the head as he moves himself up and down Connor’s dick. “Lachy… Fuck. Lachlan,” he moans.

Lucky hums—Connor feels it all the way up his spine—and pulls off with a pop. “Say it again.” His hand moves to lazily slide up and down his shaft.

“What?”

“My name. Say it again.” His voice sounds even more fucked than Connor’s; it makes his head spin.

“Lachlan,” he says softly.

Lucky smiles and makes a low noise of approval before sucking Connor back down, all while keeping his eyes pinned on Connor, who can’t look away.

“Oh fuck, Lachlan,” he says, and he’s rewarded with another groan. “You look so good. You feel so good. This is… ahh…”

His hands are gripping the kitchen counter so hard it hurts. The view of Lucky’s shiny red lips stretched over him is too much, his hold on his self-control close to faltering. 

He closes his eyes and lets his head hang back; he’s unable to bite down the keening sound that escapes when Lucky flicks his tongue along the frenulum. The symphony of sound in the room sounds so filthy Connor thinks he would be flushing even pinker if he could. But he knows he’s already flushed red from his face to his dick that’s disappearing into Lucky’s incredible mouth.

Connor thinks about Leo and what he would say if he saw this. He wonders if he would be disgusted. If he’d never talk to him off the ice again. If he’d request a trade. If he would lose his best friend. He thinks about what the people would say if they saw him like this—Cam, his parents, his teammates, his agent—

Lucky’s hand slides down Connor’s shaft to the root and traces the line between his balls that are wound up high and tight against his body. His dick throbs inside Lucky’s mouth, and he feels more than hears Lucky’s moan of appreciation.

He decides he shouldn't be thinking of anything at all. However, the decision is more or less taken out of his hands when Lucky presses a finger behind his balls with such incredible precision his knees almost buckle.

The movement causes him open his eyes, and he watches as he accidentally fucks into Lucky’s mouth. Lucky’s dark lashes are wet, and his hazel eyes glisten as they look up at Connor as he fights against a choke, eyes fluttering shut in concentration. Connor thinks he’s never going to forget this moment, the way this looks. Even if this is only a one-time thing, it’s worth it.

Lucky reached up to grab Connor’s hand and place it in his hair. Connor cards his fingers through the soft curls. Lucky rolls his eyes humorously before pulling off.

“Fuck my face, Connor,” he rasps.

“Oh… Oh, fuck,” Connor whispers, hands shaking slightly as they move to grip his hair.

Lucky waits, mouth open, as he reaches one hand between his own pants. Connor watches as Lucky wraps a hand around his own cock, and feels compelled to say something.

“No,” he says.

“No?” Lucky furrows his brow.

“No, don’t—I want to get you. After—”

“Oh,” Lucky breathes, “Fuck, yeah. Okay.”

Connor watches as Lucky gives himself a firm squeeze before pulling his hand out and placing it on his broad thigh. He looks up at Connor and smiles before opening his mouth again, tongue hanging out over his bottom teeth. Connor groans as his dick kicks, another bead of precome collecting at the tip. Lucky leans forward and licks it off lightly.

Connor swears before grabbing his dick in one hand and Lucky’s hair in the other before feeding his dick into Lucky’s awaiting mouth. The heat, and wetness, and tightness puts him on edge immediately as his hand clenches, pulling Lucky’s hair tighter. His moan vibrates against Connor’s dick, and he feels it resonate inside every bone in his body. The urge to come is suddenly close to overwhelming. 

He keeps his eyes open this time as he rocks into Lucky’s mouth experimentally, watching for any sign of discomfort. As if reading his mind, Lucky rolls his eyes and makes a brief movement with his hands. It surprises a chuckle out of Connor as he relents.

He brushes over Lucky’s lips reverently with the hand that was gripping the base of his dick before he moves it to cup the back of Lucky’s head as he starts to fuck deeper into his throat. With each thrust, he feels the control he barely had fray and unravel.

His pace quickens, hitting the back of Lucky’s throat on every thrust. Lucky places his hand back on Connor’s hip to steady himself as Connor fucks his face. The tension in his groin feels impossibly taut.

“Lachlan, fuck, you’re incredible,” he murmurs. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” 

Lucky hums and grips his hip tighter so Connor doesn’t even think about pulling out. Their eyes lock, Connor unable to look away as Lucky cups his aching balls in his hand, reaching behind to the spot, and presses his fingers deep, plunging Connor over the edge.

Connor moans his name as he spills down Lucky’s throat, the world going hazy as his balls tighten and throb. He thinks the only thing that keeps him upright is all the years of balancing on knives on ice.

He gently eases Lucky off his dick, realizing suddenly just how tightly he was clutching his hair. 

“Sorry, was that,” Connor says, his voice hoarse and soft, “Was that okay? Did I hurt you?”

Lucky laughs, shaking his head before tipping forward and burying his face into the crook of Connor’s thigh.

“Yeah, baby, you did so good. A total pro at getting your cock sucked.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Connor rolls his eyes, unable to contain his laughter too.

“Now, there’s an idea,” Lucky says.

“Yeah?” Connor says, voice suddenly small as a wave of heat rushes over him. His spent dick throbs valiantly in interest.

“Oh, yeah,” Lucky hums against his thigh, “Not today though.”

Connor reaches down and pulls Lucky up to stand, supporting his weight a little as he comes off his knees. He leans down and kisses him gently.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against his lips. He can taste the faint flavor of himself on his lips.

“Nah. Yeah, no worries, baby,” Lucky chuckles, “Any time.”

Connor’s body shudders at that thought, and he chooses to push it aside as he feels Lucky’s hard cock against his thigh.

“I want to take care of you. Can I?” he asks quietly.

Lucky hums and pushes a hand under Connor’s sweater, muttering, “Why are we still fucking wearing clothes? And to answer your question, fuck yeah. Come on.”

They fumble, Lucky guiding Connor, who’s walking backward, to the bedroom, their mouths clashing while they finally remove their clothes.

Connor feels his knees knock against the bed as Lucky gives him a slight push, sending him sprawling. His dick unceremoniously flops on his stomach, and Connor feels momentarily embarrassed before he looks up at Lucky.

His breath catches at the sight. Lucky is standing there, naked at the end of the bed, his heated gaze raking down Connor’s body as he strokes himself. Connor is transfixed by the movement. From where he is, Lucky’s dick looks thick, thicker than Connor’s own anyway, maybe a bit shorter. It tapers down to the tip, where the head, red-purple and mouth-wateringly wet, peeks out from the foreskin.

Connor always thought he would be nervous at this moment, unsure. But looking at Lucky, he feels calm, like the moment before his skate hits the fresh ice in pre-game. Every single cell in his body feels dialed into this moment, reaching out to feel Lucky’s skin against his.

His eyes follow the dark trail of hair, from the groomed patch at the base of his cock up to the mat of hair between his nipples. His eyes track the movement of Lucky’s toned arm as he works himself slowly, languidly. He bites his lip as his eyes trail down Lucky’s thick thighs, a carpet of dark hair over them. For some reason, Connor just wants to sink his teeth into the meat of his thigh.

When he finally meets Lucky’s eye, he feels like his soul is going to leave his body. The look is almost predatory, the way his gaze feels heavy, pinning him in place. His eyes are so dark now, his pupils swallowing the beautiful hazel, as his curly hair falls messily over his face.

“You like what you see,” Lucky says gruffly.

“Yeah,” Connor replies, breathless once again.

“Good.” He kneels on the bed, and Connor slides back further onto the bed. “Me too.”

Lucky knee-walks his way up the bed, his thick thighs bracketing Connor’s legs, skin blazingly hot. Connor can’t help but scramble back until his head hits the pillow.

Connor swallows hard when Lucky finally towers over him. The hand not stroking his cock is pressed against the pillow right next to Connor’s head. The view is intoxicating. Connor’s hands twitch at his sides.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers.

Lucky moans and nods, biting his lip.

Connor reaches up and runs his hands over Lucky’s cheek. Lucky’s eyes flutter closed as he leans into it. Connor’s thumbs brush over his thick eyelashes, and then he pulls his bottom lip out from between his teeth. Lucky’s mouth remains slightly parted as Connor slides his hands down his neck, through the thick hair at his chest, down the hard planes of his stomach, and onto his thighs. 

Connor digs his fingers in, earning him a small hiss, and pulls Lucky’s thighs forward so he can sit comfortably on Connor’s stomach. He slides his hands up the back of his thighs, savoring the contrasting rough and soft of his thick leg hair. He takes a moment to knead Lucky’s ample glutes before taking one hand to trace the thick groomed hair at his pelvis.

Lucky’s hard cock sits heavy on Connor’s stomach, the pre-come smearing a little against Connor’s flushed red skin. Lucky wiggles at the light touch, cock kicking, as Connor runs his fingers down the soft velvety skin of the shaft, tracing the snaking veins. He is so transfixed by it, how soft it is, how much it responds to his touch, how hot all of this is—

“Please,” he hears Lucky whisper, a hint of a whine.

Connor blinks and looks up at Lucky, who looks like he’s in a tremendous amount of pain—although Connor knows that’s not what it is. His jaw is clenched, and he’s breathing hard and raggedly.

“Sorry, I just—Sorry,” Connor says softly.

He takes a deep breath before wrapping his hand around the shaft of Lucky’s cock, earning him a deep moan. He pumps his hand experimentally, noting the difference in how it feels in his hand compared to his own dick, before applying more pressure. When Connor slides his hand up and down again, he runs his thumb lightly against the underside of the tip.

“Connor,” Lucky moans above him, his head dropping a little. His curly hair brushes against Connor’s cheek.

He hums, drawing up the play in his head as he continues to repeat the motion. Lucky’s leaking so much that it doesn’t take long before his hand is wet enough to touch the sensitive head without it being uncomfortable—he hopes at least. He alternates his strokes between one that goes from the root to the tip and one that squeezes the head with a slight twist—the way he knows feels good.

“Fuuuuck,” Lucky breathes. His arm is starting to shake a little from where it is next to Connor’s head. Connor turns his head slightly and presses a light kiss to Lucky’s wrist. “Baby, that’s so fucking good.”

Connor smiles and feels his chest puff a little, proud like when a new drill finally clicks. He looks up at Lucky’s face, now flushed with pleasure. He watches as he applies more pressure, watching the way Lucky’s eyes roll behind the closed lids and lips hang open. 

“Yeah, fuck, just like that,” Lucky says. His hand comes up from where it was resting on Connor’s thigh and grabs onto his shoulder, fingers digging in. It hurts, but Connor doesn’t mind.

Connor continues to stroke at an even pace, eyes gliding over Lucky’s face and body, taking it all in. Lucky continues to drop little praises between them, mixed with his moans and curses. Connor feels like he could listen to the way Lucky says his name forever.

It’s not long before Connor notices the way Lucky’s hips start hitching with his strokes and speeds up his hand. He loosens his grip slightly so Lucky can fuck into his hand in time with his strokes. 

“Lachlan,” Connor’s voice sounds hoarse and fucked-out, even to his own ears, “Open your eyes. I want to watch you come.”

Lucky moans and his eyes open, gaze unfocused. Connor is transfixed by his face: the square jawline and full cheeks flushed with pleasure, the way his eyelashes flutter as he struggles to keep his eyes open, the shape of his mouth as he moans Connor’s name over and over.

Connor feels Lucky’s cock get impossibly harder in his hand as his pace becomes more erratic. Connor sees the moment before he comes in his eyes as they roll back, his eyes slamming shut. Connor feels the momentary desperation before the relief in the way Lucky’s fingers clench into the pillow beside his head and into the meat of his shoulder.

He feels the first pulse in the kick of Lucky’s cock in his hand before the cum hits his chest, his name on Lucky’s lips as he comes. He strokes Lucky through his orgasm in even pulls. He feels breathless and in awe and reaches up with his lips to pull Lucky into a deep kiss.

When they pull away, a while after the last pulse Connor feels, Connor is smiling wide. Lucky rolls off him and pants in the bed next to him, his arm draped over his eyes as he catches his breath. Connor stays smiling like an idiot at the ceiling.

“Holy fuck,” Lucky murmurs against his elbow next to him.

Connor hums. “Yeah.”

“No, seriously. Holy fuck.” Lucky knocks his leg against Connor’s. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve never done that before?”

Connor lets his head drop to the side to look at him. “No?”

Lucky peaks an eye out and looks at him. “What are you, some kind of prodigy? What the fuck?”

“Uh…”

“Did you hack my brain? How—I’m serious, Connor. I can’t believe that’s the first handjob you’ve ever given. I think I might’ve died and fucking transcended. Fuck,” he breathes.

“Um… Thanks?” Connor says, unsure, “I guess I’ve spent a lot of time jerking off, so…”

Lucky knocks a knee against him again, harder this time. “Shut the fuck up.”

Connor laughs.

Lucky turns in the bed to face him and smiles dopily. “Do you want me to get you again?”

“Huh?”

Lucky gestures to Connor’s dick, hard and curved up against his stomach.

“Oh! I didn’t even—No, I’m okay. I think I might be fully dry.”

Lucky laughs. “Yeah, okay.” He’s silent for a second. “Hey, Connor?”

“Mmm?”

“Stay, yeah?” he says, voice quiet. 

“Okay,” Connor replies softly.

“You can stay there; I’ll grab you a towel to clean up.”

“Hmm?”

“Your chest?”

“Oh!” he huffs and looks down at the mess on his chest. He runs a finger through the mess and pops it in his mouth, the flavor salty and tangy on his tongue. “Hmm!”

Lucky groans beside him, “Oh my god! What the fuck am I gonna do with you? You’re a fucking menace.”

“What?” Connor asks, confused.

Lucky rolls his eyes and climbs off the bed. “I can’t believe you genuinely don’t know what you do to people, do you? Fuck.”

Connor shrugs, not really following but too content to care.

They wake up facing each other the next morning, the sliver of light streaming in through the curtains illuminating their faces. Their bodies are pressed in close. Close enough that Connor feels Lucky’s morning boner pressing into his own.

Through sleepy blinks, they kiss for a long time, slow and heated, their bodies sliding against each other. Lucky hooks a strong thigh over Connor’s and pulls them even closer together, their hard dicks sliding against each other perfectly.

They moan into each other’s mouths, kissing messily as the sensations build. Eventually, Lucky reaches down and wraps a hand around both of them, rocking against each other. The air in the room feels thick with their pants and moans.

Each slide of Lucky’s cock against Connor’s sends sparks up his spine; the way their heads rub together is unlike anything Connor’s ever felt before. The pressure of Lucky’s hand is light, and it shouldn’t be enough to get him to the edge, but it does faster than he expects.

“Lachlan, I’m gonna come,” he whispers, his voice thick with sleep and arousal.

“Mmm, me too,” Lucky moans.

When Connor comes, it’s nothing like the night before. It’s slow and sensual, waves of heat and pleasure rolling through him like molasses. Lucky follows not long after, covering them both in sticky heat.

Lucky captures Connor’s lips again, resuming their lazy kiss for a little while longer until the mess between them gets to be uncomfortable.

Lucky reaches up with his hand and licks it clean—it unbelievably makes a molten wave of heat roll through Connor’s body again—before he reaches up to cup Connor’s cheek.

“You didn’t panic and run away,” Lucky says evenly, without judgment and maybe even with a sigh of appreciation and wonder.

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t,” Connor smiles. “Why? Did you expect me to?”

Lucky shrugs. “I don’t know, I guess.” He pauses and sighs. “It happens. A lot of guys will have the post-nut clarity, or whatever, and make it clear that they regret what happened. They’ll try to make it real clear they’re “straight” which…” He shakes his head. “Anyway, I didn’t know you wouldn’t do the same. I mean, I hoped you wouldn’t. But…” He trails off and shrugs.

It stings more than Connor expects, and he feels his full-body wince. “Good thing I’m gay then, eh?” he says. 

He didn’t know he was going to say that when he opened his mouth to respond, but he feels with amazing—post-nut—clarity that he is glad he did.

Lucky smiles and it's the smile that makes Connor feel warm and tingly from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. It’s a different heat than before. He imagines it’s the type of heat that sunflowers chase when they supposedly turn to follow the sun.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Lucky says.

“Me too.” Connor leans in and plants a soft kiss on Lucky’s lips.

Lucky hums, content. “Come on. Let’s shower, and then I can make us breakfast.”

Later, when he’s sat at the kitchen island watching Lucky talk animatedly about the merit of sharks of all things while making an incredibly delicious smelling omelet, Connor is struck by the normality of the whole thing.

You could replace Connor with any single person, and the world would keep spinning. Why would Connor be any different?

He thinks about checking his phone earlier. He had opened it, heart pounding, holding his breath while he towel dried his hair—he took the opportunity while Lucky was drying his hair in the bathroom with an absolutely wild-looking contraption—”It’s called a diffuser, Connor”.

So, he was hiding, essentially, crouched on Lucky’s bedroom floor where Lucky had plugged his phone in before bed, knuckles white around his phone as he turned the screen on.

It was underwhelming, really. The world did not burn down. It wasn’t front-page news on ESPN or Deadspin or Twitter or something. There wasn’t some sort of international beacon that went out screaming: “Connor McDavid is Gay” or “Connor McDavid has Gay Sex; what is next for the Edmonton Oilers Captain”. There were no “you’re fired” texts from Ken or Bettman. There were no “you’re disgusting, and I hate you” texts from all the people in his life who loved him.

There were only the normal texts. Photos from Cam of some Canada Geese. A text from his mum asking how he was doing. The most notable thing on his phone was a recent text from Leo, apologizing for Nashville—an apology Connor didn’t feel like he was owed, but Leo wanted to let him know he was sorry anyway. 

“Hey, just wanted to say sorry for how I was in Nashville. I don’t want you to think I meant it,” he had said. “You’re one of the best people I know. I was worried and hurt. So I’m sorry. I hope you’re having a good time in Australia. You haven’t sent me any pictures, asshole.”

“Isn’t it like 3 am in Germany right now? Shouldn’t you be getting your beauty sleep?” Connor had texted back.

Leon had sent back his typical response—an eye roll emoji—and Connor had smiled and turned off his phone.

So, Connor watches Lucky move at the stove, easy and carefree. And, for the first time in a long time, Connor feels a little bit of that ease in his chest. Like there is just a little bit more room to breathe. Like there is an ever so slightly less weight on his shoulders.

For the first time since he was 10, Connor considered that maybe he could be wrong. That maybe Connor McDavid could get to have something like this. Something easy—private but easy. Connor considers that maybe this is something he might want to share with a select few people when he’s ready. Not the people who would make it into a Connor McDavid-97-Captain issue. But people who deserve to see Connor a little more clearly.

But for now, he’s just content to watch as Lucky tries—and fails—to flip the omelet in the air like a pancake.

“So, how do you feel about scrambled eggs?” Lucky asks, smile broad and eyes shining.

“Good,” Connor laughs. “I feel good about scrambled eggs.”

“Fuck yeah!” Lucky laughs.

“Fuck yeah,” Connor says softly.

Masterlist | (My requests are currently closed.) | AO3

[hughiecampbelle]

Pyrexia (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy)

Character/s: Kendall, Connor, Shiv, Rome, Logan

Word Count: 1,387

Requested: Hii! I love all of your baby Roy sibling fics, especially your new one with Rome. I love protective Kendall so so much, especially in the election so when he sticks up for Shiv against Tom. Could I request something with protective Kendall (maybe the other siblings if it suits) where they look after you while hurt or comfort you or something similar? If not that is fine!! Thank you so so much <;3 - anon

Requested: ohohoh!! Maybe roy!sibling being very sick to the point where they go into self-isolstion mode not contacting anybody and their siblings worry about them? Adore your fics and I always get really excited when you post a new one!! Hope you are recovering well from the tattoo! - anon

Warning/s: sickness

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: I hope you don't mind my loves, I combined your requests. I hope you like it!!! Thank you for such kind words my loves!!! My tattoo is healing perfectly!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Your mother used to run the bath ice cold. She’d guide you in, even as you shuddered, even when you cried. She placed a stern hand around your shoulder, ever so lightly pushing you deeper into the water. She’d pour it over your head, warning you to close your eyes. You played with cups, filling and refilling, too old for toys. You’re never sure how long you stayed there. She’d leave you there, the bathroom door shut, until your teeth were chattering. Clicking out of your skull. Sometimes it was one of your siblings who stood you up again. Your mother had fallen asleep, drink perfectly in hand, on the couch. Sometimes she would leave the house, forgetting all about you. Rarely would she find her way back to you, years it felt passing you by, wrapping you in a towel. Those times were your favorite. Falling into her, smelling her perfume and favorite drink on her breath. Mostly though, it was one of your siblings pulling you from the bath. They’d pick out mismatched pajamas and tuck you in beside them, hushing you to sleep, wet hair sinking into the pillow. You’d still be shaking, freezing, and they would wrap you up tight in as many blankets as they could get. 

A cold bath will break this fever, you can still hear her voice. So clear, so sure, so far away. You weren’t sure if it really did work, if any tricks she pulled out of nowhere actually worked, or if it just made her feel like she was doing something, but you tried again anyways. It made you feel like you were four years old again. Chubby little hands splashing through the water. Despite yourself, the ache in your little bones, you could find a small ounce of joy. This time it was your tub, massive and pristine, filling up. Your wet pajamas falling off your body, drenched in sweat. You had to hold on to the edge just steady yourself, dizzy, lightheaded. You weren’t about to be sick, there was nothing left in your stomach. Please work, you begged whoever would listen, please let this work. You grit your teeth, stepping inside. All the way up to your chin, you sink deeper and deeper. Holding your breath, you dunk your head under, the cold kissing your burning cheeks. It makes you shiver. 

You catch your breath, leaning your head back. You half expect to hear your mother through the door, her shrill voice, on the phone, talking nonsense. She’d stick her head into the doorway, checking if you moved a muscle. You lay completely still trying not to grin. They weren’t always happy memories. She wasn’t always there when she should have been, but this you could laugh at. How ridiculous it all was. Forgetting about your child in the bath? How many pills was she on? You think of your brothers and sister pressing the back of their hand to your forehead, looking at you with startled eyes. You were so fussy, pushing them away, beginning to cry. You just wanted to feel better. That was all. You wanted to feel like yourself again. You remember little, everything is a haze. Kendall called Connor over when you stirred in his bed, when you became hysterical. Big brown eyes watching you, fearing for you. They’d always calm you down. They’d always find a way. He never minded that your hair was wet, that you’d whimper in your sleep, in your fever dreams. You were his baby. Always. 

Your fingers prune. The cool settles. Your cheeks are still burning, your forehead on fire. You don’t remember climbing out, draining the tub. You don’t remember settling there on the bathroom rug, towel wrapped around you. Your muscles ache, your joints flare. Even if you wanted, the bed was too far. Besides, you’d been camped out on the couch in front of the tv for days. All your things remained untouched in the living room. Your phone, put on silent, in between the cushions. Cups lined the coffee table, an army of half-finished drinks. You think you’re dreaming when you hear his voice again. Y/n? Y/n? Come on kid, let’s get you up. Gentle hands guiding you up, those familiar eyes startled, scared. You forgot you gave him a key. He holds you close, your skin dry. How long were you asleep? He waits while you get dressed, painstakingly slow. Everything hurts.

You don’t have the energy to ask him questions, you can barely pull your shirt over your head. Why was he here? How did he know you were home? Wasn’t he supposed to be at work, with dad? Patiently, he waits outside the door, checking in every few minutes. You must look awful. His expression looked pained, as if looking at you made him hurt. I tried a cold bath, you start, but never finish. He nods, bringing you into the living room. You’d collected every blanket you could only to kick them all off, too hot for your own skin. He sits you down, trying to figure out what to do first. Indecisive, he grabs your phone and all the cups, putting them in the sink, grabbing a charger. You hadn’t noticed all the missed texts. From him, from Connor and Shiv and Rome. all of them worried about you. I’m sorry, I was so tired, I didn’t- It’s okay. His tone is so gentle, so tender, his expression melting into an understanding smile. No one’s upset, we were just worried, that’s all. 

He gets you capfuls of medicine, orange and berry-flavored. Thick, syrupy, sticky. You feel like you’ll throw it all up again. He tucks you in, pulling the covers over you. You look so small, so little, like you did when you were a child. You sleep the same way: restless. The fever dreams are vivid and scary and every time you wake up, he’s there. He’s always there. The tv changes, and his jacket is left on the other side of the couch. There’s a bowl of soup before you that is first steaming and then cold. He’s on the phone, speaking quietly. To your brothers, your sister, even your father. They are all worried. Just a fever, he assures them, though the lines on his forehead tell another story. Every once in a while he places his hand to your forehead. Slowly, so slowly, you seem to be cooling down. You’re not eating or drinking, just sleeping. In and out. The lighting has changed, the sun has set, and though you insist, he has no intentions of sleeping. 

Kendall should have known. He should have known because you always do this. You didn’t want to bother anyone when you weren’t feeling well. You didn’t want to worry anyone. It was easier to self-isolate, to crawl back to sleep and re-emerge when you were back to yourself again. He cleaned up the kitchen, the bathroom, and threw in a load of laundry. Anything to get this nervous energy out. Finally you calmed down a bit, your dreams becoming less and less vivid. He still remembers those long nights when you were a kid. Your wet hair, your baby breath, the colorful pajamas. How he’d sit and wait and worry until your fever broke, until the coughing stopped, until your shivering subsided. Your mother would check on you in the morning, but he watched you all night. He was your big brother. He had to protect you from everything. He should, at least, but he can’t. So he waits. He checks on you. He gives you more medicine, hating to wake you up. He assures everyone that it’s nothing, he’s got it handled. Even Logan, so unlike himself, was as concerned as he could be. No one had heard from you in days. They’re getting better, he says, and you are. He’s thankful. Grateful. Relieved. In the morning you’ll eat something. You’ll drink tea and water. You’ll talk with him about work, about Rava and the kids, about your family. You’ll laugh and for the first time since he got there he’ll see you through the sickness. You’re getting better. He wasn’t there in the beginning, but he’s glad he could be there now. He’ll  always be there for you.

[fetishfairytales2]

Happy Birthday Sissy! Pt. 2

Heather and Brandon are original characters created by @wittlesissyb4by in his fantastic series “Besties”, which this blog expands on. Please support him through his Tumblr and his SubscribeStar. ——————————————

"Oh God babe, I love seeing you handle Brandi like that! It just gets me so wet," I giggled, sashaying over to the closet. "I just love seeing Brandi being treated like the submissive bitch she is." I gathered Brandi’s party outfit from her wardrobe as Connor pulled down the side of the crib and dragged Brandi to the carpet. "Don't you dare move, you little bitch!" Connor growled, pinning her arms above her head. "And you, lucky girl," I cooed, kneeling back in between the diapered sissy’s legs and tickling her exposed belly, "you've got quite the view, don't you?" With Connor kneeling above Brandi's head, she was helpless to do anything but stare up at massive bulge of the man fucking his girlfriend.

I continued taunting Brandi as I untapped the sides of her humiliating diaper. “Oh, is someone craving Daddy's binky?" I couldn't contain my laughter as I pulled the soiled Pamper out from under her bottom and grabbed a wipe. “Babe?” I smirked at Connor, “the birthday girl is practically begging for it!” I tickled Brandi’s little sissy marbles and laughed as she started moaning behind her pacifier. “See? I think she’s really sorry that she didn't take care of Daddy last night….” As I wiped her clean, I just couldn't resist teasing the head of Brandi's dainty little pink plastic chastity cage with my perfectly manicured fingernails. I could see the desperation in her eyes as I slowly traced in between the bars.

“Shhh,” I giggled, Brandi was moaning like a true sissy slut now, it was obvious I hadn’t touched her clitty in days. "Don’t worry, sweetie, Mommy will have a special treat for you tonight if you behave like a good girl at your party. But for now, maybe Daddy will let you suck on something else..." I smirked at Connor and nodded towards him. "Open wide, sissy, don't be shy," Connor taunted, squeezing Brandi's cheeks before pulling out her pacifier. “Here comes Daddy…”

Connor, still in just his boxers, laughed cruelly and pulled his cock over his waistband, flopping it on Brandi’s face. “Kiss it slut,” he laughed, “nice and gentle for Daddy.” I shook my head, giggling as I watched my former boyfriend be further degraded. "Ugh, you sissy slut! Eyes up here, lips down there, don’t get too distracted!" I playfully scowled as I firmly spanked Brandi and taped her into a clean diaper. "I can't wait to show you your outfit for the party!" I said, rummaging through the pile of clothes next to me.

"First up, to go with your fresh diapee of yours, of course we have plastic panties!” I squealed excitedly, dangling the ridiculous things in the air. I was trying not to laugh, watching as Brandi craned her neck to catch a glimpse. The poor thing could barely see past Daddy’s massive cock resting on her lips and his balls smacking her on the forehead! “Look how adorable these panties are, Brandi! They're white and frilly, with the cutest pink trim. They're absolutely perfect for a pretty princess like you!” 

I couldn’t help but giggle as her eyes went wide and she shook her head violently. “Aww, did you notice all the details? Yes you lucky little girl, those are little pink dicks embroidered on them! How cute is that? They're just begging for a sissy like you to wear them!” I flipped the panties around, making sure Brandi could see the humiliating design. She was trying to beg now; “p…please Mommy, pleas-“ Connor quieted her down by pushing his balls in her mouth. "Do you want to know why these are called 'Worry-Free Panties'?" I taunted with a smirk. Brandi immediately started crying and trying to escape when she saw it. It was so cute listening to her try to scream and gargle on Connor’s nuts. Not only was there a convenient hole in the back for easy access to her bottom, but above it, in bright pink lace, it read “Sissy Pussy”.

“Shh, shh,” I tried in vain to calm Brandi, honestly loving every minute of how much she hated this. “They’re called the ‘Worry Free’ panties because now no one has to worry about fussing with undressing you before they use that sissy behind of yours!” Connor had a firm grip of Brandi’s long hair. “Shut the fuck up and listen to her!” He screamed, working his cock as far down the sissy’s throat as he could, pinning her to the ground and shutting her up once and for all. I could only hear a little “mmph!” as he thrusted in and out of her mouth. “Thank you Daddy,” I winked; “sometimes naughty little sissies need to be put in their place!”

I held the panties up again, though I’m sure Brandi couldn’t really see anything but Connor’s ball sack now. Tears were still rushing down the poor darling’s face. “Now Brandi, you can be a good girl and dress however the fuck I want you to dress, or you can be a naughty girl and Daddy is going to get nice and comfy on your fucking face while you rim his asshole with your tongue, do you understand?!” I squeezed her sissy nuts as hard as I could and heard the fantiest of muffled screams. “If you’re ready to be a good girl for Mommy, moan like a good little sissy porn star around Daddy’s cock!”

“Oh, she’s definitely ready to be a good girl,” Connor smirked, beginning to fuck Brandi’s face faster now. “You better not make me cum you little slut,” he warned with a growl, slapping her across the cheek. “Good!” I smiled happily and slid the panties up Brandi’s legs. "Now for your cute little party skirt!” I taunt as I reach for the outfit beside me. "I know you're too busy right now to be able to see it, but let me describe it to you, just for my little sissy. Connor, could you lift her up for me." My alpha roughly pulled Brandi up by his scrawny body, his cock still down her throat, while I laid out the skirt, unzipped and ready for my sissy to wear.

I pulled Brandi’s arms to her side; “keep them there you fucking loser or I’m going to start getting mean…” Connor warned with a growl. "I couldn't resist a smirk as I began zipping up the dress on the poor cocksucker in front of me. “This is called the ‘Suffering Sissy’ dress! It's quite the name, isn't it? I found your whole outfit today on a special site that sells the cutest sissy clothes! Trust me, it’s named that for good reason. Not only is it scandalously short to flaunt those cute panties of yours, but it also has some...special features."

I couldn't resist snickering as I finished dressing Brandi. "Oh darling, you’ll notice this dress doesn't have sleeves. But no worries, I've got you covered with these adorable built-in cuffs! That way, when I zip you up, you'll be secured and trapped inside. That way you won’t be able to stop Mommy, Daddy, and all our friends from…having fun with you! You’ll truly be a ‘Suffering Sissy’! Can you believe how freaking cute that is?"

"Daddy, could you stand up your pathetic little sissy girl for me, please? I need to doll her up before the party." Connor grunted, pulling his cock out of Brandi's mouth and roughly yanking her to her feet. Brandi was a sight to behold; her cute panties exposed under her skirt, her face covered in slobber and tears, her cheeks puffy and eyes bloodshot after being ruthless throat fucked by my boyfriend . "This way," Connor barked, dragging her over to the adorable pink vanity across and forcing her into the matching chair, gripping her shoulders to keep her still. I popped her pacifier back in her mouth for the time being, tying it around her head with the attached ribbon.

“What do you think girlie?” I asked with a giggle. Brandi's eyes welled up with fresh tears as she took in her outfit. The skirt matched the pattern and details of her humiliating panties, complete with little pink embroidered dicks. “Did you notice the theme? I laughed at her embarrassment. And to top it off, there was a pink ruffled "Sissy Cocksucker" across her chest, making her crumble even more. “There it is,” I patted her on the shoulder and whispered; "That’s all you’ll ever be. Forever and ever. Of course, all of this is a birthday gift from Daddy, so you better remember to thank him later. But first, let's show him just how much you love your final gift before he leaves you with Mommy to finish your makeup!"

I held the tiara up for Brandi to see in the mirror. She cried even harder as I placed it on her head. "As if you didn’t already know" I sneered in her ear, amused at her reaction. It was truly precious to see her crumble at the sight of such a simple little thing. The tiara was fitting for our little birthday girl, adorned with fake diamonds and silver. In the center, the words "Daddy's Girl" sparkled in faux diamonds. I couldn't resist winking and teasing Brandi, reminding her; “Don’t worry sweets, we both love Daddy and I don’t mind sharing." 

“Why don’t you go shower and get ready?” I turned to Connor, “we’re going to have some Mommy-Daughter time while I finish getting her ready for her guests. They’ll be here soon and she doesn’t even know who’s coming yet!”

[communistkenobi]

Now that Succession is over I’ve been reflecting more and more on the fandom that sprung up around it. When I made this post I had Succession in mind, but it was too large of a sidebar to get into, so now I’m making a separate post.

And before I get into anything, both in anticipation of being yelled at and so I don’t have to constantly inserts caveats into every paragraph: this is not a universal or comprehensive description of how people interact with Succession in a fandom setting online, but rather my experience with it on tumblr and the experience of watching my friends interact with it. Additionally, this diagnosis of a narrow slice of the Succession fandom is not a moral or intellectual damnation of anyone who ships characters or whatever. I am talking to myself publicly on my own blog and this post is a sequel to the post I linked at the top, and so the primary focus of this is going to be about the “methods problem” within fandom that I outlined in that original post. If anything, this is an invitation to reflect on your own experiences and extend/adapt/critique the arguments I’m about to make to your own contexts, not a condemnation of those experiences and contexts. If you feel the urge to say things like “you’re trying to censor me” or “let people have fun” I would rather you not do that because I’ve heard those things hundreds of times already and those complaints are deeply uninteresting. anyway

I think one of Succession’s strengths as a show is that it is a drama about a modern corporate empire that is shown entirely through the eyes of the individual Roy family members. There is a particular, deliberate clash between the intensely intimate drama of Shiv and Tom’s marriage, Kendall’s addiction issues and estrangement from his family, Roman’s sexual and romantic problems, Connor’s loneliness manifesting in him “buying a girlfriend,” and the fact that they are wealthy beyond comprehension. They are so far above material need that the only arena of conflict is their personal lives. This comes to a head in S4, when their father dies and their family drama becomes the primary battleground over who will take the throne. Yes, they are fighting over acquisition deals and legal issues surrounding their father’s company, this is the “material” component that has a direct influence on their wealth, but that is still secondary to their conflict as a family. Kendall and Roman deliberately attempt to sabotage the sale of Waystar, both because of their personal desire to “be the boss” and the constantly-cited desire to “do what our father wanted.” Their primary concerns are always either an attempt to appease their dead dad or their desire to replace him with themselves.

This is the most intensified form of bourgeois interiority in fiction - all material concerns are made invisible, shoved to the side to focus solely on individual emotions and relationships, because the Roys are part of the ruling class. Their material needs will never be part of their problems. The individual landscapes of their emotions, desires, and traumas are the only real site of conflict. The army of servants and underlings beneath them, the public that is only ever at the periphery, are part of the massive social, political and financial scaffolding that allows them the time and freedom to act out these hyper-intense psychodramas with their lovers, friends and family. The character-centric focus of the show is itself a commentary on their wealth - they don’t have to work, they don’t have to worry about money, they don’t even have to interact with public infrastructure, and so they are free to focus entirely on interpersonal turmoil and pleasure. This intense, indulgent look into their personal lives is predicated on their wealth, and highlights how ridiculous and out of touch they are. This is an integral part of how the deeply uncomfortable, second-hand-embarrassment tone of the show is maintained.

But this nuance doesn’t get translated into fandom - or is only translated haphazardly - which is likewise deeply character-centric. As a fan of the show for many years I have largely avoided the Succession “fandom” because of its intense focus on shipping and rooting for your favourite characters to win. This is how you end up with people deeply invested in Roman’s character, running cover and damage control for him as he becomes increasingly openly racist, misogynistic and fascistic as the show goes on. In particular, the way that misogyny in fandom intersects with this character-centric method of engagement is that a lot of apologetic discourse about Shiv is reactive, excusing or rationalising her behaviour to an online crowd who finds fault with her behaviour not because she’s wealthy but because she’s a woman. It’s how you end up watching people online defend the actions of a fictional billionaire girlboss, because the dominant mode of discourse in fandom is focused so heavily on the actions of individual characters that said actions become free-floating, divorced from their context. Shiv is not being defended on the ground of her wealth and power (or not always, lol), nor even really being defended from the fact that those things make her an objectively horrible person, but that popular fandom perception of her boils down to “man what a huge bitch.” It’s not that (necessarily) people want to log onto tumblr to apologise for liking a fictional billionaire - although again, that does happen - it’s that fandom misogyny is so individualistic that Shiv’s actions are always discussed at the lowest rung possible, commonly expressed as “she’s a bitch” or “she’s being unreasonable”, and so that is the discursive arena that discussion about this character remains in, never moving beyond the individual. It reminds me of the backlash against Skylar from Breaking Bad - it was impossible to talk about anything else about her character aside from explaining why she’s not the devil incarnate. Yes there are also unironic fans who love the fact that Shiv is a vaguely progressive rich white woman, those people absolutely exist, but even when you want to approach the show from outside of that uncritical angle, I think you oftentimes get painted into this narrow discursive corner anyway because of how stupid fandom discussion tend to be.

And yes it’s all fictional, it’s not real, and people “blorbofying” a Roy sibling or shipping Kendall and Stewy together are not remotely good indicators of their beliefs about the ruling class in real life. I am not making claims about anyone’s beliefs or political convictions because they enjoy a show about billionaires. I also enjoy the show. But the rhetoric of fandom is so intensely individualistic that “shipping” characters in a show like Succession is seen as a regular thing to do. The easiest way to tell if you’re in a “fandom” on tumblr is to see if people are writing ship fic or drawing shipping fanart. I enjoy Succession a lot and talk about it with friends, but I am not “in the Succession fandom.”

And at least with the people I follow who do engage in Succession “fandom,” there is an intense self-irony on display - people making fancam edits of Gerri, someone who is general counsel to a fictional version of Fox News, or AMVs of Stewy, a hot ruthless venture capitalist. It’s funny precisely because of the dissonance between the use of fandom aesthetic forms (ie fancams) and the subject being fandomised. Embedded into these behaviours is an ironic self-distance, a performance of fandom with a wink to the audience that you don’t actually believe in this, that this is a self-ironic indulgence, a way of articulating sympathy for these fictional characters while maintaining the air of being in-the-know, being a good person who gets what the show is “really” about. And I enjoy that! Those posts rule lol. If anything I am in the meta-fandom, I stay on the periphery with friends to enjoy posts about how stressful shareholder meetings are, to celebrate the tomshiv scorpionmarriage win, to know what the phrase tomstar gregco endgame means.

But that self-irony is only possible to express because of the fact that “doing fandom stuff” with Succession necessarily involves an intense and constant form of apologetics for your favourite character or relationship - it is this assumed, unstated default that this self-irony is engaging with. If you were just talking about the plot of the show or its themes, if you disavowed any desire to ship characters together, if you never got into arguments with people about which Roy sibling “deserves” to be CEO, you would hardly be doing “fandom,” or at least you would be doing it in a fundamentally different way, and crucially you wouldn’t need to be employing that self-ironic tone of “alright now we all know billionaires are bad. But isn’t Roman such a cute little baby? Don’t you just want to hug him?”

I remember a popular sentiment being expressed around when Succession first got popular online, saying that Succession pioneered new ways for people to talk about their favourite characters on the internet. “He’s my Disney Princess” “I want to put him in a Pringles can and shake him” “she is a bug I need to study under a microscope” and so on. And I think this is partially a result of 1) absurdist internet humour in general, 2) a memetic mirroring of the show’s brand of humour specifically, and 3) people’s general political instincts running up against fandom engagement, the desire to engage with Succession as a fandom-text without experiencing intense cognitive dissonance, producing ways of expressing love and enjoyment for characters that are fundamentally, irredeemably bad people, people who are direct reflections of and parallels to the ruling class of modern America. It doesn’t even give you the benefit of historical distance the way a medieval fantasy would, where it’s easier to “stan” a king because it’s taken for granted that everyone here doesn’t support hereditary monarchy. Succession is a direct, immediate commentary on contemporary American life in a way that is impossible to ignore, and so to engage with it on fandom grounds requires a certain kind of additional effort, a way of simultaneously performing your real-world beliefs while also letting loose. I know Succession is not the first show to be like this, nor is it the only thing that has impacted the way fandom operates online, but it has enjoyed a five-year popularity whose digital omnipresence has reached far beyond its immediate audience. Most people on twitter remotely engaged in fandom have seen a Kendall Roy fan edit, for example.

So, all this to say: even when it feels like a text is deliberately choosing a character-centric focus to comment on its themes and structures, I think what happens is that this character-centric lens becomes easily and instantly adopted by fandom, but the commentary gets left behind. Which is again what I meant in that original post I linked at the top - character-centric lenses are not inherently bad, or inferior, or lesser to other lenses, but that fandom only ever engages in a very narrow and particular type of character-centrism, a lens that is so adaptable that you can easily import shipping discourse and “x-character-did-nothing-wrong” style apologetics into a show like Succession. If you engage with Succession primarily as a vector to ship characters together, or to “pick your favourite character,” I think you are falling into this fandom mode. Which I’m not saying is inherently bad, I have also done this with Succession by calling myself a romangirl or whatever, I’m just trying to articulate the whiplash I sometimes get when watching prestige drama television about billionaires being murderers and sex pests and fascists and then going online and seeing hundreds of people expressing a desire to wrap Roman Roy in a little blanket. A lot of people are engaging with the show’s themes and also doing this “fandom” thing with it, so you don’t have to choose one or the other, nor am I saying that there are necessarily “low” and “high” classes of artistic interpretation that people permanently slot themselves into, but I do think these modes of engagement are at some level mutually exclusive, because they require the adoption of fundamentally different interpretive lenses when approaching a text

[legodamianwayne]

BATMAN AND ROBIN 2023 #1 (Take 6 (yes))

(im not writing this as i go since ive already read the issue before. ill also be mentioning gotham war since this takes place during it (just a warning for spoilers!))

i just noticed the bat and robin on the cover! so cute

OH........(just noticed this too) that doesn't look good

look at them goofing off n having fun

this is cute but the way bruce acts here and in gotham war is so jarring its kinda funny

bruce in batman #137: can't stand my fake ass family

bruce in b&r: me and my son damian 🤗

bruce is in his "local dilf in the area" era rn

damian having talia's mannerism that bruce noticed is so <3

and here its confirmed that this takes place during gotham war. not sure how to feel about that

STILL INSANE OVER THIS baby first self insert fanfic

damian went from drawing hyper realistic gore vent art to anime eyes in the corner

i think it'd be fun if we see damian write more as the story goes on. like him daydreaming n doodling in class

wonder if theres any meaning with damian putting talia as a hero n bruce as a criminal here...or maybe its just a "totally original character do not steal" thing

you dont say bruce 🙄

"the last few years"?? pretty sure the events shown there all happened not even in 2 years since damian turned 14 around the start of the lazarus tournament

also why are alfred n talia not shown there? alfred's death has huge impact on damian (he literally hallucinated him) n talia was there as much as ra's

i dont like how damian looks here but that white connor should be a crime

"thats enough emotions for tonight father" [slams door]

i wonder why damian is staying with bruce tho (outside of making this book exist) didn't bruce n talia had a custody battle moment™ n damian's like "nah i have my own life (is literally 14)"

HELL YEAH MY BOY CAN COOK

he's quoting alfred ohhh im gonna sob

this is kinda embarrassing for bruce...like ur son is finally living with you again n he's the one up early cooking?? sir u better step up

aw he's making tea the way alfred did

*squints* did bruce get his hand back? thats a pretty normal looking hand to me

did damian's comment on it in batman #137 made bruce think "shit i cant give damian any ideas of getting a robot hand" n he just. magically grow it back

[GLASS SHATTERING SOUND]

gotham...heights? n. not gotham academy? no maps? no damian joining her dnd team?? no detective club finally hanging out with damian??

ik damian got expelled from gotham academy BUT. WHY

okay? whats the point if he's not going to the same school that his friend went to?

interesting how damian fantasize for a normal life in robin 2021 (with him liking the mundanity of shoujo manga) n now that bruce is offering him that he's rejecting it (or maybe he just rly don't like school which is. fair enough)

wellll just cuz we're not getting maps n the detective club doesn't mean damian's other friends arent showing up right? RIGHT? (maya plz come home)

THE ROBIN MOBILEEE it looks so ridiculous i love it

HOLD ON. DOES THIS CAR HAVE NO SEAT BELTS?? BRUCE UR LETTING THIS SLIDE?

ik that thing is rly loud too damian waking up the whole neighborhood here

not rumors abt the batfam fighting getting spread around?? this is so embarrassing omg

am i the only one getting gotham academy flashbacks here? with killer croc n the trio with the fox shark n bird masks

they're very comfortable with calling eachother father n son while in suits huh. ig everyone in gotham knows that batman is a dilf (who's beefing with his adult children) now

not much to say abt the rest: bruce got shot with something n now bats are attacking him

end thoughts: i hope with all the focus on animals here means that we're getting damian's pets back soon n that gotham war wont affect this book much since i rly want to see damian interact with his siblings again. also is it just me or does the day scenes looks very bright? saturated? it kinda hurts for me to read idk. the night scenes r pretty tho

next issue is damian's first day on his new school that is not gotham academy but im still excited for it! (coping)

bonus bestie corner

[iwonderwh0]

Just a snippet that got written in response to me thinking about how androids aren't affected by stinking environment while humans are, and how this difference can become really obvious if given the circumstances, like such in which Hank and Connor got to a gruesome crime scene.

Not long after just stepping in, Hank escaped back to the front entrance.

"Jusus fuck..," he mumbled stepping outside.

"What's the matter?" Connor called from the corridor, "Did you see something?"

"No," human said, breathing in the air.

"Are you going to stand outside or what? Should I wait for you?"

Hank cursed under his breath, stretched his shirt above his nose and went back inside. Connor started forward without waiting for him catching up. When they got to the living room with the body plastered in one of the corners, android finally spared him a glance.

"You look ridiculous," he commented, "I just thought you'd appreciate me telling you."

Hank opened his mouth to say something in response, perhaps to be snarky about it, but as he tried, the stench entered his system once again and he started coughing violently as a result.

Connor frowned in confusion but said nothing, deriving his attention to the body instead – the source of this absolutely murderous reek. He walked ahead and coached down looking it up and down.

"Fuck, this place makes me wanna vomit," Hank muttered and folded trying to stop himself from coughing again, looking around in search of a window or something to open just to see all the windows within reach sealed with planks. He groaned feeling his eyes water.

"It doesn't even look that bad, I'm sure you've seen worse," Connor said lifting something from the ground next to the body.

"Hey, hands! We don't want your fingertips imprinted into the evidence."

Connor turned around and spared him a long glance. Wordlessly he tilted his head and slightly raised his eyebrows.

"What, you mean you don't have any?"

Instead of answering Connor put the object down, then raised his hands in a defeated gesture with palms facing Hank and retracted the skin from them, leaving his hands white with dim blue light shining through the seams in-between phalanges of his fingers.

"Come look yourself if you don't believe me," he said.

Hank scoffed and decided to ignore him, choosing instead to look around the room for maybe less stinking pieces of information. The smell didn't exactly fade out nor stopped bothering him, but not stepping any closer to the source of it, Hank almost managed to gaslight himself into believing it's not that bad, that he adjusted. Or that he will, soon.

He looked at the shelves filled with unopened collectables – figurines embodying different anime characters, mostly young-looking girls with short skirts and unnatural hair-color. Hank wouldn't be able to name any, not like he really cared about anime at any point of his life. In fact, he found the topic weirdly repulsive -- the same kind of repulsive he used to think about androids too. Too polished, too removed from anything having to do with reality of thing, so "perfect" to the point of becoming its own kind of gross, created solely for the goal of appealing to those willing to pay for it. People like that one person, whose dead body was now lying on the floor and filling the room with the kind of reek Hank could still almost taste on his mouth.

God damn it.

Finally he noticed that among the boxes with anime characters there are occasional boxes with some biocomponents. Long numerical sequences printed on the side of identical white boxes, indicating different content. Why couldn't CyberLife just name them like something you can actually read and make sense of? Hank thought grimly and instantly thought about probable answer himself.

Yeah, of course, that's so that common folk wouldn't try fixing them things on their own without 'professional' assistance.

"Hey, Connor," Hank called and turned around just in time to see the android moving his two fingers in the direction of his mouth, covered with -- undoubtedly -- human blood from a week and a half dead body. Connor lifted his head at his name and their eyes met. Without breaking established eye contact android didn't stop, but, in fact, finished his started action with his tongue coming in contact with the substance on his fingers.

Nope, that's it.

Hank's insides turned at the sight, and combined with mind-boggling awareness of the smell so intense in the air to the point of being practically tasted, inevitable happened -- and previously devoured for lunch turkey sandwich started to search its way up for an emergency evacuation.

---

When Connor ripped one of the planks from the window and reached for the handle to open it, the expression on his face was hard to decipher. On the surface it expressed nothing. In practice it was the expression that meant the most amount of conflict happening beneath.

"You could have said something earlier about the smell, if it really bothered you so much."

"You could have given me a fucking warning," Hank covered his mouth and frowned for a moment as the memory alone threatened to evoke a second wave of reaction from his growling stomach, "Jesus fuck..."

"Wait, was it about me?" Connor stopped from ripping out another plank and turned.

"You and your fucking-" Hank trailed off into another gag, "Oh god..."

To Hank's surprise, android smirked. He shook his head, and then -- Hank was probably high on whatever psychodelic properties the stench might have had on him -- he chuckled.

"You think it's funny," Hank said. It wasn't as much a question as it was a statement.

"If you could see yourself, you'd understand. Wait, I'll send you a picture."

Hank's phone pulsed in his pocket. For the first time he wished he could delete a message without opening it.

[amazing-spider-man-book-club]

The Amazing Spider-Man #6

Published: November 1963

Containing: "Face to Face with...The Lizard!"

Introducing: Curtis Connors/The Lizard, Martha Connors, Billy Connors

Synopsis: Peter is sent down to Florida to get some photos on a mysterious figure, The Lizard, who is terrorizing the everglades, but soon must discover a way to help this new villain become human again.

Read alongside us here:

https://readcomiconline.li/Comic/The-Amazing-Spider-Man-1963/Issue-6?id=4028

@frankendykes-monster: There's something so humorous to me about naming a villain "The Lizard" after already having one named "The Chameleon". The off-brand model even if they share nothing in common. I had to look up when it was discovered that dinosaurs are more closely related to birds than reptiles but no luck unlike last issue's forcing me to look up how spiders communicate.

The introduction of The Lizard rings like a horror film, the setting in Florida couldn't help but make me think of The Alligator People (1959). Virtually all the tropes like the monster staking a claim in hostile territory and scientific mishaps and an ancient castle ooze charm, it's only the near ending when The Lizard wants to create more reptilian humanoids that you're forcibly reminded that this is a supervillain we're dealing with.

I have to wonder if The Lizard was originally intended to be a one-and-done given the character never returns during Ditko's time on the title but Curt Conners does. Much like Mysterio returning to his first costume, it's something that's only established as an ongoing threat when John Romita takes over. I have to say the character's design is probably the first Ditko one that's something of an acquired taste, had he worn a purple coat and had black eyes with white pupils like on the cover, it would have been more cohesive and threatening, though I'm not a giant fan of more animalistic subsequent designs decades down the line. This issue's title page is another all-time favorite of mine for how much it reads as a three-dimensional space. Ditko occasionally goes all-out, though at the same time I feel like we see way more of Spider-Man sans webbing in this issue (whenever the character is far enough away from the camera that drawing them would be too much of a hassle. Blah.)

I have to wonder what people reading this for the first time have to make of Liz Allen and Betty Brant being Peter's love interests, because if it wasn't a full-time thing last issue, it certainly is now. Betty's appearances in the live-action Spider-Man films have more or less been cameos, is what I'm saying. Given Liz's newfound interest in Spider-Man I think it's quaint if disappointing that it isn't until Civil War, over 40 years after this, that she discovers it's Peter under the mask alongside the rest of the world. Womp womp.

Probably the most realistic thing about this issue is Jameson accidentally starting a tabloid frenzy wherein he demands Spider-Man go down to Florida to fight The Lizard. It's ridiculous but plausible enough that I could see people actually read papers and developing a strong opinion on the matter.

@duel1971 : This issue may be my favorite so far. The story takes Peter out of NYC and down to Florida on J Jonah Jameson’s dime to get pictures of the Lizard. This leads to Peter and Jameson being traveling partners, a concept I would happily read a full-length story about but which is only touched upon briefly here.

Curtis Connors has one of the most well-realized supervillain origins we’ve seen yet in ASM. The tragic nature of the character feels iconic: the loss of an arm motivates him to recklessly experiment on himself and leads to a complete physical transformation that renders him a threat to his beloved family and, as the issue draws on, civilization itself. (Or at least Florida.) In addition, lizards being a natural predator of spiders makes the Lizard’s ability to physically outmaneuver and outmatch Spider-Man feel ordained by nature.

Some parts of the story feel a little clunky – in particular, I’m not sure what a serum that turned a man into a lizard would do to actual lizards. The story doesn’t seem to have a firm idea either, but apparently it would be very bad. I appreciated the attempt to raise the stakes, but found Curtis’s alienation from and eventual reconciliation with his family to be much more compelling.

[zahri-melitor]

Newish Comics:

Batman: The Brave and the Bold #14: I am largely uncompelled by this set, but I was amused that they had to specify "look! This Barry/Iris story takes place before we break them up! Because we want fluffy Barry/Iris!"

Also charmed that in the Black and White story at the end with flashbacks to previous events there's Bruce as Tengu in KnightsEnd! That's a bit of a deep cut I wasn't expecting.

Green Arrow #13: Williamson please learn to pace a story at some point. That said, I was very fond of seeing Roy and Lian snuggled up together, and Connor and Mia hanging out together. Also Williamson finally acknowledged Sin's existence for the first time? I think? in this comic.

I also note Williamson is on team "we like Jade" rather than on team "Jade's a villain who's done a bunch of irredeemable things" (Which. Both positions are perfectly acceptable, but does give me a bit of an 'of course you're like that' for a guy with a known tendency to prioritise biological relationships)

The plot is ridiculous but it's editorially mandated, everyone is about to go into their Stupid Eras for the next two-three months.

The Flash #10: speaking of editorially mandated storylines...I was snorting at 'make Ollie and Barry punch each other', in terms of Ollie was doing everything but shouting what his name was and Barry was going ??? mystery guy who is not Bruce.

Jai is great in this issue. Wally is busy ascending into a higher plane of existence, still, and I am waiting until his brain comes back online and the various creepy higher dimensional beings stop trying to brain wipe him and use him as conduit, as they will not enjoy him handing them their asses.

Please get Bart into a room with his friends so he can notice they're also young adults over 18 and stop reverse aging himself, he's drawn younger than Jai in this. Or actually address the plot point that Bart's currently making himself be the age he was when Max was his guardian, and what that means about their relationship.

Zatanna: Bring Down the House #1: oh this is fun. It's functioning as a Zatanna origin story, and a good reminder that Zatara is in hell.

And now a look at everyone losing their minds for the Event:

Suicide Squad Dream Team #1-4: super reluctantly reading this as lead in for Absolute Power.

I'm not sure if I'm more mad over how Amanda Waller is being villainised here or how they're characterising Lori Zechlin. Lori, what have they done to you?

As I scrutinise this, it's written by the actor who originated Nia Nal, and uh...it could use being less Nia's perspective v general Squad attitudes. It just feels very very righteous v Waller Being Evil For No Reason.

I dunno. I don't think Nicole Maines has enough experience or practice in writing for a shared property. Her Nia stuff on its own has been fine so far, but managing to write decent team dynamics for the SUICIDE SQUAD is something that takes a lot of skill and experience (given the number of strong personalities involved). It probably shouldn’t be handed to a writer who’s effectively never written a comic that doesn’t star the character she played on TV.

Absolute Power: Ground Zero #1: sigh.

This is not going to be a particularly compelling event to me.

Like hmmmmm part of me wants to point out that under a different storyline, Waller living out 20 years of peace in a virtual reality as a mother figure would be something that would affect her a lot, given her history.

Unfortunately, we are no longer in Suicide Squad 1987.

The Warlord #58: this week in Skartaris we don't see Travis at ALL. Guy who's cosplaying Travis is doing a terrible job of it, and pissing off Tara, who has been driven back into finding her childhood sweetheart Graemore attractive. We get a full retrospective of their childhood growing up together: Graemore was the son of a blacksmith and a tailor whose family were captured in warfare by Tara's father. Graemore played with Tara while his mother made swords for Shamballah and his father educated Tara. It's a very cute 'they grew up together' teen love story.

While all of this is going on Darvin the Thief goes to try and extort more money from the people on council paying him to hold Travis prisoner, and he suddenly realises where he's seen Joshua's weird bracelet before...on Tara's arm!

Surely this can only end well.

In the Arion backup, I am very slowly starting to get my head around how to fit Skartaris's ancient Atlanteans, Earth's ancient Atlanteans and modern Atlantis together. They do all come from the same group (which is what I expected) but it's definitely interesting in terms of the various interactions between magic and advanced technology.

(Now I actually need to read some more Aquaman to confirm my understanding, as it's still pretty vibes based right now)

[disventure-rewrite-takes]

I'm actually going to say it - I want MORE challenges like Episode 14.

Yes it's haha silly tiktoks, but that gives time to the characters to exist. I feel like people honed in too much on the challenge for Episode 14 - when it actually provides some wonderful characterization and relationship building that

The 'looking good for an online community' part hits so close to home for Ally that she literally decides she needs to be compulsively perfect and look good - which drives a more interesting wedge between her and Jake than whatever reason they argued for during Pre-Merge.

Aiden knows the dances and ends up teaching the others - creating the most ridiculous group of four known to man. Riya, Alec, Connor and Aiden of all people. But it's a wonderful and unique group

On that topic, Aiden and Riya are a peak duo this episode and them working together is wonderful, it's a duo that would never exist had they not been forced to complicity work together to keep themselves safe from elimination

It also makes Connor and Alec confront each other and gives them time to stew in their emotion and awkwardness - forcing them together

It also tells us more about Grett's relationship with Yul - while also affirming her decision to split from him and her feelings on her life post break up

It also shows the strength of Grett and Gabby's friendship and neatly cleans up the loose ends of Gabby's...we'll say negative thoughts since she says it's not schizophrenia. That Gabby feels strongly connected to Grett and that she wouldn't betray her even for an advantage in the game

And because it's a short challenge - the episode ends with an incredible Connor and Jake scene

Honestly, too many of the challenges are "good" or "compelling" that it extends them past the point of what makes sense and ends up crunching these characters into the same boxes. A challenge like the yarn balls is so complicated and has so many moving parts that the characters...don't really do anything? Cyan gets most of the screentime - and they don't really say anything we don't know. Ellie is evil and the game isn't healthy for her - it's pushing Gabby away from her - Tom and Aiden don't like this. It also makes Fiore's elimination end up feeling just a touch underbaked.

Or the spaceship challenge - most of the setup for Ellie's elimination is literally in prior episodes just so that they don't have to cut down the whole space aesthetic - which in the end just results in a tiebreaker.

If you hacked up these challenges to just core "simple" or "boring" concepts, you could spend more time on creating interesting dynamics or character moments. Episode 14 does this great - even if the price is seeing Gabby hit the griddy.

the price we have to pay for character development... but yeah i agree. it’s fine to occasionally have underwhelming challenges, since the characters are the heart of the story anyways. i just wish we had less cringe challenges lol

[pupmkincake2000]

I once had this topic in my posts, and I want to talk about it again. Perhaps I will say the same thing, but in this context it is important to bring to the main idea.

So, the found-family trope. It has been perverted into "here's a set of characters, I've squished them into the heteronormative roles of father/mother/child". - found family CAN be that, in some cases, but that is not what the trope was initially founded on. The found family trope was built on NON-CONVENTIONAL FAMILIES/RELATIONSHIPS. It is about finding a family OUTSIDE of the one you were born into, a family that can be whoever you want, and look however you want it to. That's the very reason it's so popular in LGBT+ spaces. It is not about pushing people into strict parental/child roles. It is about finding family in other people, regardless of what they are to you. Romantic partners absolutely count as found family, so no, we are not pushing aside a lovely found-family trope for the "sake of a ship" (a silly sentence to begin with, imo, but I digress) Hank and Connor ARE found family, because you can find your family; your comfort, your helper, your partner in life, in your husband, wife, or partner. The opportunity for a queer love story does NOT cheapen anything, especially in todays world, where it's desperately needed right now.

So, when people say they are not infantilizing Connor by making Hank treat him like a son because adults are allowed to have parents and that Connor is smart and all but he’s still unexperienced when it comes to human emotions and needs someone to guide him and that Connor needs a guide, an anchor in his life I always ask myself why.

Why it has to be Connor of all androids? Why do people think Connor needs an anchor, a guide and why do they think he’s unexperienced? Considering, he’s a clever machine whose brain, or whatever he has in his head, works much faster than human being’s. Does that mean all the androids need a guide and an anchor? Isn't that infantilization? Weren't they actually shown as independent individuals? Doesn't this destroy him as an independent person who's already decided who he wanted to be and is aware of his own actions? In addition, people forget that he is not a human and he may not need the very concept of a father figure or parents/child relationships at all.

I have often seen how people who insist Connor needs a father, need a father figure themselves, in fact, they simply project their desires onto Connor and Hank due to a lack of fatherly love or attention, and some of them have directly admitted this to me. Tho, they choice of Hank as a father figure seems really ridiculous, considering how his relationships with Connor started. But then again, Connor is not a human, and such concepts may be alien to him. We do not talk about Markus here, because he lived for 10 years with a man who considered him a son from the very beginning. Therefore, Markus is the exception rather than the rule. We leave out Alice because she was essentially programmed to be a child and needs to be taken care of, this is basically her function. And there were no other examples of family relationships among androids, there were only couples.

The most interesting part is also that people who are usually against HankCon, seem like the ones who are applying their personal feelings and issues to the characters. Can your partner not be your family? Is your partner not your friend, your confidant, and the person that helps you heal and uplifts you? Those things aren’t locked to just platonic or familial relationships.

Although I'm still sure that good old stereotypes are to blame, because if Hank was younger or at least looked younger, no one would think of him as a father figure. If people are only doing this because of his age and looks (and I suspect that's the case... in most cases), it's largely the fault of the fandom itself that forces Hank into this stereotypical role. Because a lot of people who played the game, but have never been part of the fandom, have no problems seeing Hank and Connor as a potential couple or just who they are accrotding the plot - friends), it just shows how incapable they are of analyzing characters. Because according to this perspective, any human being, if they are not a child or a teenager, will be more experienced in life than any android. Shouldn't androids view all humans who are over 20 as their potential parents or parental figures then? But for some reason, if a human being looks young, no one assigns them such a role, although from such a point of view this is exactly how it should be. So either people accept that Connor is an adult, capable of making adult decisions (while remembering that he is not human), or they accept that any android is infantile by the very fact of their existence and needs a parental figure, even if humans who the androids interact with, look young.

[dominickeating-source]

TV Zone Special Issue #48 (2002)

Keating The British End Up 

It's hard [not] to notice that Lt. Reed is the only British character in a strongly American series. Steven Eramo met with actor Dominic Keating to talk about Enterprise's old new frontier.  

THE CREW OF THE Enterprise NX-01 had no idea what awaited them when they warped off into the cosmos on their first mission to the Klingon home world. As tactical/armory officer, Lt. Malcolm Reed was responsible for maintaining the ship's defenses.  He spent his first few months in space fine-tuning the targeting scanners for the photon torpedoes and getting the phase cannons to work. Not one to pass up an adventure, the lieutenant has also had his fair share of close encounters with some friendly and not-so-friendly aliens. So the past twelve months or so have been anything but dull for him.   Like his TV alter ego, Dominic Keating did not know quite what to expect when he signed on to play the very British Reed on the latest Star Trek spin-off Enterprise.  According to the actor, his first year in the Trek universe had plenty of ups and very few downs. "I couldn't be more pleased," enthuses Keating. "I'll admit, though, that initially I was a bit concerned that the Initial thrust of the show seemed to be the triumvirate of Captain Archer [Scott Bakula], T'Pol [Jolene Blalock] and Trip [Connor Trinneer]. At one point I was going to phone [Enterprise co-creator and executive producer] Brannon Braga and ask him, 'Hey, what's up?' I didn't want to become the guy that only said, 'Hull plating is down 25%, Captain,' in the best British accent that I could muster.

"In retrospect I'm so glad I didn't make that call and act a bit like a headless chicken if you will because suddenly things began to change. Around the corner came stories such as Shuttlepod One and Sleeping Dogs. It became clear to me that Malcolm was going to have a distinct role to play in the telling of this ensemble story. I also didn't expect my character to become the 'action man' of the piece. As a child I was always good at playing cowboys and Indians in the backyard. I loved to run around and hunker down behind a wall and pretend to be fired upon," laughs the actor.  "Now all these years later I'm getting to do it all over again but in outer space. I'm over the moon - no pun intended - about that.

"I was at a Trek convention in Las Vegas recently and Brannon was also there. We spent an evening sitting and chatting quite casually for the first time. He and I discussed the fact that in some ways Malcolm Reed is one of the most enigmatic and versatile characters on the show. He's the least prone too two-dimensionally and the viewers seem able to accept any sort of contradiction in his character flaws. As a result, the writers can go any way with Malcolm and I like that. At one turn he's charming and coy and the next he's bad tempered and irritable. Then there are times that he's all by the book and no-nonsense and yet he can also be a jokester with a very dry sense of humour. I think Malcolm has great prospects in the years to come."

Like many actors, Keating is his own worst critic when it concerns his craft. That said, is there anything he would have done differently when it came to playing Malcolm Reed in Enterprise's first year?  "Well, there was that one look I gave Hoshi [Linda Park] in the pilot. I thought I was being charming and sexy and I just looked camp and ridiculous. I'll never do that lip movement again," he jokes. "I've never done 26 episodes of something back-to-back and then seen it weekly. I mean, I do watch the episodes and I watch them with a fine-tooth comb. I weed out what does and doesn't work. There are some things you do that seem fine at the time but, in fact, actually end up telegraphing something else. You don't want to get too highfalutin insofar as, 'What's my motivation? Where's my obstruction? Where am I going with this?' If something doesn't feel right you have to be aware of it and tell yourself, 'That doesn't work, kid?' 

"This is also my first time playing a part where I've begun to allow who Dominic is into Malcolm," continues the actor. "I've never trusted myself to do that before.  When you read a three-line character breakdown at the beginning of your audition process you kind of get locked into that description. With Malcolm it was, 'Shy around women, button-down, by the book, typical Brit.'. Descriptions such as these very much denote how you're going to play your character, but only if you let them. For the first time I've been able to flesh Malcolm out and play him at odds with himself. For example, if I as Dominic thought a moment in a scene had a tinge of humour to it and felt it was appropriate to laugh at then I'd let Malcolm laugh. This is where that murky land of who's Malcolm Reed and who's Dominic Keating becomes the finished product.

"I know there have been times when Rick Berman [co-creator and executive producer] has said to me, 'That's too much, Dominic'. There was a nightclub scene in the Risa episode [Two Days and Two Nights] where I was too loose. We ended up doing another take and I had to tone things down slightly. Because Malcolm was on holiday I thought, 'He can let his hair down a bit'.  Unfortunately, I stretched things a little too thin and you could see his cellulite," chuckles Keating. "You have to be careful not to do that."

MOST REGULAR Enterprise viewers will agree that the actor's first season tour de force is the aforementioned episode Shuttlepod One. In it, Malcolm and Commander (Trip) Tucker are returning to the Enterprise after a mission when their shuttlepod is damaged.  They manage to reach their rendezvous point where they discover that the Enterprise has apparently been destroyed in a collision with an asteroid. The two officers suddenly find themselves marooned in space with only a few days of air left.  

"Oddly enough, the filming of Shuttlepod One wound up crossing with Sleeping Dogs because Les Landau, who directed Dogs, was taken ill," recalls Keating. "As a result, director David Livingston was called in right away to start shooting Shuttlepod One. We did four or five days on that episode and then Les was well enough to come back to work. So we filmed the last day of Dogs right in the middle of Shuttlepod One, which was a little weird. We actually shot the scenes for Shuttlepod One pretty much in order, which is very unusual, and we were well into a rhythm. It was somewhat of a rude awakening for me to suddenly be pulled out for a day, dressed in another costume, and put back on the Klingon battle cruiser with Jolene and Linda to finish up Dogs.

"I remember filming the last scene of Shuttlepod One in sickbay and not wanting it to end. I was sad. It was a good energy to have, though, as it lent itself nicely to the scene. It had been a wonderful week and my best experience to date in front of a camera. I think it's a terrific piece of hour-long TV I really love working with Connor.  He's a very generous and talented actor and we have a good rapport on and off-screen.  Rick Berman was so excited when he saw the rough cut of the episode that he came down to the set to pat Connor and me on our backs. He told us, 'Of all the shows I've ever produced this is the one I'm most proud of. That's weighty praise, indeed."   

At the time of this interview (early September) Keating and the rest of the Enterprise cast and crew were well into filming the show's second season. One of the first stories to be shot was called Minefield. It features Malcolm Reed, who finds himself pinned under a deep-space mine on the hull of the Enterprise.  

"Finally Malcolm and the captain are seen in close proximity with one another," says the actor. "If there was one disappointment I had about the first season it's that I didn't get to do an awful lot with Scott. I certainly never got to sit at Captain Archer's mess table, and God that bothered me. Even Anthony Montgomery's character of Mayweather sat there. Come on, he's just an ensign, Malcolm's a lieutenant. We take these things very seriously," he jokes.  

"Scott and I spent 16 hours a day for five days in EV [environmental] suits for the filming of Minefield, which is no mean feat I'll tell you. Poor Scott threw his back out and we both lost 10 pounds. It was one hell of a week. However, it was terrific working with Scott. It's quite a gargantuan episode. Not wishing to sort of taint it in any way but in some respects it was Shuttlepod One revisited only with Malcolm and Archer.  One big difference was it had a ticking clock. I can honestly say that week�s 'guest star' was the biggest prop I�ve ever worked with," laughs Keating.

IN AN IDEAL world, the actor would love to be doing episodes such as Minefield and Shuttlepod One every other week. However, he realizes this is not possible given the inherent structure of series TV and, in particular, Enterprise. "Early on I thought that Enterprise was going to be ER only in space," he says. "The ship would be the emergency room and you'd have these seven doctors who were spacemen all having interesting story lines with each other. And there would be new patients - the aliens - coming in each week. That's difficult to do, though. I also know that Trek has an established format and they're not about to throw that out the window.  

"I've heard through the grapevine that ideas for new episodes have been mooted and debated at production level meetings.  And the word will come back that, 'Yes, great idea. Too bad it's Shuttlepod One.  We've been there, done that.' You can't do it again for whatever reason within the confines of this series. I suppose in more reality-based shows like a medical or police dramas that Human relationships do kind of go round and round in circles and some scenes do seem like one another. However, I guess it just doesn't ring true with Sci-Fi.  That said, I think the people in charge of Enterprise have done a fine job of presenting a Sci-Fi adventure epic and introducing a cast of characters that the viewers can get to know and, hopefully, come to care about."

Like most actors associated with a Star Trek series, Keating has made a point of going to conventions and meeting the fans.  "I'm actually the convention king on our programme," he laughs. "I've been to 12 or 13 already. Just recently, though, I've taken a bit of a  backseat from them. I thought, 'OK, that's enough for now'. It takes a lot out of you I've got to say. You're up at 5 in the morning, get on a 6 o'clock flight, fly for four or five hours, do your hour on stage, sign autographs, pose for pictures, and then you're back on a plane to Los Angeles. By the time you get home you're like, 'I'm knackered'. However, it's tremendous fun meeting and talking with the fans. I remember the first con I did was quite nerve-racking but I've since gotten into a stride, and quite frankly you can't shut me up now. The biggest one I've done so far was in Germany where six thousand people turned up. I walked out on that stage and it was like being in a boy band. I felt like a member of N'Sync for the day. It was extraordinary."

IT WAS TWO YEARS ago when TV Zone first met up with Keating.  He was in the middle of filming his first episode of The Immortal in which he portrayed the wickedly handsome and decidedly evil demon Mallos, the Lord of Darkness. In many ways this was the start of the Leicester lad's new career in America.

"I'd just done a film with Burt Reynolds, Rod Steiger and Tom Berenger called The Hollywood Sign," says the actor. "Sadly, it never was released here.  Apparently, it was a big hit in Holland because the director [Sonke Wortmann] was a Dutch fellow. Right after that I was cast in The Immortal and went up to Vancouver to shoot the first few episodes with Lorzeno Lamas [Raphael 'Rafe' Cain] and the beautiful Kira Clavell [Vashista].  

"It was around this time I began to realize that suddenly I was working more regularly than ever before since coming to the States. While I was going back and forth from Los Angeles to Vancouver to do The Immortal I got a call from Zalman King. He cast me in his new erotic/comedic romp ChromiumBlue.com in which I play a bisexual ghost, can you believe it? Hey, I'm versatile if nothing else. I went from the Lord of Darkness to the Queen of Camp and now the King of the Armoury Room on Enterprise.  I don't think even Robert De Niro can boast that litany," laughs Keating.

"Never in a million years, though, did I think I'd end up on a seven-year Sci-Fi series like Enterprise, but now that I have it's fantastic, I'm definitely of an age where I'm old enough to appreciate it and young enough to still enjoy it, you know? I'm so grateful to whatever higher power saw fit to bestow this upon me because I realize how fleeting such things can be. If they didn't like one little thing I did in the network audition I might not have gotten this job. Sometimes it makes me shiver when I think how fortunate I truly am." 

Source: www.dominickeating.com