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waitmyturtles · 8 months

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This is VERY UNLIKE ME, but here's some incredibly fast, EXTREMELY late-night meta on two dramas (Dangerous Romance and I Feel You Linger in the Air) from this TIRED mama, all before Only Friends later today!

(Y'all. I've missed being around this week! Moving and unpacking... I'll tell ya. It gets harder as I get older. Mostly because I/we have more stuff, and the BRAINS I need to figure out where this stuff should go is like, as mentally draining as it is physically draining to open boxes, unpack 'em, go up and down stairs -- damn. I have been COLLAPSING at night. Friends have been sending me meta to read -- @ranchthoughts, I see you, boo! <3 <3 The little peeks and breaks I've been getting have been giving me energy. I'm a little back on my bullshit now, and I can't wait to give Only Friends the full treatment tomorrow. But for now, quick notes!)

1) Dangerous Romance, episode 4: Listen, the friends covered a lot (here, here, and here -- @neuroticbookworm, @lurkingshan, @wen-kexing-apologist, all clowning correctly). WKA also notes that this show was written by Pratchaya Thavornthummarut and Bee Pongsate, two of the three writers of some of the best BLs ever -- Bad Buddy, My School President, Dark Blue Kiss, etc. When Bee and Pratchaya write WITHOUT Au Kornprom, as they did in BBS, MSP, and DBK -- things go a touch awry (cc @chickenstrangers, as we've talked about this before). Bee and Pratchaya, for instance, wrote Vice Versa, which I haven't watched, but I know the fam is mid on. (Remember when Aof Noppharnach had to come in to save 2gether by making Still 2gether? 2gether was written by Bee and Pratchaya -- Aof and Au joined in on the Still 2gether correction.)

ANYWAY, ALL OF THIS IS TO SAY that I should have been smarter about this show when I started in on it. It's directed in part by Lit Phadung, formerly of SOTUS, which is a fine show by nostalgia's standards! But like, not the height of drahmah.

So there's a lot of mid kinda swirling around here, and god, honestly, I'm kicking myself, because I should have been more sus. I should have been more sus!

Perth and Chimon are too good for this show. Not that I hate it! I don't hate the show, per se. It's just -- the first episode was so intense, so very issues-based, as all the dear friends noted, that to swerve towards a SUCH a gloopy romance plot was just... man, even SOTUS was WAY more clear in its plot than DR. (Dudes, I was chatting with @neuroticbookworm while I was watching this, and I was like, LOVE SICK HAD A MORE CONVINCING ROMANCE PACE THAN THIS. LOVE SICK!!!) DR is moving WAY too quickly towards the cheesiest of tropes, without the beef to back it up.

Anyway, from the energy vibes that Perth and Chimon are giving off, they should either 1) be making out by now, and/or 2) doing it by now, because like, WHOA, lots of staring, boys! LOTS of staring. And lemme tell ya, someone's staring at me like that, like in the clurb or something, and I'm like, yep, make-out time, right?! RIGHT?!

I am now officially watching this show, as I noted to @neuroticbookworm, literally to watch all the dear GMMTV celebs in here try to avoid a dumpster fire. (Where the hell is June?!) (At least Marc and Pawin are funny for like, the 10 seconds we see them.)

OH, ALSO?! What's the difference in Sailom becoming a sex worker vs. being bought out as a live-in tutor? Were we supposed to judge Sailom becoming an escort? Are we intentionally ignoring bias in socioeconomic gaps, writers? TOO MUCH TO ASK, TEAM! Too. much. to. ask.

I luv you, Perth and Chimon, I LUV YOU, BUT WHY. ANYWAY. MOVING ON.

2) I haven't written anything about I Feel You Linger in the Air yet because of LIFE (see above), and I was very wibbly about it when I started it, because you, your mother, MY mother, and MY MOTHER'S MOTHER all know about how sus I am on Tee Bundit (but I finally watched Lovely Writer and LOVED IT, so I am a touch less sus).

ANYWAY, thanks to the convincing of @lurkingshan and @neuroticbookworm to look past the slow pace of the first episode as accurate for a historical drama, I kept at it with IFYLITA. And I'm glad I did.

Now this? THIS IS A BL, BABY!

We got sexy typewriter scenes! Drawings of cutie widdle pigwets! Drunk falls! Red cheeks! Reading out loud! POETRY! FLOWERS! ENEMIES AND INTRIGUE! (I'm not happy about the marital rape, but unfortunately, I am thinking that is accurate for the time being portrayed.)

Admittedly -- god, Tee, the episodes are still a little long, my homey. A little long. BUT.

This show, as so many have noted, is just beyond gorgeous. The plumerias. I LOVE Ming and Maey. I LOVE THAT WE MAY HAVE A SAPPHIC SUB-PLOT.

But I also appreciate that only four episodes in, we haven't forgotten that this is a time travel show, in the midst of the budding romance. My thinking on that out-of-body experience on Jom's part was Jom flirting with consciousness after the present-day car crash. But who knows.

I like that Jom is making the connections with those drawings he found in that chest -- and that, lol, he was asking Prik questions about the architecture. Even though Yai's dad seems like a bad dude, I have faith that Tee Bundit is going to keep Nu Surasak going as a good BL dad/dude -- fingers crossed.

I am just -- I am loving where this show is going to go. The house is worried about Yai. I like the way the scent about Yai's preferences is a lot more muted in 1920s Thailand than it would be as set in the present-day. I just think that's totally accurate for what I would call an "old-fashioned" Asian perspective now. I'm very intrigued to see how a historical drama like this will wrestle with homophobia, as this is my first period BL, and -- I'm just excited to see where it'll go.

The acting is GREAT, the pace of the romance is GREAT, the pace of the filming is still slow, but I can't believe I'm saying this -- I'll continue to forgive it for now. Tee, please, PLEASE don't fail us, because you have something GREAT going on here. Yai, head over HEEEELLLLSSS for Jom, is just -- it's a wonder to see, and I am fully on this roller coaster palanquin ride.

(Also, hey, TWO DRAMAS where dudes were PAID to live with their crushes. K!)

(Oh, also, definitely, next time I'm at a clurb, in like, 20 years, I am definitely ordering an URN of liquor with a ladle. Like a baijiu urn. Fuck yeah. What a LOOK.)

(Okay, that's it, good night, see you for Only Friends!)

#dangerous romance #dangerous romance the series #perthchimon #perth tanapon #chimon wachirawit #kang x sailom #sailom x kanghan #kanghan x sailom #i feel you linger in the air #ifylita #yai x jom #jom x yai #tee bundit

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boxwinebaddie · 3 months

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wait... does jers know hebrew?

jersey knows hebrew!!! sheila raised him to be a Noise Jewish Buoy.

he also went to hebrew school and temple every weekend growing up, but tbh, learning how read/write hebrew, being on top of his class and the best student in hebrew school was less about kyle being passionate about his heritage and was more about winning and being the best at any given task or trade. in a similarly unhealthy sense, pursuing shabbat every saturday was more of a control thing, an ocd trigger, a routine and regimen that he felt he needed to complete.

also not to peddle/push the downright false agenda that kyle actively attempts to seek out conversations with his peers or even wants to engage with other human beings at all, but a lot of kyle’s relatives, specifically the older ones, only speak yiddish or understand hebrew, so over the course of several childhood birthdays, seder dinners, and passovers passed, kyle developed a fluency for his family members.

speaking of jewish holidays and such tho, at thirteen, kyle had his bar mitzvah ( stan was supposed to come ofc, but something came up ), spoke a lot of hebrew during that ofc, but as a present, zayde and bubbe got kyle a star of david necklace so that jers could keep the faith w/ him at all times. literally. bc when kyle was at his heaviest, that chain was basically a choker and the clasp got stuck/rusted over so kyle...couldn’t get it off.

basically, stan's iconic everyday cartoon character necklace is the mysterious sexy vampy emo boy red glass heart shaped vial necklace n ky's is the lil gold star of david chain/pendant from zayde & bubbe.

on the topic of cartoon character boy things tho and specifically jersey kyle and his canon sp show outfit, i will say that when jersey goes for runs ( specifically in the summer when its hot ) or goes kick boxing with tweek, he does revisit his high school roots and wears the beat up white tank top, gold star of david chain, baggy good will jeans and sneakers. i’m not sure if he gels his hair back anymore ( that was such a big hs phase for him ) but he does put it back in a ponytail sometimes so it doesn’t get in his way when he’s exercising.

please note the white tank top is sometimes the ‘talk nerdy to me’ tank top that bebe got him as a joke for his birthday bc like, he’s exercising, who cares.

...stan cares.

stan cares…A Lot. ;)

bc the talk nerdy to me white tank top is the jerseykyle equivalent of stan wearing the support rock fuck a rockstar tank top. they r hating.

and ohhhh my god when jersey comes back from the boxing studio glistening with sweat, spitting his mouth guard into the case, all fired up bc he was just gettin all that aggression out, punching and kicking shit, releasing lots of catharsis, with his accent all heavy, swearing very liberally in yiddish, still cussing out the other cars on the road… ft. stan like i need u to do...Horrible Things to me. on every surface.

sorry, getting my mind out of the gutter, i swear! but kyle can def speak hebrew and while he swore he would never become his mother...he literally developed all her little yiddish mom sayings by accident, calls ike bubbeleh, constantly uses the schmatta to wipe schmutz of stans face, calls everyone a fucken dummkopf, says oy vey and oy gevault waaay too much. i love jersey he is so cuteeeee in his lil star of david apron, hand on hip, kochlefl in the other, making dinner shakin his head like ya betta wash ya Hands, nasty boy!

bonus hc: when stan goes off to college he actually takes hebrew as his elective class to try and impress kyle shsjs he is sooooooo fkn bad at it tho like the same way that jersey can’t roll his rs, raven cannot do the glottal stops. it’s so fucking funny oh my god. it’s ok kyle gives him private lessons. he requires…a lot of support & multiple sessions.

i honestly think that if they do actually decide to get married and conform to the standards of society for the hell of it; jerseykyles vows are in spanish and ravenstans are in hebrew <3 ;-;

-uncle nina, jew jersey kyle broflovski supremacy

#i feel like recently he hasn’t been a v good jew or that’s what i said in #chapter three of rm like he stopped having time for temple #doesn’t really read the torah or speak hebrew v much anymore #he kinda lost the faith & he’s a cynic so religion is hard for him #after stan died he figured like if there was a god #and that god took stan away from him he must be cruel #or that there was no god bc no truly benevolent thing could let something so evil and merciless happen #every once and a while kyle does pray but it’s more of a #hey god or whatever is up there i am not sure if ur real #my stupid cat ate a glow stick and im scared he’s gonna die #i like to think he revisits his faith post rm bc when stan comes back #his faith i. humanity and in general is restored #raveseys kid nova also speaks hebrew and spanish btw #ALSO JERSEY WEARING THE TALK NERDY TO ME TANK TOP THE LOW RISE JEANS AND PUTTING HIS HAIR BACK #W THE STAR OF DAVID CHAN NECKLACE #OH MY GODDDDDD IT IS LIKE NIGARA FALLS IN THEIR APARTMENT FOR STANLEY MARSH IM NOT EVEN KIDDING #him and craig got invited to sit in once…don’t ask them the color of anything like for a pacifist stan was ABT that violence!#bad boy mean streets street brawler gangsta scary attack dog new jersey kyle just one chance stan is like plssss beat my ass #i just know his accent is sooooo like the Is He Botha’rin Ya Sweethaught??? We Gotta Fuken Problem Here or What?!#anyways...jail #stan coming back in from the gym swearing and sweaty whipping his hair out of the hair tie all like stanley u would naught Believe!!#these hitsigers today the fucken aduacity of these chazers like can anyone FUCKEN drive these days?? just me??? hoooly shit #and stans just in his big emo boy teeshirt and shorts playing nintendo switch all heart eyes has no idea what kyles sayin #stan every day like god i love my really scary really hot super best boyfriend like he rly is down so horrendously 4 feral kyle

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hockeyboysiguess · 3 years

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a partridge in a pear tree -> a jersey under the tree | b. boeser

a/n: happy december 1st everyone and welcome to the first day of 12 days of christmas! as a reminder here is the whole list. these will be posted every other day through christmas eve. this one is where this whole thing started, a gift for my bestie bae, the apple to my peanut butter forever, @brockadoodles. i hope you like it most of all!

word count: 3,740

wine drink pairing recommendation: hot chocolate with lots of marshmallows

warnings: pregnancy. some seriously wholesome content.

You took a deep breath and pulled the sleeves of your sweater over your hands, then pushed them back up again when you started pulling at the threads at the edge. Your sweater didn’t deserve to take the brunt of your stress in that moment. You bounced your foot up and down nervously instead as you waited what had to have been the longest three, absolutely agonizing minutes of your life. When the timer on your phone went off, you lurched forward to grab it, turning it off, as your other hand reached for the small, plastic test. You took a deep, centering breath before glancing down at the word in the small window.

Pregnant.

You were actually pregnant. You knew everything had felt wrong for a few weeks now, food didn't taste the same or sit right, you were absolutely exhausted all of the time, and you had snapped at Brock a time or two for well-meaning actions. You knew something was wrong, but your mom had been the one to have to tell you to take a test before going to the doctor’s. You had told her it wasn’t possible; you and Brock were doing the opposite of trying since you had only gotten married over the summer. You agreed to wait. That single word, which came with a lifetime behind it, wasn’t in the plan for another few years, but it was here now and it would be your reality in seven short months.

How were you going to tell Brock?

You knew he would be overwhelmed, his eyes glazing over as the timeline of his life abruptly shifted forward several years, yanking him right along with it. You knew Brock though; you wouldn’t have married him if you didn’t know him as well as you did. You knew that glazed over look would give way into a smile so broad it practically broke across his face. The waiting a few years, the shattered plan, was mostly you with a dash of Brock trying to make you happy. If you suddenly changed your mind and wanted to try for a baby tomorrow, unnecessary now, he would’ve dragged you to bed that instant. In full truth, your husband had baby fever as soon as he slid the wedding band onto your finger, probably before that really. Brock was going to be over the moon. You didn’t have any doubts about it, you really just needed to get yourself on board with this more than anything, this new timeline.

You grabbed your phone, fingers hovering over Brock’s name in your contacts. You debated calling him then, letting the nervous words spill out of your mouth, letting him wash away your concerns with words of love and affirmation. But you knew Brock. You knew Brock wanted the cliché, cute surprise. His scavenger hunt of a proposal set the standard for how big news was delivered, a cliché bang of sorts. You were more of a whimper than a bang sort of person, but you could lean into the cliché of it all for him.

Instead of calling him, you dropped your phone into your purse and grabbed your keys, needing to make a last minute trip in order to make this happen before he got home later that day from his road trip for the Christmas break. Two stores and one confused holiday worker later, you had everything you needed for your last minute announcement, letting the excitement of the anticipation of seeing Brock’s happiness calm your nerves in place of him doing it in only the way he knew how. Slowly but surely, as you carefully wrapped everything up, you could feel yourself getting more excited, hands shaking a little as you wrapped. A family with Brock was always the real plan; everything else was secondary, including the timing of it all.

You and Brock had found each other by chance, a complete accident four years prior to the day actually. A department store the day before Christmas was a terrible place to be, but it was the only place in your area that said they had the last gift you needed before you could head off to spend Christmas with your family. You spotted it in the store, the last one on the shelf, and made a beeline for it. As your hand reached for it, a large hand reached for the item as well, grabbed onto it the same time you did. You both recoiled, and turned to face each other.

You would have been furious with him if it wasn’t for the everything about him when you saw him. Blond hair peeking out from a gray beanie on his head, blue eyes that reminded you of the sky the morning after a snowstorm, bright and beautiful, and a small baby in his arms who was already reaching out for your hair, even though he didn’t know you at all.

“Whoa, Easty, don’t grab the pretty girl’s hair,” he laughed as he intercepted the baby’s hand on its way to fist into your hair. “Sorry about Easton. His parents are trying to teach him not to grab, but you can see it’s not going well.”

He readjusted the baby in his arms, hoisting him up a little higher, before continuing, “I’m Brock, by the way, and this is my nephew, Easton.”

“Um, hi,” you mumbled out, tucking your hair behind your ear as a blush rose to your cheeks as you added your name at the end of your half statement. You had a warmer smile for Easton though. Brock, a terrible name for a cute boy who liked babies to boot, who on the other hand was trying to take your gift that you needed. He was on the naughty list for sure. “Hi there, Easton.”

“I see we like Easton best,” Brock laughed, picking up on the stark difference in the tones you used. “Look, you want that, right?”

Brock pointed up toward the shelf where the gift you desperately needed sat, taunting you, daring you to reach out and grab it. You nodded in response to Brock, unsure where he could possibly be going with this.

“How about I let you have that if you’ll grab a drink with me?” Brock asked you, completely stunning you in the middle of a department store in the middle of the holiday season, a lawless place where one should always expect the unexpected.

“I’m sorry?” you laughed, a look of disbelief clear on your face.

Brock let a lazy smile roll across his face, “I get a drink with a pretty girl for the price of a Christmas gift for one of my cousins who would probably break it the day after I give it to him? Yeah, I’m coming out on top here, if you say yes.”

You had said yes and the rest was pretty much history, an accidental meeting led to all of this, so maybe the accidental baby you were carrying just in time for Christmas was just the right thing for the two of you, a nod to your past in the setting up of your future. Just as you finished tying the bow around the box, the front door jingled, the sound instantly followed by barking from Milo and Coolie, and then followed by cooing from your husband at the pups.

“Hey bud, hey bud. Yeah, Dad missed ya too,” he managed to get out as he was being practically tackled by the pups, like they did whenever he came home.

You slid the surprise gift under the tree, tucking it in the back, before Brock could notice you were adding one more gift after you said you were done a few days ago. You lifted yourself off the floor, tucking the wrapping paper under the couch to hide it from Brock, as he rounded the corner into the living room. Brock looked at you like he always did, like you were his entire world, like you were his first breath of fresh air he’d had in years, like you were the living embodiment of a Christmas miracle. He shuffled across the floor to wrap his arms around your waist, and you gasped as he lifted you up. He laughed, but you were just panicking that maybe your stomach wasn’t as flat as you thought it was and he was going to find out about the biggest surprise he was ever going to get a little earlier than you wanted.

“Hey, baby,” he breathed out as he set you back down, tilting his head down in one another motion to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

“Hey, handsome,” you smiled as you pulled away from his kiss, a hand threading into the long strands of hair at the back of his neck.

Brock smiled down at you, and gave you another quick kiss before saying, “How were the last couple days? Were the pups good for you? Do I need to be bad cop with them?”

You laughed and shook your head softly, “Brock Boeser, we both know you’re not capable of being the bad cop with anyone, let alone Milo and Coolie.”

Brock was laughing as he kissed your forehead, “Sorry you’re going to have to be the bad guy all the time when we have kids. Whenever that is, no pressure.”

Your heart picked up in your chest and your breath caught in your throat. You tucked your face in his neck to try and hide the expression on your face, letting the ease with which Brock brought up kids calm you. He wanted this baby, even if he didn’t know they existed yet. Your nerves that maybe he wouldn’t want this baby were just misplaced anxiety coming from your own feelings about becoming a parent yourself; they weren’t about him. Brock was here, again, being your perfect partner, comforting you and assuring you, even though he had no idea he was actually doing anything at all.

Sliding into bed next to him later that night, his heavy arm slung over your stomach made you as nervous as when he picked you up earlier, even though nothing had changed since that afternoon other than everything that had already changed since the morning. Brock kissed your shoulder and relaxed into his pillow, letting his eyes flutter closed. He was out less than a few minutes after closing his eyes, as per usual. Your husband was a creature of habit, and you were about to throw the most welcome wrench into his routines that you ever could. Your nerves had shifted into ones of excitement, of wanting a beautiful thing to happen on the morning of Brock’s favorite holiday. You wanted to see him open that gift. You wanted to see the moment he realized everything was changing, the moment he realized he was going to be a father, the one thing he’d wanted for so long, under the lights of the Christmas tree, and the dawn of a winter Vancouver morning in late December.

All you had to do to get to that moment was sleep, but it was the one thing that eluded you most of the night. The combination of excitement, nerves, and the fact that this baby seemed to have the goal of making you incredibly nauseous all of the time, all working in tandem to rob you of sleep. You tossed and turned most of the night, and slept terribly when you did manage to sleep, but it was Christmas after all Brock didn’t feel any shame in waking you up when he normally got up. He woke you up with a soft kiss to your shoulder, and a comforting arm around your waist.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he mumbled softly against your shoulder when you stirred.

“Merry Christmas, husband,” you breathed out and you felt Brock smile against your shoulder. He loved when you called him by his favorite title, his words not yours. “What time is this?”

Brock laughed lightly against your skin, “Early,” which was what he said when it was before seven thirty in the morning whenever you asked, “but it’s Christmas early, so it’s appropriate today.”

You groaned, making him laugh deeper in response, “Still not sure how I married an early bird?”

“But you love meeeee,” he muttered against your skin, voice soft with an edge of youth that perfectly fit the holiday, his days old stubble scratching across your skin as he talked. “And I love you so much.”

“I do love you,” you smiled as you spoke. “It’s the only reason I can tolerate you waking up this early on days that aren’t Christmas.”

“Well, today is Christmas, so we’re putting our matching pajamas on. I’ve got Milo if you take Coolie, and we’re opening some presents, baby!”

One torn set of dog antlers, one discarded set, two embarrassing adult pajama sets Brock loved so much, and two cups of coffee since neither of you could function without it, later, and you and Brock were sat by the Christmas tree together, legs crossed, each with your first present for each other in yours laps. You had an order in mind for Brock’s gifts, saving the last addition, the announcement of your new addition, for last. Brock usually just grabbed whatever was closest to him with your name on it and handed it to you.

“Sorry I still can’t wrap things,” was how he handed you the first one, snagging the box with his name on it off your lap in one smooth motion.

“Wouldn’t be from you if it wasn’t wrapped like you ran over it with your car first,” you joked.

“Ho, ho, ho,” he rolled his eyes. “So kind of you, wifey.”

“I’ve got to keep you honest.”

You smiled brightly at him, earning yourself a quick peck on your lips before he ripped into your impeccably wrapped present, sending bits of paper and ribbon everywhere. You eyed Milo carefully as he started ripping up some of the paper Brock had torn off the box, but he wasn’t creating more of a mess than Brock was making himself, so you let it slide under a watchful eye. Brock loved his first gift, and his second, and his third. You cried at the first, and laughed at your second, and your entire chest felt warm with your third thinking that Brock Boeser was made for Christmas. He was warm and unfailingly kind and hopeful in the face of absolute hopelessness. You didn’t really believe in the idea of the magic of Christmas, chocking it all up to people making the holidays feel special simply because they wished for them to be special, but you believed that sometimes people were greater than the sum of their parts, of even their experiences, of their very atoms. There was something else to Brock Boeser, something so indescribably wonderful, that had drawn you to him in the first place, and that reminded you of what people said was the magic of Christmas. It was pure and good and so astoundingly bright that you thought maybe Brock Boeser was made of stardust from better stars than anyone else you’d ever known and maybe Christmas was made for Brock Boeser instead.

You were just hoping that your little surprise was going to make this Christmas his best one yet, rather than derail Brock’s favorite holiday and every repetition of this holiday after.

“Okay, I know we said three gifts,” and Brock was already groaning as you reached for the small box you hid behind Coolie and Milo’s gifts at the back of the tree, “but I had to get this one. It’s technically not really for you actually, but it’s kind of for you.”

Brock gave you a curious look, eyebrows furrowing down and lips pursing, but you waved him off and shoved the pristinely wrapped box into his hands. You grabbed your phone and opened up your camera, knowing if you didn’t film this moment and it was as good as you hoped it would be, you would regret it for the rest of your life. If it wasn’t as good as you hoped, well, you could always delete it.

“Oh, we’re filming me open a present that’s only sort of for me?” Brock laughed as he asked the question and you just shrugged in response and waved him on. “Okay then, weirdo wifey.”

You rolled your eyes as he opened up his last present. Your breath caught in your throat as he popped open the tape keeping the lid on the box down. Your eyes bounced back and forth between his left hand and his right as he slowly pulled at the tissue paper, going painstakingly slowly for the sake of the camera. You groaned at his actions and whined his name, which just made him laugh, but at least he finally picked up the pace. You watched with your breath held and your body tense as his soft blue eyes looked over the contents of the gift. His brows furrowed together in confusion as his shaking hands picked up a small Canucks jersey, an incredibly small Canucks jersey that wouldn’t fit anyone in your household with your shared last name on the back.

“Baby, what is this?” Brock asked you, his voice tense, his emotions screaming behind the wall he’d haphazardly built to try and keep the hopefulness out of it, but it was seeping in through the cracks in streams.

You took a deep breath, your first one since he’d started opening the present, and whispered, “I’m pregnant, Brock. We’re having a baby.”

Brock’s bottom lip quivered as he looked at the small jersey in his shaking hands. His brows softened and his chest started to heave as his breathing picked up.

“You’re serious, right?” he managed to get out. “You’re actually pregnant? We’re actually having a baby?”

He lost his voice a bit at the end, pitch going so high that he thought you didn’t even understand him, but you were listening and watching every single facet of him right now to miss what he said. You nodded slowly, letting out an unsteady breath as you did. He wasn’t angry, not that Brock had ever been angry with you even once in all the time you knew him. He was far too patient and by the time his patience wore thin, he loved you too much to ever be angry with you. But you couldn’t place how he was feeling, the emotions flashing over his face in the faint light of the Christmas tree and the Vancouver sunrise too complicated and changing too quickly for you to understand.

You understood when Brock dropped the jersey and reached for you. It wasn’t really a reach. It was a tackle, your back ending up flat on the rug with Brock hovering over you.

“We’re having a baby!”

Brock’s voice shot up several octaves and decibel levels when he shouted. A wide, gorgeous smile broke out across his face, one so true and joyful you’d only seen it a handful of times before; when you agreed to be his girlfriend, when you agreed to marry him, and when he saw you walk down the aisle. But here it was again, his “overwhelmed to the point of absolute elation” smile. And with the Christmas lights making a halo of light twinkle around his head from your position on the floor, Brock looked like every bit of the angel he was to you.

“A baby, baby,” he breathed out as he slowly sat back on his heels, pulling you up with him, keeping your faces close. “We’re having a baby, baby.”

You nodded as his hand reached out to cup your face, “We’re having a baby, Brock.”

“Well, you’re having a baby,” he smiled at you softly as his thumb ran over your lips. “I’m here for physical, moral, and emotional support.”

“Thanks for acknowledging that I’m doing all of the heavy lifting here,” you laughed with a teasing roll of your eyes.

“Are you happy?” His question was so soft, so hesitant, you always didn’t catch it. “I know you didn’t want this for another couple of years and I just, I’m thrilled, I’m over the moon and the stars and the whole freaking universe that we’re having a baby, but are you happy?”

Hearing Brock’s words, feeling the steadiness of his hand on your cheek, and the excitement absolutely radiating off him, you knew you were happy. The prospect of becoming a parent was terrifying, especially when you hadn’t been trying to become one, but knowing Brock Boeser, the man you loved more than anyone else you had ever met, the man that outshone all the lights on the tree and the stars in the sky, the man that was made of brighter stardust than anyone else, the man that Christmas could only hope to be as magical as, was your co-parent. And what was there to worry about after that?

“I’m so happy,” you told him, your voice shaking as tears began to fill your eyes. “I’m so, so happy.”

Brock nodded as his eyes matched yours, glassy and threatening to overflow with tears as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. He slowly pulled back and lowered himself down, bending over until his face was in front of your stomach. Brock let out a long, slow breath before reaching out a hand to place gently on your still flat stomach.

“Hi, little one. It’s me, Daddy.” Brock’s voice cracked at the last word that left his lips and your first tears spilled over. “Your momma and I are so happy and so excited you’re on your way and we can’t wait to meet you. Thank you for showing yourself for Christmas. You’re the best gift I’ve ever received in my entire life. Can’t wait for next Christmas already, even though this one isn’t over, because you’ll be sharing it with us then. We love you so much, little one.”

The tears were flowing freely as Brock looked back up at you. There was so much to do, so much to plan, so much to figure out, but right now it was just you and Brock and your little Christmas surprise, the best gift you had ever received either.

“Merry Christmas, Brock.”

“Merry Christmas, baby, and Merry Christmas, baby.”

#brock boeser #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fic #brock boeser writing #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurbs #nhl imagine #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey imagine #12 days of christmas fics

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writethelifeyouwant · 3 years

Text

Femme Fatale - Ch 1 / 2

Pairing: Alex x Reader (background J2) Rating: 18+ Tags: Dom/Sub relationships, Sub!Alex, Domme!Reader, Dom!Jensen, Sub!Jared, sex/bdsm club, voyeurism, exhibitionism, pegging, humiliation kink Word Count: 3.3k Created for: @spnkinkbingo - Dom/Sub

A/N: Thank you so much for being my first ever commission Sin! I've had a lot of fun tackling this challenge because I've never written a Domme!reader before but I really appreciate you trusting me with your idea, and I hope I do it justice ❤️

Series Masterlist

This is a weird idea, even for Alex. A night out with his cast mates isn’t unusual, and Y/N has gone along on plenty of group dinners with Alex, Jared and Jensen (that were essentially double dates) before, but they usually ended by closing out the hotel bar or crashing in someone’s guest room. They had never ended up at a proper club before, let alone planned a whole evening around going to a specific one. But that’s the plan tonight.

When Alex informs her that the location was Misha’s suggestion, it makes even less sense to Y/N. Misha seems like he would be the least likely of all of them to actually enjoy clubbing but hey, what does she know?

“Alex, I don’t have anything to wear!” Y/N complains from inside their closet, hoping her boyfriend can hear her through the bathroom door.

“That cannot be true,” she can hear the amusement coupled with a light mix of exasperation in his tone.

“What did they tell you the dress code was?” Y/N calls as she continues to flip through the clothes hanging in front of her.

“Misha said, and I quote, ‘dress slutty’.” Alex appears in the doorway to the closet and leans against the frame, tucking his arms across his chest. Y/N actually does a double take when she sees him.

“I see you took that advice literally,” she eyes him, gaze dragging across his body and catching against each new feature she notices like sandpaper running against the grain. Alex is dressed casually, but most definitely sluttily too. A loose and frayed wife beater hangs off his shoulders, showing off his waist where one side is tucked into his shorts. The elastic of his boxers is sticking out over the shirt too, which is completely on purpose in a move to tease. The denim shorts are tight, torn-up, and just to the knee. Y/N has seen him wear them before, and she knows when he turns around she’ll have an amazing view of his ass.

“I’m good at following instructions,” Alex smiles, clearly pleased with himself that he’d successfully fulfilled his remit.

“So eager to please,” Y/N teases over her shoulder as she goes back to thumbing through outfit potentials. “Honestly, the fact that Misha is telling us to dress slutty and not Jared must mean dress really slutty.”

“You could just not wear anything,” Alex offers as a suggestion. “Nothing sluttier than free access.”

“In your dreams, babe.”

“How did you know?” Alex is mock horrified and you laugh along with him when he breaks character. “Still can’t decide?” and Y/N shakes her head in response. “Can I pick for you? I do have a pretty good memory of all your sluttiest outfits.”

“Hey! Who you callin’ a slut Mr. Slutty McTightShorts?” Y/N rounds on Alex, comically enraged.

“You, duh,” Alex laughs and pecks her on the cheek as he moves over to a drawer where Y/N keeps her underwear.

Alex goes straight for the lingerie, Y/N should have guessed, and he pulls out a matching set of lacy thong and longline bra, both enmeshed in patterns of criss-crossed elastic and ribbons. Then he ducks down to the bottom drawer where Y/N keeps a load of her old college clothes that she’s too sentimental to get rid of, and rummages through it, clearly looking for something specific. He finally liberates a skirt that barely has the right to be called a piece of clothing. Y/N can’t even remember why she owns that. Finally he reaches for a swingy tank made of a light gauzy material. It’s really meant to be a cover-up for the beach because of how loose and flowy it is but Y/N imagines that is Alex’s intention behind picking it – he knows it won’t stay on properly or do a single thing to hide the bra she’ll be wearing beneath it. Alex hands her the pile of clothes, again looking very pleased with himself.

“You’re really not pulling punches tonight, are ya?”

“I just want to show off how awesome my girlfriend is,” Alex shrugs.

“Yeah, you want to show off all of her, apparently,” Y/N holds up the small skirt skeptically.

“You’ll look incredible, scouts’ honour,” Alex swears, grinning.

“If we show up and the others aren’t dressed super slutty, I’m gonna maim things.”

“I won’t stop you,” Alex laughs and pushes Y/N out of the closet. “C’mon get dressed so we can go down some alcohol before the car gets here.”

They’ve both knocked back a beer and a shot when the car pulls up and a message pops into the group chat saying they’re here. The night is close and warm outside of the air conditioning, and for that reason at least Y/N is glad to be wearing such a small amount of clothing. When the young couple slides into the car they’re greeted by Jared, Jensen, Misha, and his wife Vicki – another surprise to Y/N, as she doesn’t come out with them too often. Something about tonight must be special.

“Hey hot stuff!” Jared greets them, grinning as he eyes them both up and down. Jensen pinches him on the leg. “Behave.” Jared doesn’t let it derail his examination.

“Thanks, I know, right?” Alex jokes and ruffles his hair, throwing Jared a wink. Y/N gives him a side eye, silently imitating Jensen’s instruction of behave. Alex grabs for her hand and kisses it in a gesture of reassurance, dropping their joined hands to his lap and keeping them there. Alex is a flirt, just like Jared, but Y/N knows that he would never stray from her. At least, not unless she tells him to.

The car proceeds to drive them across town to an area of L.A. Y/N isn’t familiar with. She and Alex haven’t lived in the city very long, so it’s not like she’s expecting to know every inch of its nightlife scene but this place seems much more out of the way than she was expecting them to be going. The streets they’re trundling down are dark, not bright and shining with neon and glittering lights like so much of downtown tends to be. The occasional person or couple is walking along the sidewalk, but overall it’s deserted by city standards.

“Where are we going again?” Y/N pipes up from her seat, looking out the window and spotting another couple in dark coats holding hands as they amble down the side street.

“We’re almost there,” Vicki smiles reassuringly at Y/N, then turns to Jensen. “Tom texted to let me know he’s set aside a table upstairs for us, so everyone can just watch or they can join in, whatever you want.”

“Who’s Tom?” Y/N asks curiously, she hasn’t heard the name before.

“He’s our boyfriend,” Misha answers matter of factly, like he’s trying not to betray any emotion around the statement until he can judge Y/N and Alex’s reactions to that news. Y/N can’t pretend she isn’t surprised, but the more she thinks about it the more she realises that Misha is always quite private about his and Vicki’s relationship – this must be why.

“Oh, cool dude,” Alex laughs, giving an approving nod, almost like he’s impressed with Misha’s nonconformity. Y/N smiles. Alex always loves finding out about what people have going on ‘outside the box’, it helps him come out of his own shell just a little bit more every time.

“Can’t wait to meet him,” Y/N chimes in, just to quiet the small hint of wariness she can see playing behind Misha’s eyes. He relaxes visibly and smiles, much more his carefree and goofy self in that instant.

“Oh, s’that it?” Jared points out the window to a dim neon sign and a small group of people sitting on benches and little round tables, smoking. The block letters shine against the rough brickwork of the building they’re mounted on, grey and sophisticated, unlike all the garish colours Y/N would usually expect from a nightclub.

Femme Fatale.

Y/N hadn’t known what to expect when they got inside but she never would have expected what she’s witnessing now. Femme Fatale is a swingers club. Not just that, it’s a BDSM swingers club.

How had they known? Y/N wonders. She and Alex don’t usually make a habit of discussing that aspect of their relationship with other people. Especially since Alex is still pretty new to being a Sub. He had toyed with the idea of being a Dom in a previous relationship, and technically he labels himself as a Switch when people ask, but he once he had told Y/N that since he met her she brings out a part of himself he hadn’t really connected with properly before, and he loves it.

His eyes are wide now, blown out with obvious lust as Y/N watches him watch his surroundings. Jared is the same, and Jensen is watching him just as intently as Y/N is watching Alex. With how they act, Y/N always suspected that Jensen and Jared were in a Dom/Sub relationship, and she was quietly smug that she had been right. Misha and Vicki had left the party at their table on the exposed balcony as soon as their boyfriend Tom, who Y/N now understands is the manager of this club, had shown them in and sat them down. Now, Y/N knows what Vicki had meant in the car about them just being able to watch if that’s what they wanted to do, instead of joining in. Misha and Vicki have clearly opted to join in, and Y/N can’t see where they went off to, lost in the heaving crowd of people below them.

So far, she’s enjoying watching, and Alex clearly is too. His slutty shorts are doing nothing to hide the semi he’d popped almost the second they walked in. It isn’t so much her thing, but Y/N knows Alex has an exhibitionist streak, and she can easily imagine what must be running through his mind right now. Being out in the middle of everything, shown off, performing. And Y/N thinks she might like showing him off, showing everyone what a good little boy he can be for his Mistress, showing everyone how much control she has over him. How much he wants to do everything she asks of him, to please her.

“Jared,” Y/N looks away from Alex when Jensen speaks, and Alex looks up from the ground floor where he had been watching some of the people on display. “Do you want to go play?” Jensen asks neutrally, very carefully leaving the choice up to Jared, without betraying his own feelings on the notion.

“Can we?” Jared’s eyes light up instantly and Y/N smirks to herself. Jared and Alex are more alike than she realised.

“Yeah, c’mon baby boy,” Jensen smiles indulgently and holds out his hand to Jared, who takes it and follows him down the stairs to the play areas. Y/N looks back to Alex, whose eyes are glued to his cast mates’ backs.

“What about you, baby boy?” Y/N purrs, using Jared’s nickname teasingly and Alex blushes as she runs her nails up his bare arm. She’d never called him that before but it’s clear he likes it. “Do you want to go play?”

“I–” Alex breaks off, considering. “Can we just watch for a bit? See what everyone’s doing?” he asks nervously.

“Of course, sweetheart,” Y/N smiles and offers Alex her hand. They make their way down the iron grate staircase into the madness that has been churning below them this whole time. It’s easy to spot Jared and Jensen, despite the crowd. They stick out above the heads of a lot of the people nearby because most of them are bent over or crouched down to some extent.

They’re at the edge of the dance floor, in a space that’s still public but is cordoned off for more… intimate play. There’s two St. Andrew’s crosses bolted on the wall, both currently occupied with girls – one wearing an assortment of leather straps with metal studs poking out of them, and one wearing absolutely nothing but the cuffs binding her to the beams. Leather couches and benches are dotted around the floorspace, all covered with partially to wholly naked occupants engaging in every variety of sexual activity Y/N can imagine. Alex looks like a kid in a candy store watching it all unfold before him.

“You can watch whoever you want, but no touching without my permission, okay?” Y/N speaks into Alex’s ear so he can hear her over the bass of the music that’s vibrating through the crowd around them.

“Yes, ma’am,” Alex salutes her cheekily and starts to move away but she grabs the neck of his shirt and hauls him back, looking him sternly in the eye.

“Do you want to try that again with a little respect, baby?” Alex drops his eyes and looks penitent.

“Yes, Mistress.” He gives her a weak smile, asking for forgiveness, and Y/N decides to let him off this time.

“Good boy,” she leans up and kisses his forehead before giving him a swift pat on the backside. “Have fun, I’m going to grab a drink,” Y/N points to one of the bars lining the far side of the play area. “Find me that way if you want me, okay baby?”

“Yes, Mistress,” Alex nods meekly, giving Y/N a small kiss before he ducks into the crowd towards a group of spectators all watching a girl tied to a bench getting teased by her Domme and a flogger. Typical, Y/N smiles to herself and makes her way to the bar to order a glass of wine.

Wine in hand, Y/N spins on her heel and looks around the room. Alex is still where she left him and a few groups over she spots Jensen, his back to her, watching something else she can’t quite make out between everyone’s bodies. Jared doesn’t appear to be anywhere though. Y/N decides to have a look at whatever Jensen’s observing, curious what’s got him so stoically still. There’s a lot going on around him but it becomes instantly clear which performer Jensen’s watching when Y/N approaches and peeks over his shoulder.

Jared is on his hands and knees, in amongst a crowd of people. There’s a sort of black leather platform that he’s perched on, so they’re elevated from the floor. It puts Jared’s mouth at the perfect height to reach people’s waists, which he’s currently putting to good use by swapping between two men with their cocks standing out stiff from their jeans. Jensen is watching closely, smirking at the crowd all raptly watching his boyfriend. When Jared takes the man with the bigger cock so deep that his nose is pressed to the man’s stomach, Y/N can’t help but laugh.

“I see why you like him so much,” Y/N bumps her shoulder against Jensen and he jumps, looking down at her and grinning when his brain catches up to her comment.

“Yeah he’s good with his mouth,” Jensen agrees, smiling proudly.

“Nice of you to loan him out.”

“I like to think I’m generous,” Jensen shrugs. “But not too generous,” Jensen catches the arm of a man trying to round the platform to get to Jared’s ass instead of his mouth. “Sorry man, no guys back there.”

“Oops, sorry dude,” the guy backs off quickly, and Y/N is impressed by how respectful the whole exchange is.

“Is that Jensen only territory?” Y/N questions, wiggling her brow.

“Yeah I don’t like other guys fuckin’ him,” Jensen explains. “But I like girls pegging him, it’s fun to humiliate him like that.” Just then Y/N spots a small woman climbing into a strap on with the help of her partner, who drops to her knees to suck on the dildo a little before covering it in lube from the bottle on the ground by the platform.

“No kidding,” Y/N whistles lowly, in awe as she watches the girl push the black silicone inside Jared, inch by inch. The way his hole is pulsing around the intrusion is almost hypnotic. She tries to picture what Alex would look like, on his hands and knees amongst all these people, everyone watching him get split open by some little girl with a big dick… everyone seeing him loving it, like Jared clearly is.

Y/N hears Jensen laugh beside her and she jumps a little, clearing her throat in embarrassment at being caught out staring at Jared’s asshole so blatantly.

“Sorry,” she clears her throat again and takes a sip of wine to hide behind her glass.

“It’s okay,” Jensen laughs again. “I wouldn’t let him do this if I didn’t want people to watch him.”

“Good point,” Y/N acknowledges, feeling a little better. “And um, out of curiosity,” Y/N pauses, trying to frame her question politely. “How did you get Jared to agree to the pegging?” Jensen raises an eyebrow at Y/N curiously. “You know, one Domme to another,” Y/N elaborates, so Jensen doesn’t think she’s trying to ask if she can peg Jared. That’s the furthest thing from her mind right now.

“No kidding?” Jensen chuckles, clearly impressed. “Well, I don’t know what you and Alex get up to normally, but it wasn’t too much of a stretch for Jared. He gets off on humiliation and I get off on humiliating him, and this fits that bill for both of us.” At that comment, Jensen looks back to Jared and smirks before reaching down to adjust himself subtly, and Y/N laughs. “What about it is calling to you?” Jensen asks, and Y/N has to pause to consider that before she can hit on the answer.

“It’s the one part of Alex I don’t think anyone’s touched. I mean he’s never mentioned it if he has done it before but I don’t think he has. The idea of marking him like that, of having something no one else can have from him…” Y/N trails off, letting her thoughts spiral as she feels the space between her legs heat up. When she adjusts her stance, she feels the slick brush of wet panties against her skin. Yes, she loves that idea. The thought of taking that last first, touching a part of Alex that no one else has touched. Being literally inside of him. Fucking him into submission would take on a whole new meaning.

“Yeah, that’s hot,” Jensen agrees and Y/N smiles dreamily. Now she just needs to figure out how to bring it up to Alex. “Hey,” Jensen taps her on the shoulder and points over Jared to the other side of the crowd, “you might not have to do as much convincing as you think.”

Standing across from them, Jared still on his hands and knees between them being fucked at both ends, is Alex. His eyes are fixed steadily on Jared, the rest of the world a mere blur around him and the object of his focus. His pupils are huge, in part due to the dark of the club but Y/N knows it’s also to do with desire. She watches his eyes dart back and forth and realises that he’s not just watching Jared, he’s watching the dildo that’s steadily fucking in and out of Jared’s ass, following its movements closely. He licks his lips and Y/N smiles. Jensen is right, she’s not going to have to convince him at all. He already wants this.

Part 2 - read ahead on WordPress here

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cat-sapphics · 3 years

Note

Hey!

I follow the" aroace lesbian" tag and your recent posts have come up in my feed so I just wanted to say that being arospec, acespec (demiromatic graysexual, both labels in the aromantic and asexual spectrums) & lesbian is completely OKAY and you should not let anyone tell you the contrary. Especially uneducated people so 😚🤍

Many aroaces use the term aroace to encompass being in both aromantic and asexual spectrums; this means you experience little to no romantic/sexual attraction and that's more than valid. You can be both arospec and aspec! 🔥 Or arospec and asexual. Aromantic and acespec 🥺🤝

The way YOU experience romantic and sexual attraction is just different to the average allo person, & that doesn't make it any less valid. Attraction is an abstract concept and we shouldn't be putting ourselves into boxes but letting feelings be that, feelings.

Your experiences are necessary and important to our diverse & big aro/ace communities as an aroace lesbian! An aspec person is that who experiences little to no romantic attraction. That's it. THAT'S OKAY 🥰

And being an aspec lesbian is more than valid too, it's not a contradictory term because the little and fluctuating romantic & sexual attraction you DO experience, is ONLY towards women/nb so; I don't see why lesbian isn't a term you can't use. A lesbian is a women/nb female aligned person who experiences romantic, sexual and/or emotional attraction towards women/nb female aligned people. Check, check & check ✅

All in all, ace lesbians, aro lesbians and aroace lesbians are ALL part of the lesbian community & our unique experiences with romance and sex are necessary and valid for it 💓

Sorry if this got long, hope I made my point clear. Aroace lesbians have always been lesbians so don't let any exclusionists steal your peace 🧡🤍💖

thank you!! thank ya thank ya thank ya!! i really appreciate it <3

i will say, i think some of the anons i got did make some valid points (obviously not everywhere you look but they at least gave me something to think about in general) but it really took me by surprise how condescending and disapproving they all were. super uneducated too, i said i experience attraction differently or at least less frequently than average allo people and like ?? that doesn't mean i'm secretly a self-hating lesbophobe ?? you don't get to determine that for me if i'm genuinely happy even though i participate in lesbian discourse and am passionate about keeping the definition specific and closed ?? lol i didn't redefine lesbian or take away its initial meaning so it really had me peeved

i think most of their comments reflect on how they don't believe in aromanticism and asexuality being a spectrum, which i guess i invited by my own doing since i have some conservative and exclusionary views on the lgbt community and that affects my following/audience, but my response to that is that i use these labels because they bring me personal comfort. when i say i'm demiromantic i don't mean that alloromantics have zero standards when it comes to a potential partner or are completely mesmerized by the idea of hook-ups, just that the connection they need to start crushing comes within a decent time period with a personal connection, but not a super strong and deep and loving one that makes it exceptionally hard to fall in love despite however much we may desire to. the label doesn't exist to imply something bad about """normal""" people, it exists to name an experience many people have but to an intense degree. so, yes, it's a pointless social construct, it probably means nothing to you and that's fine, but it still means something to me. i'm not crying oppression or marginalization, and i'm not claiming that i'm lgbt on the basis of being demiromantic/greyasexual, but through being a nonbinary lesbian. that's the difference between mspec lesbians and aspec lesbians, is one is actively harmful to multiple groups and actually Does spawn from a place of internalized lesbophobia and/or biphobia, and the other is just "mmk this is just for me and affects nothing at all, it doesn't drag you into anything at all, i still qualify for lesbian the way you (should!) see it as technically even if you do believe it's redundant, so just... leave me alone" cause it reflects more on them than me when they make it their business by unfairly assuming things about me

same applies to me being greyasexual. still trying to figure out if it means that i experience sexual/physical attraction less frequently, less intensely, or both, but does that matter?? genuinely?? this is also redundant but i didn’t wanna leave it out of the paragraph about me being demiro fk;ljslkgbdvhbs. the aro disapproval part isn’t acceptable at all but i can at least see it since romance is so normalized and is a core part of, y’know, lgb relationships; the greyace disapproval however....... i don’t wanna label it as acephobia because i don’t really believe in aphobia being a thing, but it still kinda rubs me wrong to claim that sexual/physical attraction is a requirement ykyk... NOTHING WRONG WITH PEOPLE WHO HAVE SEX OF COURSE (i myself kinda wanna try someday if that works out) i just think frowning upon someone who doesn’t UNLESS they try to claim they’re lgbt on that basis is.................. not really cool. i really hope people who read this understand what i’m trying to say and don’t label me as an ace inclus who thinks aphobia and oppression are real, i was just trying to make a point about my personal experiences oops lmao

and then it became "aroace means NO ATTRACTION AT ALL" okay... so i'm angled aroace, that's a sub-term since aroace is literally an umbrella term, actually (unlike lesbian, shit's complicated ykyk). "YOU'RE NOT AROACE THEN"....... they don't even like the idea of oriented aroace now either, so like, what then, are aroace people just never allowed to feel love or positive feelings from other people ever? jesus christ. i'm not even getting into this, i consider aro/ace identities to be secondary to describe one's attraction so this debate should not be as important as, say, discourse centering the L, G, B, or T. it's just dumb all around tbh

hope i addressed all the arguments against it, but i can't really care at this point if i missed something :/ i'll probably get a mean anon about it so don't worry!! /s jslgjgjkshkj;lhfp

speaking of, i've had to delete so many anons and even turn off the option to ask anonymously because of this discourse. it's so pointless in my opinion, so i've just stopped giving them my time unless i think it's worth answering - but even then, i try to keep it fairly short. i genuinely was not expecting my take on (cishet) ace discourse to turn into myself failing to be seen as a "real lesbian" despite literally meeting its definitive qualifications and then it just kept building up ?? stan behavior tbh, especially since plenty of them obviously come from the same users

i apologize for the rant. i just never really felt like i'd be listened to if i tried to explain my identity, so i gave up and just tried to ignore my way out of it. so i really genuinely appreciate your ask, especially since i can identify you. it really feels like i actually have someone on my side now, so even if you ever disagree i'd know you wouldn't harass me about it. it really means a lot, i really needed this from you and i don't wanna dump more shit but i feel that you deserve to know. so thank you again <3

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cadomoisspokenfor · 3 years

Text

Ya know thinking about it, maybe there’s nothing more to Syds weird amount of trust for Farouk than gullibleness and pride.

There seemed to be a pattern of her not really internalizing the severity of Farouks crimes, she mostly just thought of him as an “asshole” throughout all the seasons and not someone doing deep long lasting damage to the people around her.

In chap 11 when they find the music box David ask what it is she says, “Nothing just your asshole parasite messing with my head.”

As if its Davids fault Farouks evil, or as if Farouks only a David problem, and not ya know, an extremely powerful supervillain bent on world domination.

I’m trying to figure out what Syds perception of Farouk was, so lets look at their major interactions.

1. Discovers his existence, chap 5. She was wondering what the problem in her and Davids relationship was and now she has someone to blame. I’ll point out, it’s likely she was only thinking of Farouk as an obstacle in the way of her and Davids relationship, and not as a horrifying abuser who’s had a chokehold on David for his entire life. Now the “mission” is clear, snip Farouk outta Davids head, everything’ll be perfect.

2. David and Amys childhood home, also chap 5. Farouk jump-scares them a few times. And I think as far as Syds concerned, that’s a cheap trick. She sheds a tear but then puts on a brave face and keeps moving. Just a horror show after all. None of it “real”. But then Lenny actually jumps out and attacks her, telepathically ties her up then starts grotesquely kissing David while he’s unconscious. And the way she talks, I think Syd internalizes Lenny as being like... a jealous ex. The kissing, the “you stole my man” type language. Man, this relationship obstacle just won’t get out the way. And then...

3. Mental Clockworks, chap 5-7. In the white room Farouk reveals his true form and chases Syd down which scares the shit outta her. But, important note, he doesn’t actually touch her before the delusion is put in place. It’s still very much not real.

Anyways, what’s a horrifying display of control and power for everyone else worked a bit differently for Syd. She was the only one who noticed anything was off. And she couldn’t place it for a while, which worried her, and she eventually gets incapacitated by Lenny. But then, she’s woken up by Cary who takes her into a phone booth and tries to update her on what’s happening, only she’s already figured it out. I’ll point this out as a moment of overconfidence, she’s visibly proud that she was able to see through the illusion. She’s not like the others, she’s a hero archetype. And being that means when Cary hands her the glasses and tells her to go save the others she’s super confident in her ability to do so. She’s the hero after all. And when she does put on the glasses she remarks, “She thought it’d be more interesting.” She’s actively downplaying this nightmare. I don’t hold it against her but my point in saying all this is that it comes back later. This is another instance of her thinking Farouk’s “Not that big a deal.” Underestimating his abilities. I mean, she saw through it after all, she could probably do it again if she needed too... right?

To summarize 3, Syd sees herself as the hero who saw through Farouks cheap illusion. She feels stronger than Farouk here, like he couldn’t hurt her (really hurt her I mean) even if he tried. And in that, she can’t relate to the others who treat it like a big deal or like a traumatizing moment in their adventure. It was just a standard hero vs villain fight to her. Really hope the points getting across cause this’ll come up later.

4. White room, chap 8. Another interaction with Lenny only this time she’s on the ropes, looking a lot worse for ware. Syds not scared of her anymore, or so she tells herself at least. She saw through Farouks tricks. She can do it again if she has too. Nothings gonna get in the way of her and Davids happily ever after. Except Lenny has a good point... she’s still inside David. Still attached to his mind. She could explode his brain if they try to rip her out forcefully. And David can’t handle himself against Farouk, Syd knows this. Cause Davids never won against Farouk up to this point. Getting out of Mental Clockworks was a team effort from her, Melanie, Cary, and Oliver. If it hadn’t been for the crown they wouldn’t’ve gotten out of their. Syds role in this was to keep Kerry and Rudy safe until Cary could complete his end of the plan. And she did. But David was helpless in that, as far she knows. So she, the hero, needs to do something. Just sitting around isn’t good enough. So... she switches with David again. Using a true loves kiss too, a truly fairy tale worthy action, one for the books.

She’s fully possessed now, completely outta control of her own body, but Farouk only used her to get Kerry. It’s a very short moment for Syd, she might not even remember it. When she wakes up she says, “Did we win?” She honestly might’ve just blacked out after the kiss. Because they’re not telepaths their minds are probably much easier to push to the side than Davids. She might not’ve really... experienced the possession is what I’m getting at. And she’s once again most concerned with David.

D: “You should not have done that, as much as I like kissing you.”

S: “It would’ve killed you.” She says that last line not in a concerned way, but in a playful-ish way. As if to say “Obviously I saved you. I’d destroy the world myself if it meant saving you.”

Ya know what, I’ll point out here also that David once again failed to beat Farouk. Syd managed to get Farouk out of his mind but David still couldn’t stop him in the real world.

5. Plaque, chap 9. As explained in show, Syds been part of the team hunting down Farouk and trying to stop him from finding his body. Before chap 12 she and everyone else is under the impression that Farouk is the source of the “maze virus”. A psychological plaque that freezes everyone in their tracks and causes them to chatter their teeth. Disturbing, but... just based on other stuff we know about the character... she probably doesn’t care that much. Her main focus is probably still David. And when David comes back, she immediately blames him for disappearing. Her context here being that he was found in the club they followed Farouk to, next to a bunch of teeth chatterers mumbling, “Help them. Their in the maze.” Clearly, he’s been somewhat involved with the events of the past year, so why hasn’t he contacted her? Why hasn’t he included her in it? Why’d he abandon her? He says he doesn’t remember anything? Ptonomy says otherwise. Clearly he remembers something. He’s keeping secrets. She gets why from the others, but why from her? They’re supposed to be a team. And he abandoned her, to go clubbing with Farouk or whatever it is that he was doing their.

6. Music box, chap 10. Davids back. Maybe she can just pretend things are normal. He leads them to the middle of nowhere and they find her old music box. Farouk. That asshole. His little jump scares and memory tricks won’t get to her. He can’t hurt her, remember? This is all he can do. Illusions, trick. And she’ll see right through them every time. Besides, was reminding her of her childhood really the best he can do? Yeah she’s got a childhood, so does everyone. She’s over it already. (I’m starting to type more and more in Syds perspective.)

6.5 Syd the illusion breaker gets caught in the maze, chap 12. Only... she’s out of it before David even enters her mind to save her. She sees that he’s there, doesn’t know why, but decides to use this as an opportunity to teach him a lesson. We all know the lesson though. The headline in this particular case is, “David never saved Syd from her maze.” He never even saw it. She doesn’t know what he’s talking about when she mentions it. He entered her mind but she’s the one in full control. Scary good control even, props to her. The lesson she’s trying to teach him is sort of... her own thought process on heroism. “Love can’t save us, it’s what we have to save.” Up to this point “love” is all Syds been fighting for. It’s been the driving force behind her heroism. She’s done some messed up things in her past, sure, but all her problems only made her stronger. They made her the “truth seer” she is today. They led her to David, the best thing that’s ever happened to her. No villain can hurt her more than she’s hurt herself. This all... obviously doesn’t translate perfectly to David. That’s just... not been his experience.

(Skippable David Tangent) Farouk hurt David the most that any one person could. And David couldn’t hurt himself more even if he tried. And all Davids pain hasn’t made him mentally stronger, less gullible, or less sensitive. The opposite in fact. Davids minds been split, unbeknownst to Syd. He’s in a constant state of confusion. He keeps getting tugged around by friends and enemies and doesn’t know what to do about it. Davids pain hasn’t shielded him at all, just caused him more strife. He’s even still being manipulated by his abuser. The survivor story just doesn’t work on him, at the moment at least. As far as Davids concerned his “strength” comes from his powers, and he didn’t get a choice in those either. Syd doesn’t see any of this, she��s not a telepath. She hopes her story will help him but... it really only applies to her. Back into her perspective though,

7. Lenny’s back, chap 15. I know this isn’t a Farouk interaction but it is sorta important. Davids not listening to her. She’s trying to remind him of the mission, trying to keep him focused, but clearly it’s not working. Losing his sister really affected him. She understands sure, but he won’t even talk to her about it. Love is what’s supposed to be used to help each other through these dark times, to make sure people don’t feel alone. But he’s isolating himself from her. He isn’t “saving love” he’s pushing it away. That’s not what heroes are supposed to do. Farouk is once again in the way of their love. She can’t blame David, and she knows it’s not her fault, so Farouk.

But the headline there is she’s downplaying his sisters death. As if it’s just another trick to mess with him, an obstacle to be hurdled over. Like the music box thing. But... his sister died. In fact... Lenny was more immediately comforting to him about it than either of the Syds were.

Syd still isn’t internalizing the pain Farouks causing to others. All she’s internalized is her own wins against him and the fact that he’s never permanently damaged her specifically. Or so she says. He’s still just a ghost in a haunted house.

8. Lenny talk, chap 16. Syd comes over to gloat. She sees through Farouks trick. Lenny’s not gonna frazzle her, or David. She’s just another obstacle to their happiness. Only Lenny drops a hard truth on her. And Syd doesn’t seem to want to hear it. She’s stunned at. Tbh... I think she walks away deciding not to believe her. It must be another trick. She just said that to mess with her (again, Syds thoughts). She really really wants to continue thinking of Farouk as “just some asshole” who they need to work with and/or defeat so her and David can finally have their happy ever after. At this point, if she actually started thinking of Farouk as dangerous to her, as a major threat, it’d feel like giving him power. The power of fear, over her. She refuses to be afraid of Farouk, cause she knows that’s how he tricks people. That’s how he controls them. So she doesn’t listen to Lenny. She resolves to continue downplaying Farouks crimes. A dog barking in peoples ears.

9. The cave, chap 18. In between this and the last one David left her again. He really doesn’t get what “saving love” means. But she dedicates herself to him again. If he won’t save love, she will. She’s a hero after all. She’s beaten Farouk in the past and she’ll beat him again if she has too. And then... the cave. Incorporating what another fan has said, even if Syd does pic up on Melanie being Farouk, she knows her future self wanted to work with him for some reason. He was the key to saving the world. He may be a house haunting asshole, but if he saves the world, then there’s gotta be something more to him... right? Melanie complains about Oliver some more, she’s over it. But then Melanie starts showing Syd images. Syd doesn’t know how she’s doing that, but some of the images are from very private personal moments. And they’re all centered on David. These must be memories. Both her and Davids. How Melanie is doing this can go on the back-burner for now, what is she trying to tell her with these? That Davids crazy? No, Farouk’s the one who was behind all these things. Davids “her man.” Her one true love. The problem in their relationship has always been Farouk.

But then... there are all those moments after she got Farouk out of his head. Him keeping secrets. Him not confiding in her, or being there for her. Him constantly leaving her behind. That’s not how love’s supposed to work. A psychopath? Well, when you say that... and you show these images on the screen... and you show him torturing Oliver ( a victim) to get to Syd. And enjoying it, almost like he just wanted the excuse to go all out. Like it’s not really about saving Syd. Or love for that matter. Syd maybe admits to herself at this point that Davids fairly unhinged. He’s had a rough childhood though, there were bound to be some sharp edges here and there. He tortures Oliver for a long time though. And it really starts to feel like he just likes doing it, not that he’s doing it cause it’s “necessary”. It doesn’t even work.

And then... Melanie shows her Future Syd. She matches the description David gave her. And there’s David, in those same pajamas he wears. And... he’s kissing FS. He didn’t tell her about that. It’s not cheating cause it’s her future self. But... they talked about this. David was the one to say it might feel weird. Why not tell her? Why keep that a secret. Even if it’s not cheating, it certainly feels like it. It’s a huge betrayal. And he doesn’t have Farouk as an excuse. Davids just... a bad person. She’s starting to piece together the point of all this. “Legion, The World Killer” yada yada.

David hasn’t been loyal to her. He hasn’t saved loved, he’s not going to save love. The path he’s on is dark and selfish. Could he destroy the world? They’ve known he could since season 1. They never thought he’d actually do it. But wait no, you can’t give up on love that easily. He’s a good person. And then Melanie shows it all again. And she shows him kissing Lenny. And she shows FS telling Farouk about David. And Syd can’t help but concede. Davids too far gone. Farouk may be an asshole, but David lied about everything. He lied to Syd. Again, Davids not going to save love, he missed the mark on that. Davids going to end the world.

Very important to point out here, as I’ve tried to build it up, Syds internalized herself as a hero who doesn’t let anything get to her. Farouk can’t hurt her with his illusions and tricks. She’s seen through them before and she’ll do it again. But David betraying her? Keeping secrets? Playing with her heart? That hurts more than anything Farouks done to her. She invested in David. She was on his side no matter what, but he wasn’t on her side. So if FS says Davids evil and has gotta go, than she’ll believe her. He’s gotta go.

All of this hopefully explains my theory on Syds specific moment-to-moment reasoning thoroughly

I also wanna say though, if I’m right this makes Syds moment on the mountain make more sense. All the specific unexplained discrepancies.

She says she knows it was Farouk who showed her all that. Because she doesn’t perceive Farouk as that big of a threat and again, as mostly a house haunter. Those were clearly memories, she doesn’t care that the infos coming from him, and she believes she can tell the difference between an illusion and something real. so Davids gotta answer for that.

She gets a detail wrong, she says “He went to see her, after you quit.” But we all know he saw her before David quit and specifically set him up. Syd doesn’t know David specifically broke their rules after they set them. She thinks he kissed her beforehand and didn’t tell her for whatever reason.

And again, she doesn’t fully understand what everyone around hers been through. Hence, “The son of sam” thing. To her, Farouk maybe evil, but you can see through his tricks if you just try hard enough. Even though he possessed her she didn’t really register it happening. At a certain point the things you do when he’s in your head are on you (says Syd).

Oh, and also majorly, the “Farouk, your enemy” thing. She never really care about him all that much. He was just an obstacle. David was the one who had a weird complex about him.

Tl;dr Syd doesn’t view Farouk as much of a threat. She doesn’t register or internalize the pain he’s causing to the others cause he’s not doing any of it to her. Syds main focus is David and when she realizes what Farouk’s showing her are memories, and that David’s betrayed her and isn’t planning on “saving love”, that hurts her more than anything Farouks done. Thus, she turns.

#legion fx #spoilers

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swan--writes · 4 years

Text

Beetlejuice’s Big Halloween Party

I thought about writing a Dewey Halloween, but let’s be real, there ain’t room for the both of these boys in this here holiday.

And listen, it is 2:30 AM and I just finished writing this. I wrote it all in one go. I’m not editing it. Please reblog though! Happy Halloween and Blessed Samhain!

Warnings: elements of horror, blood mention, eyeball mention

Words: 3,070

You screamed.

“Beetlejuice!”

Your demon laughed at you from the rafters of your barn. Ever since you had moved out to your farmhouse, Beetlejuice had been hanging around. Sometimes literally. Normally you found you didn’t mind the demon’s antics – he kept things lively when there wasn’t much going on out where you lived. Sometimes he donned an old sheet and floated around the house. Sometimes he went out into your backyard and howled at the tree line. And sometimes he dropped live bats from the rafters of the barn, directly onto your unsuspecting head.

Frantically, you waved away the little menace. All you could see were glimpses of a wrinkled snout and long teeth. It seemed to be flapping its wings as fast as you were flapping your hands, and by the time it managed to fly off, Beetlejuice was hanging upside-down in midair and cackling.

“Wow, what a jumpy breather,” he said, wiping a thick black tear from his eye. You thought you heard it sizzle as it fell to the worn wooden floor.

“Knock it off, Beej.”

“Yeah, sure I will.”

“Seriously!” You shook your head, fighting off a shiver. “There’s gonna be screaming hordes of children here in, like, an hour. I cannot still be cleaning up your messes when they get here. So, lose the bats and the bugs and the…whatever else you’ve got.” You narrowed your eyes at his tattered suit jacket.

“Relax, babes, I got it all under control.”

Without thinking, you took a step back as he righted himself in the air. “I don’t like the way you said that.”

“Hey, take the help or don’t. I’ll be here all night.” With that, he zoomed up to the rafters, dropping beetle carcasses in his wake. You shrieked and leaped back. “Beetlejuice!” you complained, only to hear his laughter.

It had been less than a year since you moved into your creepy old farmhouse. You still weren’t entirely sure if the creepy old dead guy had come with the property, or if he had followed you there. But when you found his name traced over and over again in the dust of every reflective surface in the house on the first night, you had almost left.

In the end, it was one of the movers who had summoned him. You had had two burly men helping you move your things inside. One of them had remarked on the odd name, Betelgeuse. The other had just happened to be an amateur astronomer. Before any of you knew what was happening, lightening was striking, thunder was rolling, wind was blowing, and the two big, strong movers were scrambling back to their truck. Thoughtfully, they did hurl the last of your furniture from the vehicle as they peeled out of your shaded, and winding driveway. Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse…

“Okay, Beetlejuice, fine! Yes! I do need help.” You grumbled the last to yourself, trying and failing once more to move a heavy wooden table. It had been half an hour since the bat incident, and almost all of it had been spent on this table.

“Well, I don’t know…”

“Beetlejuice.”

“I’m getting kinda tired, y’know…”

“Beetlejuice!”

“A’right, a’right, fine! Taskmaster, jeez.” The demon floated down from the rafters, snapped his fingers, and the table you had been struggling with walked itself over to where you had been trying to move it – against the wall, centered under a window.

The barn was a decent size. Average by northeastern standards, but tall as hell. Or, the Netherworld, you supposed. The structure of the thing was entirely wood, worn down and lightened with time. The posts were a richer color than the floor, which was covered in scratches and the occasional hay straw. There were windows all around, installed sometime within the last half-century, and the sun shone in brilliantly when it was up.

Now it was dark, even at 5:00 PM. As you watched, the decorations you had strewn haphazardly across the space leapt to attention. Miniature pumpkin lights snaked their way around the rafters and posts, along with actual snakes. A layer of fog coated the floor so thickly you could no longer see your own feet. What looked to be a hundred flaming tealights sprung up from every table – some with black flames, others green. The overhead iron-wrapped pendant lights dimmed and aged noticeably, some flakes of rust falling to the floor and becoming lost in the low gloom.

The jack-o’-lanterns you and Beetlejuice had carved the day before lit up abruptly. Paper bats and bloody eyeballs on strings dropped down to hang from the rafters. A soft, eerie music began floating through the room, and when you looked up you saw a greenish gray skeleton manning the DJ setup on a slightly raised section of the floor. It gave you and Beetlejuice a thumbs-up, its other decayed hand on a headphone positioned just a few degrees south of where its ear might have been.

“Thank you, I think--whoa!” Before you could finish thanking your demon, you heard a loud BANG. All the window shutters slammed shut.

“No problem, babes, but what are you gonna do for me?” Beetlejuice waggled his eyebrows at you.

You rolled your eyes. “Politely ask you to open the shutters back up, please? It’s a full moon, we should be able to see it.”

Beetlejuice bent backwards unnaturally far and groaned. “Fine.” A flick of his wrist and the shutters swung open meekly. A few thick, black tentacles with a faint green sheen slithered in at the corners of each window, not breaking the glass but rather bending it open around themselves. The demon dusted off his hands and fixed his tie. “Happy?”

“Very.”

“How’d you get roped into doing this, anyway? I thought you hated kids.”

“I don’t hate them, I just don’t like them. One of the community theater guys asked me to.” You started for the barn door. Beetlejuice followed you, the tips of his shoes dragging the fog.

“Why?” He wrinkled his nose.

“Because the new, mysterious stage manager has a big, scary house in the middle of nowhere that no-one’s ever seen, that’s why.”

“Huh. Is he gonna be here too?” You didn’t have to look at Beetlejuice to know he was grinning.

Before you could warn him not to do anything dangerous, you opened the barn door to find your first chaperone. You weren’t sure if it was a state rule that a gathering of kids under a certain age needed adult chaperones, but knowing Beetlejuice, you were happy to have the help. This one was a theater mom. You barely knew her, but she said she would bring cupcakes, so you had shrugged and given her your address.

“Stephanie, hi,” you said, only mildly startled to see her so early.

“H--oh. Uh, hi,” she replied, now openly staring at Beetlejuice.

“Hi.” Still grinning.

“Um, who is this?” she asked, barely containing her horror.

“I’m–”

“Oh, this is, uh–”

“I’m her, uh–”

“Lawrence!” you said rigidly. “Lawrence…Beetleman.” You pulled at the demon’s arm and he dropped to his feet, stumbling to your side. You knew you should have rehearsed this.

Beetlejuice held out his left hand stiffly. “Nice to meet ya.” You elbowed him as surreptitiously as you could, and he dropped the hand, holding out his right instead.

Stephanie cautiously met his hand, then dropped it immediately. “Oh, I uh…you too, Mr. Beetleman?” Beetlejuice flinched and gagged noticeably.

There was a long silence.

“So…” you tried.

“Right! Yes, I, um…well, I came to help you decorate, but it seems like you have it all taken care of?” Stephanie glanced around you, coming away looking somehow even more horrified.

“Oh yeah, we got it covered, Stevie.” You tried to elbow Beetlejuice again, but he dodged. Moving forward, he took Stephanie’s arm at the elbow and led her into the barn. “Here, lemme show you where to put those cupcakes.” He nodded to the box she was carrying.

“Oh, okay. It’s Stephanie, by the way,” she said nervously.

“Sure.”

“Beetleman,” you cautioned haltingly, frowning at him.

“Don’t worry about it, babes. Don’t you gotta go put on your costume?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Stephanie spoke first. “It’s fine, I’ll just, um…”

“Yeah, she’ll just um. Go on,” Beetlejuice cajoled. Tightlipped and wide-eyed, you turned and stalked out of the barn, leaving the door open behind you just in case.

Surprising yourself, you managed to get into your costume in under thirty seconds. The makeup, on the other hand, was more of a challenge. There was something about the creaky sounds of wood settling and the draft through the second floor of your house that was making it more difficult than usual to keep your hands steady. But then, you had never been much of an artist.

So, you headed back to the barn in your broken shoes and your torn clothes, perfecting your shamble as you went. The door was still open. Stephanie had her back to you and seemed to be sizing up the tentacles on the far window, but Beetlejuice caught your movement as you tentatively stuck your head into the barn. You motioned for him to come towards you. He followed your lead.

Once you were both just outside the barn door, you turned fully to face him. “Hey,” you whispered.

“What’s up, babes?”

“I’m having a little trouble with my prosthetics. Could you do anything to make me look a little more…” You searched for the right word. “…horrifying?” Seeing Beetlejuice’s eyes light up, you held out a hand. “Without killing and/or maiming me.” You paused. “Or making the children cry.”

The demon gave you a look. “What, on Halloween? Huge cliché, what do you take me for?” You raised your eyebrows, but said nothing. He snapped his fingers and within an instant, you could feel your face and sections of your clothing stiffen with what you hoped was fake blood. “There: instant zombification.”

“Great, lemme just go check–”

“Sweetheart, trust me, you could strike terror into the hearts of any ghoul.”

“Do ghouls have hearts?”

“Whatever you do, never ask a ghoul that.”

You gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Mr. Beetleman.” Almost compulsively, Beetlejuice gagged again. You laughed and led him back into the barn. Stephanie turned to greet you, then turned away again. Your demon gave you a sidelong, self-satisfied look. You shook your head at him, but couldn’t force the smile off of your face.

The kids started showing up minutes later. Stephanie’s wife brought their two sons, then the community theater director came with his daughter, and on and on. Before 6:00, the barn was full. Nearly half of the children had entered the costume contest, which you had begrudgingly appointed Beetlejuice head judge of.

It wasn’t so much that you had invited Beetlejuice as it was that you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep him from staying. Short of banishing him, he would not be left out of your Halloween activities, and the last thing you wanted to do was banish the demon. He could be awfully cranky when he felt ignored, worse when he felt betrayed. Best to keep a close eye on him and leave it there. Shockingly, though, he seemed to be on his best behavior.

That wasn’t saying much, but you appreciated the effort.

He kept the live animals to a minimum, only ate one of the eyeballs hanging from the ceiling, and judged the costume contest as fairly as he could. Fortunately, there was a clear winner: a young zombie whose costume rivalled your own. The judge committee gave him a small skeleton trophy and a candy medal, took some photos with him, and you privately wondered if he had his own ghost-zombie at home to help him with his makeup. Then you shrugged it off and watched – half-mortified, half-impressed – as Beetlejuice summoned a few dead cheerleaders to sing a surprisingly smooth rendition of Time Warp. You were fairly certain a few of his bones came loose during the dance, but you let it slide. The kids were duly impressed, the parents were a suitable distance that they hardly noticed.

It wasn’t until 11:00 PM that all of the adults in the room realized that Beetlejuice had removed the clock that had previously hung on the wall opposite the barn’s door. It took the better part of a half hour to corral the kids to their parents’ respective vehicles, and most of them insisted on hugging you. Warily as ever, you eyed the ones who tried to hug ‘Mr. Beetleman,’ but he somehow managed to turn all of their affections into a high five. Despite yourself, you found yourself smiling.

Once everyone was gone, you turned from the door to assess the barn. It was a disaster. The jack-o’-lanterns had remained lit, as had the candles, but those were the only decorations at thirteen-and-under year old level that had remained undisturbed. The bottles you had placed on the tables, with their faded potion ingredient labels, were toppled over. There were drink puddles and food stains on the floor and half the fog had dissipated. Some of the eyes and bats had come down, others were tangled with the lights on the posts. Somehow, even the pendant lights were flickering slightly.

Beetlejuice did not need sleep. Maybe he could get tired, maybe he couldn’t. You certainly could, and by the time the party was over, you had maxed out your entire energy reserve. So, when your demon told you he’d clean up the next day, you agreed and gave no thought to the fact that it would take him all of two seconds to clean up that night.

Once you had seen off the last of the kids and all of the parents, you trudged back up to your big, scary house. All the light in the barn went out behind you, but you paid it no mind.

Somewhere between the barn and the house, Beetlejuice disappeared. Again, you ignored it. It wasn’t uncommon for Beetlejuice to vanish without telling you, and on Halloween night you imagined there were a hundred more fun things for him to be off doing than watching you get ready for bed. Especially when you caught sight of yourself in your entryway mirror. It was the first time that night that you had seen yourself fully zombified beyond a brief glance at your dim reflection in a darkened, tentacled window.

Your face alone had several large patches of what looked like gaping wounds, and you could see more peeking out from your formerly white collar. You had been going for Proper Academic Zombie, and you looked like you would need a degree in showering to get all this gunk off of yourself. At least you could reuse the costume, maybe disrupt a seminar or two.

Shaking your head, you flicked the light switch beside the front door to turn off the overhead light. Instead of just that light going out, however, the table lamp under the mirror went out as well. So did the hall light over the stairs to your left, the kitchen down the short hallway in front of you, and the living room light beyond that. You tried flicking the switch again. Nothing.

Suddenly, a slam. Several slams all at once. All the shutters you could see swung closed forcefully. From the sound of it, all the shutters on the house closed.

You cleared your throat hesitantly. “Okay, very funny. Beej, that’s you, right?”

Silence.

“Beej?” Though you couldn’t yet hear your heart, you could feel it struggling against the walls of your chest. There was a slight ringing in your ears – the ever-present remnants of your teenaged years. Outside of that: nothing. You took a step, and the creaking of the wood seemed to echo through the whole house. For a brief, crazy moment, you thought about going out to your car. But it seemed the porch light was out too, and being inside a dark house was better than being outside on a dark night.

So, you took another step. Then another. You cursed your shortsightedness in leaving your phone in your room. You reached the stairs. You climbed them, you turned the corner. The wood settle beneath your feet with a deafening creak each step of the way.

There must be a short circuit. There had to be, somewhere. There was no reason for you to have simply lost power. When you reached your room, you saw that your alarm clock was still lit and showing the time, and it was plugged into the same wall outlet as your dark lamp. The box was in your basement.

No way were you going into the basement.

You reached out for your phone. It was dead. You looked over to one of your windows. Of all the windows you’d passed, this seemed to be the only one whose shutters hadn’t closed. Slowly – more slowly than you had moved all night, you crossed the room to look outside. You could see the full moon in all her red-orange beauty. Then, you let out the breath you had been holding. The moon wasn’t going anywhere, even if all the other light was gone.

You should have known better.

A shadow dashed across the moon then, but not at the surface. Through the air. Close to your window. Very, very close.

There was a muffled thud somewhere behind you. You jumped and whirled around to look. When you noticed the light from the moon fading, you slowly turned your head back and saw the shutters swinging closed. Before you could reach out to even open the window, they were completely shut.

Another noise, closer this time.

You couldn’t move. Your heart was racing. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t breathe. You thought about jumping for your bed, some childish thought of pulling the covers over your head before the whatever-it-was could reach you running through your head, but even in your fear you knew it was foolish. It was too late – too close. Your stomach dropped, your hands shook, your legs felt like splintering wood.

Yet another noise. You heard the hinges of your bedroom door waver. It was pitch dark in the room. All at once, a ragged breathing rushed at you across the squeaking floor.

You screamed.

“Beetlejuice!”

Seriously, please reblog.

Tags List: @skiddyyo @a-okay-rj @geeky-marie @darkblueeyedperson @hannah-de-lioncourt @ironmansuucks @missihart23 @ballerinafairyprincess @thewolfisapartofmysoul

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keelywolfe · 3 years

Text

Drabble: Fairy Tail Ending (baon)

Summary: Edge and Red have always done better at silent communication

Tags: Spicyhoney, kustard, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge would never tell his brother how much it pleased him that he and Sans were, if not completely committed then at least meandering in the direction of a more permanent relationship. It was surely for the best to say nothing about it aloud, if only because he wouldn’t put it past Red to throw Sans out of the house in sheer bloody defiance of fate and wrecking what was hopefully becoming a somewhat distorted version of happily ever after.

He would never say it aloud, but he had no doubt that Red interpreted his silence about the situation correctly. He and his brother had always communicated better without words, and Edge accepted Red’s sour glares stoically, serenely going about his business as if he’d never noticed the two of them snuggled together on the sofa when he came in, his brother’s arms holding Sans close even though the other skeleton was drooling a large, wet patch on the front of Red’s shirt.

Today was the one day chosen monthly for him to wade through the growing piles of filth in his brother’s home in an attempt to avoid a highly preventable death from food poisoning or even more likely, drowning in a sea of wrappers and dirty dishes.

To his wary surprised, the house was slightly less foul than normal. The kitchen in particular was cleaner than on past visits, the litter box in the corner freshly scooped and smelling only of baking soda. Against the other wall was a small fountain offering a clean stream of water for any beast willing to lean down for it and a dish of dry cat food, the name ‘Ozzy’ engraved on the front.

He couldn’t say whether it was the cat or Sans that was having a positive effect on his brother’s housekeeping, but he had his suspicions that it was the four-legged roommate who possessed the higher standards.

Edge was an hour into his deep cleaning when Red finally shuffled in the kitchen, heading towards the newly descaled coffee pot to flip it on. Sans was at his heels and both of them settled at the card table that served as their dining set, shifting between several states of awake vs sleeping.

“Good morning,” Edge said, though it was closer to noon. He was up to his elbows in suds, scrubbing at pots that had been left on the counter. Plates and glasses usually ended up in the dishwasher eventually, but pots and pans tended to be used once then left at the side of the sink until he returned to destroy whatever microscopic civilizations were releasing their leftover mac and cheese spores.

The sound his brother made could have been in the neighborhood of a reply, perhaps even a fond greeting, and Edge decided to take it as such.

The coffee pot was nearly done filling with fragrant brew when the cat wandered into the kitchen carrying a dirty sock in its mouth. Edge resisted the urge to snatch it away. If Ozzy hadn’t perished already from whatever germ warfare was currently battling its way across the cotton, then chances were he’d built up an immunity.

“aw, good catch, oz.” Red leaned down to take his offering of prey, scratching the cat’s ears with marked gentleness. He purred contentedly at a volume just slightly below a chainsaw. He shoved his head demandingly against his hand and Red obediently continued, likely the first time he’d ever been obedient about anything.

“If the sock is yours, I’ve no doubt that he deserves the praise for hunting it down,” Edge said dryly.

“yeah, thanks for protecting us from any silk stalkings,” Sans yawned. His slippers scuffed across the tile floor as he headed over to the coffee pot, pouring out two cups. He carried them back to the table, setting the second one ever so slightly out of Red’s reach. “never did trust a sock that doesn’t go over the ankle.”

“don’t listen to ‘em, oz,” Red sniffed. “ya done good.”

“Strange,” Edge mused, rinsing out the pot and setting it in the dish drainer. “You were never filled with praise when I brought unusual things home.” In fact, depending on where, or who, Edge stole his childhood prizes from, Red had often been downright furious over him risking himself for books or treats. Thievery was excusable, getting caught, never.

Red scratched Ozzy gently under his furry chin. "eh, you always go easier on the second kid."

Edge paused, the pan in his hands dripping suds back into the sink. He had some rather mixed feelings about that statement. A glance at Sans only showed him risking a sprain by vigorously rolling his eye lights and Edge decided to let it go. If anyone had the right to complain about their furry roommate, it would be Sans, and Edge would leave it to him to worry about the ongoing battle over Red’s affections between himself and the cat.

For one, at least their collars didn’t match.

He went back to scrubbing the dishes, already mentally making plans to invite Sans and Red over for dinner tonight in his own much cleaner, if still needing repairs, kitchen. Likely, they’d accept, or Sans would and drag a grousing Red along with him. His brother would be a shit more likely than not, antagonizing him and Stretch both with attitude and table manners, and Sans would be much the same, a double serving of extra puns and perdition at his dining room table.

And if that was what it took to give his brother a silver of happiness, a glimpse at his happily ever after? Edge was more than willing to accept his share.

-fin

#kustard #spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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anon-e-miss · 4 years

Note

Prompt type thing? Jazz and Prowl with a none standard(for you) character as their sparkling + a cat.

“What are you hiding, Springer?” Prowl asked. The sparkling held the box behind his back and tried to look innocent, Prowl did not buy it.

None of this was easy. In fact, raising Springer was proving to be the single most difficult task of Prowl’s life. The sparkling’s conception had not been Prowl’s choice. He had put the pieces of his psyche back together following the botnapping, the rapes, and the arrest of Mesothulas. There had been no mention of the rape at the trial. Prowl had never report it. He had not given any mention of their past dealings to save his own reputation. Knowing Mesothulas would be in spark containment for millenia for his other crimes had been enough. The mega-cycle he had learned that Mesothulas had escaped had been the worst of his life and it had been a long time before he had found some semblance of peace again.

That peace had been shattered when, as part of an investigation, Prowl had stumbled upon the mad scientist’s new lair. Though they had both been surprised to so the other, Prowl had recovered from his shock first and had managed to dodge the spiderbot’s web and restrained him instead. As he had waiting for enforcers to come, Prowl had found a stranger CR chamber in the centre of the lab. In it, he had found a sparkling. That close his spark had known. It had taken everything in Prowl’s power not to purge. Mesothulas had revealed then the purpose of the botnapping, and the repeated rapes of his frame and his spark. The scientist had wanted to kindle a sparkling in him. Knowing Prowl would never allow it to come into existence he had stolen from his spark, and attached it to his own until he could put it in a synthetic growth chamber, and construct a frame.

Had Springer been allowed to develop remotely normally, he would not yet have even emerged but Mesothulas had adapted a CR chamber and had programmed it to act as something as a giant forge. Ostharos, as Mesothulas had dubbed his creation, would step out of the chamber when the process was complete and he was a grown mech. Mesothulas had called him his most perfect creation. Enforcers had come and had taken the freak away. Prowl had been left to decide what to do with the mechling in the CR chamber. Killing the sparkling had been out of the question, though Prowl most certainly would have aborted the mechling as a newspark if he had ever had the chance. He had concluded that the best thing he could do have the chamber hidden away and when the mechling was a mech grown Prowl could register him as a cold construct. No one, mechling included, would need to know of their relationship.

That had been his plan. It would have been his plan still if Jazz had not become involved. The clever operative had taken advantage of Prowl’s emotionally vulnerability to wheedle the truth from him and he had written his own plan. He had suggested Prowl open the chamber and to take his creation and raise him himself. Prowl had first laughed, and then crashed. Jazz had stayed with him, with them. When Prowl had come around Jazz had asked him if he would ever be able to stop thinking of the mechling? No. Would he not feel powerless when the mechling or mech was Primus only knows where with Primus only knows who? Yes.

With the seed planted, Prowl had been able to consider any other option. With Jazz standing with him, Prowl had opened the CR chamber. Large, light blue optics had little up the solid mechling’s round face. They had stared at each other, maybe for as long as a bream. Prowl had lifted the mechling up, startled a little by the weight of him. It made him wonder what frametype Mesothulas had once worn. The mechling did not take after Prowl at all. Then again, Mesothulas had built this frame from scratch. There was no knowing what he might have looked like if his frame had been naturally forged. Prowl had expected to feel some revulsion when he had held the mechling, but as Springer, as he would designate him, had wrapped his arms around his neck and their sparks had sinced to each others, Prowl had felt only love. Six quartexes in, Prowl still loved the clumsy little thing. That did not make learning to be his originator any less of a struggle.

“Springer...”

“Meow!”

“Oh no!” Springer exclaimed.

“Indeed,” Prowl chased after the sparkling as he chased after the cyber kitten. “Stop, Springer. You’ll scare it if you chase it.”

“I’m sorry, O’gin. I found it under the stairs. It was shivering and wet and I just wanted to help it get warm.”

“It’s alright,” First a sparkling and now a cat. “We’ll see to him.”

The kitten darted into Prowl’s office, and climbed up the back of his chair. It was easy for Prowl to pluck the frightened and fiesty little ball of teeth and claws from the warn mesh. He held it carefully, so to contain its claws, and examined it... She, at least Prowl thought it was a she, was skinny and dirty and shivering with cold. He stroked the kitten’s helm and she let out a sweet little pure. A kitten might be good for Springer. She would teach him responsibility and to mind his strength. It was as good an excuse as any. The reality was Prowl had a difficult time just telling the mechling no. Prowl felt better about his decision when his creation was happy.

“First we need to give her a bath, Springer.”

“But she’s already wet.”

“The residue from the acid rain could cause her to develop a rust infection. We’ll get her clean and then dry her off. We will need to get her toys, and a berth.”

“She can recharge with me!”

“She may well choose to. Come on, you can help me.”

Jazz found them a few joors later, sitting in the couch. The kitten was recharging in Springer’s lap, as the mechling was cuddled up into the crook of Prowl’s arm. Springer was petting the kitten he had designated Bolt and watching a cartoon while Prowl was going over a report from Tactics. He enjoyed this more than he had ever imagined he would. Prowl was a cold construct himself, thus he had never known the concept of a family or close kinship. Cuddling with Springer might have been the best part of having the mechling in his life.

“I come bearin’ gifts,” Jazz said. “A scratchin’ post, some toys, ‘n fuel. How’d ya talk yer o’gin into gettin’ ya a cybercat, Springer?”

“I found her, Geni. We gave her a bath so she didn’t get rust and O’gin says she can recharge with me if she wants to.”

“I think she’ll be happy to share yer berth. I brought dinner, Prowl. I figured I’d save ya the trouble.”

“Thank you, Jazz.”

That was the other change that had come with Springer, Jazz. Prowl had been unable to handle the responsibility of making a home for his creation on his own. Jazz had offered to help. He had taught Springer to call Prowl o’gin instead of the more formal origin or originator. The sparkling had gotten to calling Jazz geni and neither mech saw cause to correct him. In every way that counted, Jazz was Springer’s progenitor. It was what Prowl wanted to be true. As Jazz walked around the couch to bring the toys to Springer, he paused to brush a kiss along the corner of Prowl’s mouth.

This was also new. Their arrangement had started out completely platonic. Jazz had offered his help because he had seen that Prowl was overwhelmed with his new responsibilities and Springer was a little lost. He had no memories of anything beyond waking up to see Prowl. Just as Prowl had needed to learn to be an originator, Springer had needed to learn to be a sparkling. Jazz had been integral throughout those early mega-cycles when he had spent his mega-cycles with Prowl and Springer as they had gotten a feel for each other, and then his dark-cycles in his own habsuite. Lately he had been spending most dark-cycles here as well, with Prowl, in his berth.

Springer was delighted by the bounty. Bolt woke up, no surprise given the commotion and swatted at the little fluffy want Springer waved for her. The toys were a hit, so was the cybercat. Prowl smiled as Springer tested each toy with the kitten, and proclaimed the wand her favourite. It might have been his favourite because he could use it to play with her, unlike the small toys she chewed or the balls she chased. As Prowl watched Springer and Bolt play, Jazz plucked the datapad from his digits and place a steaming mug of pressed energon into his servo.

“Rest that beautiful processor of yers,” Jazz said. He in the armchair, holding his own mug.

“Mmm, thank you,” Prowl said and he savoured the smell of the potent fuel. “Was your mega-cycle productive.”

“Ran some exercises wit the rookies. A couple might have potential for Ops.”

“You have a good optic for talent.”

“Thank ya, Prowler.”

Jazz would be moving in on the ornend. Springer would not likely notice any difference. His genitor had always left after he had sung him a lullaby, and returned early to ensure he had a good breakfast ready. Prowl had lived his entire life on rations. No cold construct had access to a kitchen in their barracks. Thanks to Jazz he had discovered fuel could be for more than just energy, it could be for pleasure as well. He was discovering favourite fuels. There was a jar of rust sticks on his desk that Jazz kept full because he knew Prowl liked them. He cared. There was no question that Jazz wanted him, and had had him a few times now, but Jazz’s desire for him was different than Prowl had experienced before. He did not desire to possess Prowl as others had but to honour and to love him. It continued to be a novelty.

As he did every dark-cycle, Jazz sang a lullaby to Springer after they read him a story together. Bolt curled up on the pillow next to Springer’s helm, just as he had hoped she would. Prowl pulled the blanket up over Springer’s shoulder and gingerly kissed his helm. As they slipped out into the hallway, Jazz pulled Prowl slowly into his arms and kissed him sweetly. He was so kind and so tender. Prowl wrapped his arms around Jazz’s waist and returned the kiss. Slowly, they slipped apart, Jazz was holding, stroking Prowl’s palms with his thumbs. This was about the time when Jazz would return home.

“Stay the dark-cycle?” Prowl asked.

“I can’t think o’ anythin’ I’d rather do.”

#anon-e-miss writes #maccadams #tf jazz #tf prowl #tf springer #ficlet #tw rape #kid!fic

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

tapestry 👑 XVI

Warnings: eventual dark elements (tags to be added as fic continues)

This is dark!(king)Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: King Steven had a wandering eye but you never thought it would fall upon you.

This Chapter: The trial begins.

Note: Hey, it’s ya girl, the disaster. I managed to get this done and so we’re still going hot. We’ll see how close we get to christmas before I just pass out from being insane. 💋 😉 Anyways, with each chapter we’ll get closer to the big hubba hubba but for now, control yourselves ho.

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply! Love ya!

masterlist

Eleanor was imprisoned for a month before the cardinals arrived. The trial was further delayed by the king of Asgard; Thor was Eleanor's brother and in his stead he sent their other brother. Thus, the trial was delayed by the arrival of Prince Loki.

While the king openly welcomed a standard of the queen's homeland, he seethed behind closed doors. His temper was easily pricked as his impatience wound tight. He only realised after Eleanor's arrest that the matter was far from resolved. You found yourself soothing him with gentle words and dulcet tones. Until you could not.

He was taxed further as the presence of the cardinals kept him from you. His council advised that it would be unseemly to keep company with another lady as his wife, or alleged wife, sat accused. Steven agreed reluctantly but it did not prevent his love letters or gifts from finding their way into your chambers.

The castle was as restless as its king. The ladies had no queen to attend and the lords were completely enthralled by the royal conflict. None could escape it. Though you tried to distract yourself with your needle or a book from your shelf, you could not concentrate long enough to forget. Long enough that you didn’t think of your part in this catastrophe.

Having paced the expanse of your chamber several times, Marge suggested you take to the corridors instead. While the walls were less suffocating, you still found the wraiths of the castle followed you around. The queen’s rooms were empty and so you avoided that wing; the feast hall was vacant and void of gaiety. The walls were drab with as the last of the winter sun shone in through the tall windows. You wondered if spring would ever come.

You found the cushioned bench by the window and sat. The guard stood at your back. You’d grown used to the sentinels; the subtle clink of mail and their iron grips upon their pommels. The trees dripped outside and the ground shone with melting snow and shrinking ice. The roads would be passable enough to permit your mother; the prospect of her return was your only comfort.

A loud grind overtook the stillness of the dreary March day. You looked to the walls, the gate just within view of your perch. The chains loudly wrapped around the gears as the links were wound to open the doors. You stood and leaned against the glass as you peered around at the entrance.

A dark carriage jostled through, drawn by two great stallions and followed by a dozen more mounted by armoured men. A golden flag flew from the top of the carriage and the men held matching banners. You blinked and looked to Marge; the Asgardians had finally arrived.

Your heart raced as you turned your back to the window. Perhaps if you willed him away, the prince would go. A glimmer within hoped he could save his sister as you replayed your last meeting with her over in your head. Though you questioned her veracity, she seemed honest; too desperate to be deceptive. And as you thought of it more, you realized she had been as close to begging as she’d ever come. As she ever could as a woman of royal blood.

But you didn’t wish too hard.

Some days, you dreamt of an escape, other days, you were complacent. One minute, you felt as if you’d brought it all down upon yourself and the next you felt entirely helpless. You knew the king’s hand moved the pieces and yet you thought to move upon your own squares. In the end, there was his will and nothing else. As you could not deny the prince’s arrival, you could not deny that.

You sighed and looked to Marge. You nodded down the corridor. You’d return to your chamber and hide. You tried being brave, cowardice would do you better. You could not stand the knot that tied around your heart as you thought of how futile your efforts had been. Your want to elude the king, to appease the queen, to live a peaceful life. It had all been for not as the queen would meet with a cruel fate, and you would too. As you all would by the hand of the king.

👑

You were to attend the queen’s trial. As your father sat on the council, you were allotted a seat in the gallery. The council itself would be among the first row, the cardinals in their box, and the two kings and singular prince within their own. It was to be a spectacle; the downfall of a queen, though it would be argued she never truly was.

You awaited your entrance with the other ladies. Marion and Beatrice were the only other unwed ladies warranted to sit in the audience upon their own kinship to council members. There were several married ladies who would share your bench. They were somber but not quiet. They whispered; both anxious and eager for the outcome.

The councilmen had passed through the doors not long before. You watched the men shuffle in with leather bound ledgers and pens in hand. Your stomach twisted and you pondered a retreat to your chambers. You weren’t needed here; your father merely requested your presence to remind the court of his standing. To remind him that one day, his daughter might just be queen.

The doors opened again but only a single lord appeared. His blue eyes caught yours and he smiled as he approached you. Lord Barnes’ hair was bound low behind his head and he wore a plain navy overcoat without ornament. He bowed as he stopped before you and the other ladies glanced over curiously. You returned the courtesy.

“My lady,” He stood. “I did not expect you.”

“Neither did I, my lord,” You returned. “But my father did think it pertinent I attend and his majesty did agree.”

“Oh, he would,” He smirked and shook his head, “Though you do look as if you do not.”

“Why should I be here?” You glanced at the others and stepped away from them. Barnes followed and leaned in slightly to listen as you spoke. “You think I do not realize what they think? They did not expect me either and that I do show my face assures them of their suspicions.”

“This trial has yet to begin,” He said coolly. “As it may prove the queen innocent or otherwise, it will surely do the same for you.”

“And what should happen if the court rules against the queen? What should her brother do?”

“Prince Loki? He rules a small duchy no one’s ever heard of.” He scoffed. “I swear, the man’s only come out of boredom.”

“Not that brother, the one who sent him,” You frowned. “It astounds me he should let his sister be humiliated this far.”

“Should his apathy surprise you?” Barnes breathed derisively. “For the last two years, he has not lifted a pen to paper to write to her, though she would do so often. He has distanced himself from her since the death of their father; since she did disregard his commands that she return for the funeral. And then shortly thereafter, the same upon their mother’s death.”

“And he should forsake her on that?”

“He does not forsake her, but has sent a letter which does concede to the will of the cardinals in this matter.” He explained. “The queen has proven herself adverse to kings, though in some ways, I cannot blame her.”

“And you think this letter will keep the king from war in his sister’s name?” You challenged.

“I think the marriage between Steven and Eleanor did compromise a hard-fought alliance between Wakanda and Asgard. I think the sons of the hateful old kings should seek to do better. I think Eleanor has sown discord between all three nations in her behaviour and has wrought resent from all three crowns.” He spoke quietly so that his voice did not rise above the chatter of the ladies. “I do think, despite her best efforts, she has signed the warrant herself.”

“Is that what you think, or what he thinks?” You looked him in the eye. He smirked.

“May I offer you some advice, lady?” He tilted his head coyly.

“You may though I may not accept it.” You replied.

“Take this as an opportunity to learn what you should not do.” His face turned stern. “Learn from Eleanor and all her mistakes. Do not let yourself fall into the same trap one day.”

Your eyes rounded as you stared at him. Your breath caught. His eyes clung to you; intent and unyielding.

“And you think I should fall into that same trap?” You asked.

“I should hate to see it, is all,” He said. “The king’s crown has weighed heavy on him for many years and it does affect his posture; his very spirit.”

You nodded and lowered your eyes. You tried to gather your thoughts; to reign in the fears which had overcome you for so long. Those which you found harder and harder to outrun.

“Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” He squinted.

“That he did offer to marry us?” You wondered.

“He offers a lot,” He chuckled. “And I did know. I think, perhaps, it might have saved us all trouble. Well, everyone but me.”

“And you know what he would’ve expected?”

“I did.” He didn’t flinch.

You shook your head at him. Never without his wit. “Then perhaps it might have been worth it.” You said. “If it did keep us from all this.”

He considered you a moment and pushed his shoulders back. “Let’s not linger on the past and what will never be.” He chided. “I did emerge for some reason though how easily I am distracted.” He bowed his head stiffly. “My lady, I must be upon my way. They do await my return.”

👑

The chambers did not quiet for a while. The audience chattered as the the five cardinals sat in their box. The sun shone in through the round stained-glass window and beamed a kaleidoscope onto the floor between the jury and the bench. You sat among the ladies and waited quietly. To you, it was a deathly lull.

When at last, the doors groaned again and were pulled open, the three royals entered as the crowd fell into silence. King Steve wore a plain grey overcoat with a single medal around his neck; the most modest you’d seen him. King T’Challa wore his tradition black and gold attire, with a sash across his overcoat as Prince Loki sported a dark green coat with snakes sewn upon the chest. They approached their box and sat to face the audience, the cardinals to their left.

The air was so still you thought you would faint. You gulped and swore all could hear the constricting of your throat. You looked along the line of cardinals in holy white and it felt as if you were to be judged. You tore your eyes away only to meet those of another.

King Steve’s lips twitched as his gaze lingered on you before moving on. He hadn’t visited you in over a month. It wasn’t his disinterest that kept him though, only his ultimate goal. A goal which, you realized, was closer than ever. You lowered your head and waited. Waited. Waited. You were tired of waiting even for something you never wanted.

There was a swish of fabric and you raised your eyes, though you kept your chin down. The cardinal who sat at the centre of the party stood, his hair as white as his robes. His knobby knuckles clutched together before his rounding stomach and he inhaled deeply before his gravelly voice rose.

“On behalf of the See, in the name of our lord, and upon the sovereignty of these three kingdoms, we do call the accused, Eleanor of Asgard.” The elder’s dull eyes floated over the crowd. “Please, stand for the accused to hear her charges.”

All rose, cardinals, kings, lords, and ladies, and all seem to hold their breaths. You slowly lifted your head as you heard the small door to the right of the kings’ box open. The familiar metallic sound of mail and iron trickled in and the queen appeared with a guard at her side and two at her rear.

She was pale and her gown hung from her slender shoulders. She stood stoic in white; the colour of the church; of sacredness; of forgiveness. She held her head high as she walked forward to stand at the podium between the kings and cardinals. Though she still held herself as the queen she was, there was frailty to her you’d never seen before.

“Eleanor of Asgard, you stand here, by the power of these kings; Steven and T’Challa, and by that of King Thor, your brother, represented by his ambassador, Prince Loki,” The cardinal’s voice grew more laboured with each word as he recited them. “To stand trial in the eyes of the Holy See and our lord, for the charges of adultery and treason.”

The queen didn’t wince. Though you could not see her face, her shoulders did not slump and her figure did not waver. She looked straight ahead and listened. You’d never seen anyone so graceful; so brave. You could never be that.

“Adultery in that you did falsely accept a betrothal whilst already bound by another and lay with a man not legally your husband. That you did attempt to unjustly break a contract previously formed upon the creation of a new and unsanctified one. And treason upon the offense that you did attempt to kill King Steven, your false husband who you did deceive, by way of poison.”

You found it hard to stand. Your legs were weak and you felt as if you would shrivel up. You looked to Steven as he tried to withhold a smile. He was proud; smug; content even. To watch this woman who he had known for more than ten years face what could be her death. You wondered if one day he should look at you in the same manner in the same circumstance.

“How do you plea?” The cardinal asked.

Your attention strayed to the dark-haired prince. He was stark contrast to his sister, though their eyes were the same emeralds beads. His face was placid as he watched his sister; bored even. He gave a slight nod before she spoke.

“Not guilty,” She declared. Prince’s Loki’s face drained of colour.

The cardinal paused as the clerk scribbled upon parchment. He bowed his white head and and spread his arms. “We have read the charges, we recognize the accused’s plea, and we shall commence this trial forthwith.”

The cardinal sat and you let your breath out. Eleanor still didn’t move. She didn’t even turn to watch as Lord Ellis stood and approached the podium across from hers. He placed his papers before him, another podium stood six feet from the queen; empty.

“We will call the first witness,” Ellis began. “King T’Challa of Wakanda, we do call upon you to testify.”

“And I do accept,” T’Challa stood and stepped down from the box.

He crossed the chamber and as he passed the queen, she finally flinched. Her hand reached to the rail around her and she stood so that her neck looked even longer. The king stepped up to the other podium.

“We do question you, your highness, upon the expectation that you do tell the truth, entirely and without censor before these cardinals and before our lord in this court of the See.”

“I swear to the See, to answer your question truthfully and without hesitation,” T’Challa responded.

“Your highness, you were betrothed to Eleanor of Asgard?” Ellis asked.

“I was.” T’Challa confirmed. “When I was fifteen, her father signed the contract with mine and I was sent to live in Asgard until we were to be wed.”

“And when did this contract end?”

“End?” T’Challa echoed. “It did not for we did not wed and it was never formally dissolved. I remained in Asgard for five years and did return to Wakanda upon my father’s request. I was to prepare for my succession and my marriage.”

“You did not see your departure as the end of your contract?”

“The contract stood. Before I left, Eleanor did speak to me of how she longed to be my wife. And upon this contract and the recognition that it did not end, for her marriage to King Steven was fallacious and illegal, I did not marry for this past decade or more. I could not for I was still bound to her.”

“You left for war against my people,” Eleanor growled.

“My lady, it is not your turn to speak,” Lord Ellis corrected her. The lack of her title startled the court and sent up a wave of whispers.

“I am a queen, I shall speak when I wish--”

“Do restrain yourself,” The cardinal at the end of the line intoned. “This is a court of law, not one of your ladies’ circles.”

Eleanor looked to the cardinals but said nothing further. She stared forward again as Ellis cleared his throat. “Do continue, your highness.”

“I have brought with me several petitions I did submit; two to a See within my own country and another to the Holy See itself. I did request that my marriage contract be reviewed and annulled so that I may find a wife and queen to lead my people. The first two were referred to the higher court, and the third has not yet been heard and so I do hope that this will be my absolution. My freedom.”

You nearly jumped as you felt a hand on yours. You looked over at Marion as she placed her hand over yours. She held your eyes and her face reflected her fear. This foretold not only the precariousness of the queen herself, but of every woman at court. You turned back to the queen, lit in the rainbow cast through the stained-glass. A red streak bled around her shoulders.

“That this matter was never truly settled has been an oversight most grave,” T’Challa continued. “I ask today that it be resolved for my own sake and that of this other king whom I believe Eleanor deceived knowingly. Of two marriages that can never be such, for she did violate those contracts.”

Ellis nodded as he shuffled through his paper. He thought, or pretended to, and looked back to the king.

“What makes you so convinced of the authenticity of this original contract?” Ellis prodded.

“Because, though it shames me to admit it, I did lay with Eleanor.” T’Challa lowered his head shamefully. “And when I did, she called herself my wife and I her husband. And in the ancient right of not only my country, but of this and many under the reach of the See, this is as true as any contract.”

At once, the whispers rose to full blown gasps and titters. The cardinals looked to each other annoyed and the eldest raised his hand. The court quieted slowly and looked to the holy men as they scowled. Eleanor roiled silently as she refused to acknowledge the king at his podium.

“And can you offer proof for this claim, your highness?” Ellis asked.

“Only my word,” T’Challa said staunchly. “Though it may be that others can testify to her unchasteness.”

“Thank you, your highness,” Ellis smiled and flipped once more through your papers. “If you have nothing else, you may step down.”

“Lies, lies, lies,” The chant slowly grew louder and the queen gripped the rails of her podium. “They tell you lies!”

“Do restrain yourself,” A dark-haired cardinal snapped. “You will have your turn to speak. You may save your vitriol until then.”

You squeezed Marion’s hand as the queen pushed herself straight and kept her eyes averted as the Wakandan king climbed down from the stand. You shuddered as you looked around, heads turned in disbelief. A pair of eyes caught your own. Lord Barnes held your gaze for a moment before he righted himself. His words swirled among the whispers that rose around you.

‘Do not let yourself fall into the same trap one day.’

#tapestry #Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #medieval au #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #au #bucky barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes

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justkeepstitching · 3 years

Text

Basic Supplies

Plastic canvas is not a terribly expensive hobby. It’ll more than likely cost you less than $40 to get started, providing you don’t go overboard with yarn. (Believe me, that’s a very easy thing to do. I have entered a craft store intending to buy a single skein and ended up spending $90.) But here’s a basic rundown of what you need to get started.

Your Craft Bag

Most craft stores have them. I bought this one in Walmart several years ago and it’s served me very well. You want something that’s a decent size to hold all your supplies, a few balls of yarn, and a small project. The most important thing to consider in a craft bag after its size is the number of pockets. You need to be able to organize your supplies so everything is easily accessible. As you can see, mine has pockets for days. In addition to all these exterior pockets, it has two good sized ones on the inside. I use one of the large ones that doesn’t have the flap to store scraps of yarn that are big enough to be used on other projects, and one of the small pockets on the end as a garbage can for unusable pieces of yarn and canvas bits.

Bits and Pieces

Yarn. Costs $3-$6 per skein, depending on the brand and size, and one skein will last a pretty long time. My favorite brands are Red Heart, I Love This Yarn, Caron Simply Soft, and Yarn Bee.

Plastic canvas (I will go into more depth on this later)

Sturdy snips for cutting your canvas

Smaller scissors for snipping yarn (You don’t necessarily have to have an extra pair for yarn, but I could not resist this pair that look like a crane! They’re a reproduction of a vintage design, if I’m not mistaken, because I’ve seen pictures of really old ones before.)

Yarn needles. They’re larger and sturdier than regular needles. I do not recommend using plastic ones. I’ve tried using them and they’re thicker yet more flimsy than metal ones and I just can’t slip them in under my yarn as easily when weaving in the ends.

A needle box for storing your needles

Needle-nose pliers for those times when your needle gets stuck (Yes, even the metal ones get stuck every now and then.)

Post-It notes for marking your progress on a pattern

A bandaid or two because accidental pricks are bound to happen

Extras

A couple of extra things I keep in my bag are:

A small notebook and a pen

Extra needles

Hair ties

A pad and a tampon cause ya never know when you might need one

Your Canvas

Without further ado, allow me to introduce the star of the show! Plastic canvas is a plastic grid that you weave your yarn around to create beautiful works of art. I have already cut this piece to size for a project. It comes in many different sizes, shapes, and even a few colors. It is also available in various mesh sizes. What is the mesh size, you may ask? The mesh refers to the number of squares per inch. It comes in 5, 7, 10, and 14 mesh sizes, with 7 being the most popular and what I always use. You can buy the standard sheets in multi packs in Walmart and larger sheets individually in Hobby Lobby. As much as I loathe to give Hobby Lobby my business, they are the only place I have been able to find that sells the large sheets I need so often and they have an amazing yarn selection.

Patterns

There are thousands of free patterns available online. I find 90% of mine on Pinterest. And you’re not limited to plastic canvas patterns specifically; you can use perler bead, counted cross stitch, and knitting patterns, too. As long as it’s laid out on a grid and it doesn’t exceed the size of your canvas, anything goes. I’ve been doing plastic canvas for years and I’m up to the skill level where I can look at almost any finished project and copy it without using a pattern. I have never paid for a pattern and you don’t have to, either.

#plastic canvas #cross stitch #needlework #yarn crafts #crafty #yarn blog #yarnhoarder #yarn art #needle crafts #needle art #making things #make something

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norgestan · 3 years

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I'm going back for seconds! Viri/Hugo, Nora/Miquel, Lucasim, Emma/You. Lol tbh I just want an Emma ship and I feel like we haven't properly settled for one. 😔 Who should end up with Emma, Mia excluded since you haven't watched Druck yet?

ardi round 2, i loooove this :)

VIRIHUGO:

i think at the end of the day i’m just resigned to virihugo’s existence. do i hate that they just Start pining for each other with no setup at all? yes. do i hate that their relationship was a noorhelm+vilde esque get-together where dylan is the one who ends up alone? yes (imagine if noora had told william something like “oh lol vilde is just some slut that goes for every boy around her, she’ll get over it soon and she doesn’t really care about us being together ;)”. bc that’s essentially what virihugo did LOL). do i hate that half of their clips are they just standing still and monologuing about each other? oh yes. do i care? not really. i would resent them a lot more if viri had been the protag of s3, but eskam had really compelling couples with noriquel and norandro so i just spend my time focusing on them and not the lesser part of the season.

viri is an endearing character, and although i didn’t like most of her subplot in s3, i do think eskam made her an interesting character with what they had and i’m happy she got a nice boyfriend that she has lots of fun with. moreover, norandro was lacking the enemies-to-lovers snarky interactions (too busy being a really compelling couple!) and the trope was picked up by hugo and viri. which i kinda dig, because those interactions were the only things that i enjoyed about various noorhelms in the skamverse - if most of them were like that and less bad abusive boy feminist girl jerk-fest, i wouldn’t loathe noorhelm as much as i do. although this also makes me wish viri and hugo had been that kind of dynamic from the start, and just gotten a lot of will-they-won’t-they glances from their friends throughout the show until they finally got into each other on s3. but i guess that would’ve made it impossible for eskam to use dylan just to *checks notes* make every person in the love triangle insanely infuriating, oh well.

tl;dr: they are allowed to exist.

NORIQUEL:

ardi, you just want to see the world burn LMAO

to me it’s hard to dislike any pairing with nora on it because she’s a very good character and that just means she’ll always have great dynamics with other good characters. and oh is miquel a good character. in a lot of ways, eskam gave us two great williams in one season: my boy alejandro, who is the perfect candidate for a nora love interest, who earned his place and then helped nora earn her place as the best candidate to be his love interest as well, and then miquel, that has just enough characterization to be exactly what the narrative of the season needs him to be - not only a mustache-twirling antagonist who will punch out then smirk his way out of situations, but a real person.

see, they could’ve made miquel into a one-dimensional asshole that nora is stupidly into because he’s hot (does that sound familiar to you? LOL) but oh no, miquel is way more than that. he earns nora’s trust because he’s not an asshole, he resents olga for cheating on him and you can see how nora waits until the moment where he’ll call her a slut but it NEVER comes, he defends nora in front of his friends... he gives her what she needs, and he fits right where she expects him to. and that’s so important in a season where every other character is challenging nora in one way or another: alejandro doesn’t fit in her box of “incorrigible fuckboy”, viri doesn’t fit in her box of “helpless friend who needs my pity”, emma doesn’t fit in her box of “s/a victim”. being with miquel is easy, when he just humors her and spits out thoughts that nora agrees with all the time. it’s just REALLY great to watch. not only is her season a display of how emotional abuse looks like, but also her entire relationship with miquel showcases her shame, her flaws, the things she needs to work with to better her relationships with the people who ask more of her because it’s only fair.

i honestly never was in the miquel hate train. once you get the point of the character, it’s easy to love him for what he is. as i said before, miquel was also a call of attention because the conversations that he had with nora reminded me of talks with male friends i’ve had in my uni years, and it really put it in perspective and made me realize that i have been humoring numerous miquels by sitting through their “i’m actually a feminist, ya know” think-pieces and agreeing with the general feeling of it. and i don’t think a character like niko could EVER make anyone feel like that.

i’ve checked the middle square because that was my reaction every time eskam made a point to parallel noriquel to noorhelm. like YES. YOU DO GET ME. TRULY A SEASON FROM NOORHELM ANTIS TO NOORHELM ANTIS. what a skamverse treat. this relationship is good for the SOUL. that’s why i never got infuriated watching the couple, despite knowing what the point of their existence was: at the end of the day, i knew that the signs of abuse weren’t pointless and just fillers for an end-of-season sex scene, but they were actually going to do something interesting with them. and that’s exactly what they did. noriquel is actually a perfectly crafted relationship for what its message is and it deserves to be remembered as that.

LUKASIM:

oh BOY.

i just.... kasim is in this relationship. that already makes this REALLY difficult to tackle it. the thing about kasim is... if you only watched the season as the movistar+ channel shows it, kasim is simply a plot device. he’s not a character. he’s only there to introduce conflict and stir some shit and then fuck off to the sunset. he doesn’t have an og counterpart which meant that eskam didn’t have to actually try with him, and kasim is just what they need him to be: a way to introduce the main conflict, a reason for dounia to hate amira, boy on boy action for that sweet fanservice, misogynist microaggressions towards amira, a loose way to wrap things up at the end of the season and absolve her from any guilt or shame, etc. he just shows up when the plot needs him and then walks away very swaggily. and that’s why kasim is an essay kind of topic because to talk about him, you have to tackle the racism in s4 and all the ways they could’ve made a conflict-inducing gay muslim guy actually likable. which i won’t do here.

but then if you look at the lucas extra clips... he’s actually LIKABLE. he’s a character: he has personality, he’s funny, he doesn’t take lucas’ shit, he will only be with him if lucas apologizes and changes first. and as someone who desperately wants to protect kasim from the shit characterization and treatment he got in the show, i treasure those clips immensely - which i don’t think a lot of people do, and i can see why. it’s just sad that the moments where kasim was a likable, real character were hidden behind a paywall, and drown in a convoluted plotline of outing people when they behave badly as a good punishment. the thing about their get-together is that their impact relies only on amira, and is meant to make her life a living hell. other than that, there’s not really a narrative or character reason why they’re both into each other. is it only because they’re conventionally attractive guys and the only recurrent mlm in the show? wow, that shit’s BORING.

sigh, anyway. in a slightly better world, kasim being gay wasn’t actually a nuance as it was presented in the show. rather, kasim was out and confident about it, close to his sister, probably a regular in las labass where he could also work with organizations of other queer muslims in madrid. this also means that lucas and kasim’s relationship wasn’t the typical hidden gay love story that they were in the actual show, but they’re just, ya know. typical gay kids who made out in the club and then became just friends. or lucas’ activism on s2 warranted some instagram dms and then they upgraded to acquaintances. it’s upsetting that lucas is the only eskild who doesn’t really get to hangout or be in queer circles like other eskilds are implied to, so it would be great for him to actually have gay friends that he enjoys just as much as his primarily friend group. like, their version of lucas’ queer lifestyle being going to bars and hooking up with older guys it’s so....................... why. they didn’t have the time to say anything interesting about it and so obviously they didn’t do it lol. at this rate lucas’ only platonic queer companion is cris, which is lackluster to say the least.

the decision of making kasim lucas’ endgame is just another one on the list of things s4 got so, so wrong. what for? why does lucas need (another) boyfriend, again? why does every queer person in this show have to be dating someone and also come out to their parents? again, their relationship is just another rushed hidden gay love story that i found interesting at 13 years old and then never again. they could’ve taken it into ANY other direction, please. i’m begging.

anyways, you had really nice headcanons of lucas being the only eskild willing to revert to date a muslim guy, so that’s the only reason why i’m open to the idea of them being a couple. in a better universe, eskam actually made a case for these two being a good couple, and i agreed with it. as it is for now, it’s just really pointless, and rooted on the fact that kasim is not a real character to begin with. so i’m OBVIOUSLY sending them to superhell <3

EMMA/ME:

standard wlw relationship that would probably get sooooo much backlash about how neither of the characters Really feel like wlw and the emma love interest being boring as fuck, tbh.

alright, now that we’ve covered all that.... should dear emma grace even end up with someone in the skamverse? maybe one of the skamau girlies, given the proximity? maybe she’ll hook up with the female eskild that i know so many people dislike? idk. emma deserves a nice love story, in the same wavelength as nora. she deserves someone who is patient, who communicates well, who establishes boundaries and asks for respect, who understands she’s not only the act of crazy party girl and there are really interesting, carefully placed layers around her. maybe someone who went through a similar situation or at the very least sits down with her and tries their hardest to understand all the things going on with her life. like... there’s something about emma dropping the accusations and then dipping to another country, away from her parents and even her hometown in the states, just to throw herself in a city as busy as nyc is, that is desperately asking to be explained and explored. in a lot of ways, emma’s story is the other side of the noora story that couldn’t be told through nora’s perspective. in a perfect universe, there’s a spinoff that takes place right between s3 and s4, where emma gets the news of how much of a shithead miquel actually is and she has to question all of that yet again, and break the sense of normalcy and comfort she had built during all those years. it would be great if that story featured her closest friendships, and a newfound love. yes i was serious when i talked about the emma grace spinoff @ movistar+

#the emma grace spinoff involves updates of nora + therapy and the sekou/lucas endgame that we all crave #skam españa #answered #ardi this reminds me of your druck post about how every druck fan will disagree with at least one of your opinions #i feel the same about this LOL #meta

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kertneyk · 3 years

Text

Cute Delivery Boys

When you finally make it home, you are exhausted. Another long day, the paperwork for the academy took ages. Then you had to talk to everyone who had the monster route ahead of you and get the lowdown and map it out. Then the chief had you running all sorts of other in-office errands. Just because he knew you hated it. But the worst part of it was, you didn’t get to eat properly. You looked at the clock. 7:00. It wasn’t too late to make something, but you didn’t have any meat thawed out. And with as hungry as you were, you needed to induldge your carnivorous side tonight. Which would mean a trip to the store.

Or you could order in. You went to your wallet and took out the coupons Muffet gave you. One was buy one get one coupons for a burger and fry combo, the other was a free meal, delivery fee included; just pay tip. You look in your wallet folds, you had enough a good sized tip. And Chief Johnson did give you the weekend to integrate yourself in the monster community. What better way than by spending money? You try to talk yourself into the extravagence, you were supposed to be on a ramen diet afterall. But it isn’t nearly as difficult as you pretended it was. You are already pulling out your phone and dialing the phone number.

You really were not great with money.

You go down to the hallway closet and start pulling out some boxes while the phone rings. A very bored sounding man answers.

“This is Grillbys. Wha’ya want?” Ok....

“Um, you do delivery right?”

“Ya.”

“Ok, uh.” You think about what you actually want for a moment. “Triple cheese burger, extra onions, no mustard and a large order of chili fries. And load those babies up with cheese.”

“Tha it?”

“Yeah, I got a coupon for a free meal. You want me to read the code off the back, or just give it to the driver?”

“Read the code.” You read off your numbers.

“Ok, that’s it.”

“Sure. The address?” You rattle off your address for the guy.

“Oh! I’ll need to buzz the delivery guy in, but intercom is busted, so you’ll need to give them my number.”

“You gonna to be one of those pain’n tha ass people ar’ncha?” You laugh at his boldness. You really weren’t trying to make his night difficult.

“Not trying to I swear! But since you are gonna call me out like that, I better live up to it. Make sure to send your cutest delivery boy. Only cute guys get my number.”

“Sure thing sweetheart.” He chuckles and you hear the line click. You shake your head. Yeah, monsters were going to give you a hard time starting Monday. Until then, might as well enjoy it. You wonder mildly if they were really going to send a cute monster to you. And if so, would you find them cute? Do monsters have a standard of beauty comparable to humans? Guess you’ll find out. You go grab a shower and change into some comfier clothes. Going for a pair of shorts and tank top. You then gather up your boxes and take them to the living room.

your cell phone starts ringing. You smirk when you see the unknown number. Must be your cute delivery boy!

“Yello, this is y/n.”

“Yah, got’a delivery from Grillbys fer ya.” You are surprised by how deep the voice is on the line. You said cute delivery boy, not ‘biker gang, don’t bring him home to meet your mama’ delivery boy. Oh well, you buzz him in.

“K, I buzzed you. See you in a sec.” Click. When you hear him finally knock on your door, you grab your wallet. You only had a twenty in there, but that was fine. It was a little excessive for a delivery tip on a burger and some fries, but since monsters couldn’t drive yet he probably had to take the bus. That would have sucked.

What greeted you when you opened your door was defintely not what you were expecting.

The monster in front of you was short. Like shorter than you short. He stood at about 4’6”. He was a skeleton, like GTP; but that was where the similarities stopped. Besides being short, the guy had a row of sharp, shark-like teeth with a golden fang on one side. His dark eye sockets glowed with the light of two pin pricks of red that made up his pupils. His head was round where GTP’s what more square and sharp. And the guy liked his red. His coat, a fur-lined hooded thing was black and red, he wore a red turtle-neck and his shorts were black with a single red stripe down the side.

The thing you noticed most about the delivery boy, however, had little to do with his appearance. His magic was blinding in its power. Out of all the monsters you’d met so far, this guy was easily the strongest!

Your shock must have shown on your face because he coughed to get your attention.

“see sometin ya like sweetheart?” His flirt was half-hearted and obviously not meant. In fact, he seemed almost disgusted with himself for even attempting it.

Ok, he was pretty cute.

“Heh, well yeah. I said ‘cute delivery boy.’ Glad to see Grillby is a man of his word.” You wink at him and watch his face erupt in a crimson blush. Blushing bones are totally a thing you guess. Two out of two skeletons can do it.

“W-wha! Wha ta fuck is wrong witcha? Don’t fuckin say shit like that.” He growls at you and shoves a bag between you two. “Here, take yer fuckin food so I can go.”

“But what if I don’t want you to go? Not every day a handsome stranger knocks on my door.” You say as you dodge the bag.

“Not my problem yer an ugly human. Can’t even attract yer own kind.” He tries again, and again you manage to not take it.

“Dude, that’s so harsh!” You clutch at your heart, “You gotta be nicer to ladies. We are delicate.”

“Yer a pain in the ass is whatcha are. Take yer damn food.” He growls at you, getting extremely frustrated.

“Not until you go back to calling me sweetheart. You’re really hurting my ego.”

“I don’t give a shit, sweetheart.” The word dripping in sarcasm. Obviously, he finds you less than sweet. He finally manages to shove the bag into your hand.

“Alright, alright. You win.” You chuckle a bit and he relaxes, seeing an end to his ordeal. “Here, hold this so I can get your tip.” You wave your wallet and hand the bag back to him. It takes him a second before he realizes what just happened.

“Fuck!” You cackle, picking on poor delivery boys should be beneath you. But no one ever said you were a mature adult.

“Oh come on, don’t be sore. That was good. And I really did need an extra hand to take out the cash.” You laugh some and take the bag, handing over the twenty after. You notice in his other hand he has another bag. Must be his next stop. His face is still red as he shoves the bill in his coat pocket and stomps off. You lean out your door and wave goodbye to his back.

“Farewell oh adorable stranger. May our paths cross again!” He flips you off then vanishes down the stairs. He was cute. But really rude. And definitely a more accurate representation of the troubles you will be having interacting with monsters in the future. Of course, he might have been more receptive to your charms if you hadn’t looked at him like that. He was probably sick of people looking at him like a sideshow attraction. You decide that if you ever see him again, you would definitely be nicer. And look at him less.

Sans POV

Oh Sans was going to let Grillby have it next time he went in! Who sends Sans the Skeleton to play delivery boy with a fuckin pervert human? Cute! She said he was cute! Lying shit bag human! Skeletons weren’t fuckin cute.

And so fucking bold too! Most people avert their eyes when they are caught staring at him. Oh no! Not this bitch. When he called you out, he just made it worse! He fumes as he thinks about it.

He takes the turn around your apartment building and then shortcuts back home. He kicks his shoes off in the entryway and slams the bag on the table.

He should have known Grillby was up to no good when he brought Sans a bag of free food. He had been nursing a bottle of mustard, unable to afford his usual tonight. Boss had cracked down on what money Sans was allowed to carry, and Grillz had closed out his tab when they all came up to the surface. So when Grillz said all Sans had to do was deliver a burger to a dumb human, and he would even get to keep the tip, Sans said sure. It was just one human. Well, never again. He was never do any more shitty fucking deliveries for shitty fucking humans. He is interupted from his thoughts by his phone. That was odd, Boss was havin another cooking competition at Undyne’s. Hopefully they weren’t asking him to come and judge. He shudders as he checks the message.

Unknown: Hey, this is the girl you just delivered to. I was rude, sorry.

BZZT

Unknown: Question though? Did I insult your boss when I ordered my burger no mustard? Cause.... it looks like I did.

BZZT

Unknown: Seriously, it looks like I have a hit out on me from a mustard loving monster mafia.

The next text is a picture of his regular. A burger and fries, everything absolutely covered in mustard. Shit! He grabs the bag on the table and rips it open. The fries in this bag coated in chili and cheese. He gave her the wrong bag! Tch, not his problem. He could always scrap off the chili and he has mustard here he could put on his own burger.

BZZT

Unknown: It’s everywhere! Oh god, the poor burger, it’s bleeding mustard.

BZZT

Unknown: This is downright disrespectful.

Another picture of the burger, but with a little handwritten RIP sign held above it. He can’t help but snicker a little.

Sans: wrong bag. deal with it

BZZT

Unknown: Oh good, you can get texts. I was worried for a second that I was texting the void.

BZZT

Unknown: I did see you had another bag in your hand. Could I meet you somewhere to swap? I was really excited about the chili on my fries.

Sans: no learn 2 like mustard

BZZT

Unknown: Dude, that is cold.

BZZT

Unknown: Cold like the corpse of this mustard burger. Is it even a burger? All I see is mustard.

BZZT

Unknown: Please save me from condiment hell!

Sans: why should i

BZZT

Unknown: Besides the fact that you would be helping a beautiful stranger?

BZZT

Unknown: Kidding! Don’t answer that. My ego probably couldn’t take whatever terrible response you were writing.

BZZT

Unknown: I am officially out of cash now, but I would owe you one. I really don’t want to have to call back to the restaruant.

Sans palms his face, sighing loudly. It wouldn’t take much to go back and exchange the bags. And Grillby would probably charge him for the burger if he had to make another. He reads the last message again, smirking as he does. You said you would ‘owe him one’ it would be nice to have a human owe him something for a change. Make you do something embarrassing. Or maybe just make you go to Grillbys yourself. See how you like it when everyone stares at you.

Sans: fine. U owe me. ur place couple min

BZZT

Unknown: YAS! I shall await your return!

#Non-cannon fanfic #underfell #underfell sans #takeout mixup #failed flirts #blushy bones #just having fun #bonus content #look i'm using tumblr for my intended purpose

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dezzymalfoy · 3 years

Text

The Descendant Part 3: The Letter

Harry slowly gets up, grabbing his glasses which he has placed next to the picture of his parents.

His only possession of them,

His parents on the left, his mum holding him while his father has his arms around them both. On the right, a similar family with a little girl, mother holding her and father wrapped around them both.

Harry looks to the back of the cardstock, and reads the words he reads oh so often,

"Her name in (Y/n) Ravenclaw"

The Raven haired boy slowly gets up and begins making breakfast for everyone, then goes to collect the post,

Grabbing all the post from the bottom of the door frame, scanning through and surprised to see something for him,

"Mr. H Potter

The Cupboard Under The Stairs,

4, Privet Drive,

Little Whinging,

Surrey"

As he gave his uncle the rest of the mail, he kept his letter and began to open it,

"Father! Harry has mail!" Dudley yells as he snatches the letter out of Harry's hand and taking it to his father,

"Give it back! That's mine!" Harry yelled at Vernon,

Vernon laughed, "Who would be writing to you?" He questioned, looking at the writing on the front, then the wax seal on the back to see four quadrants, a lion, a snake, a badger, and an eagle with an H in the middle. Looking at Petunia,

"Off to your rooms both of you, boys." Vernon says,

"But dad-" Dudley started

"NO! To your rooms!"

Harry was curious as to what that letter was, and why it brought such a reaction from his uncle.

Harry woke up the next day and yet again did his daily routine, made breakfast, served it, picked up the post,

And yet again. There's another letter.

The same exact one.

Vernon noticed there was yet another letter and threw it in the fire place.

As Harry was doing his chores, he happened to look outside and see a load of owls in the mailboxes, houses, trees, house number signs, everywhere. Harry thought this was strange, but thought nothing of it, over all.

This happened for days, the letters would come in, and soon they were the only things the Dursley's were getting though their drop box, five, ten at a time!

Every single one went into the fireplace.

Harry woke up today in a slightly sour mood, it was Sunday.

He walks into the kitchen and began breakfast, his uncle Vernon was quite chipper today, and he knew exactly why.

"Good day, Sunday, any idea why Dudley?" Vernon asks his son, to which he shakes his head

"Its because there's no post on Sunday's" Harry said gloomily,

"Right you are Harry! No post on Sunday. Not one blasted lett-"

The house had begun to shake. The fireplace roared, Petunia took Dudley into her arms to protect him.

All of a sudden, the fireplace shot out hundreds of the letters, Harry immediately going to get one of them, jumping onto one of the chairs in the living room, trying to grab one of the letters falling from above him, letters stacking up on the floor of the living room, and just as Harry almost had one in his hands, Vernon grabs the back of his shirt and drags him out to the car,

"Daddys gone mad hasn't he?" Dudley asks his mum, to which she nods.

They drove for hours on end, then rode the boat in the storm, out to a dingy cottage in the middle of nowhere,

"They'll never find us out here, never!" Vernon exclaims as they pile into the small house. Vernon and Petunia going to the room up the stairs, Dudley taking the moldy, moth eaten couch, leaving Harry with the dusty old floor and another moldy blanket.

Harry was unable to fall asleep, so, he drew a birthday cake with 11 candles and happy birthday Harry into the middle,

As soon as Dudley's watch started beeping midnight, Harry looked at the cake on the dirt covered floor,

"Happy Birthday Harry", blowing out the "candles"

As soon as Harry had blown out the last of the candles, there was banging on the door, and someone had knocked it down, Harry smartly hid beside the fireplace, out of view of the door.

Peaking around the corner, Harry saw a large figure in the middle if the doorway.

As the figure walks in, Harry heard his aunt and uncle rush down the stairs,

"Sorry 'bout tha'" said the large -man, as Harry knows now- as he proceeds to pick up the door, surprising everyone.

The fire lights up the faces of everyone in the room,

"Get out! You're trespassing on private property!" Vernon points a double barrel shotgun at the man, to which the large man bends the shotgun,

"Dry up Dursley, you great prune!"

The man looks towards Dudley,

"'arry! Been lookin' for ya! Of 'ourse you're a bi' more rou'ded since tha last 'ime I saw ya! Espec'ally there in tha 'iddle"

Harry then decided to walk out from his hiding spot,

"H-He's not Harry, I am.", making the large man turn towards him,

"Well o' course ya are! I'm Hagrid, Game'eeper at 'ogwarts, (Y/n)'s back ou'side waitin on us in tha boa'"

"Hogwarts?" Harry's curious as to what that is, and if this (y/n) is the same one from his picture.

"Well ye', where'd ya t'ink yer 'arents learnt it all? Which 'eminds me, I go' this for ya. Rec'on I may of sa' on it, made it me'self, 'ords an all, with some 'elp from (Y/n)" Hagrid hands Harry a box and a letter, the same one from the fireplaces and the post back at home.

Harry opened the box to see a bright pink cake with green icing with the words, "happee birthday haree", making Harry smile then frown, setting the cake down

"My parents?"

"Yer 'arents were wizards, 'arry, and yer one too, af'er a bit'o trainin o'course"

"I-I'm not a wizard, I'm just Harry."

"Well, just 'arry, 'as anythin ever happened, tha' ya can't explain? When ya 'ere mad or u'set?"

Harry thinks back to the zoo, to the glass and the snake, Dudley falling into the water of the enclosure, and everything makes sense,

Harry finally decides to open the letter Hagrid had given him earlier,

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall , Deputy Headmistress

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

UNIFORM:

First-year students will require: 1.Three sets of plain work robes (black) 2.One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear 3.One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar) 4.One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings) Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Harry looked up from his letter as his uncle had yelled,

"We swore to put a stop to all this rubbish when we agreed to take him in!" Vernon argued,

"You knew? You knew all this time and you never bothered to tell me?" Harry was enraged that they had never told him of his wizard genes

"Oh! Of course we knew! With my perfect sister being what she was! I was the only one in the family who saw her for what she was! A freak! I knew you would be just like her. Then she had to go run off with that Potter and get herself blown up!" Petunia ranted,

"Blown up?! You told me my parents had died in a car crash!" Harry was enraged, they had lied to him! About his own parents, no less.

"Car 'rash killed 'ily and James 'otter! Cold'wap!" Hagrid yelled at the Dursley's,

"Enough! We're not paying for him to go to some school and get taught by some crack pot old fool!" Vernon yelled back

Hagrid points his pink umbrella at him, "never insul' Albus 'umbledore in fron' o' me!", then looking at Dudley, who was chowing down on Harry's birthday cake, pointing his umbrella at him and sending sparks, then making a pig tail form on his bum.

Hagrid walked out of the house as the Dursley's were freaking out about the tail that now rests on Dudley,

"Comin 'arry?" Harry smiled and runs out of the house, following Hagrid out to the boat, seeing a small girl laid down in the middle, sleeping.

"Ah, poor 'irl, must've fallen 'sleep, 'arry, tha is (y/n)"

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pod95 · 3 years

Text

Pairing: Finn Balor X OFC (Ciara)

Word Count: 1981

Warnings: Mature to explicit as the story goes on.

Description: After moving to the USA from England to start her career as an NXT superstar, Ciara gets to meet her long time crush, NXT champion Finn Balor. It's clear the pair have chemistry, but when tensions start to rise, will they find they want more than a no strings attached relationship?

So this is the first piece of fanfic I have written literally ever. I will be posting them here periodically, but I already have 6 chapters out on my Wattpad, AO3 and FanFiction pages.

This series will involve romance, drama and (although it will take a little while) some smutt too. Hope you enjoy it! 😊

Chapter 5: Prince Charming

I had a quick shower in my locker room before heading out to the car park, where Fergal was coolly leaning against his car. I was feeling kind of nervous. Up to now every time I'd seen Fergal it was down to pure coincidence. Now we were very intentionally going out for food together.

"Ready to go?" he smiled as I approached his car. I nodded sheepishly in response. "Good. We'll swing by your place so you can drop of your stuff and change if you want."

"That would be great, thanks!" I threw my gym bag into the trunk and climbed into the passenger seat. Fergal turned the radio on low and pulled out of the car park.

"So can you drive back in England?" he asked me.

"To be honest no, I never got my licence"

"Really? How come?" I hesitated for a moment before answering. The truth was simple: I could never afford to. But the reason why was something I wanted to run so far away from that I'd never think about it again.

"Well... I grew up in a poor area and money was tight for a lot of my life. I guess I just... Never got around to it," I lied, before lowering my head in embarrassment.

"Ya know," he piped up eventually, clearly noticing my discomfort, "I didn't learn to drive until I joined NXT. Dusty actually taught me" he admitted, with a hint of sadness.

"You must have some great memories with him"

"Oh I could tell you some stories, " he smiled at me before turning his attention back to the road.

The journey was filled with laughter as Fergal recounted his driving lessons, and soon enough we were pulling up outside my apartment.

"Right, won't be a minute"

I jumped out of the car, rushed inside and dumped my gym stuff in the washer. Knowing that this wasn't a date took a lot of the pressure off of choosing an outfit. I kept reminding myself that this was just a casual meal between work colleagues and not to overthink it. I returned to the car in a nice top and some jeans.

"So where are we going?" I asked.

"Well there's a nice sushi place near here, or we could get pizza-"

"I LOVE sushi!" I interrupted loudly before catching myself "I mean... Sushi sounds great, please"

"Sushi it is!" Fergal giggled, and pulled away from the pavement.

* * * *

As we entered the restaurant, the host greeted Fergal with a warm, familiar smile.

"Mr Devitt! Your usual seat I presume?" he asked, eyeing me before giving Finn a knowing look. It was obvious the host was not surprised to see Fergal here with a new face.

"Yes please, if it's available"

"Of course! Right this way sir. And might I say, your lady friend looks ravishing this evening" he flashed me a charming smile.

"This is Ciara, she's a new superstar. She worked her ass off today so I'm treating her," Fergal flashed that gorgeous smile again, but his quickness to correct the hosts mistake had me a little disappointed.

"Ah, my mistake sir! I assumed... No matter. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Just a soda, please"

We took our seats in a quiet corner of the restaurant.

"Same for me, thanks" I nodded.

"Right away," he nodded and left the two of us alone.

Our table was next to a large window looking out across a small stretch of beach. Not one of the many that were overpopulated with tourists, but a quiet, peaceful piece of heaven. As the sun started to set, its light was dancing across the surface of the ocean. It was a beautiful sight. I could see why this was Fergals usual table, though I couldn't help but wonder how many women he'd brought here, charming them with the view.

"So, what looks good?" Fergal opened the menu and glanced over the pages.

"Honestly, all of it..."

"I usually just get a sushi platter to share and then order some ramen or a bento box for myself."

"That sounds perfect," I closed my menu and set it down, relieved that he'd taken the lead before I said something stupid. Fergal called a waiter over to give him our order before turning his attention back to me.

"So how did you get into wrestling?"

"My mum is a huge fan, we used to watch it together. She's basically in love with Brett Hart" I giggled.

"She must be incredibly proud," he smiled. I nodded in response, trying to hold back some tears that had started to form. Noticing my sadness, his tone softened, "I know it's hard, moving away from family, friends, boyfriend..."

"Oh, I'm single so that's not an issue but... Yeah, I miss them a lot."

It could have been my hopeful imagination, but the look in his eyes seemed to shift slightly from sympathy to devilish triumph.

"Really? That's interesting..."

"How so?" I asked, playfully.

"Well..." he hesitated before leaning in slightly closer to me. He squinted his eyes in thought, as if he were trying to solve a difficult puzzle. "You're beautiful, so I doubt you're short on options. You don't have any annoying habits that I've seen, but honestly you're attractive enough that most guys won't care-"

"And what if I'm only interested in women?" I teased, enjoying watching his attempts at analysing me. He chuckled cockily and licked his bottom lip.

"Well in that case, all that flirting you did last night wouldn't make much sense would it?"

"I... Suppose not..." I mumbled, my cheeks beginning to feel hot once again.

Every interaction between Fergal and I felt like a game of Tennis, passing flirtatious remarks and enticing glances between us until one of us (usually me) was left feeling embarrassed.

"So that means, you're choosing to be single. Why is that?" he leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, satisfied with his theory.

"I'm just not looking for anything serious now. My career comes first."

"That's smart," he nodded in approval.

We were interrupted by a waiter bringing our food to the table. Everything looked and smelled amazing.

"I just got out of something semi-serious so, I'm focusing on my career too."

I popped a Maki roll into my mouth to hide my surprise. He didn't look like he was lying to me, but Saraya had mentioned last night that he was seeing someone. Maybe she was just taking a dig at him. There was a lot of hostility there after all.

Ugh... Thinking about last night was giving me flashbacks of my piss poor attempt at being alluring. I shuddered the thought out of my mind.

"You ok?"

"Yeah just, kind of embarrassed about last night," I confessed. "I don't normally flirt with complete strangers."

"I could tell, you were really bad at it. Do you always get like that when you're drunk or are ya just that attracted to me?" Fergal laughed, doing nothing to calm my already crimson face.

"I'm always like that, sorry to disappoint. But I did want to thank you for not taking advantage, and for making sure I got home safe. It was really kind of you..."

"Wow. No wonder you're single. You really need to get higher standards for men love. If not trying to sleep with you when you're drunk is your idea of kind, you're gonna be dating a lot of assholes."

I knew he was right, but considering my last relationship, honestly at this stage I'd say almost anything was an improvement.

We continued eating and laughing until finally the bill came. I reached into my bag to get my purse out.

"Woah, what are ya doing? I said this was my treat." Fergal insisted, reaching into his back pocket.

"At least let me pay for half of it"

"Absolutely not."

"You are fighting a losing battle here miss. Mr Devitt is a gentleman after all," the host chimed in, leaving me with no choice but to concede. We thanked him for the meal and said our goodbyes.

It was only when we got outside and it was pitch black I realised how long we'd been here for. Time really felt like nothing when I was spending it with Fergal. The journey home was made in a comfortable silence, both of us stuffed from dinner as I hummed along to the radio, and before I knew it we were pulling up outside of my apartment.

"Here, it's dark. I'll walk you to your door," Fergal switched off the engine and got out of the car.

"Thanks again for tonight. It was nice getting to hang out. Made me feel a little less lonely being here," I reached into my purse to grab my keys.

"No problem, I know what it's like moving to a new country. If you ever need anyone to just hang out with, let me know," he suggested.

"And next time I will definitely pay!"

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." he beamed.

In the moonlight he looked more gorgeous than I could ever imagine, and I couldn't stop my gaze from wandering. They travelled from the pale blue pools of his eyes, to that intoxicating smile, to the perfect contours of his chest, all the way down to-

"Ahem, my eyes are up here," he smiled cheekily, clearly very pleased with himself that yet again he'd caught me checking him out.

"I was just-"

"No need to be embarrassed love. I take it as a compliment. I actually find it really cute you can't keep your eyes off of me. Besides..." he took a step closer to me and placed a tender hand on my cheek, "You're not the only one who's thought about it."

"Th.. Thought about... What?" I stammered, feeling a pleasant tingling at his touch.

"Oh, you KNOW what" he brushed a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I don't..."

He pushed me gently against the wall and held me there, one hand still caressing my cheek, the other pinning my hands above my head.

"So... You haven't thought about me ripping your clothes off and throwing you onto the bed. You've not thought about how it would feel, me kissing every inch of your body," he moved his face closer to mine until our lips were mere inches apart. His eyes were staring intensely into mine, and the feeling of his breath on my skin made my heart beat faster.

"And you've never imagined how, when you can't take any more, I'd make you feel more pleasure than you've ever felt before."

I ran my tongue along my bottom lip in anticipation. Anticipation for a kiss that never came. A let out a small whine as he pulled his face away and released me from his hold. Hearing this he smirked.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he sighed, looking very frustrated with himself. "Look, you're sweet... But I don't do sweet. Okay? I do broken and desperate and fucked up. It's just easier that way. Good girls always think they can fix me, and then treat me like I'm the bad guy when they get their heart broken in the process. If you know what's good for ya, you won't cross that line. I'm not your Prince Charming, love."

He walked back to his car, leaving me alone at my doorstep, confused and disappointed as he drove off into the night. I shut the front door behind me and threw myself onto the sofa in frustration. Damn, having him that close to me, talking about the things he was had gotten me all worked up. I needed to get that out of my system before the next time I saw him, otherwise I might just have to show him how wrong he was to call me a good girl.

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