#like every player they presented... SOLID

[bunnyreaper]

𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸 𝒶 𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓅𝓉 2 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

wc - 5.7k warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), cheating (not from reader or john), older male younger female, future daddy kink) notes - dropping chapter one just because i need to get it out of my head ! a lot of setup really, but i swear we will get somewhere soon!! also on ao3! ♥

The rain had been threatening to come for days now—thick grey clouds lurking in the sky like a promise, but so far no drops had seemed to fall. 

It's easy to get lost looking out the window, as the gunmetal sky gains an amber hue. The dinner you'd cooked had long gone cold—your boyfriend staying late at work again instead of coming home. It's easier now that it's almost a habit, to take your mind off things by staring at the sky, the record player crooning in the background. 

You suppose if you took him out of the picture, life wasn't all that bad. The house the two of you shared was nice and homey, your job was mundane and untaxing and exactly what you desired, and your friends were solid. 

James was the only sticking point, with his eyes that were never quite blue and his heart that was never quite yours. You suppose you knew deep down, without ever really knowing. 

The creak in the floorboards and the sound of a voice pulls you from your thoughts, bringing you back into the room.

"Knock knock." A sonorous voice rings out as a head pops around the door of the living room, before John Price—your boyfriend's father, makes his way inside.  

You force yourself to be present, offering an unbridled, warm smile at your guest as you playfully greet him. "Captain." 

"Darling girl." He replies, your smile mirrored on his face. He sets down a box of beers on the table and starts to take off his jacket. "Tried texting you to let you know I was headed over, saw the light on, and the door was unlocked." He explains, as if he hadn't made his own way inside before. 

It never bothered you, your place feeling more like home to John than his own little house on the other side of town. 

You rise to your feet, heading through to the kitchen on instinct—he brought beers, which means you'll grab the bottle opener for him before he even needs to ask. "Sorry, John, I kind of zoned out for a good while there." 

His footsteps are heavy as he follows you through, with an easy swagger to his steps as he brings through the beers to put in the fridge. "You should lock it even when you're in." Authority laces his tone, as he directs his paternal instincts at you.

"Yeah, I know." You laugh, nodding along, as you're so used to the way John can't help but look out for you at every opportunity. You move on autopilot, taking the box from him and setting the beers in the fridge before taking one, uncapping it, and handing it back to him.

His gaze follows your every movement, observing you as his thoughts tick over with every passing second. "Everything okay?" He asks, seeing right through you, as he always seems capable of. The concern that's clear in his voice almost makes you flinch—you get so unused to being cared for when he's not around.

You force a tight-lipped smile onto your face as you force yourself to whisper some excuse, even if it isn't too far from the truth. "Tired, it's been a long week." 

John's brows furrow momentarily, and the slightest frown plays at his lips, which you know from experience means he doesn't believe you, but he won't push it for now.

He wraps his hand around the neck of the beer, taking a deep gulp before wiping his beard with the back of his hand. "Where's James? The two of you should be cuddled up on the couch, unwinding." 

"Still at work." You shrug, turning away from John to try and find something to busy yourself with—currently, wiping down the counters and loading the dishwasher. 

"Guess I'll keep you company then." John chuckles, his voice soft. Despite only being here for mere moments, his quiet presence is already starting to lift your mood. 

You turn to him, naturally falling into a more playful spirit as you lean over the kitchen island, pausing for a moment. "Hopefully my company won't be too much of a disappointment then." 

"I don't think that's possible, love." He answers without missing a beat, his eyes serious even if the smirk on his face isn't.

John always knows how to make you feel better—you couldn't have asked for a better support system when it comes to your life with James. His mother is lovely, endlessly self-sacrificing, and sweet, but now more focused on her growing children than her adult son—especially since James never seems to appreciate her as much as he should.

She raised James without John by choice—rightly or wrongly deciding not to tell anyone who the father of her teen pregnancy was. John was leaving for the army and wanted a different life for himself than the one she and a baby could offer, so she kept the burden to herself and let him go. That's how she told it, that's how it seemed to be when James showed up at John's door over two decades later and confirmed his father had no idea he existed. 

The two have been making awkward attempts to make up for lost time in the years since, with you and your unfolding relationship witness to the whole thing. James had gained another father, you had gained... a friend?

"You say that now." You wink, knowing full well that you've found ways to exhaust and annoy John Price before. 

He takes another sip of his beer, longer and slower this time, as if savouring the taste. "Getting as much of you as I can before I ship out on Monday." He admits. 

Your heart sinks just a little. Even though it's been years of John disappearing to god knows where, it never seems to stop causing you to worry. How would James deal with it if he never came back? How would you? 

Like so many other things in your life with John, you've become practiced in the way you are around each other. Despite having a million questions, you know he can answer none of them, so each time he gets dragged off to someplace unknown, you find a silly way to get something out of him. 

Last time, you asked if the nation's flag had a star in it, and it did. You could almost imagine him in a different country every day that he was away, until he came back to you both. 

Today, you fell back on an old favorite. "Flip-flops or snowsuit?" You ask with a giggle. 

"Ha, flip-flops." He answers quickly, confirming that wherever he's headed, it's hot weather, he drinks some more as if to silence the rest of the words on the tip of his tongue. 

You know by now that John prefers the cold.

"Hopefully I'll be able to catch the kid before I go." He adds, referencing James—he always tries his best to say goodbye to you both before he goes, now he has a reason to come home. 

You grit your teeth at the mention of your boyfriend, knowing you won't see much of him this weekend either.  "Sunday is your best bet, he'll be hungover after the stag do he's going to tomorrow." The one he only told you about two days ago.

"Those were the days, eh." John smirks, tilting his head as if to recall a memory. As an army man, you can only imagine the shit he's gotten into with his squads, the places around the world he's gotten drunk out of his mind and done god knows what. He has so many years on James, so many stories you'd love to hear.

"Too busy playing lawn bowls with your comrades now?" You can't help but tease him as you always do, the two of you falling into your back and forth with a familiar ease. 

He tuts, sending you a playful glare that forces you to ignore the way it makes you feel. "Less your lip, young lady." 

You have to ignore the way that makes you feel too— fuck, you're lonely, and you need James to just fuck you already. 

"Absolutely, old man." You snap back, never able to resist the urge to tease him for his age. He's only in his early 40s, hardly an old man at all, but you still love to wind him up about it.

"You're the one listening to Otis Redding." He huffs, raising a brow as if to suggest you don't have any room to mock him with your own habits. 

You suppose you do listen to golden oldies, knit for fun, and prefer nights in rather than nights out.

"You're the one who bought it for me." You counter, as John had bought the vinyl for you, along with many others. If anything, he was transforming your music taste into his, one album at a time. 

"That I did." He chuckles, before finishing his beer with one final swig. You're setting a fresh one down in front of him before he can even ask. "You won't drink with me?" 

Perhaps he feels left out drinking alone.

You wrinkle your nose, catching a whiff of hops that makes your stomach churn. "Even you can't convince me to drink that swill, I'll grab something, though." You concede that at least, turning to reach the shelf up high to where you keep your liquor. 

John is offering his bottle up as soon as the clear liquid is poured into your glass. "Cheers, love." 

Your glasses clink as your eyes connect, a soft, sincere moment passing between the two of you that makes your heart beat a little faster. You were awfully fond of the older man. "To your safe return." 

"I'll drink to that." He toasts, before downing half of the beer in one go. "You still owe me the dinner that you promised me last time, I'm coming back to collect." 

"I actually have some I can reheat, it was for James, but since he's staying late..." You offer, your sentence trailing as you battle to keep your thoughts on the man in the room with you, rather than the one who isn't. 

"Can't let your lovely cooking go to waste now, can we?" He grins, deeply pleased to be getting one of your meals. 

You turn to the oven, pulling out the two plates that are still warm, food piled high on top of them. "Glad it's appreciated." 

John pauses, his eyes trying to meet yours, yet you continue to avert your gaze, focusing on grabbing cutlery for you both. You said too much. 

"You don't feel appreciated?" He asks, voice softer—concerned all over again. 

As you sit down beside him, setting the two plates down, you struggle to meet his eye as your feelings swirl and conflict inside you. If anyone offered the perfect understanding ear, it would be John, and under any other circumstance, you'd happily tell him all about what ails you. "I don't... think it's appropriate to talk to you about my relationship troubles." 

His posture stiffens, his voice hardens, and his food is temporarily forgotten as his protective instincts kick in. "But there are troubles?" 

Now, you find the strength within you as you force a laugh from your throat and a spark into your eyes. "Oh no, I meant hypothetically." You joke, hoping he takes the bait. 

Instead, a hand reaches out to settle on yours, warm and firm and reassuring—ebbing away at your propriety. "Love, you're a terrible liar." He whispers, yet unable to keep the smallest of smiles from tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"Or you're just used to reading people for a living." You counter—after all, you tell James you're fine all the time, and he's never suspected any different.

"That too." John laughs, as he pats your hand and begins to rub circles over the back of your smaller hand with his calloused thumb. "You have to talk to someone." 

There's that commanding, authoritative, caring voice again—the one that makes you relent every time he uses it on you. 

"I will, just... not my boyfriend's dad." You whisper meekly, guilt stabbing through you as the words leave you. 

He nods understandingly, patting one more before he pulls his hand away, and goes to twirl pasta around his fork. "Why? I might be his father but a blind man could see the way he takes you for granted." 

Hearing the words out loud, verbalised by someone else—verbalised by John of all people, feels like a stab wound to the chest. You'd felt it for so long, assured yourself that you were just going crazy, ignoring the way James cares for you, assuring yourself that nothing was amiss. But John sees it too, sees it in his own son.

"Well, I don't think men who wouldn't take me for granted actually exist." You laugh bitterly, stabbing at your own plate of food before swallowing a bite—you're sure it would've tasted nicer when it was actually fresh. 

John's jaw clenches, a hint of frustration passing through him as he watches you, hurting and hiding it all away. "Then you're dating the wrong men, darling. We exist."

You take a deep breath as you try to let go of the ugly feelings within you. Men like John do exist, good men, caring men. 

"And yet you deprive women of your company, how cruel." Your eyes roll back sarcastically as the grin breaks out onto your face. 

Any woman would be lucky to have John, but for as long as you've known him, he's kept himself to himself. Now he preaches his own virtues like you have something to look forward to, and yet men like him always seem to be out of reach. 

"I'm a busy man." He shrugs, taking a bite of his food before rushing down another as gentlemanly as he can. 

"And yet here you are." 

He nudges you with his knee, flashing you a smile. "Spending time with my favourite girl." 

It takes everything within you to remain calm and remind yourself that he doesn't see you like that. You're just his son's girlfriend, that he happens to get along with, very well.

You giggle anyway, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of his statement. "Ah, waiting for the main event."

John sets his fork down with a clatter, his attention now fully on you. "Love?" 

"Yeah?" You swallow, wondering just how he's going to chastise you for your self-deprecation. If you had a pound for every time he's told you to be kinder to yourself, or gently corrected you when you make jokes at your own expense, you could probably afford to pay for the therapy you clearly desperately need. 

"I didn't just come to see James." He admits, the words a quiet confession.

He's right—the two of you have become fast friends ever since your introduction, and find nothing uncomfortable in each other's company as you wait for James to come around. 

You nudge his knee back, making your chair spin more than his. "You came for Otis and some lovely pasta." 

"And good company, couldn't ask for a better way to spend my evening." 

Your stomach flips at his words. You know he isn't flirting, but you'd be lying if you said his constant compliments didn't make you feel better than you had in ages. 

Maybe you should tell him about things with you and James, maybe he would have some good insight. After all, he must have a wealth of relationship experience under his belt.

"John..." You start hesitantly. 

"Bunny?" He asks, the intensity of his blue eyes firmly fixed on you—the nickname he reserved when he was feeling especially fond. 

The front door all but crashes open, and a frustrated growl rings out from the hallway as keys are thrown down and shoes are kicked at the shoe rack. "Fuck, I need a drink." 

James appears in the kitchen just a few seconds later, practically ripping his hair out the roots as he snarls to himself. His expression softens when he lays eyes on you and his father. 

"Hi." You greet him, feeling rather apathetic at his late appearance. 

"Hey babe. John." He nods, giving his father a manly slap to the back before he gets to work on tugging his tie.

"Alright son." John greets, lips quirking into a smile at his son's appearance. 

James steps forward to press a kiss to the top of your head, which you receive with a forced smile and no affection of your own. Both of you are blind to the frown that flashes onto John's face. 

As James pulls away, he rips his tie from his neck, bundling it up before throwing it at the hamper and turning away.  "I'm heading straight for a shower, I'll be back down soon." He calls out, disappearing up the stairs two at a time. 

"Yeah, see you soon." John offers, a hint of frustration to his voice—he's never been all that fond of his son's manners, as he's mentioned on numerous occasions. 

The mood feels a little stifled now, as both you and John eat your meal with an uneasy silence hanging over you. You hear doors slam upstairs as James makes his way around the house, likely leaving a mess behind that you'll have to clean.

You knew why you felt worse at this moment, your opportunity to talk to someone snatched from you by his untimely appearance. He's always late home, couldn't he have been a little later? 

What puzzled you was John's shift in demeanour—it didn't sit right with you. Perhaps he felt ignored by his only son, the one he'd been waiting for this entire time. It's funny, you supposed, the way you both find solace in each other over the similar treatment you get from the younger man. 

"Everything okay? You've gone quiet." You ask John, it being your turn now to play the concerned friend.

You know him well enough too to know his smile right now is forced—you don't need to be a trained SAS operator to notice the way his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Fine, love, just thinking." 

John was a man who could probably stand to think a little less, especially when he's at home. It's one responsibility you found yourself picking up all this time, as you tried to make his days away from war lighter.

You nudge him again, practically trying to force the playfulness into him with the push of your knee. "Well, we can't have that, can we? I hear it's dangerous." 

He barks a laugh, pulled out of his glum mood, and back into the room with you. "You never fail to make me laugh, darling." 

"Might be my proudest accomplishment." You giggle, feeling oh so pleased with yourself. "What would your soldiers think if they knew the fearsome Captain Price had such an atrociously bad sense of humour?" 

He rolls his eyes, but that bright smile that splits his handsome face doesn't waver. "Eh, not sure if it's atrocious, most of the lads' jokes make me groan." 

You roll your eyes at that comment. "Most things make you groan." 

"You don't." 

"Not for lack of trying." 

There's a solid second of silence before you realise the heavy yet accidental innuendo in your comment. You feel your face burst into flames, mortification taking over you as you meet John's shocked expression. "I mean—" 

"I know what you meant, love." His laugh warms you as he seems to take the whole thing in stride. "That blush is quite something, though." 

You throw yourself into your curled-up arms, hiding away as you're unable to look John in the eye any longer. He's your boyfriend's dad, almost twice your age, and you're making jokes about him groaning. It's a tough battle to force the thoughts out of your head lest you blush any harder. "I'm gonna go stick my head in the oven." 

"And ruin your pretty face?" 

"You're making it worse." You whine, pushing yourself further into the safe cocoon of your arms.

"I'll stop." John laughs, hand coming to settle on your back as he soothes you. "But it's nice to have cheered you up." 

"I suppose..." You sigh, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. Your blush abates as the two of you continue to eat until your plates are clean. 

 "All done?" You ask, gesturing to where John is setting down his cutlery atop the plate. 

"It was perfect. Thanks, love." He says sincerely, a hand resting on his stomach as if to add to the sincerity of the gesture. 

"Anytime." You smile, taking the plates and heading over to the dishwasher. "If I'd have known you were coming, I'd have gotten dessert."

John knows you wish you would've had more notice—even if he's had to tell you many times that you don't need to clean the house and cook a three-course meal every time he happens to pop over. "Only got the marching orders this afternoon." He shrugs as if to absolve himself of any responsibility. 

"Do you know how long you'll be gone?" You ask, voice quieter as you return to his side. 

"A month, probably not too much longer." 

A month was fairly typical. "Well, make sure you come home to us." 

Come home to me, you think selfishly. 

"Always, darlin'." His eyes burn with a promise, and a sense of joy at hearing those words. "Someone's gotta keep that old soul of yours company." He winks. 

"So, I'll get initiated into the bowls team soon?" You wink back. 

John finishes off his beer before laughing once more, the sound filling you with warmth. "Maybe you can be my pool partner." 

"I can't play pool for shit, John." You whine, remembering the last time you tried to play pool and ended up injuring yourself, as well as sending balls flying all over the pub.

"Guess you're due a lesson then." 

Once more, you're interrupted at the most inopportune time. 

"Keeping the old man company for me?" James asks, meeting your gaze over his father's shoulder as he rubs a towel at his dripping hair. 

"Somebody has to." John teases, more poking fun at himself than at anyone else, and the two of you share a laugh. 

You begin to mourn the light moments you've had, as the atmosphere shifts once more at James' arrival, and you feel yourself growing tense and unsettled. You watch in silence as James looks around for the bottle opener, and you make no effort to help or tend to him.

It's John who breaks the awkward silence. "I won't stay too much longer, leave you two to enjoy your night." 

You stand, the stool scraping back loudly against the floor as you do, making your hair stand on end. "Uh, actually, I think I'm gonna sleep. You should enjoy some father-son time." The smile on your face is polite and perfunctory. 

"Goodnight love." John smiles, soft and genuine, as he watches you walk away. 

James speaks up too, but the words barely register. "Night babe." 

As you reach the threshold of the kitchen, you turn back once more—John's eyes are still on you.

"Stay safe, John." 

"Yes ma'am." He nods, holding your gaze until you disappear up the stairs. 

You try not to think of the look in his eyes when you fall asleep that night.

———— 

Time seems to go differently when John is deployed. Despite not being anything more than your boyfriend's father, you're still always filled with worry waiting to hear from him. Outside his military family, you and James were the ones waiting for him to come home with bated breath, and with John's disastrous love life, you found yourself the only woman waiting to welcome him back to civilian life. 

As you stare at your inbox, waiting for anything to come through, you find your thoughts drifting easily to other things in life—to John.

You're his friend, if you can even call yourself that—but you miss him when he's gone. Back on English soil, he's visiting you and James pretty frequently, coming over for dinner or helping around the house—since James is useless with a drill. 

Things are different when he's gone, though sometimes you feel like you're the only one who thinks that. 

Your boyfriend doesn't worry like you do, despite being closer to the man, though James has never been the most emotional of guys to begin with.

Despite work keeping you busy, and friends inviting you out for drinks, you often find yourself waiting for a text, or anything from John—just to know he is safe. 

Your phone chimes one Monday afternoon, interrupting your monotonous work day with something different. The timing makes your heart soar, as it must be from John letting you know he's back in Hereford—the notification you see instead is the end of everything as you know it. 

A message request from an anonymous account: "I'm sorry for you to find out like this, but I couldn't keep the secret any longer." 

Attached to the message is a series of pictures, and a video from a bar, of James entangled with another woman in a way that couldn't be mistaken for anything else. You recognised the tie, the one he'd worn for the first time only a month ago—the one he'd thrown in the laundry before rushing off to shower. 

The nausea overwhelms you in an instant, sending you rushing for the bin beside your desk as the content of your stomach leaves you in harsh retches. 

Everything that happens after is a blur, as your co-workers rush to your aid—your closest work friend seeing the messages on your phone as she pulls you to the bathroom, cleans you up, and makes sure you get home safe and sound. 

She doesn't want to leave you alone, but you know that company right now will only make the whole thing worse. You wander around the house in a haze, tending to your chores like nothing has changed, and your world hasn't been turned upside down. 

That deep, unsettled feeling you've been getting as of late? It all makes sense now—why you never truly felt at ease around the man who was supposed to love you. And yet, a part of you felt relieved. Relieved that you weren't crazy, relieved that you weren't to blame for the way things had changed lately, relieved that you finally had the chance to walk away. 

You haven't stopped thinking about the text all day—wondering how the fuck you're going to confront James and not rip his head clean off of his body, how you're going to end your years-long relationship and upend because your boyfriend couldn't keep his dick to himself. 

The clock on the wall ticks away, counting down the moments until he comes home from work, late as always. At least now you know why. 

Your phone chimed again a while ago, probably whatever excuse he had cooked up—you hadn't even bothered picking the damn thing up to check the notification.  

A knock at the door pulls you out of it all, as you move on autopilot to go answer.

Did he forget his keys? Or has he gotten himself drunk to the point he can't put them in the door anymore? 

On the other side of the door isn't James, isn't your cheating, good-for-nothing boyfriend but John. 

His beard untrimmed and eyes dull—the scent of cigars rolling off of him in waves. "Hello, darling girl." He says his usual, as a smile tugs at his cheeks. 

"Hi." You offer in return, your voice almost completely motionless. Time seems to slow as you stare at the man before you—usually, you'd greet him with a quick hug and a bright grin, so pleased to see him safe and on your doorstep. Yet, the day's events have stolen that joy from you. 

John picks up on your mood almost immediately, head tilting in concern as his eyes roam over you. "Bad time?" 

"No." You shake your head as you step aside. "Come in."

John scrapes his boots against the doormat before he takes them off, along with his jacket.

"Tea." You whisper, snapping into action as you turn and head to the kitchen. You almost always make tea when he comes over—you don't even have to ask anymore. 

"Thanks, love." His voice rings out after you. 

Focusing on making the tea helps calm you somewhat, and you pull out two mugs to make a cup for yourself too. 

How were you going to tell John? The news would ruin him. How are you going to tell John that you'll be leaving his son's life, and therefore his? 

Your heart falls deeper into a pit of misery at that thought alone—the loss overwhelming you. 

"James home?" 

"Still at work." You whisper, not trusting yourself to speak properly without the bitterness unfurling and the truth spilling out. 

John scoffs from behind you, but you know he isn't really all that bothered. "Oh, right. No heroes welcome from my lovely son then." His sarcastic words are graveled. 

"Saves you from all his silly questions, I suppose." You shrug, still not turning to look John in the eye. "Though you put up with mine, so." 

"Yours don't ask me to break the law." He huffs, short and sharp, before he perks up again. "Didn't actually get to bust out the flip-flops this time, though." He offers, a hint at your last conversation. The weather was milder than he expected then, you suppose he was rather pleased about that. 

You let the silence settle over the two of you as you continue to make your drinks, focusing on the way the unfurls from the bag and changes the hue of the boiling water. Next is the milk, semi-skimmed because James doesn't like full fat—at least that's something that'll change for the better once you leave. 

The thought makes you freeze. 

"Love, what's the matter?" John's smokey voice is soft and sweet and coming closer—laced with concern. 

Your chest tightens, impending doom feeling like it's right over your shoulder—everything is going to fall apart in 3. 2. 1.

The milk bottle falls free from your hands, crashing to the floor with a wet splash—the cold milk is easily ignored as a hand comes to rest at your back, pulling you away from the edge of the abyss of your pain.

"Talk to me, what's going on?" His voice is more insistent this time, but still just as concerned. He ignores the pool at both of your feet in favour of consoling you. His features are knitted together in a terrifying amount of worry that makes you crack completely. 

"John." You whisper shakily, finally meeting his eyes. 

His baby blues are filled to the brim with care for you, with concern and confusion and a million unanswered questions. "Yes, darling?" 

"He's cheating on me." 

There's a beat before John explodes. It's not the bombastic, showy anger where things get screamed—he's quiet and seething and eerie, his words spat through gritted teeth. "He's fucking what?" 

Your whole body begins to shake as the truth tumbles free, solidifying itself as reality now it's spoken aloud. "He's cheating on me with one of his coworkers, Lucy." 

Not that it mattered whether it was Lucy or Georgia or some girl from the club or whatever. 

John stiffens—his shoulders squaring up, his jaw clenching and his body tightening like he's going to war. You've never seen John Price the soldier, but you imagine it's something like this "When's he due home?" 

"I don't know." You answer honestly. You don't know, and you don't particularly care. At least you'll never have to wait for him to come home ever again.

"I'm gonna ring him—" John snarls, shoving his hand into the worn pocket of his jeans as he grabs his phone. 

"Don't." Your hand shoots out to still his wrist, though you know the effort would be futile if he truly chose to ignore him. "Please." 

"If only I'd have fucking raised him." John seethes before launching into action, he moves around you to grab the kitchen towel, ripping off piece after piece as it soaks up the spill. He throws the half-empty bottle into the sink, as milky white sprays up the backsplash. 

"It's okay." You whisper, genuinely feeling that in a sense, it is. You've been betrayed, but at least now you'll be free. 

"It's not okay." John moves to stand before you again, his arms braced on your shoulders as he looks down upon you, craning a little to get closer to your height. "Love, you're perfect, you're too lovely for him, how could he hurt you?" 

"How could anyone hurt something so precious?"

"Not precious enough, clearly." You scoff, wondering where it all went wrong. Right now you felt the furthest thing from precious, from loveable and perfect and everything else John said. Fuck, you feel like you're turning him against James. "Sorry, I feel like I shouldn't be talking to you about this—" 

"I'm on your side, yeah?" He interrupts you with good reason before your thoughts can spiral any further. His grip tightens a fraction as his thumbs move, slowly and reassuringly, across the bare skin of your shoulders. "He's my son, but he's a fucking bastard for this. You deserve better, love." 

The sweetness in his voice makes you snap. Why wouldn't you have a man like John? So caring and kind and knowledgeable—older and experienced and so out of your reach. 

"I don't—" The tears start to flow freely, as you desperately search John's eyes for answers. 

"Shh, come here, I've got you." He pulls you in close, his arms wrapping around you in a warm, secure embrace. His smell surrounds you, the soothingly familiar smoke coating your skin. Lips press against your forehead delicately, as he holds you like he's holding every piece of you together, bit by bit. His body is like his presence—solid, unwavering, ever-present.

"I've got you, everything's going to be okay." He whispers, over and over and over again, chanting it like a prayer.

In his embrace, firm and reassuring, you might actually believe him.

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#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfiction #lmaooo here we go #such a boring first chapter tbh but you know we need the setup

[syoddeye]

siphon, part three

john price x f!reader part one | two | three | four ~2.6k words cw: kidnapping, implied stalking, dubcon/noncon, intercrural sex

Another week passes.

John told the truth. You sleep in a bed. His bed, as predicted. You join him for three square meals a day. Make eye contact, respond when he talks to you, listen when he talks at you, and pretend not to scrutinize every square inch of the cabin when he's not looking. 

The morning after your punishment, he presents you with clothing. It's the wine all over again. Everything fits and is unnervingly similar to your usual wardrobe, albeit a quarter of the size. He returns your jeans, washed, but keeps your bra, t-shirt, and underwear you wore while confined. You glimpse familiar cotton in one of his drawers. Sicko.

He tries to instill domesticity, but his fantasy and your reality do not meld. He orders you to scrub the kitchen from top to bottom, then casually retrieves a handgun from the locked utility closet and cleans it at the table like he's reading the paper. Makes you help with cooking. Gathers you into his thick arms for a dance when he likes the song on the radio, moving you like a marionette. Forces you to cuddle during whatever movie he pops into the DVD player.

Through it all, he hasn't fucked you. He fucks with you. 

You've grown to expect his touch and don't fight as hard as you did the first time—as hard as you should, probably. But your body is regaining strength, and you can't risk another stint in the kennel, not with escape on the horizon.

So you're not surprised when John spreads you over the table after breakfast to eat you out or ignores the movie to finger you. You're angry. You're…sickly hopeful. Because while he brings you to the edge, he doesn't let you go. It always ends the same: you writhing on the closest solid surface, incoherent, and he simply pulls your underwear up and continues with his day.

It isn't for lack of trying. John slaps your hands when you try to reach your clit as he eats you out and hides the blankets when you read or watch movies. Cuffs your hands palms together at night and doesn't give you an inch of space in bed. At least you can use the bathroom with the door closed now, but there's a limit there, too. You silently time it; it's somewhere between a minute and a half to two before he bursts in.

He's waiting for you to ask. It's his whole thing. In a fucked up way, you edge each other. Different types of sexual frustration. Nevertheless, you traipse around in his shadow, transmogrifying into your own breed of pent-up monster. 

John breaks the pattern in the shower. The last three times, before he washes you, he pushes you to the knife's edge until the already tepid water runs cold. This time, though, there is no half-assed foreplay with a washcloth. You automatically brace your hands on the tile and wait for the inevitable...but a quiet grunt compels you to look over your shoulder.

The shower is small. Enough for you both to fit, but you must take turns under the water. So, while you cannot see him stroking himself at this angle, that is what he's doing. His face says it all. With the spray hitting his back, his eyes are half-hooded, mouth a firm line.

"Spread your legs a little."

This is new.

You carefully shuffle your feet apart. It's finally happening. He's going to fuck you. Here, in the most inconvenient of places, just as you're starting to freeze–

His cock slips between your thighs with a groan. He ghosts his hands down your sides, tapping each leg to slowly press back together, enveloping him, snug, flush to your pussy. "That's my good girl. Let me have this." As if you have a say.

He starts slow. Thrusts deliberate, pushing through your squeezed flesh until he's as close as he can possibly get. A hand migrates north, dragging up your belly to massage your breasts, tweaking and tugging your nipples into firm peaks. Pinching and grunting when the bit of pain makes you whine. 

It's maddening. With each glide of his cock, there's enough pressure for your body to respond. What seeps down is scorching compared to the few droplets that make it past the sheer wall of John's body. You cling to it as your body grows cold outside the water's reach, gooseflesh appearing along your limbs despite his thrusts' arduous yet smooth track. Your head lolls forward when his hand leaves your breasts and descends.

"You like this don't you?" John breathes as his fingers creep down, barely caressing where you're almost joined. He adjusts the angle, catching your pussy with purpose. One shift is all it would take. He means this, the roll of his hips, as empty but delicious threats. A conquest meant to fail at the gates. You hate that your body seeks it like a lock wants a key. You want to be opened, for him to just finally fuck you without making you ask. Because if he did, if he lost control, it would absolve you of the sick twinge of desire.

A finger pushes into the tight enclosure of your legs to find your clit. The skin drags a little. At the slightest brush, you whimper.

"Fuck," He groans, nose dragging along your scalp. "That sound…goes straight through me," He ruts between your legs, finger meanly circling your nub. Wet slaps echo off the shower wall. "I reckon I could listen to it all day."

Although your pleasure is clearly secondary, it follows his touch obediently when he rings your bell. As much as you try to bite them back, your soft gasps and whines snitch.

"You gonna come like this?" He asks, the honeyed tone a bad and blatant fake, "Just from my cock rubbing this sweet little cunt?" His hand departs your hip and darts into your wet hair, craning your neck. Two pits of cobalt, hints of an undertow that'll drag you out if you let them. He grits out, beseeching, "C'mon, sweetheart. Don't be so proud."

He rips his hand off and anchors it on your hip when you fail to ask, tsking when you wail and curse in frustration.

In the end, the water is markedly cooler by the time he comes. He releases your hair violently, shoving your head forward to watch his spend splatter on the tile, like rubbing a dog's face in it. His body pitches over your back, and he rocks a few moments more, muttering something into your hair. It's a minute before he pulls his softening cock from your thighs, shuts off the water, and lets out a luxuriating sigh. He pats your rump, crowding you into the corner as he steps out of the shower.

"Clean it up–ah, didn't say with a towel, love."

~~

He parades around for the rest of the day, humming that gratingly chipper tune. He scribbles notes on a legal pad, loosely chaperoning you as you make sandwiches. You avoid looking at the stack of tuna tins under the windowsill, standing sentinel.

It's been…two weeks? Either your employer thinks you walked away, or human resources reported you missing. You sincerely doubt the latter. There's probably a termination notice waiting in your inbox. You don't want to leave your chances to your landlord, either. You need to distract or incapacitate John.

Without thinking, you rummage through a drawer for a butter knife and only realize your mistake once he grabs your wrist.

You apologize embarrassingly fast, letting him press you into the counter's edge. "I'm sorry, just want a butter knife to cut mine in half."

John's mouth tightens beneath his beard, eyes flinty, deciding whether he believes it. The song on the radio transitions into the next. It's an opportunity to get on his good side. You take it.

As though approaching a skittish animal, you gingerly lift your free hand and take his shoulder. Trapped, you can't lean into him, but he understands after a second. He relents with a chuckle and sweeps you into a dance.

You build on the momentum and strategically initiate over a few days. You feed him forgeries of affection. While you read, you lay your head on his shoulder. Brush a hand over his back. Comment on the weather. It's a partial success. The blankets return to the sofa, and he lets you pick a movie. And even though he's on the other side of the glass masturbating, he allows you to shower alone.

You test the development.

In bed, you intentionally shift for the umpteenth time.

"Why're you squirming?" He asks, turning a page.

"Can I sleep without these, please?" You lift your cuffed hands. 

The silence stretches long enough that you think he's angry before he closes his book and sets it aside with a thump. A hand gently skims your side, then squeezes.

"On your back." 

A frisson of excitement shoots down from the base of your neck to your core. It shouldn't. You do as instructed.

John traces a path along your body to where your cuffed hands rest. He unfastens, then tosses them over his shoulder. He plants a hand on the other side of your body and hovers. It reads as an invitation rather than a demand. Another chance to take. All a part of the plan. You worked up to this. You tug him down.

He groans into the kiss and swiftly claims dominion over your mouth. You kiss back with equal measure, dead set on convincing him you want it, and he slots himself over you. Eventually, he pulls back to scrape his beard on your neck, leaving wet kisses and burns. His hand rucks up your shirt, and he grinds down, his erection pressing, dagger-like.

It's working. This is a win-win, better than a straight loss. This isn't giving in. It's a tactical surrender, a Faustian bargain.

"Think I don't know what you're doing? What you've been up to?" John rasps into the hollow of your throat, pinching a nipple. "Trying to butter me up."

Of course, the devil's a step ahead. "No, I–"

"Make it easier on yourself," He advises, heading south to suckle and roughly knead your chest.

Ask for it. All you have to do is ask.

No. You need to keep trying.

"Not yet?" John smirks, mouth pressing to skin. "We'll get there."

After a while, your pajamas pile on the ground, and his head latches between your thighs. You clutch the sheets as he alternates, gorging himself on both holes, the liquid heat of his tongue relentless in its explorations. His beard is wet when he comes up for air.

John laves his tongue around his fingers, gaze zeroed in on their destination. This is going to be the most awful one yet. You're sure of it.

Things will get worse before they get better, you remind yourself. 

When he toys with your cunt, he looks detached, clinical. He draws precise, tight circles over your clit, lazily scissoring two fingers to prep for something that won't happen unless you invite it in. 

Your eyes flutter shut at the push of a third.

"Twenty-two," He murmurs.

The stretch slurs your words. "W-What?"

"'S how many times you could've come by now."

Your mind's caught in quicksand, lagging in its comprehension. "You–You kept track?"

"I track everything, darling," John accelerates the pumping and rolling of his wrist. "Tracked you, your routine, everything about you," The words are insidious, spoken with tenderness, but there is nothing kind about the set of his jaw or the possessiveness in his eyes.

You tense and he misreads it. 

"You're a fucking psychopath."

"And you're grippin' my fingers like you never want them to stop."

John laughs on his way down, the sound resonating through your skin when he seals his lips around your clit and sucks. 

He brings the count to twenty-four before he relents. He reclines on his haunches, tugs his sweats down, and wraps a fist around his cock. Stroking leisurely, he briefly watches you grapple with your choices and lost orgasms. He licks his lips, eyes darting from your breasts, stomach, and holes. The head glistens.

He shudders when he catches you staring. The need plain on your face.

On your back in limbo. A soul delivered without resolution. Your lips part, but it's his breath that hitches.

"Yeah?"

He told you the number on purpose so you'd feel the ache of two dozen would-be little deaths at once. Dull your mind but whet your senses. The emphatic, plotting voice in your head grows quiet.

"John…"

John's hand slides to his base and closes in. He looks as wrecked as you feel, slicking himself in your folds. His cockhead nudges your clit, probes, and it's enough. Your ticket out.

"Please, fuck me?"

His expression hardens instantly, but he grits his teeth and pushes in a few inches before you can question it. Groaning, he bucks shallowly, working his way in deeper and basking in the clear discomfort written on your face. He's thick, unforgiving, and it's no wonder he stuffed three fingers into you. He knew you'd give in. How could you not? Fucking bastard.

His voice rumbles when he sheathes himself completely within your depths, and his grip tightens. "Ask and you shall receive, sweetheart."

With each thrust, he claims new territory and finds new space to fill — ripping up whatever peace was left to stake a claim. Shocks skitter up your spine when, with a deft roll of his hips, he hits a new angle that punches a moan out of you. Grinning, he rides it hard, dogged in his pursuit. 

"Thiiiis," He hisses, "Is the only place you're gonna come. On my cock or not at all."

You know he means it.  

He plays you like a fiddle in more ways than one, effortlessly hauling you, kicking and screaming (clawing, whimpering, begging) to the edge, and holding you over with a fist. He knows your pussy after torturing it for days on end. He tracks everything, after all.

"Please, I need it!"

He hinges and drops closer. An arm bends to support his weight, and the other cups the underside of your face, pushing your head back on the pillow.

"You can't imagine how good it feels to hear you beg like that, sweetheart," John kisses you with teeth, nipping. "But since you asked so prettily…" He slips his hand back between you.

Yes, yes, yes. You'll kill him if he stops. 

Warm, fat tears roll down your face, obscuring John's face as he finally, finally lets go of you. You clench with a wail, seizing tightly. It's molten, caustic even, and burns off every edge you have.

"Fuck, knew you'd–Christ–you'd feel like a dream," John grinds out. With your walls fluttering around him, it doesn't take long for him to follow. He sinks into the hilt, warmth blooming in the last place you feel alive. "I love you."

The pleasurable haze surrounding you is not enough to insulate you from the words. You flinch like he's slapped you.

"Not yet?" He drawls, echoing himself. "We'll get there."

John whispers your name and praises you. When he softens, he pulls out, only to 'clean you' with his mouth. It's ouroboros. 

"A man's got to take care of what's his." You know where that's going.

Now that he's fucked you, he can't get enough. He's hard when he crawls up and starts the cycle anew. 

#john price x f!reader #john price x reader #john price x you #price x f!reader #price x reader #price x you #cw violence #cw intercrural sex #cw kidnapping #cw noncon #darkfic #read the content warnings for the love of all things #dropping this like cats drop dead mice at the door #and skittering away

[depravitycentral]

Hii I think I've read all your hxh stuff but the Tumblr blog search is kinda scuffed so if you've already answered something like this just ignore me

Anyway I was curious to know how/if you think the phantom troupe members would share a partner. Like maybe not all of them sharing one partner (that's the dream fr tho lol) but maybe 2 or 3 members sharing one if any of them are into that

Then that leads me to my next two questions, Kurapika and Leorio, would they share a partner or are they just not into that

Then lastly (and if you don't write for them or have any ideas that's fine ignore this) do you think Silva and Kikyo would keep a little "pet" around?

Anyway sorry for the long ask, I guess I could have split this up but I didn't want to spam your box 😅 have a lovely day! ❤️

Please ignore how late this answer is... Also the answer to the Silva/Kikyo question will be posted separately!

Tw: kidnapping, mentions of physical violence, manipulation, mentioned non-con

I was wondering how long it would take before poly yanderes would be discussed on this blog!!

My personal philosophy on poly yandere relationships is that they only work in very, very specific circumstances. The whole concept of a yandere is someone who feels such blinding and overwhelming love and desire for another person that they literally throw their morals out the window just for the chance to bask in a bit of affection or love from their special someone, and adding another person into the equation doesn't exactly fit this vision.

Most yanderes don't want to share you - you're theirs, simple and plain, and often only a very specific person could be the one exception to this rule. Even then, the relationship is often still strained, because unless feelings develop between the two yanderes themselves, jealousy will always be an issue and you as the darling will have to be very careful about making sure you give equal amounts of love and time to each yandere.

But instead of focusing on the logistics of it, let's discuss the actual pairs/their dynamics!!

Machi and Pakunoda are the least resistant to sharing. They respect each other, and while it may be a stretch to call them friends, this respect and trust has led to a solid foundation for them to build off of. Neither are especially forceful with their darlings, instead preferring to hover and take care of them with minimal physical force, and this helps keep both of them placated. Machi is sort of the bad cop while Pakunoda is the good cop, but the reason this pairing works so well is that they help bring out qualities in each other that would normally be their weak points. Pakunoda helps Machi relax and warm up to physical affection with her, because her own natural touchiness is easier to convince Machi that touching you won't be the disaster she's so sure of. And Machi helps Pakunoda attend to every facet of your wellbeing - Machi properly feeds you, tends to any wounds of yours, makes sure that you're getting enough sunlight, that you're still moving and not becoming lethargic, all things that Pakunoda knows she should do but sometimes skips in favor of kissing you or spoiling you. These two are definitely the best pair to get stuck with - still overbearing about your safety and hard to handle always watching you, but certainly better than others.

Shalnark and Chrollo are, admittedly, not equal players in this partnership. Most likely, Shalnark initially became interested in you, and upon Chrollo's eventually learning of your existance, he found himself charmed as well. Shalnark wasn't the happiest at the notion of sharing, but he sees the partnership as an opportunity to help keep you in line and make himself look good. He and Chrollo are both very, very talented manipulators, and by playing off of each other, they're able to present themselves as simply loving partners, managing to gaslight you into thinking that you're overreacting about them being 'horrible' and 'evil' for kidnapping you and forcing you to be their partner. And frankly, it works - they're convincing, and because you get no reprieve or time away from them both at once, eventually you will begin seeing things their way. This isn't a particularly desirable relationship, if only because while you'll eventually be happy (your mind too mixed up to even realize you're unhappy, that is), you'll lose a piece of yourself in a way that you wouldn't with other pairings. You'll be somewhat of a shell of your former self - still you, but with the parts that they like emphasized, and the more problematic parts of your personality (like your desire to leave them) being repressed.

Uvogin and Nobunaga is possible, but it's unlikely that things would last long. This is because Nobunaga is particularly delusional, and Uvogin is particularly lucid. And this combo - Nobuanga's infantilization of you and Uvogin's leniency in your independence - spells out disaster. Things would be tense; arguments would sprout often, with you left to awkwardly stand in the middle, desperately hoping that Uvogin will win the argument. (You don't like him either, but at least his ideas are less dehumanizing than Nobunaga's.) I think it could work, if they worked hard enough to establish how to treat you, but you'd be constantly walking on eggshells around them. (Plus, if you think your poor pussy is getting a little too much action with just one of them as your yandere, then get ready - they fuck you every night, nearly, one taking your cunt while the other shoves himself down your throat. Occasionally they'll even try for your ass, though Uvogin has the sense to force Nobunaga to get you properly prepped before he fucks what he thinks is 'her best hole - it's so tight'. They're just gross, and you'll very obviously favor Uvogin - which once again sparks problems of jealousy. So it's possible, but unlikely to work out.

Phinks and Feitan is another unlikely combo - their types are very different, firstly, but if they did manage to develop feelings for you, things will become very violent very fast. Neither wants to hurt you (at least, not deep down), but they don't exactly agree on how to punish you or respond to your misbehaviors. Feitan is more strict, deciding that you must be punished when you act out because it's the only way to get you to behave how they want. Phinks doesn't share this mindset - he's more of a sucker than Feitan, more inclined to just make you promise not to do it again and then naively believe that you meant it. And this leads to problems - their treatment of you is so radically different, both in the way that they speak to you and how they touch you, that they'll be fighting over nearly everything. And while you won't ever be physically harmed, you'll be subject to watch them physically fight when they're arguing, swinging fists and lightning fast moves making you curl up into a ball because god, they're monsters. Again, it's possible if they can figure out a system that's a compromise for both of them, but it's unlikely.

This probably isn't the answer you're looking for, but it's my opinion! There are probably some more pairings that could potentially work, but these are the ones I see being most likely.

Unrelated to the Phantom Troupe, some other pairs I could see being potentially successful are: Leorio and Kurapika (they're into that!! more protection, as far as Kurapika is concerned, and Leorio is more clingy than possessive, so he wouldn't mind sharing with his best friend whom he is already displaying borderline homoerotic tendencies towards), Knuckle and Morel, Misturi and Obanai, Uzui + wives, Douma and Akaza though it would be very, very rocky and is significantly more unstable than these other matchups, Aizawa and Hizashi, Overhaul and Chrono, Tendou and Ushijima, Bokuto and Akaashi, Hinata and Kenma, don't ask me why but Goshiki and Kindaichi, Kita and Aran, Suna and Osamu

#_lee discusses #yandere hxh #_hxh #yandere kny #yandere bnha #yandere haikyuu #_bnha #_haikyuu #_kny #_all fandoms

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

“Crowley is Malleus’s long lost father” theory is popping off right now in like every twst social media community so I wanted to know what your thoughts on it were?

I briefly discussed this theory in the final paragraph of this post (although it is full of spoilers, so please be cautious of that). To reiterate (and to add more details), the main pieces of evidence that come up when discussing this idea are:

Malleus’s dad is confirmed missing, but we never saw a body or have confirmation of his death so we can’t 100% trust that.

Crowley’s past and motives remain a total mystery. (The crow mask he wears is also highly suspicious; why does he never remove it? Why does it resemble the masks worn by Briar Country soldiers? Because Malleus would recognize his father? Because Lilia might recognize his old friend?)

The name of Malleus’s dad may be romanized as Levan/Revan (we don’t have an official English localization for book 7 yet, so we don’t know for sure how it would be written). The former looks like the word “raven”, just with the vowels swapped around. And you know who else is a black bird?? Diablo, Maleficent’s crow and right-hand man, similar to how Levan/Revan was Mallenoa’s right-hand man. Who else do we know that’s a crow? Crowley.

Levan/Revan is described by Lilia as someone who “always dumped their work onto others/him”, which is something that Crowley also does to his own students.

So I guess the conclusion is that Malleus’s dad went into hiding to protect himself (especially if we assumed that his wife got killed off shortly after his disappearance; his own life may be in danger as well)?

I think the idea is definitely… interesting??? It would also be a big rug pull since players have been joking since day 1 that Crowley gives the vibes of a deadbeat/absentee dad or someone who went off to buy milk and never came back 😂 But in terms of how likely I think it is to become a reality??? I think it’s definitely kind of shaky if we’re going with only what we know right now.

The problem I have with this theory is twofold. Firstly, it’s counting a lot of omission of information as proof rather than details present as proof (which really could be spun any which way you like if you tried hard enough). Secondly, the main thread of logic here is basically the same as “Ace traitor” theory. We’re drawing conclusions from… a name (in Ace’s case, the fact that his surname isn’t “Heart” like the other card soldiers but is “Trappola”), which isn’t a lot of solid evidence in of itself.

I don’t know if I totally buy that Malleus’s dad would go MIA for literally 400ish years either? Like… he was the princess’s confidant, right? So he must have cared for her very much. Why would he up and abandon his wife (rather than coming to her rescue), his friend (Lilia), his country, AND his unborn child who NEEDS his love magic to be hatched? Why wouldn’t he return once the war was over?? Why would he run off to Sage’s Island and become the headmaster there??? If he doesn’t want to be a present father figure, why have a child at all or put himself in a position where he now has to monitor several hundreds of children every year instead of the one child that is actually his? (I know that Lilia started off not wanting kids and then became more open to the idea over time (ie people can change), but I don't think we can conclude the same happened to Crowley given how dismissive he still is in present day and how little we really know about Malleus's dad's true personality.) And surely if Crowley was Malleus’s dad, he’s not so ignorant as to not know Malleus is his son, right…? But then why forget about his existence 90% of the time and forget to invite him when he knows Malleus is on campus and he had not been there for him all his life???? Why actively be such an asshole???

The mask thing on Crowley is suspicious as heck, yes, but I don’t know if Malleus would be able to identify his father on sight since he never saw him or got to know him before hatching. On the flip side, how would Lilia not immediately notice his friend by voice??? Or by the mask if it is, indeed, his friend’s trademark or a custom from Briar Country? Are we arguing “characters made dumb for the sake of plot”? 😭 (Believe it or not, this is actually the most credible piece of evidence to me just because of how often TWST has employed cases of mistaken identity for the sake of convenience; I wouldn’t put it past them.)

Lilia does describe Levan/Revan as someone who dumps work on others, but he says Mallenoa does the same thing. Yet there are other aspects to Mallenoa which we also learn about. Shirking work is not the entire personality of Malleus’s dad and while his overall character may be inclusive of that, there are tons of traits unaccounted for; we barely know the guy. The Crowley = Levan theory feels like taking a conclusion and working backwards/retroactively changing the interpretation of other details to prove the conclusion we began with, instead of taking suspicious details and synthesizing a conclusion from it.

Anyway! You can see that I’m hesitant about this theory. I’d like more concrete details before I get on board with it because there isn't enough to implicate Crowley specifically—but hey, that’s not to say the idea isn’t interesting or funny 🤔 I’d personally love to see Malleus’s reaction to Crowley Darth Vader-ing him, haha 😂

Side note: It’s also sort of funny how people don’t believe Crowley is Malleus’s dad simply because they think Mallenoa is “too good/hot” for a man as bumbling as Crowley www

#twst #twisted wonderland #Malleus Draconia #Lilia Vanrouge #Dire Crowley #Ace Trappola #twst theory #twst theories #twisted wonderland theory #twisted wonderland theories #notes from the writing raven #question #spoilers #there is also an alternate theory that Crowley is the Dawn Knight??? #since the Dawn Knight is said to always wear a helmet to cover his face which is obviously sus #but that can’t be true bc Silver is alluded to be a relative of the Dawn Knight #and Crowley and Silver look nothing alike #also that would make the Dawn Knight a fae that turned traitor wouldn’t it #although ig the helmet would explain hiding the ears all the time #Levan Draconia #Meleanor Draconia

[magicfootballstuff]

London Derby (leah williamson x reader)

Summary: Your relationship with Leah is going smoothly until the day when you have to watch her play against the team you’ve supported since childhood finally arrives

———

There’s a photograph that takes pride of place on the mantelpiece at your parents’ house of you, aged six at the time, standing beside your brother, both of you wearing identical claret football shirts with pale blue sleeves. You’ve been a West Ham fan your entire life, you probably came out of the womb already cheering for the Hammers, so engrained is your love for your team. You watched the men’s team growing up, then, more recently, you started to follow the women too.

It was a surprise to nobody more than yourself when you fell in love with somebody who is as much of an Arsenal fan as you are a West Ham fan. And not just an Arsenal fan, an Arsenal player. Maybe even a future Arsenal captain.

But you love Leah, and loving her means wanting to see her succeed. Wanting Arsenal to succeed.

So you reluctantly took the Arsenal Women’s team as your second team. You share a playful rivalry with Leah over your opposing London clubs, while cheering her on diligently from the sidelines or through the television screen whenever she plays.

Whenever she plays a team other than West Ham.

“I’ll cheer for you against every team but one,” you promised her, when she presented you with your first ever Arsenal jersey, red and white with “Williamson” printed on the back.

“West Ham?” she asked, although she already knew the answer.

“I love you, but I don’t think I could bring myself to root for another team when my Hammers are on the same pitch.”

You thought it would be easy to compartmentalise. You’d cheer for West Ham, while obviously being delighted for Leah if Arsenal won on the day.

But when the day of the match comes, you feel more conflict than you could have possibly expected. Your desire to see your beloved West Ham triumph today conflicts with the longer term wish to see your girlfriend lift the WSL trophy at the end of the season - in the grand scheme of things, a loss today won’t affect West Ham’s overall season much at all, while every point counts for Arsenal, who lead the league by the narrowest of margins with Chelsea not far behind.

You sit with the West Ham fans, your brother beside you in his jersey that matches yours, just like that photo from twenty years ago, but the cheers and applause you give as the players walk out onto the pitch in two neat lines are in equal parts for Leah as they are for the West Ham girls.

She doesn’t look for you in the crowd, she never does, but especially not today, instead staring straight ahead with her resolute game face, unsmiling as the teams shake hands then disperse to their respective ends of the pitch in preparation for the start of the game.

Your nerves calm as the whistle blows and the players kick off, both teams using the opening minutes to settle into the game. Arsenal controls much of the possession, with Leah a solid figure in central defence, while West Ham make the most of the opportunities they get to press and counter.

You can do this, you think, as you relax. It’s a win-win situation. Either your team wins, or your girlfriend does. It’s easy.

That is, until about twenty minutes into the game. When Mackenzie Arnold tips a long range shot from Beth over the crossbar, Katie steps up to take the resulting corner and Arsenal crowd almost all their other players into the box. Leah, as tall as she is, moves up the pitch to join in, hustling in amongst the opposition defence.

Katie raises her left hand, then fires the ball into the box. It finds an Arsenal head, exactly which one you aren’t sure, then the goalie’s glove, then there’s a mad scramble as Arsenal players try to nudge the ball into the back of the net while their West Ham counterparts defend with their lives.

Time seems to stand still, your heart in your mouth, as the ball somehow finds its way to Leah’s feet, and with the goalkeeper still on the floor from the last save, Leah virtually has an open net at the near post, but a last ditch attempt at defending from a West Ham player is enough to put Leah off and she pokes the ball just wide with the tip of her boot.

As a central defender, Leah doesn’t score many goals and that was as clear a chance as she could ever have asked for.

The players run back to their positions, and you can see from the stands how frustrated your girlfriend is with herself. Kim puts a hand on Leah’s shoulder and says something to her as they reset for the goal kick, but you can tell Leah’s still not happy. The game has been a tight one - if Arsenal don’t get a win in the end, if the game, or even the title race, comes down to that one moment, Leah won’t be able to forgive herself.

You had joked with Leah before the game, perhaps knowing that goalscoring opportunities for your girlfriend would be unlikely, telling her that the only way you would accept an Arsenal win today would be if she scored the only goal.

Now, you realise that was stupid, that Leah’s happiness is always going to be more important than your own. You don’t care who scores, as long as Arsenal get the three points.

The rest of the first half is pretty even again, no clear cut chances for either side, and though you allow yourself to get swept up in a few chants with the other West Ham fans that surround you, you’re not disappointed by the large zero next to your club’s crest on the electronic scoreboard as the whistle blows and the teams go in for half time.

Arsenal come out stronger in the second half. You make a mental note to ask Leah later what was said in the dressing room, especially when a clever ball through to Stina from Viv exposes West Ham’s defence a couple of minutes after play resumes and the Swedish forward only just misses the target with her shot.

They continue pretty relentlessly, staying on the attack, desperate for the goal that even you, decked out in full claret attire, have to admit that Arsenal deserve. West Ham are tiring, certainly not helped when Jonas turns to his bench for fresh legs to reinforce his side. You cheer as the substitutes are made, earning a disappointed tut and an eye roll from your brother beside you, not because you’re cheering for the new players that enter the pitch, but because when Kim leaves the field she passes the captain’s armband to Leah.

You might imagine it, but you swear Leah carries herself slightly differently when she wears the armband. You’ve noticed it for England too, like the weight of the captaincy doesn’t burden her, but instead makes her stand stronger, lift her head up.

It’s very sexy.

The only thing better than seeing your girl as a captain is the pass she picks out a couple of minutes later when the ball finds itself at her feet, a beautiful long ball that soars diagonally across the pitch and finds Viv, who controls it down, flicks it past the last defender, then slots it into the bottom corner beyond the keeper’s outstretched glove.

You barely restrain yourself from cheering, aware of the disappointed West Ham fans that surround you, but you applaud the effort, your heart swelling with pride as you know that it was Leah’s vision to pick out that pass that has more than made up for the missed chance earlier in the game, earning herself an assist and Arsenal the lead.

Arsenal puts the game to rest in stoppage time, doubling their lead with an effortless tap-in from Caitlin just moments before the referee’s final whistle, two goals sealing the three points they need to stay top of the league.

Leah finally relaxes now that the game is over and she’s secured the win. She’s always so stoic and focused during a game, but she celebrates with her teammates with a smile on her face that has your heart fluttering in your chest, even from where you watch her in the crowd.

“Go on,” says your brother, elbowing you in the ribs to nudge you out of your trance as you watch Leah shake hands with the opposition on her way to the ring of Arsenal girls that starts to form around the coaches. “I’ll wait for you in the car. Go and congratulate your girl.”

When the team huddle is over, the Arsenal players disperse and start to make their way around the perimeter of the pitch, thanking fans for their support. You hang back from the edge of the pitch, letting the younger fans who crowd the advertising boards have their turn as the players sign shirts and pose for photographs.

Katie is the first one to notice you, clapping to the fans as she does a lap with Beth, and she does a double take when she recognises you.

“What’s that your wearing?” she calls out, as Beth pauses to take selfies with a few young girls in Arsenal shirts.

You glance down at your West Ham shirt before grinning back at Katie.

“I’m not sorry!” you shout back, feeling more brazen about your choice of outfit than you would have done had Arsenal not just won all three points. “West Ham’s in my blood.”

“I’m not having that,” Katie responds, grinning and shaking her head. “I’m telling her to dump ya!”

Your laugh is only brief, because you spot Leah making her way around the edge of the pitch not too far behind Katie.

Truth be told, you’re more than happy to stand back as Leah interacts with the fans. She’s in her element and you love watching her, the simple act of greeting the fans highlighting so many of the things that you love about Leah - how considerate and humble she is, how she tries to be a good rolemodel to young girls. And, even though you won’t admit this one out loud, how obviously proud she is to represent the Arsenal badge.

You see the exact moment that she spots you. Her eyes are on you for just a split second but her whole demeanour changes, probably unnoticeable to anybody who doesn’t know her as well as you, a smirk playing with the corners of her mouth as she turns around to pose for a selfie with another group of fans.

You wait your turn, watching as Leah thanks a group of teenagers for coming to the game and signs an England shirt for one of them. While the girls are giddy to have met their idol, you simply smile as Leah finally turns her attention to you.

Like Katie, her gaze drops to your West Ham top and scarf, but all she says is, “Hi.”

“Hey, you,” you grin at her. “You got time for a picture with a fan?”

“Wearing that?” Leah scoffs. “Not a chance.”

She keeps a straight face for just a couple of seconds, before she breaks into a soft smile that only you can induce from her and plucks your phone from your hand.

You snake an arm around her back across the advertising board that stands between you, your fingers giving her waist a tiny squeeze, then press your body into her side as she snaps the selfie.

“You played well,” you tell her, as she returns your phone and you slide it back into your pocket. “I’m proud of you. That assist was something else.”

She smiles shyly, and you know she’s far too humble to acknowledge that her pass to set up Viv’s goal was what changed the game for Arsenal.

Which is why you decide to tease her about the missed shot in the first half.

“Although that chance you had from the corner…”

“Don’t,” Leah groans, closing her eyes and you force her to recall a moment you know she will want to cleanse from her memory.

“Babe, it was so kind of you to keep my team in the game by missing a chance like that but I’d still have been happy if you scored.”

“You’re not gonna let me live that down, are you?” Leah asks, arching an eyebrow at you.”

“Not at all,” you grin.

———

She gets you back that evening. As you both get ready for bed, you step out of the bathroom to find her sitting on the edge of the bed with her phone in her hand, a smug grin on her face.

“What have you done?”

“Nothing,” Leah replies. “You look nice.”

You’re wearing a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms and one of her Arsenal hoodies. You’re not falling for her attempt at distraction.

“What have you done?” you repeat.

“Nothing. Well, nothing bad.”

Your own phone, lying on top of the covers on your side of the bed, buzzes and the screen lights up, revealing a string of new notifications, most of them from Instagram. You open the app, surprised to see that you seem to have gained a few hundred new followers in the ten minutes you were in the bathroom. You quickly find the reason though, when you recognise the first photo in your feed as the selfie that Leah took with you after her match today.

You roll your eyes as you read the caption under the picture.

Big 3 points on the road 🔴⚪️ Always grateful for the fans, even if some of them support the wrong team ❤️

She’s tagged you in it, no doubt the reason for the influx of new followers, but it’s the comments that catch your eye, fans speculating about the nature of Leah’s relationship with you.

You’ve never hidden your relationship with Leah, nor have either of you ever broadcasted it. The people who matter know and it’s not Leah’s style to blast her social media full of relationship PDA. But that’s why this gesture means so much - it’s probably as close as Leah will get to publicly confirming that she’s in a relationship and the fact that she’s picked this photo, one where you’re proudly wearing the colours of a team that aren’t Arsenal, touches your heart. In posting this photo, Leah’s message to her followers is that you are somebody important to her. Her message to you is that she loves you for exactly who you are, even if who you are is a West Ham fan.

“You know, there’s a transfer window coming up,” you tease. “I think you’d look good in claret…”

Leah knocks your phone out of your hand and climbs on top of you, pinning you to the mattress as she nuzzles her face into your neck.

“Not a chance, babe.”

#leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #woso imagine #woso x reader

[centrally-unplanned]

I played Needy Streamer Overload, which was a lot of fun, with an asterisk. NSO is a Lifesim Management game for a batshit up-and-coming streamer, where you as her 'boyfriend' allocate her time between streaming, resting, and content inspiration/development to hit 1 million followers. The writing is very on point for actual streams culture;the topics and comments and all that are very true-to-life, while its zany edgecore presentation is hilarious. And the UI is full kino:

Vibes - and also, spoilers, not just a cutesy aesthetic, as the player is not in fact a real person so the digital viewport is ludonarratively cohesive, +1 point.

However, it also pissed me off for specific me reasons!

So, these games tend to go into two buckets. One is the engine builder - managing the lifesim is both involved and The Point of the game. You work hard to optimize and achieve the goal. The second is narrative device - the lifesim elements are more about narrative choice than challenge, and either can't be failed or are trivially cleared. You approach playing those 2 game types differently.

NSO presents itself like the former - its mechanics are pretty involved. Managing Followers, Stress, Affection, & Mental Darkness, all on a clock, while unlocking ~10 different streaming content topic progression trees, its a lot to track. Not saying its crazy hard or anything, but its what you spend your time doing. You will be asking yourself questions like "yes I could have sex with her for the third time this week to lower stress and boost affection so I can burn that affect buildup on the Sexy Stream lvl 2 to sync my highest topic bonus with my streaming streak bonus before I need to end it for a rest cycle, but I can only play that card so many times, is day 13 too early?". That is fun, and where your focus lies. On my first playthrough I tried to hit the 1 million target, barely succeeded, but burned out Ame's stats so much I got a short, pretty-much-failed ending.

So on my second playthrough I tinkered around and stumbled on a soft infinity engine, where I could push Ame's stress to the limit in the opening days to get her follower count to the point where she would unlock "follower milestone celebration" streams that I could bank, that did not increase stress but would count towards a streaming-every-day streak bonus, and never take a rest day to get that bonus insanely high. I got several million followers with low stress, low darkness, I thought I did a good job.

And I got a short, pretty-much-failed ending.

Turns out this game has 30 endings, and the lions share of the long, involved ones are from you completely fucking up. You will get a way more interesting ending if you make Ame-chan overdose on LSD and she trips her way into breaking though the illusion of the internet. You want to raise her darkness high as hell for half of them. You can found a cult, you can induce all sorts of violence against her or others, whatever you want. But the game didn't tell me!!

It instead presented me with a solid optimization puzzle, which I spent like 10 hours doing. I shouldn't have bothered! It doesn't really tell this partially for surprise, but if we are being honest its because they expect you to google it, and they expect you to watch streamers unlock 25 of them after you do 5. Which is how modern games are made, but personally I don't love relying on that. I do think games are at their best when they self-teach a player the right way to engage with it.

But I respect that some people would see the discarded scraps of a tryhard faildaughter that is Ame-chan and immediately push her into doing conspiracy theory streams while smoking weed. I am just not someone you can plunk an engine in front of and expect me not to try to tinker with it. This is 50% on me.

#needy streamer overload

[under-lore]

Do you agree with Nochocolate post "cooperation, not corruption"?

That post is one that i find to be both very correct and very wrong depending on which part of it you're asking about.

Whilst Nochocolate can be a pretty good blog in terms of purely gathering information about a topic, their actual analysis of that information often tends to suffer a lot from confirmation bias compared to other UT blogs.

That is especially true for Chara in particular, Nochocolate team has a particular vision of Chara (which you can see in their AU : Caretaker of the Ruins) and often ends up twisting the facts to make it line up with their version of the character. To the point where the screenshots they show and the conclusions they make based on those images sometimes contradict each other. I would suggest keeping an open eye when reading their Chara related posts in particular. (their other posts are much better, though)

At its worse, this can result in posts like this one, which is quite blatantly wrong in nearly everything it tries to argue in its last section and was quite obviously only posted because Nochocolate made their Chara masculine.

That particular post's most recurrent issue though is jumping to conclusions far too quickly and bias in the wording.

Its also really long, so going through it bit by bit to detail all of that would be quite boring (especially since a lot of it would be nitpicking every couple paragraphs.)

Making a detailed post covering that same topic with evidence is something that i may do in the future, but for now here are a few key talking points :

LOVE does have some amount of impact on one's behavior, however, Nochocolate is right in saying that LOVE couldn't have been the sole reason for Chara's aggressive behavior in genocide (as shown by the more aggressive variants of the neutral routes). Chara's decision to cooperate with the player and go along with the route is and remains their own choice. Whilst they were influenced, they were not "corrupted" either and remain responsible for their own actions. The overall idea that gave its name to the post is mostly right, but it was exagerated quite significantly.

However, neither LOVE nor kills scales with Chara's ability to control Frisk ! Rather, Chara is present and is capable of exerting control on Frisk in any route (and does ! This is actually one of the things where Nochoco contradicts themselves). But they however do not decide to exert it so assertively in other paths than in genocide. (This particular assumption causes many minor issues throughout the post. Tying multiple things to Chara's presence/influence/etc... that just aren't.)

The genocide route is mechanically driven by kills and by unique encounters indeed. Although, those are not takeover requirements as much as they serve both as help and as requests to the player. For instance, Chara themself decides to abort the genocide route if Snowdrake isn't killed, even if the kill count is fulfilled. The helping/guiding goes both ways. That is why we are "partners" after all.

Frisk isn't ever "replaced" either, they're still openly present, stated as having conscious feelings and opinions on what is happening up until the very end of the route, however Chara's increased assertiveness makes their influence feel relatively weaker within the PFC. (The entire post tends to try and ignore Frisk as a factor in general for the sake of their narrative. Multiple things which are from Frisk get pushed into Chara instead without solid evidence.)

#undertale #chara #undertale chara #chara undertale #frisk #frisk undertale #undertale frisk #undertale player

[shadowslocked]

Something that gets me about Q!Bad that keeps scratching at my brain is how he has been very active in wanting to kill ElQuackity

Like, it’s a very sharp contrast to their previous dynamic.Where Bad had talked before about not wanting to get on Quackity’s bad side because he didn’t want to make an enemy of him and have Quackity gunning for him vs. Bad looking at ElQuackity and deciding it’s worth the risk to make him an enemy so long as it prevents him from being in power

And like, Q!Bad himself is so very cautious about his actions and the consequences those can bring. He could explain his reasoning for hours, going over every point of why he did something or why he thinks something is the best/worst option. He’s not an impulsive type of character, he likes to have a plan and he likes to know any and all possible outcomes to that plan. He’s investigating the island with the Ordo and actively participates in their plans, acting from my perspective as more of a support role, but also he makes it clear that he doesn’t want to present himself as a solid enemy to the Feds because he recognizes their power and doesn’t want that kind of target on him.

As an example, when Q!Forever and Q!Bad are together it highlights very sharply for me how differently they approach the federation. Q!Forever, who is very vocal about his dislike and hatred, doesn’t play nice and does not like when people even mildly help them or are associated with them. Q!Bad meanwhile tries to play nice and present himself in a friendly manner so as not to raise too much attention, but also as an attempt to try to glean more pieces of information. Bad will usually worry about drawing the ire of the Federation while Forever is ready to square up in spite of what consequences come.

But ElQuackity?

ElQuackity is too much of a violent enigma. He claims to be the “real” Quackity despite having gaps in his memories, he tried to blow up the players and the eggs (as far as I know the other players heavily suspect but have no solid proof), his heavy pro-Fed stance, the way he’ll casually threaten the eggs, him going after Maximus and threatening him, stealing Bads gift for Maximus, his shifting campaign to anti-Fed. From Bads perspective there’s not a singular friendly or positive part about ElQ, nothing to make him sympathetic or to give him pause and consider what he’s saying.

Q!Bad recognizes ElQ as a legitimate threat.

He can’t play nice and bide his time with him like the Federation, he can’t expect some strange sense of fairness from him, he can’t trust that ElQ won’t bring harm to the players and eggs if he manages to become president. He can’t even trust him in a general sense. There’s no aspect of of ElQuackity that makes Bad hesitate about this decision, and in part thats because Bad feels more in control when up against another player than the Feds. Heck he already knew how this would go down after the Election Dinner and was willing to take those consequences even back then because he didn’t feel he could stand idly by and hope for the best.

There’s just something so fascinating about watching Q!Bad go from wanting to play safely and keep a target off his back to seeing him actively plot murder against an opponent he considers too dangerous to let live and willing to face the fall out of that decision without remorse.

#qsmp #qsmp badboyhalo #kinda insane to go back to the Election Dinner #and see Bad literally talking about the same fears presented today #and even then saying it would be worth it

[gimyung]

lookism brainrot otd:

varsity classmates headcanons !!

it's my first time doing a post of hcs like this so idk what i was doing or where i was going w it, but enjoy !! jus mainly their traits + some x reader interactions as a classmate ✧( ु•⌄• )◞◟( •⌄• ू )✧

zack lee /////// 이진성

athleticism just wayyy over the roof. he's the jock of all jocks atp

he actually follows a strict regimen, and manages to outdo himself every time

nah cus this mf drinks his pre-workout mix few mins before lunch... because he actually intends to do workout during lunch 💀

despite being disciplined when it comes to working out and focused on hitting a new personal record every time, he's just bad when it comes to maintaining a proper diet

liiiike discipline just goes out the window when you open a bag of chips. he's right there before your hand even touches inside the bag 😭

he doesn't skip class, he's always present. there are times when he dozes off but not every time. instead he's just doodling, looking out the window, or sneakily checking soc med on his phone. bottom line is he's awake but his ass isn't reading 💀💀

he's surrounded by a solid friend group so it's hard to approach him, but he goes to you first when he needs help w studies

yeah he the type to copy ur homework lmfaoooo

though he's amazing at stuff when he puts his mind into it... like there'd be a time he would actually try not to fail his exams so that he can continue playing for varsity. he put in effort and turned out to be decent, esp science and english !!

he's good at english because he watches clips of pro athletes from around the world so he picks up a lot of it. lowkey self-taught, he ain't even realize he's a genius when it comes to absorbing information

he aint got the books tho. his bag all sports/gym stuff 😭 he switches seats w your seatmate cus he knows you're kind enough to share your book (and answers) to him

literally a jock w the way he always talks about his sport. "so are you a fan of ___?", "stayed up watching ___'s game"

but he's also encouraging and enthusiastic, "you can be an athlete too, it's not too late!"

the games on his phone are all sports games bless him

the typa jock to buy a ps5 first to play 2k BEFORE a proper mattress 😭😭

cares about his drip too, sneakerhead!zack is canon w the way jiho got scammed just to cop a pair for him

despite being a varsity player, he doesn't skip PE even though he technically can. he loves working out, getting extra exercise. everyone's intimidated tho cus ofc he just does better than the rest

but he's kind, doesn't judge, and instead encourages everyone to finish their PE tasks

"cmon you can do more sit ups!", "whoa nice, you'll do well in track n field", "if you do one more rep of this you'd actually withstand my coach's training", "yooo you jump that high? that's raw talent"

even the most unfit person in the class starts to love PE just because sweating it out w zack is fun <3

johan seong ///////성요한

he doesn't strike as the jock™ the same way zack does. underneath that uniform nobody knows that he's ripped. on that sleeper build fr

he's really quiet, and perhaps he won't be that well-known if he wasn't playing for the school and basically being a beast in his sport

enviable because nobody sees him put that much effort, but there he is... literally main character for his team. highkey talented (this shit canon tho johan really be talented af)

resting bitch face so nobody dares approach him, but when someone does, johan gives them the softest smile <3

he's just actually shy, he doesn't really know what to say or do when you tell him "johan, good luck on your next match"

johan: [nod and smile]

when it comes to his studies, he's so-so. he puts in just the right amount of effort. liiiike overall, no problems in this area

thing is, he just skips class from time to time. nobody, not even his coach, knows where tf he is or what he's doing 😭 but he keeps getting away with it because he's really so fucking talented

7 times out of 10 he has his homework done. bless this child

he just keeps getting away w being so chill (borderline nonchalant) about studies overall. he gets called to recite one time and he doesn't have the answers, but even his teacher aint mad

guess he really just charms everyone. like nobody wanna get in the way of the genius lol and he's unproblematic overall so nobody really can tell him shit

during breaks he just eats his food then takes a nap

but he's gotten really popular so some of the boiz try to chat him up and he vibes well with everyone. he doesn't have a bad personality whatsoever ^-^

when nobody's bothering him, johan loves to listen to music on his headphones (johan! headphones! imagine! literally begging !!)

even when training on his own. literally no one could bother him 😭 he doesn't even know the music's so loud and everyone can hear

(this one is self-serving but aren't all headcanons) johan probs just a chill person and even when working out he listens to krnb :-)

like that's it, no eurobeats or upbeat music. literally just him enjoying 2 things — getting better at his sport + listening to chill music

his drip: effortless. him just wearing plain everything, nothing flashy or branded, but god he's breathtaking

one time before class ended he got so restless, turns out he was looking for a ponytail or a makeshift one. he comes up to you to borrow your rubber band that you used to keep your bento in tact hehe

ppl in class figured this out, and on the following weeks some of them offered their ponytail to johan

some of them would insist to be the one to tie johan's hair. so some days he really training with pigtails and braids

he's still unbothered but not that unapproachable anymore. got close to the class by allowing everyone to play with his hair :0

jake kim /////// 김기명

jake's not really a bad student, but he skips the first period sometimes for a morning workout

he's a contender as a team captain so he really focuses on his sport, but at the same time he's lowkey diligent w/ his studies too

when he's in the mood to learn fr, he switches seats with another classmate who's seated in front. otherwise, he stays at the back and snoozes frm time to time

jake probs takes notes sometimes, but shitty handwriting 😭 he sometimes can't understand the shit he wrote cus he was falling asleep in class

great guy despite his popularity, so he doesn't have a hard time finding willing people to help him out in his studies (lending notes and reference materials)

he doesn't always have his homework with him, but he barely asks to copy

just a lil uncooperative with group projects, he literally dashes to the gym after class to train. he got his goals straight and ur project is at the bottom of the priority list. oh well :(

but really, nice guy. everybody's his friend and he's not hard to approach at all. lowkey fans would come up and take pics with him and he doesn't pose properly ever. always gotta look goofy ...

like his teammates can't even get mad at the obvious bias of people towards jake. jake's just so fucking nice

doesn't even have to bring lunch money cus ppl willing to pay for his meals from time to time. and he's a big eater 😭

gets accused of sweet talking his way out of some of his bad grades, being a teacher's pet bc even teachers love this guy. they give him lots of chances during recitations until he gets the answer right

he's in the middle of super athlete zack & chill athlete johan. like he's goal-oriented, disciplined, focused, but he's not obsessed

this guy never skips practice, but on the weekends he relaxes and chills w his friends at the mall/park/cafe

um he has a motivational quote as his lock screen haha.... he just the type to do it ....

and he really hates it when one of his classmates are getting picked on. singlehandedly ended bullying in his school, slay

everyone just follows his peace-loving nature. like if you like jake and you're a friend of jake, you're never supposed to do shit to others

drip: uniform too tight lol (canon) (even that tracksuit hugging his chest well)

he !! remembers !! everyone's !! names !!

like introduce yourself once to jake and he will say hello to you if he passes by you in the hallway

"yo ___, wru heading to" like he asking empty questions the way you would with an acquaintance but it means a lot cus he knows your name

got teased to run for student council despite his busy sched, actually won cus he's popular 😭 mf aint even attend meetings but this win just furthered his agenda of a peace-loving school

anddd because of jake, other sports teams in school are envious of his team because the entire student body are more inclined to going to their matches to support their friend <3

atp jake aint even allowed to be benched cus coach thinks he might get booed for it. everybody wanna see jake play cmon

got everyone moving like a stage dad w the way they'd watch jake's games and cheer for him, always rooting for him

anywayssss that's all for hcs for now !! lmk if you liked this thing, i appreciate every feedback hehe :--) idk where i was going w this so!! hope yall enjoyed or something

shoutout to mica for engraving jock!zack in my head

#q #janncanons #<- OH she a headcanon blog now?! #nah fr tho this blog all over the place #jock au #jake kim #johan seong #zack lee #lookism #lookism x reader #lookism headcanons

[agentravensong]

Ros & Guil Being Victims of the Narrative Compilation

propaganda for @doomed-bythe-narrative's poll tournament

If you've never heard of Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, it's a play from 1966 that follows two side characters from Shakespeare's Hamlet. Any other context I'll provide as we go. This post will spoil the whole play, so keep that in mind before reading further. TL;DR these guys are arguably the progenitors of being doomed by the narrative in our postmodern understanding of the concept, and, as much as it sounds like those orv guys deserve the title too, I want my boys to win. Please vote for them.

If you need more than that to be convinced... I'll oblige.

1.

Ros and Guil don't have any solid memories from before the start of the play, at best impressions of memories, because they only exist within the context of the present narrative. They don't get to have pasts because it's irrelevant. They don't even get to know which of them is which (and every other character treats them as interchangeable).

2.

The reason for Ros and Guil's presence in Hamlet is that they're supposed to figure out what's wrong with Hamlet on behalf of the king (because they apparently used to be his friends), but their efforts are unsuccessful. In this play, it's framed as an impossible request -- they get as close as they can get, despite not really understanding a word he says, but get tripped up at the thought there must be more to it than that -- because they were written to fail.

After Hamlet does a murder, their function in the narrative switches to being the ones to bring him to the king, and then to accompany the prince to England where (currently unknown to the two of them) he will be executed. Roles that, as Guil points out, could have been fulfilled by anyone:

The answer to that last question, is, of course, no. The reason it has to be them is because of how this sequence of events ends: with their deaths.

In short, Hamlet changes the letter with the King's declaration when the pair is sleeping so that they will be killed instead. In the context of Hamlet, this is a key moment for his character (it's his first use of the state violence that's his birthright, and it's a situation he could have gotten out of in plenty of other ways) and for how his bestie Horatio sees him.

But in the context of this show? For as far as Ros and Guil get to know? It is simply what has to happen.

3.

Ros and Guil have no agency over the events of the narrative. When they're not "on stage", they're left in limbo, at the mercy of the other characters' comings and goings.

They try to summon the other characters, because they don't know what to do with themselves otherwise, but nobody comes. Eventually, Ros gets frustrated with this, and then this happens:

When they're "on stage", everything sticks to the script. Even in this example, where Ros and Guil have failed to detain Hamlet and bring him before the King, the world adapts just enough to keep things on track:

They are at the whims of the narrative.

There's even a dig at how they can't get the ever-passive audience to meaningfully react to them:

They can't escape the bounds of the narrative, even if both of them wanted to.

Any chances they might have had to actually change the course of events come too late, when they're already convinced (arguably more as a coping method than anything else) that their choices don't matter in the shadow of what they've been caught up in.

That last snippet is the conclusion of a bit about how Ros doesn't believe in England because he can't conceptualize it as a place, can't conceptualize his and Guil's arrival there -- which is because it doesn't happen, because England is out of the scope of the narrative and thereby doesn't exist. They can't even imagine a different future for themselves.

4.

There's one other major character in the play: the leader of the traveling players (aka tragedians). He basically exists to prod at Ros and (especially) Guil and explain, in a manner that they can't quite grasp (or refuse to), how they're trapped in a tragedy -- and the cost the two of them will therefore have to pay. As he puts it, in this genre of narrative, "blood is compulsory".

5.

Rosencrantz has this whole monologue in parallel to Hamlet's "to be or not to be" soliloquy about being trapped in a box, which imo is a pretty clear metaphor for being a doomed character in a narrative and whether it'd be preferable to live that existence or to not be part of the narrative at all -- that is, to not exist, to have never been alive.

6.

Lastly, the ending. Ros and Guil are sent off with Hamlet on the boat to England. Pirates attack (yes, really, it's what happens in Hamlet too), and the prince escapes with them. Our pair discovers that the letter they were sent with now inexplicably calls for their heads (not knowing that Hamlet switched it).

Guil, at his wit's end, desperate to prove he has some influence, some agency, stabs the Player. But the man gets right back up.

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern face their deaths.

And the worst part of it all?

The promise of "next time". They're in a time loop. Because that's how theater works. Every performance, following from the previous, is them living through these events again. The same exact events, as dictated by the narrative.

They don't remember, loop to loop. Not enough to make different choices. Not enough to say "no".

They won't learn. They won't improve. They won't save themselves/each other. They will do this forever.

And since that gets me basically to the image limit, that's where I'll stop. These bitches (affectionate) are the definition of doomed by the narrative, and it would make very happy if they could at least get past round 1 of the tournament, as stiff as the competition is.

As a closing bonus, take the ending of Act 2 (of 3) of the play, which just. Kills me every time.

#rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead #ragad #doomed by the narrative #narrative nonsense #this took me like. 3 hours. so i do not have the energy to do alt text right now. my apologies #the highlights don't mean anything in the context of this post btw. they're just for me #i didn't even have room here to talk about the coin flipping #or guil and the player's conflict over the nature of death #or how guil's whole thing about boats is another obvious metaphor for being a character in a narrative #there's just so much to this play #y'all should really read it

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Taotieh

CR 11

Neutral Large Construct

Bestiary 3, pg. 260

Construction Requirements: Craft Construct, and a caster level of at least 14. Geas/Quest, Limited Wish, and Plane Shift, Craft (Sculpture) or Craft (Stonemasonry) with a of DC 25.

A Taotieh is constructed from 12,000 pounds of marble treated with specialized unguents, but marble of any quality can be used, and the unguents don’t have a listed price. However...

Cost to Build: The curious internal extradimensional processes of a Taotieh, not to mention the careful carving, shaping, and assembling of its marble body will gouge its creator’s wallet by 55,000 gold!

These grinding gluttonous guardians are constructed by civilizations who not only want their sacred sites protected, but want intruders to suffer for their trespass. They’re mindless Constructs, beholden to the orders of their creator and thus easily outwitted and avoided if players know how the creatures are “programmed” (such as if they cannot go too far from the location they guard), but if their creator is present to give them orders, they become far more fearsome.

For the purposes of this article, however, we’re focusing on the Taotieh on its own. As a mindless Construct, it has no skill ranks and thus no ability or desire to use stealth; the party will likely hear it coming from dozens of yards away. Unfortunately this won’t be much help, because much like the big cats they resemble, a Taotieh exists to deliver a single devastating Pounce and then lay into its target with its Full-Attack. A simple CCB machine, the Full-Attack of the Tao is nonetheless frightening: the claws deal 1d6+10 and the bite 1d8+10. Being hit by both claws allows the stone kitty to Rake the victim for an additional 1d6+10 damage, bringing its minimum possible damage per round to 44! Average damage hovers around 60, usually more than enough to frighten whoever got Pounced on during the surprise round after what everyone believed was just a giant marble statue came charging 80ft down a temple wall.

Much like most other creatures made of solid rock, the stony hide of a Taotieh has 10 DR that’s only bypassed by adamantine weapons, and wielders of the elements are likely to be frustrated upon finding out the blessed marble they’re made from confers 10 Resistance to every element... except Sonic, which they’re vulnerable to. Unfortunately, most damaging Sonic spells tend to be AoE effects, and Tao tend to spend a lot of time directly on top of your party. Oh, wait, no, there goes the Fighter. Perfect, now you can use Shout!

Where’d the Fighter go, you ask? Where he’s probably not getting out on his own. All three of a Tao’s attacks Grab whatever they hit, and if a Tao begins its turn with a Large or smaller creature grappled, it can use a standard action to unhinge its jaws and swallow them whole. Such unlucky victims aren’t thrown into a pit of acid or a crushing stone stomach, but an airless, lightless space made of solid stone that’s just barely big enough for their body. The victims are considered grappled and thus have few options for getting out of what will swiftly become their tomb, the space grimly noted to only have enough air to sustain the creature for 3 rounds before they have to hold their breath. 

Even a creature with just 10 Con can hold their breath for a while, but that’s all they can really do in there. Unless they have some means to damage the stone that surrounds them--stone with Hardness 8 that’s resistant or outright immune to most non-bludgeoning damage, 18 AC that’s difficult to hit while grappled, and 25 HP besides--they’re forced to simply pray to whatever powers that be that their allies can free them before they die a nigh-unavoidable death. The Shout spell can be cast while grappled, and the Tao ARE vulnerable to Sonic, so it’s good to keep that in mind just in case you decide to use the last of your breath to scream.

Tao can hold up to four creatures in its extradimensional stomach at a time, but has no way to remove its dead (or insane) victims on its own, relying on its caster casting Plane Shift on it to clear its guts out. Otherwise, a victim must cut themselves out, leaping from the statue’s mouth if they manage to break out of their prison... but this in no way impacts the Tao’s function, and it CAN in fact swallow the victim right back next round with no penalty, a brand new coffin forming around the poor, unfortunate soul.

I do like the final touch in the Tao’s lore in the book, pointing out that creatures that don’t need to breathe can survive for quite a while in the space the creature creates for them. Killing a Tao frees every trapped entity inside it all at once, potentially allowing players to claim treasures of unfortunate victims long past... but they may also end up freeing something significantly more malevolent and insane that was trapped inside. Or, perhaps, if they’re lucky they’ll find a new ally instead...?

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #CR 11 to 15 #pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

[stereax]

I seek your wisdom, o wise one.

Exactly how screwed are the sharks, the flames, and the oilers?

You can't see me but I am RUBBING MY HANDS IN DELIGHT at this ask. Nothing I love more than talking about why teams suck. As always, meet you under the cut! 💜

(Also, sorry this took so long! Had to make a presentation on the Chinese Super League for sports diplomacy and it siphoned my will to live.)

Do I have you? Great! Okay. Let's go one by one.

CALGARY FLAMES: CANDLE IN THE WIND

I, for one, never got the hype behind the Flames. Every pundit in the entire NHL was saying "Oh, the Flames are going to have a massive bounceback year, last year was a down year for everyone!" And now look at them. 3-7-1 to start the season with a mere 7 points in 11 games.

Spoiler alert: Trading your best forward in points production to literal Satan for a single corn chip is not going to help you be competitive. Who'd'a thunk it?

In addition, there seems to be a major coaching problem. On theory, this team should be solid. Maybe not top of the league good, but solid enough to make a wildcard spot at least. But you watch the systems at play and they just don't work with the players. For instance, Huberdeau is an east-west player being forced to play a north-south system. He can't do what he does best, make plays, because the current north-south system simply won't allow it. Firing Sutter was supposed to fix this locker room. It only seems to have made the problems worse. Christ, Zadorov is apologizing to the fans because they're playing that shittily.

How screwed are they? Probably a solid 8/10. Markstrom seems to have bounced back, but the team in front of him has not, tanking his save percentage because the defense simply cannot defend. We're being treated to a classic Huberdeau and Kadri Disappearing Act (2-4-6 and -12; 1-4-5 and -12). Mangiapane and Andersson have both gotten suspensions already for no god damn reason. All extension talks (Lindholm and Hanifin chief among them) have been suspended. It's chillingly possible this team will have to sell big at the deadline to get any value out of their expiring UFAs - and then what? You've got a few good pieces (Cary, Sharangovich, Wolf) that can lead your retool, but you've also got anchor weights in massively underperforming contracts, like the aforementioned Huberdeau's, that come with no-move clauses and are just such bad deals that even if those clauses were waived, who'd take them?

EDMONTON OILERS: BULLS ON PARADE

I think if you told anyone in July that the Edmonton Oilers were going to start their season 2-7-1 in 10 games, you would be laughed out the door. And yet.

I do have to preface this by saying yes, McDavid was out for several games, and when you're without the best player in the NHL, it gets tougher to win games. But fuck, man. The Devils are now down BOTH their top six centers for the foreseeable future and yet they're still managing to win games. You know why? DEPTH SCORING. Something that the Oilers have not had since seemingly the 80s. If your game plan revolves so strongly around one guy, chances are you'll be fucked anyway if that guy goes down.

Also, Campbell cannot stop a beach ball in net. Skinner isn't much better. How much of this is the defense and how much is just the goalies sucking? Unclear, but it is NOT a good sign. Although the Oilers mostly work under "outscore your opponent before they outscore you", you want to be able to make SOME timely saves. Neither tendy is giving any hope recently.

And all this can ultimately be traced back to Ken Holland fucking this team over with contracts. Nurse did not deserve that much. Kane is questionable at best. Campbell? Christ. And then you have no cap room to sign actually decent bottom sixers and then wonder why they're getting shelled. Why is Sam Gagner, a random legacy Oiler on a league minimum contract, on your second line? Make it make sense!

The thing is - you CAN win if you have a few guys getting paid the big bucks. Just look at Vegas for an example of that. You CAN'T win if you have a few guys getting paid the big bucks and almost no depth beyond your top line where you stack McDavid and Draisaitl to try to get SOMETHING going. You can't doubleshift those two across the entire lineup. I know, it sucks.

SAN JOSE SHARKS: COLD WATER

How screwed are they? I'll give them a 6/10. We're seeing the "or bust" part of "cup or bust". Can they turn it around? They have McJesus. Anything is POSSIBLE when you have McJesus. But it's not looking pretty, at all. I bet they end up in the wildcard hunt, or close to it. Just enough to maybe make the playoffs but too exhausted to do anything else.

Remember, Draisaitl's contract is up after 24-25. McDavid, 25-26. Will they want to stay in this garbage fire? If one, or God forbid both, ask to be traded, this team better channel the early 2010s and tank hard.

And now we reach the ultimate lolcow. These guys STINK. 0-10-1 in 11 games. .045 points percentage. The only point they managed to get was because Blackwood stood on his motherfucking HEAD in game 2.

But then you have contracts like Hertl, Vlasic, and Couture, which you can't move and which will weigh down the franchise for years while it tries to rebuild. What are you going to do with them? How will you get rid of them?

What's the problem? More to the point: What isn't??? There's zero star power on the entire roster. The defense doesn't know how to defend and the offense can't score against a Shooter Tutor, much less an actual NHL goalie. The goalies... they're trying! I think! Give them credit. And Quinn's trying, maybe, to coach? But when do you kick his ass to the curb too, just to try to put some life back into that lineup? That is the world's deadliest team. It's like hockey is a punishment to them!

FanDuel is running bets on when they will finally win their first regular season game. That's how ass they are. I wish I were kidding.

On top of all this, the locker room seems like it's going up in flames. Remember the Nucks' 10-1 beating of the Sharks? Kahkonen, the Sharks' tendy, got injured after the sixth goal, when Kuzmenko ran into him. Kuzmenko and the Canucks made sure Kahkonen was alright and that it wasn't a major injury. The Sharks? They just went back to the bench!

This unironically is probably the worst team in my lifetime, and maybe for decades before I was born too. They're just so BAD. There's no redeeming reason to watch Sharks games at all except to laugh at the Sharks as they get 10 goals dumped on them.

How screwed are they? 10/10*. I'm sorry, but fucking Zetterlund is leading your team in goals. ZETTERLUND. I cannot name ONE player on that roster who I would send to an All-Star Game. Maybe Blackwood, if he doesn't crumble into fucking dust first. And knowing how injury prone he is, he just might.

But this is a 10/10 with an asterisk. And here's why: * They WANT to be bad. The worse they do this year, the better their chances for Celebrini or whoever is the first overall. That's the idea of the Shark Tank. And if that's the goal, it's being executed perfectly.

There you go, anon! Hope this helps! If you have any more questions, feel free to drop into my inbox! 💜

#stereanswers #stereanalysis #san jose sharks #calgary flames #edmonton oilers

[nuntia]

A Ghoul's Cry

Omega Ghoul

Preface: Omega Ghoul, the most loyal and faithful servant – who is known to have had more than just a professional relationship with third son Emeritus – had the worst and most agonizing reaction to the death of his master and lover.

warnings: mentions of blood, self-mutilation, Emeritus Brothers death, aggressive and uncontrolled behavior

[SECRETS FROM THE CLERGY]

The death of the three Emeritus brothers was not easy to recognize and accept to anyone in the world. Whether it is members of the high clergy, Brothers, Sisters or Siblings of Sin, fans of the Ghost Project; it was not easy for any of them.

Although, I say it was much less easier for the Ghouls who, while seeing themselves self-destruct, felt the pain of not knowing what was happening, but feeling everything in their body and soul. Part of special Summoning Ritual requires that the Master whom they will serve donate part of his blood so that the summoned creature can be part of the Master's body.

In addition and many other things, Omega was the hellish creature who showed the most pain with loss – but not just physical pain. He felt much more than that.

The chronicles that I present to you describe what happened moments after Omega discovered that Papa Terzo had died.

----

The Abbey was never as afraid of a Ghoul after what happened in 1976¹ as it was that day.

It was frightening. Terrifying. Shocking. Alarming. Daunting. Agonizing... especially as everyone feared for their lives to come closer.

Not even the Ghouls themselves dared to enter that Hall, even before each of one cringed and slid down the wall, clinging to everything they could to try and save themselves from self-destruction. One by one.

Omega entered the great hall and left the door wide open behind him. He began by looking around in an almost primitive sense, wild growls reverberating through the walls and mirrors; then fell fragile pieces of crockery, metal carvings, stewed wooden chairs, the large solid wood table, a marble stand. Before long, whatever was left unharmed was used against the mirrors and centuries-old paintings. Damage was mostly irreversible.

Animalistic sounds echoed through the corridors mixed with inconsolable weeping. Every inhale was turned into a growl; every exhale was a cry of despair and lamentation. He had no room or time to breathe.

The Ghoul only stopped when he approached the only two things he left intact besides the lamp – which he had the wise decision not to hang on to, only to have thought it over several times: a mirror, and the vinyl player with the vinyl record heard just hours before.

'Popestar'. The stopped needle halfway through two songs denoted the last one that had been listened to. The one that was not so secretly their song, the one that was not so secretly the soundtrack to a silly slow dance of after dinner, of before bed, of a cold late afternoon when it was dark outside too early. 'Nocturnal Me'.

There was lull. An audible cry, muttered wails, but no rooms to be destroyed. Maybe that was because Ghoul defanged like his bandmates, creatures of his kind who didn't even have time to mourn before they themselves fell into a misery.

He clutched his chest, tearing at his black garment with the long claws. He looked at himself in the mirror blinking several times lest the stain of black blood cover his kiss mark in black ink that the third son Emeritus had given him before meeting his brothers. So faded and smudged that, if it wasn't something somewhat usual to the discerning eye, one would never realise what it meant.

Suddenly, he let out a cry of pain and ran out of there. The few who dared to remain in the hallways followed the outcome of their beloved Papas. And the Ghoul continued to run, undressing as if the clothes suddenly caused him allergies, slipping in his own black blood that oozed both from his eyes and his mouth, from the deep scratches on his torso caused by his claws that tried uselessly to relieve the pain that, as physical as it seemed, not even if they took his heart out would stop.

He threw himself against the double metal door, too heavy for him to push even if it was unlocked².

Wild sounds were heard again. They started out like those of a predator, but subsided until they sounded like a wounded animal. Wounded, but not enough to die a quick death.

No one dared to come out. Absolutely no one came out of their rooms or wherever they hid, even though the Ghoul was visibly weak and shattered. A hare caught by the hawk that dropped it from the highest heights.

But what could be done? Hug him? Comfort him? Help him lie down properly on the floor instead of the awkward half-sitting, half-lying position against that frigid double door? Hand him a silver dagger?

Nobody did anything.

Even without knowing so, they all obey Sister Imperator's orders. And she gets happy when things work out the way she planned and envisioned.

– Chronicles of a Sibling of Sin, signed as E.D., dated 01st May 2018.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

¹ It was in 1976 that an Earth Ghoul named Rime died from a failed ritual of return. This event resulted in the biggest revolt of the Ghouls ever recorded in the millennial Emeritus' Abbey.

² represented in @vanmec art

Not just the Abbey, but the entire Ministry has suffered from the Profane Brothers' mysterious deaths. A situation that took everyone by surprise, and left sequels that are still present today.

I can tell you that the Sibling who wrote this letter left shortly after I wrote it. Sibling E. knew things that perhaps should not have, so the question remains whether they left the Abbey willingly or was "invited" to leave. The doubt rests on the fact that Mr. Saltarian was seen chatting with them before they left.

For all intents and purposes, what has been reported is true. There is purposeful silence, but you could easily hear the same a testimony if you ask to a Sibling of Sin you pass in the halls nowadays.

His Eminence Papa Emeritus III and his Ghoul Omega had a very intimate relationship. As much as this is against the law, it was no secret to almost anyone that they saw each other as someone that they nurtured a lot of affection and care for... and desire. However, it cannot be denied that Omega was a key to Papa Terzo becoming the phenomenon he has become and paving the way for His Eminence Papa Emeritus IV to continue to spread His word.

Misfortunes mark the floor, the walls, the air and the pages of many books that exist in here. I will bring you more soon.

Until then, go in sin.

May the Lord Below guide you into the night,

Nuntia

#nuntia's bat echo #band ghost #ghostband #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost the band #ghost band #papa emeritus iii #papa terzo #terzo emeritus #ghost terzo #terzo #omega ghoul #omega x terzo #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoul #ghost #cardinal copia #papa 3 #papa emeritus 3 #papa emeritus fanart #papa emeritus iv #sister imperator #ghost band fanart #sister of sin #ghost fanfic #era 3 ghouls #ghost headcanons #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus ii

[demonpoxballad]

The Last Name - oneshot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: There’s one more name from the past bouncing around Bucky’s head. One more scribble ripped from the pages of Steve’s old book. Another person to make amends with. Except this one is different: he can’t remember doing anything wrong. No murdering or enabling of evil plans. No threats or political conquests. In fact, Bucky can’t remember much of her at all.

Warnings: smut ***18+ only***, angst, alcohol, lots and lots of feelings hehe

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Wowowow I don't even want to know how long it's been since I last posted! Let's just say I've been very busy participating in an actual social life, which is very tiring, omg how do people do it? Ngl I really love this one, lmk what you think!

Taipalsaari, present-day:

Dinner was a romantic affair. She felt human again, in a way that only fresh tomatoes and rosemary and Bucky’s soft lips could invoke.

He was so close. And he kept on touching her, all over, little brushes here and there, his warmth behind her as she stood at the stove like an extension of the steam ebbing from the frying pan. She was hypersensitive. Couldn’t concentrate on anything. Not with him like this: all soft wool and freshly washed hair. He smelled like her soap; she resolved to stock up a lifetime’s supply for him before they left for New York.

Bucky leaned over to taste some sauce, his hand coming to rest on her hip - the last straw. A drink. She needed a goddamn drink. The homemade vodka came clinking down from the shelf, clear and strong and lethal. That would sort her out.

“Where did you even get this?” Bucky inspected the bottle.

“The fish market,” she explained.

“Huh.”

They sat down with the food and drinks. The table had always had 2 chairs as companions, even before Bucky had found her. She’d crafted two sets of tableware as well, and used to alternate between them, one dirty set and one clean. Now everything got dirty at the same time, and they washed it all up together. She never thought she’d be so grateful to have more housework.

While they ate Bucky rested his foot against hers. She took another sip every 30 seconds in an effort to cope.

After too much food and half the bottle, they were twirling around the room, dirty dishes discarded and forgotten. There was time to wash them tomorrow. There was always more time. Bucky had placed his phone in a bowl, and a tinny little tune was dancing around the room. It wasn’t much use for a waltz, but at least it was something.

“I’ve missed music so much,” she said, pressing her nose into his collarbone, massaging the collar of his sweater with her lips.

“I’ll get you music,” Bucky said, raising their hands so she could spin. She threw her head back and laughed. “I’ll get you so much music.”

Shaking her head, she smiled like she really couldn’t help it. “I want to buy a record player,” he continued. “Did you know they were back in fashion? You can get them anywhere nowadays.”

“That’ll be nice,” she said.

“Mmhmm.”

He kissed her. Enthusiastically, at that. Leaning so far into her that she stumbled backwards, fingertips buried in his shoulders.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“I’ve got you." He squeezed her waist. They stopped dancing. Bucky swayed occasionally, but nothing enough to distract from his lips. And his hands. And everything inbetween. Her body slowly became limper with his attention, more and more liquid as he became more solid, holding her tighter and firmer. She melted into a puddle at his feet, stretching out on the bed languidly as he bent to meet her. Laying half on top of her, one arm supporting his weight, the other free to touch.

“We didn’t . . .” he began, his voice low and crackly like he hadn’t spoken in days. His thumb traced the underside of her bottom lip. She fought the urge to coax it into her mouth. “When we were hiding . . . did we?”

“What?” she said. “Did we what?”

“Um.” Bucky’s ears went red. She’d never seen him like this before, so flustered, his words escaping him. She tried not to enjoy it too much. “Have sex?”

Her eyes went wide and then Bucky got worried, she could see it in the corners of his face, all the subtleties: the backtracking plan. He could still get himself out of this hole he’d dug, it was okay, they could still go back to normal, back to the moment right before he’d mentioned it, they could forgive, they could forget . . .

But she didn’t want to backtrack. She wanted to go forward. And keep going forever, until there wasn’t anywhere else to be.

“Oh,” she laughed, thin and awkward, trying to act casual. “No, we never did that.”

“Okay,” he said. “Good. I thought so.”

“Why is that good?”

Bucky didn’t hesitate. “Because I’ve been looking forward to it. To, um . . . being with you. For the first time.”

She could pretend to be disinterested. She could be coy, aloof. She’d done that before, with all sorts of people, important to her or not. But she found herself actually incapable of coordinating her face into one of indifference at that moment. She loved him. She loved him so much. He was sexy without even trying to be. And she’d never been at this point of intimacy before. The point at which all the mess, the tears, the embarrassment, all the blood and screaming and shame. . . the point at which they all fed into the space between them, charging it, making her body feel like it was about to be struck by lightning, thrumming, alive; she was feeling it all so much. She was feeling him so much.

Because that’s the thing with falling in love: there’s a moment, before you take all your clothes off, before you give yourself over, before the point of no return. There’s that moment when you feel the need to get completely naked. Not physically. Though it is a kind of shedding, of course, just of moral sensibilities, inhibitions. It’s a whisper across bedsheets: you don’t know what I’m actually like. It’s a scream from your core: I think I might be a terrible person. There’s something wrong with me, there’s been a mistake, you shouldn’t want to love me.

But please. Stay with me.

Bucky was different, though. He already knew the worst of her, there was nothing more to reveal. He’d heard her wails, seen her open fire, witnessed her cowardice. All she had to do was give in.

“Are you coming onto me, like, right now?” she said.

“Is it the wrong moment?” he said. “I gotta tell you, I’ve been thinking about it for two weeks. I’m not even gonna pretend anymore.”

“Oh my god, Bucky.” She sat up, rolling him away onto his back. She needed air. The cabin felt like fever.

“But you can tell me to shut up, seriously,” he said. “Just say the word and I’ll stop.”

“No. Don’t – I don’t want you to stop. Just . . .” she made a sound halfway between a growl and a whine, “you’re going to be the death of me, honestly.”

He looked uncertain again.

“You make me dizzy,” she whispered, looking back at him. “You make me so dizzy.”

He smiled. Touched a finger to her spine. “In a good way?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to faint?”

“I might,” she teased.

“I’ll catch you.”

“Yes.”

“Come here.” He pulled her on top of him, pushing her hair away from her face. His fingers went back to her lips and she took them this time, sucking, watching his eyes as they drooped and rolled.

“Fuck,” he groaned, lower than she’d ever heard him before. “Sweetheart.” The sound went straight through her, to her toes, echoing across the mattress, throbbing around the room. She felt him everywhere.

And he was hard, too. She could definitely feel that. She rolled her hips against his but he stopped her, gripping hard, head falling back. She gasped against his throat. It was so much. This was all so much.

“Please,” she complained. “Touch me.”

“Where?” he asked.

“Anywhere you want.”

So he touched her everywhere. She glowed beneath him, spread wide, surrendered. And he made her feel so good; so good she was honestly in shock. His face buried between her legs, mouth working in earnest rhythm, not stopping until she tugged at his hair, tight, so much tighter than she could ever intend, hips seizing beneath him. And him inside her, barely able to control himself, trembling but slow, so slow, too slow.

She gripped his hips and melded her lips with his earlobe. She needed to be heard.

“I can’t tell you how scared I was, Bucky,” she said.

“I was so relieved to see you,” she said.

“I thought I was going to be alone forever," she said.

“I’ve got you,” he replied, whining, desperate. “I’ve always got you.”

Taglist: @mayasreadingnook @writing-for-marvel @howlermonkey69 @ginger-swag-rapunzel @cuddlycalcifer @bambamwolf87 @twinerd14 @violets-library @hallecarey1 @cjand10 @navs-bhat @themorningsunshine

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #the winter soldier #angst #fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader

[mauesartetc]

Thoughts on Helluva Boss 201 (”The Circus”)

Pros:

- The child versions of Blitzo, Fizz, and Stolas were pretty cute, and their voice actors did a good job. Funny how these characters can actually be endearing when Viv’s forced to let their personalities shine through rather than fall back on sex scenes and excessive swearing.

- The animation was solid, as usual. Nothing fantastic compared to previous installments, but competent.

- More of the jokes landed than they normally do in Helluva episodes.

- I liked the exploration of Blitzo’s relationship with Fizz. They were friendly and playful with each other in this flashback, though we already see the friction growing between them via Blitzo’s envy of Fizz’s balloon animal skills, and Fizz’s aversion to the idea of blood while Blitzo revels in it.

- It was interesting to see Blitzo and Stolas’ respective fathers and how their treatment of their sons would affect their psychology later in life. While I still have issues with his name (we’ll get to that shortly), Paimon was entertaining to watch.

Cons:

- As I mentioned here, it makes no sense to name this shapeshifting owl after an Ars Goetia demon who resembles a human riding a camel and has no shapeshifting powers or relation to Stolas as far as I know. How hard would it have been to make up a new name for him? And y’all couldn’t even give him a camel to ride? Tsk.

- Bit of a nitpick, but when Stolas and the imp butler arrive at the circus with Paimon looking through a magic mirror, Paimon suggests they move to a spot where he can’t “smell the poor”. But... he’s not physically present. He shouldn’t be able to smell anything. That’s like me watching a football game on TV and holding my nose every time the camera moves to the bench. Don’t want those sweaty players bombarding our nostrils now, do we? Either Paimon has the best sense of smell ever, or this is a nonsensical line the writers didn’t think about. I’m guessing the latter.

- The ringmaster’s voice was a little grating for my taste, sorta like a gravelly-voiced parrot. Someone like Gilbert Gottfried could make this kind of delivery sound natural and add some charm to it, but here it comes off like the VA was just putting on one of those stereotypical voices you’d hear at a kids’ puppet show. He was pretty good as Paimon, though, so I’m sure the direction has something to do with this. (Also, this voice hilariously reminded me of Jaboody Dubs’s version of Cathy Mitchell. What has been heard cannot be unheard.)

- Edit 1: Something I forgot to mention in the initial post: Stolas’ hellhound security guards bring Blitzo to Stolas and ask what they should do with him, but isn’t it their job to know that already? Just throw him out, guys. It’s not that hard. Also, one of them calls him a “nasty imp”, his voice filled with disgust. But I thought imps and hellhounds were on the same social tier in this universe, so isn’t he basically calling himself nasty too? You could argue he’s just playing up his reaction in front of Stolas and doesn’t actually feel this way, but there’s no evidence to suggest that. This dialogue doesn’t make a lick of sense. 

- It’s exceedingly odd that Stolas is immediately horny for Blitzo after spending twenty-five years away from him. Like, I had childhood crushes from 20-ish years ago too. But typically, people’s tastes evolve as they age, they meet new people, and they get the fuck over it. I’m picturing meeting my second-grade crush now, when we’re both adults and haven’t interacted in ages, and trying to jump his bones on sight. Just... no. Gross. Pure cringe. What would we even talk about? What do we have in common anymore? This reunion isn’t romantic; it’s deeply concerning. Get some fucking therapy, Stolas.

- In Stolas’ bedroom, Blitzo tells him “I kill people now”, but how is he already doing that if he doesn’t have the grimoire to transport himself to the human world yet? Bit of a plot hole there.

- Also, there’s a tangible air of manipulation about this whole episode. What we’re being told and shown here isn’t consistent with what we’ve seen of these characters so far. For instance, young Stolas finds Blitzo’s jokes funny, indicating he likes his personality. Yet if we review their interactions in Season 1, Stolas constantly treats Blitzo like an object, sexually harassing and fetishizing him to no end. Personality has nothing to do with it.

Then, near the end of the episode, Stolas tells Stella, “I would feel bad if I hurt you, but we both know I didn’t do that”. Ya sure? Ya really sure about that? Because she threw a pretty massive fit about it in Loo Loo Land, was angry enough to hire a hit man to kill her husband, and even in this very scene, she admits to sticking around just to remind him of what he did. These aren’t the actions of someone who isn’t hurt. If she really didn’t care, she wouldn’t have done any of this. This is just an excuse for Stolas not to apologize. If he avoids any admission of wrongdoing, that makes him a more sympathetic character, right? Wrong. Apologizing would be the mature, emotionally-stable thing to do, and it’d make him more respectable despite how he’s acted in the past.

Edit 2: Something else I forgot to mention is that Stolas says “The only reason I endured your constant insults and cruelty was for that girl [Octavia] to have a normal life”. But back in Loo Loo Land, he repeatedly flirted with Blitzo despite knowing it made Octavia upset, and once again, never apologized or offered a proper explanation for it. And of course, three episodes later, he’s still sleeping with him, having learned absolutely nothing. Notice a pattern here? The writers want us to think Stolas suddenly cares about his daughter when his past actions have demonstrated he doesn’t give a shit. And I’m not sure if this was intentional (it probably isn’t if the writers want so badly to make Stolas sympathetic), but it’s telling that he says “that girl” instead of using her name, psychologically distancing himself from the guilt he associates with her rather than addressing it. He knows he did her dirty but prefers to cover his ass instead of making amends. Father of the year, folks.

- Speaking of audience manipulation, good god, STELLA. I thought she was flat and poorly-written before, but they seriously made her an over-the-top evil, moustache-twirling Saturday morning cartoon villain. There’s absolutely zero subtlety here. She even straight-up tells Stolas “I like tormenting you”, beating us over the head with her outlandish, unrealistic cruelty. I mean... This was the cartoon meant for adults, right?

Here’s a room-temperature take (that Stolitz stans will probably take as controversial anyway): Making one character completely unlikable won’t magically make another character sympathetic. If the stove in your kitchen is busted, you don’t take a baseball bat to the fridge to make it look worse by comparison. You fix the fucking stove.

- Stolas’ singing voice sounded a bit thin at times, almost mechanical, like there wasn’t much life or energy in the sustained notes. I don’t know if the VA had a cold while recording or they added some kind of weird autotune, but it sounded a bit off to me.

Those are my thoughts. Definitely not the worst episode, but holy fuck does it have problems. I’m tired. So damn tired. Brb, off to watch a  much better show.

#helluva boss #helluva critical #critique #criticism #helluva blitz #helluva stolas #helluva stella #writing #long post #sympathetic characters

[writingonjorvik]

Did it.

Was this ideal? Absolutely not, but the first week of every event is always rough. I know a lot of folks will contest the 18k, but under the assumption that SSE is going to follow their methods of increased gathering from (almost) every prior event, Hollow Woods was almost 33k before the price change and plenty of folks did that in a week. Is that overlooking the other methods of gathering from the Summer Camp and Hollow Woods? A little, but under the assumption that those things will be added as the event goes on. Is this still the best way to encourage people to play? Eh, you need like 500 a day which is a half hour of play time if you get a good loop, and that time will go down. I hold that judgement until later in the event personally, they may add a wisp and/or cache equivalent Wednesday and that would make progress feel a lot better.

The bigger issue I think with this track was the filter. I never personally had issues with the color filter, but it did make the map feel oppressive. Which, if you lean into the spooky ghost stories part of the season, is a vibe. But I know a lot of folks did have an issue with the filter, either with headaches and migraines or with making it feel like the event was depressing due to the lack of color. I think the markers for change to the filter are way too high. There is no noticeable change at the first quest (6k) other than some crystals lighting up, and the filter only drops to 50% at the second (12k).

I think there are far better ways to indicate lack of life in the village than the color filter that would have had less of an impact on the game, like the animals slowly returning or there being less visitors or some vendors (like the retro shop or cafe) being closed. The filter should have been dropped at like, the first reward, which should have been a boosted tutorial for free players who haven't played the Hollow Woods content yet. I think also instead of as many XP or shillings rewards, there should have been more quests to indicate this progress throughout, because the rewards as are made the whole thing feel slower for me as someone with all maxed horses.

If you want to make things a little more bearable, looking over any mechanics that may be added in future updates or big rewards in the Advent presents, here are my recommendations for getting through it:

Listen to something. I say this about training too. I was super behind on CR campaign 3 when the event started and I got through like 3 months of episodes in the process.

Avoid the ice as much as possible. The drift will only add time trying to catch singles. Do a pass for the piles, any singles on the way, and then do a circuit on solid ground.

Nooks are not worth it. You will get more mounds to respawn by running around the edge of the lake and then through the lake than you will going off into nooks for maybe a mound and more likely singles.

My circuit was to start by the small pond with penguins at the bottom of the ramp and circle clockwise until I reached the other side of the lake, and then I would counterclockwise on the lake to get back to the pond. Repeat.

Something I didn't notice at first, but EACH of the ice carvings reward 20 snowflakes, do all 4.

If you're saving the Advent for horse XP, day 7 is 500 snowflakes.

Have someone to share progress with. @centeris2 helped me with this, particularly today doing the last 4k.

The bar at the end is looping rewards for, as far as I can tell, just more HXP. Now, I've got a text RP and my new project to get back to because I couldn't just do this but also had to dive 10k + worldbuilding doc into a new project plus my home game's downtime stuff to do.

#star stable #star stable online #sso #woj analysis #starstableonline #starstable #ssoblr