#because then you have more space for the fact that others were also victims and they're not necessarily unreasonable

[scintillyyy]

the steph brown conundrum aka the problem with steph being a character with hugely divergent doylist and watsonian readings

okay, so like. there is always a part of me that feels that to this day, didio kind of won when it came to the destruction of steph's character. like she wasn't a toxic character like he thought before he got his hands on her, but since he did & there was fallout from it, it has completely destroyed dc's desire to do anything potentially interesting with her, even as they've brought her back. like. she will always just kind of be a shell of her former self, doomed to stay uncontroversial and in the background. because when it comes to steph, and the problem with utilizing steph as a character now, you have to acknowledge two things

steph from an editorial and out of universe perspective was treated horrifically. the nonsensical and terrible things they made her do to move along the plot of post-crisis are awful and excessively reckless to the point of intentional character assassination & it was all done to justify her fridging for bruce's (and tim's) manpain which is awful

but the things that steph did as a result of the above are extremely load-bearing and important on plot and character dynamics and motivations from war games all the way to reborn era & to try and remove or minimize things that happened as a result of those actions just because they were arguably out of character from her has the unfortunate result of completely and intentionally warping the characterization of everyone who interacts with her to the point where it negatively affects almost every single other character instead.

so in order to show this we need to start at war games, talk about what happened, & go into how this affects things & why her character assassination is not as easy to fix as cass's or leslie's

so war games. ah war games. you know, having recently reread it, war games is frustrating because it's arguably a semi good event for most everyone except steph and leslie (especially leslie--now that was character assassination.). so let's get into the bare bones of what exactly happens in war games (war games being the three main events of this time: war drums (the prequal), war games proper, & war crimes (the follow up & worst part of the event)) (and i'm not saying i necessarily agree with this, just. this is what we have to consider.)

war drums:

this event has two main stories - the bruce & leslie story and the steph becomes robin story

in the bruce & leslie story (which is definitely racist), we have a young teenage pregnant girl who shows up at leslie's clinic having been shot. leslie attempts to save the girl and baby, but is left in a precarious situation where only one can be saved. she reluctantly calls bruce for help finding the girl's family, who finds out that the girl in question is popstar l'shea's sister--the popstar and her entourage in question kidnap leslie & the girl & bruce finds them, where it's revealed the girl is actually l'shea's daughter (like i said. racist.). l'shea makes the decision to save the baby, which kills the girl. leslie tries to get bruce to see that he can't save everyone, and ultimately gets upset about the cycle of violence she feels he perpetuates when he goes to take mr. freeze back in. she later comes to talk to bruce & it ends on a positive note fairly consistent with the bruce & leslie relationship--one in which leslie wishes he could devote himself to saving lives nonviolently & hoping he could see her as an example. my only quibble is that bruce responds as "ha-ha" leslie when if you compare to the batman chronicles #18, bruce absolutely counts on her to challenge his worldview & be a shining example of what he cannot be.

we do start to see the seeds of character assassination for leslie here imo, though this part is the best understanding of her by far--she's always been a foil to bruce as far as her pacifism and her determination to try and show him that there are other ways than his crusade, but traditionally she's always been defined as well by her immense love for him & he for her. she fundamentally disagrees with his crusade, but she's going to be there for him because she knows there's good in him that's worth saving--because to leslie, every life, including bruce's, is worth saving. anyways, read the batman chronicles #18, where she's determined to use O- blood on zsasz because of her firm commitment to the belief that every life is precious & she and bruce talk about their differences in opinion but how she's determined to keep showing him there's another way & he wants her to do so. this leslie who has, up until this event, been troubled by his crusade--but has decided it's tireless, but worth it to show him the good in people, suddenly seems a lot more, hm. overtly hateful of how batman operates & the fact that he puts criminals back in prison just for them to break out and the cycle to continue & has a sudden desire to not work with him if at all possible because of her total disagreement with his methods. which is. hm. somewhat but not entirely consistent with leslie's motivation. leslie would have no problem asking bruce for help if it meant saving an innocent & the fact that he believes in the redemption of criminals is something she inherently believes in. anyways i digress-

the other main story is, as we all know, the steph becomes robin story. and while you do not have to agree with how it is written wrt stephanie, the barebones of what exactly transpires is thus: tim has quit robin for his dad. he is attempting to live a normal life--go to school, hang out with friends, & not do the vigilante thing even when he sees people in need. he meets up with steph, who tells him of her determination to return to spoiler now that her broken leg has healed & he tells her that it's very hard for him to leave the house on account of jack always being suspicious that he's going out to be robin & be involved in anything vigilante again (it is implied that this is the first time he had been able to get out in a while because of his dad, as he didn't know she got her cast off). one day, when tim is at school, darla aquista, who has a crush on him, kisses him out of the blue. this happens to be seen by steph, who is now officially active again & chooses to be active during the day as a result of wanting to avoid batman as she doesn't have his approval, has gone over to tim's school to check on him because she's suspicious he's hiding something from her other than he's basically under house arrest from his dad atm since it had been so long since she had seen him. it, of course, looks terrible to her and she flounces off--deciding that she's going to become robin. bruce agrees, which everyone--alfred, barbara, eventually tim, etc completely understands to be a scheme to lure tim back. steph proceeds to completely ghost tim for the next two months--he calls and leaves messages, and she never calls back or comes to see him at all--she is completely radio silent & avoiding him and he doesn't know why but he is worried. bruce tells stephanie that she will not be privy to any secrets & the minute she disobeys an order she's out (a double standard, yes, but completely consistent in that he, again, is using her basically only to lure tim back). meanwhile, scarab is hunting tim, killing boys in his age range with dark hair and their families in an attempt to kill robin as there is a contract out for his life. tim then finds out through the newspaper that the reason steph has been avoiding him is because she became robin & calls the batcave to finally talk to steph & ask her to meet so they can finally talk in perso. about what exactly happened and how on earth steph became robin. cassandra comes instead--steph doesn't show up because batman and robin are busy hunting scarab who is trying to kill tim/previous robin & tim needs to be put under protection. steph gets a tracking device on scarab. day 49, bruce and steph go to get scarab, bruce goes in while steph is let behind for support in the batplane, bruce gets blinded, steph disobeys bruce and comes in to help, steph gets caught by scarab, scarab gets away in the batplane because steph forgot to arm the security system. steph officially gets fired 3 weeks later for disobeying an order on day 71.

yea, it's something. but it is what it is.

war games:

so we get to war games proper. overnight, a gang war has erupted & set the city ablaze and into chaos after a letter was sent out calling all the crime bosses to the harbor where a firefight breaks out on account of the main player who was supposed to be there if those letters were sent out, matches malone, not showing up. since tensions are high, it's easy for then to start shooting and killing each other & in doing so creates an immediate and widespread vacuum of power in the criminal underworld of gotham that people leap to try to fill & wipe out their competition in the meantime. innocent people are caught in the crosshairs.

nightwing (who is already having a terrible time) shows up to help (with tarantula) & is personally dealing with the emotional fallout of letting tarantula kill blockbuster amongst other things.

barbara is doing her best to help out and triage people to help, but there's really only batman, batgirl, nightwing, tarantula, & orpheus against a whole city. and at this point, tarantula has taken over a gang under batman's command to try and control things and can't overtly help & orpheus was already in control of a gang under batman's command in an attempt to protect women & children and exert some control over the criminal underbelly of gotham and also cannot overtly help out.

stuff with hush is happening in gotham knights but i don't care aj lieberman, by god, i do not care.

tim is doing his best to go about his day and keep his promise to his dad and not go out to help despite the fact that the city is falling apart. this becomes harder when a rival gang comes to kill his friend darla aquista at their high school, on account of her father being a mob boss. the kids are panicked and run into the school for sanctuary and safety, but are followed in and darla is shot.

what happens next is that tim's school is taken over by gangsters--the ones who came to kill darla, and the ones who see the opportunity to kill the ones who are trying to kill darla--and the kids are trapped in there with them, doing their best to hide, but some are taken hostage & are at the mercy of their captives (kids are killed). tim shelters in the nurses's office & does his best to go out and help who he can bring to safety, alone with getting a lay of the school (which gang is where).

meanwhile, bruce, cass, & dick have been informed that tim's school is taken over and kids are dying. along with all their other current trauma, they have to go find tim in an active shooter zone where he could very well be dead. dick gets to be the one who finds him (such a traumatic time for dick btw), and he's thankfully okay. they get control back of the school and free the kids. batman comes out on live television holding darla's body--she's not dead yet, but she's close.

we find out where steph is. selina finds her and we finally find out why this happened: upset at getting fired and frustrated that she's never been able to truly land their approval, steph lashed out & stole a plan designed to unite the crime families in gotham under batman's control hoping that if she was able to set off a plan for batman & it worked he would take her back and she'd finally have his approval. however, the main man didn't show up and it fell to pieces--doomed to fail. and the reason that this all happened is because steph was never told that batman is matches malone. there's actually a ton of 'bruce what have you done' here. catwoman shelters steph & tells her to stay put. steph does not do so, she leaves so she can try to find orpheus & help get the situation under control because she knows he's key to the plan.

tim, unable to stand by any longer despite his promise to his dad after the thing at the school, returns to the manor where he is greeted by alfred & returns to being robin.

batman finally also realizes that what happened is his war game contigency plan/hypothetical/thought experiment just as a citywide blackout hits--a plan he never intended to implement, it was one of his hypotheticals. & they also start looking for orpheus, as he's the key because they need to keep him alive as the plan was for the criminal underworld to reform united under his, and therefore batman's, rule.. steph finds him first, just in time to see his throat slit--by black mask.

steph gets into a one v one altercation with black mask and is overpowered and at his mercy. he tortures her. it's gross, we all know.

tim tells his dad he's returned to being robin. we get what is probably some of the best jack drake charactetization. tim meets jack and dana so they can go help out at leslie's clinic to help the injured.

steph, eventually, after being tortured, finally tells black mask that the plan required orpheus and is now obsolete because orpheus is dead.

cass is looking for steph because she's probably the only one aware that steph is out as spoiler & she knows that the last time she saw steph steph was lying to her about something

leslie is currently acting extremely out of character. and she's kind of a jerk to cass when cass comes looking for steph & is downright hateful about his mission. (which. is ooc for leslie--while she's never agreed with bruce's mission she's always, always, loved and respected them all--consider her in NML vs here. she wants to end his crusade and him to do something better, but she's always looking to be a beacon of hope that there is another way. every disagreement should be steeped in her love for them).

hush is still here for some reason and will tell black mask where the batcave is

catwoman is concerned about steph--who has passed out from the torture--calling her "the kid you messed up so badly she started this whole mess"

batman takes over oracle's & the police's system by force. we're really in it now. steph wakes up, determined to get to batman to tell him about orpheus's death.

black mask, however, has taken over orpheus's identity and is contacting batman, ostensibly to continue the "plan". and darla officially dies, meaning her father is out for revenge and wants everyone killed.

batman meets up with black mask as orpheus & figures out spoiler was there, but he assumes she fought zeiss. he leaves, black mask is planning...something as orpheus.

batman has barbara take over the police waves once more. barbara is getting really sick if this shit.

gotham city is starting to rail against vigilantes as a result of the widespread chaos of war games, calling for them to turn themselves in.

batman has orpheus call a grand meeting. ostensibly to end things and ensure peace in gotham with everything unified under orpheus's commands. orpheus is, however, dead. black mask uses the meeting to set everything ablaze again & barbaba has to call off the vigilantes from helping to protect the gcpd to go help batman--this is the straw that breaks the camel's back of this causes an official break in the uneasy alliance between vigilante & gcpd and comissioner akins gives the order to shoot to kill vigilantes on sight (as also, as a result of the plan failing due to orpheus's murder it seems as if batman et al are on the side of the villains causing mayhem)

at this point the game it out of control & they have to focus on stopping it. cass finally has a chance to talk to batman and tell him her suspicions that steph was the one who set the entire thing into motion, which he has now figured out (on account of him finding traces of spoilers's at orpheus's)

dick gets shot in the leg by the police while fighting firefly

tim meanwhile is happy to return to robin, and actually has bunch of nice things to say about steph's time as robin--that she kept things light for bruce, that he's not too proud to learn from her--even if he did admittedly resent her a little bit for how it all went down. he's also currently in the middle of a breakdown over darla's death and is pretending everything's okay by just go go going.

steph has freed herself from her bonds and gets into it with black mask, finally overpowering him when she realizes "this isn't a game". she gets a gun to his head & wants to pull the trigger and end him for good, but can't--as that would mean betraying everything she's been taught. the hesitation costs her and black mask gets the gun and shoots her in the shoulder & kicks her down the stairs & leaves

she manages to get herself up despite her extensive injuries and escapes by rooftop, where she's finally found by batman, who brings her to leslie and begs her to save steph. he then tells her she did good & that she did everything she could & that the city owes her after everything she went through.

and black mask is still causing trouble--hush supposedly told him the location of the batcave & he plans to solidify his reign as the undisputed crime lord of gotham by sending everyone there--it's not the batcave, however--it's the clocktower. all the criminals are now converging on and headed for directly for barbara. they get in and make it past all her defenses and invade her safe space, black mask making it to her control room & taking her hostage. the gcpd also descend upon the clocktower.

batman goes ham and almost kills black mask, saying it'd be worth it to end everything that's transpired. tim creates a diversion by lying saying they'll turn themselves into the police. barbara blows up her clocktower so that bruce has to make the decision between saving her & killing black mask. bruce chooses to save her & it's over. bruce gets called to leslie's clinic, where it turns out steph had too much internal damage to save her. steph tells him that she started it all, and bruce says he knows but that they took care of it. he tells her that tim isn't mad at her and that the baby she had won't want for anything ever. he lies and says that taking her on as robin wasn't just to bring tim back, that she was really robin & that he'll be watching over her. she dies. black mask takes over as the new criminal overlord of gotham city.

as a result of all of the above, we get the following: gotham is no longer safe for vigilantes to operate. tim has been set in motion on the path of loss from darla to steph to his dad in another event that will eventually lead him to the mental space he needs to be in to become red robin and leaves for bludhaven. cass follows in her grief of all that transpired. dick is out of commission due to his gunshot wound & dealing with the fallout of working with bruce while feeling like he doesn't deserve to, but is also the only one left to work with bruce. barbara, whose safe haven was trampled upon and destroyed, feels gotham to go be with the birds of prey in another city. bruce is operating all but alone, save for a couple of other distant vigilantes.

we find out that bruce didn't--couldn't--tell tim steph had died until hours after the fact, and that's when tim was finally able to hear the whole story as to how steph became robin all the way to how the gang war got started. this is also when dick finds out the whole story as well.

and thus, war games ends

war crimes:

so we make our way to the epilogue of this storyline. the very aptly named war crimes

the public is still railing against vigilantes. it comes out publicly that stephanie brown was spoiler, then robin, and that her injuries were not thus that should have killed her. batman finds out and goes to leslie's to find out who leaked stephanie's information, only to find out leslie has resigned and her chief resident left with her. batman finds the resident, murdered in a clear attempt to set batman up. (it's black mask setting him up). a man named aaron black is railing against black mask, batman, & the gcpd for the gang war

we find out that treatment was deliberately withheld from stephanie and she was purposely left to die. we find out aaron black is the not so dead arthur brown. & we find out that crystal knows something and is prepared to spill it all. black mask comes dressed as batman to attack crystal brown on live tv. we find out the joker is after black mask for killing robin. the joker gets arrested, black mask gets arrested (and escapes), a tv reporter gets indicted, the leader of the odessa mob gets indicted, commissioner akins and athur brown don't get indicted, and batman has finally figured out who killed stephanie and goes to africa where she fled to.

in, quite possibly, the greatest moment of character assassination in this entire gd event we find out it was leslie who let stephanie die because she was tired of batman's crusade, destroying everything she once stood for just to prove a point to bruce about the senselessness of it all and to try and put an end to it. congrats to dc for this horrific epilogue.

so there it is--the entire event. it certainly is a thing that happened. and that's the problem--it happened. and it was very, very much intended as a personal fuck you and goodbye to the characters of stephanie brown and leslie thompkins. and that's terrible on so many levels. but unfortunately the fact of the matter is, despite that and regardless of any personal feelings about it, war games became a load-bearing event to batman canon.

because war games had so much influence on fundamentally upheaving and changing the status quo of the characters involved and storylines following this could not happen without war ganes existing. without war games, tim does not become the tim that will eventually become red robin. without war games, dick is not injured and out of commission and does not flee to new york and the mob, leaving bludhaven for tim and cass and on his passively suicidal mission that will eventually lead to infinite crisis and the one year boat ride. without war games, barbara does not leave gotham because she needs to leave it behind, only to return during the reborn era & all the tension that entails. without war games, bruce doesn't end up alone & isolated as needed for the red hood storyline. without war games, stephanie is not killed and thus can't be evolved into batgirl as an apology for the way she was treated. the dynamics caused by war games are essential to the stories that come after it. and then you're left with two very, very uncomfortable truths:

one, war games was a horrific fuck you and. fridging to a female character solely because of the evil sexism present at dc editorial at the time and of course you want to delete anything that had such awful intentions behind it

two, war games happening is essential to the trajectory of every single bat characters' story that comes after it including hers. and so it had to happen. and the thing with war games is that steph, while not completely to blame for it transpiring, was humongous part of it transpiring no matter what. because we end up with what it seems to me, the grand circle of blame. it goes as follows: war games never would have happened if bruce hadn't made his contingency plan to begin with -> yes, but. even if it is one of bruce's toxic traits to do that, he never intended for the contingency to go into effect and it was more of a hypothetical than anything and the only reason it ever saw the light of day was because steph stole it and put it into action -> yes, but. if bruce had been less of an asshole and told steph the basic information of matches malone is batman she wouldn't have made the mistake -> yes, but. to completely blame bruce is to remove any and all agency from steph, because nobody put a gun to her head and forced her to implement the plan, that was entirely her decision. and as much as we would have liked her to have decided she no longer needed batman's approval, the fact of the matter is she did want it and she did make the decision to send those letters -> yes but, if bruce hadn't had a contigency to begin with she wouldn't have had such an awful plan to steal -> yes, but having contigencies for plans that will never come to fruition is honestly a normal thing for them and bruce planning out a hypothetical is just another tuesday, and it was steph who set it into motion -> yes, but... and so on and so forth endlessly until the end of time. like, whether things were out of character or whatnot is a valid discussion (though all comics characters are doomed for stories where they're out of character), but putting that aside: the fact is, for every character's trajectory into the reborn era, war games had to happen. and for war games to have ever seen the light of day and happened, steph had to make the decision to send those letters.

and so we're left with this. steph made those decisions because of horrificly sexist behind the scenes decisions. if steph didn't make those decisions, then no other character trajectory makes sense. and that's how we end up with a steph conundrum that is so much harder to fix than any other character assasination of the time. because cass's was easy to retcon as brainwashing, it makes sense for slade being involved. leslie was easy to retcon as faking steph's death, that removes her intent to kill a child and restores her original characterization of every life is sacrosanct. but war games? war games does not and can not happen unless stephanie decides to send those letters. things with tim and barbara and cass and even through steph becoming batgirl don't happen unless steph sends those letters. and when she sends those letters, hundreds of innocent people die and even though bruce is largely to blame (and is blamed, by the narrative), there is a culpability of steph's active decision in the entire mess that exists.

and if that culpability exists, if she sent those letters and war games happened, and innocent people died and barbara had to blow up her home and tim had to do cpr with darla's blood pouring over his hands and dick got shot in the knee and had to find tim in an active massacre, and cass lost herself to grief, then from an in-universe perspective while it's easy to for them to blame bruce for the majority of it, it also is true that every single one of those people has the right to question whether she is capable of making good judgements because of the extremely bad one she made that had so many in-universe consequences & they were all victims of it. from an out of universe perspective, it is so, so, so hard to put that kind of culpability on her, though, because of the sexism involved in deciding to make her make those decisions.

(as an aside. you also get this same issue that occurs as a part of the last arc of the robin series--wherein in order to justify steph no longer being spoiler and graduate her to batgirl, they need her to make a mistake so bad it would justify the idea that spoiler is a tainted mantle & she can't go back to it--so they decide that she needs to hire assassins to try and kill tim under batman's orders. now this is stupid & nonsensical, and she makes a mistake like that due to writer sexism thinking that that was the way to go. but her making that mistake and hiring those assassins is essential to the overall self isolation of tim & him being unable to trust her amongst everyone else that he needs to be in the headspace to kick of red robin & steph needs to have made a mistake that taints the spoiler mantle & makes people not want her to be it otherwise why would she become batgirl... it's messy. very messy.)

but because of all the horrific sexism out of universe behind the decision to write her to do these things, you're left with. hm. it is hard to want to make her have any culpability because that would just be entrenching the sexist writing she's had & she was the biggest victim, but to just completely throw it out is to make every other character appear completely irrational and unreasonable when it comes to dealing with steph. and that's truly hard for dc--who, once they make her a headlining character in her own right as batgirl, now has to be a lot more careful when dealing with steph. because if any other character does have reasonable concerns about steph continuing to exist as a vigilante after the decisions she made that sparked off war games, or hire assassins for tim, or etc etc etc then you risk people being like "no, maybe these people have a point. maybe these people shouldn't have to work with her if they feel at all uncomfortable by decisions she made that resulted in truly terrible times for them."

so you end up. dc finally has to do something grand, something triumphant for stephanie's character to make up for the completely atrocious way she was treated before. and you get batgirl 2009, which is a triumph for her character, it's the approval she's always deserved but never given, she finally gets to show all her naysayers that she's worth it--that they were all wrong about her and she deserves to be there just as much as them. and she does deserve a big doylist apology--she was treated terribly & cruelly & it wasn't right for dc editorial to do so. but you run into. hm. this problem of in order to make this big doylist apology work, you need everything that came before it to have happened. because it's a big doylist apology you can't actually have it that those things to have happened because if steph has to prove herself to the naysayers, the naysayers have to be completely wrong about her.

and that's hard given we're in reborn era and bruce is "dead". because in that case, steph's naysayers have to be barbara, tim, & dick. and while steph shouldn't have to prostrate herself for forgiveness & they shouldn't blame her for everything ever (they've all had their own issues where they've made mistakes, some with tragic consequences, and therefore can't call the kettle black), the problem with having to make them her naysayers is that you have to make them unreasonable about her & that's hard to do when they were all victims of something that occurred in part due to a decision she made. you have barbara, who should be able to have reasonable concerns about whether steph is fit for the job because she had to blow up her own sace space because steph sent those letters. but you can't acknowledge that because that would be entrenching the sexism behind that decision. so you make it so barbara is the one in the wrong about her. you have dick, who should not be able to look at stephanie without remembering his little brother calling him, wanting to commit suicide over everything that's happened, without remembering the tim at the edge of the pit, without remembering getting the call-code 619-and realizing that tim's at the site of a massacre occurring at his school and could be dead, and he gets to realize he was completely wrong about her with no consideration to what complicated personal feelings he may have about her on account of his own most precious relationships. you have tim, who does have things to apologize to her about, to be sure, but has to be cast as completely in the wrong despite the things she did having to have happened such as hire assassins & everything he had to endure as a result of her sending those letters. and that's not to say that any of this means that she shouldn't be a vigilante of course, you can't have a double standard where male characters are allowed to make mistakes and continue on regardless of mistakes made and not afford that same grace to female characters. but at the same time, it's uncomfortable to cast barbaba, dick, and tim in the role of naysayers to be overcome because that erases their victimization by the events that had to have happened in order to make it to this point. and again, they don't have to blame her to feel like it's her fault to have reasonable discomfort because discomfort =/= blame, necessarily.

and you get into this entire mess solely because of the decisions didio made because he hated her character and was determined to destroy it. and it's gross! we hate didio! but like. way back to my original thought, in a way, he did succeed a little. because of the horrific things that happened to her due to cruel and gross out of universe editorial decisions, you do have to be extra delicate with the character. you've lost the ability to show steph making any sort of mistake that has significant ramifications because to do so is to go back to war games & all the baggage that that entails. you need to play it incredibly safe with her. she can't be shown to be in the wrong because of the horrific way she was treated. at the same time, you need things to have happened, but you need things to not have happened. it's just a lot of baggage for a character, and there's probably a reason why they still play it safe by sticking her with tim (until they broke up) and now cass. it's uncontroversial after everything she's been put through. idk. i think current continuity is the best chance to finally really do something interesting with her again given that the mistakes of the past are so softened and don't need to be forefront to the character anymore because we are in an era ripe for things happened but they didn't happen, but will they? i don't know.

#anywho this is probably super incoherent #but this is also the thing i rotate in my mind when i think about steph #this is why i like to envision steph as an unreliable narrator of bg #because then you have more space for the fact that others were also victims and they're not necessarily unreasonable #but since steph is also extremely traumatized and a victim of horrific things she has to not thing about the ramifications of her decisions #or something idk

[determinate-negation]

Hollywood has made a lot of movies about the Holocaust, but not a single one has shown a romani perspective, even though half of Europe's roma population was exterminated by the nazis. I can't really think of anything coherent to say about this, do you?

because it is not of interest to western audiences and doesnt fit the pre-established popular narrative structures of mass culture relating to ww2. whats going to be a popular movie has nothing to do with the real magnitude or importance of something. the big space that ww2 and nazi movies occupy in mass culture also has little to do with the real history of the holocaust for any of its victims. in fact the holocaust was pretty absent from american consciousness post war, it wasnt seen as part of why the us was fighting ww2, survivors didnt talk about it, and it first started to enter popular american consciousness in a big way because of a nbc tv series in 1978 called holocaust about a fictional jewish family. and although this series was the first time many americans had even seen or heard of many aspects of the holocaust, it was still criticized for sanitizing the true extent of nazi war crimes and how horrific conditions were. all this is to say that very few of these popular culture representations really have to do with showing the full reality of something, there are calculations in terms of everything relating to the mass market for film and tv. theres on one hand a western fascination with the third reich (just go to any book store and see how many books there are about hitler) that i think motivates a lot of these representations and on the other hand the transformation of memory of the shoah into a political tool for us interests and the rise of the israel lobby in the us, thus american films are more likely to feature jewish narratives. jewish protagonists in world war 2 movies will likely be more relatable to an american viewer than roma people, straight up, because most mainstream holocaust films with jewish main characters are about middle class ashkenazi jews who lives are much like middle class americans. even though most of the jewish victims of nazism were poor religious eastern european jews. its the fear that it could happen to you, and thats less apparent if the story is about victims you cant relate to. also, theres a lot of jewish directors in america and not a lot of roma directors 🤷🏻

further reading:

The Culture Industry

#ww2

[luaveltarot]

ᴘᴀᴄ- ᴡʜAT ɪs ᴍᴀɴɪғᴇsᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ?

ᴘɪʟᴇ 𝟷

Before I start, I want to let you know that letter C,B and J seems important. A new mindset awaits for you to manifest it. You have ended something that you wished to end for a long time. You had the choice to stay and accept the bare minimum or move on as you wished. You were burnt out and ran away from reality instead of facing it. You felt heavily trapped and your surroundings reflected your worsened mental health. Which could be that you didn’t care about cleanliness or there was no routine to keep you healthy, everything screamed chaos and out of place. You even ran away from the fact that your body needs rest and your health will go down the drain if you didn’t pause for awhile. Sometimes we have to take tough decisions and it’s a bittersweet feeling but once you relax in your everyday life, you will realise how badly you were in need of this pause. It’s important to move on and experience new situations, one never evolves by staying in one place. Also a change of air or change of scenery will be good if you go for it. You can even try to change/move your interiors and clean the space to feel a shift in energy if you feel stagnant. Stagnation makes you think, movement only decides action. Numbers 4 and 10 seems significant, it could be that you are facing this situation either at home (shifting homes) or your work place (change of job). Anyway, you will be forced into this period of recovery if you did not take it yourself. You might have not wanted it in the ways it came to you but if you keep an open mind then you’ll be able to see why it happened.

ᴘɪʟᴇ 2

New relationships manifests you. You’ve either taken the blame for someone in the past or you let someone dig your ground while looking at them. You treated someone like a family and they did no good to you. Even though you find yourself alone rn, it will only be for a short period of time. I see that you will not sulk or think of yourself as a victim instead you’ll stand up for your actions and see what went wrong and why. You’ll decode the reason behind the pattern of betrayal others did to you. You are taking control of your mind and you will feel like a leader in your life who has planned everything after a lot of trials and came up with a solid attitude to approach life. No one can toy with you or your emotions. Since you’ll do the shadow work, you will attract like minded friends who balance you out in the most genuine way. You could be have the most fun time of your life with them now because whenever you’re with them, it’s party all the time and it doesn’t feel forced or you just do everything to entertain them. It won’t be one sided as it used to be, you will probably not remember anyone from the past because your new friend circle is goals. Numbers 3,4,5& and 6 came in sequence so I feel you are stepping up in life and not falling back or letting past hold you back.

ᴘɪʟᴇ 3

This group is interesting firstly when I pulled the cards, it was a mix of pile 1 and pile 2. But the msg was entirely different. Something new and unique is manifesting you. You could come up with an invention out of the blue. It can be a recipe, a new theory or a sudden realisation which alters your life completely. Mostly probably, you’ve been working on something for a significant amount of time and it’s magic can finally be seen. Obviously when you come with an invention, there are more critics than supporters, however you will feel proud. This creative approach or even a unique way of thinking will make people recognise you. People will notice you for this unique approach because it’s something mind boggling lol. You went through a lot of challenges on the way to this success but no one can see it and that’s why don’t let their judgments affect you. However, this is not a magic once done will do the rest of the thing on its own, this magic, this new idea or whatever it is, requires consistency, don’t get lazy or pessimistic, it’s the time to keep going on. This unique thing could even be to find a flaw in a theory or law which already exists but no one ever noticed a flaw until now. September can be the month, when it happens. A side msg that I kept getting- what you are manifesting, is manifesting you too.

#tarotblr #tarot #tarot reading #divination #pac #pick a pile #tarot witch #pick a card #tarot community #witch

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

i couldn't stand you - m. bunting

summary: (slow burn enemies to frenemies to friends etc / f!reader x mb) three years: arguments, truces, break-ups, moving houses...michael bunting wasn't nearly as irritating as you'd initially expected.

warnings: swearing, consumption of alcohol, reader is a pens fan, scenes with eating involved, reader is a chef, I PROMISE THE WRITING GETS BETTER THE MORE YOU READ (toronto to carolina sequence my fave <3), sid being an obliviously adorable cockblocker, angst/pining, fluff, the ending is so unfinished and doesn't do the 20k justice at all...(i lost inspiration)(but i might edit it in the future/do an alternate ending)

a/n: i got inspiration from this from that tom welling hug in cheaper by the dozen

In all honesty, you hadn’t really been paying much attention to Ellis, which kind of defeated the entire purpose of even stepping into the bar. Taylor had wanted you to meet her new boyfriend, and it had barely taken all of five minutes of being in his presence to deduce that he was not only a nice guy, but clearly liked her a lot, was funny, the whole works, etc, etc. Only, your attention had been (completely against your will) stolen by the…idiot sitting next to you.

You didn’t really know what else to call him. An impatient dick? That was also fitting. A bad driver? There wasn’t a 100% certainty in that statement, but it felt fitting given the incident from earlier that morning.

Nevertheless, when you’d clocked each other, the only empty space being that on the bench right next to him, there was no doubt he recognised you too. He’d rolled his eyes and scoffed into his beer, and you’d sat down rather aggressively and dropped your bag on the floor, downright refusing to look at him.

Hence, the intervening from Ellis, with his polite smile and countenance, a complete contrast to aforementioned impatient dick sitting on your left. Taylor had raised a brow, a silent question on her face but you’d simply shaken your head and accepted the cocktail she’d already ordered with a grateful smile.

“I’m confused.” Ellis muttered, leaning his head on one hand, eyes darting confusedly between you and Michael Bunting, Maple Leafs player apparently, “Do you two know each other?”

You shook your head, sipping your cocktail. Judging from the silence next to you, Micheal had done the same thing, neither of you too eager to explain anything. It wouldn’t have been a big deal. In fact, if the subject hadn't been poked and prodded further, you’d have probably been fine with it, maybe even accepted the fact that you were going to have to spend however many hours with him for the sake of your friends. 

Who knew? Maybe you’d have eventually gotten past this pre-established dislike for one another, but Taylor was never really one for ignoring gossip when it was sitting in front of her – a trait that you rather found entertaining until you were the victim.

“What, so it’s dislike at first sight, or something?” She asked, eyeing the two of you with more intrigue than you were comfortable with.

In fact, her eyes seemed to shimmer like a greedy shark when you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, briefly glancing at the man on your left.

He was rolling his eyes. And you didn’t care to even guess if it was at you or if it was at Taylor, but with the morning you’d had – because of him – you turned back to her with more conviction this time.

“Pretty much, yeah.” You shrugged.

Taylor scoffed in disbelief, sharing a look with Ellis, “Why?”

“Because she’s a shit driver.” 

You gaped, head snapping to Michael with appal. He was frowning in a way that just exuded arrogance. He actually thought he was right – the nerve.

“I am not–”

“Oh, yes you are.”

“The traffic in front of me was at a complete standstill, what was I supposed to do–”

“They were moving–”

“Oh, please. You were just in a rush because someone clearly forgot to set an alarm this morning–”

“I was not in a rush–”

“Then what was the reason for honking at me?”

“You flipped me a birdie!”

“You honked for no reason – who even does that?”

“You flipped me a fucking birdie!”

“After you honked!”

“You were too slow, you weren’t even looking at the road.”

“Yeah, because God forbid I skip a song in a traffic jam.”

He scowled, but said nothing else, sharing a rather irritated glance with Ellis across from him.

You, however, were a little different: sure, your jaw was ticking, your pulse was higher than usual from his stress-inducing attitude, but the first thing you did was share a wide-eyed glance with Taylor, whose jaw had dropped. You rarely fought with people, let alone in public spaces. In fact, the last time you’d bickered like that was when you and Taylor were little and arguing over who got to marry which celebrity from the magazine in make-believe play – but that was exactly all it had been: make-believe.

This was real life, and when you argue like that in real life, people tend to stare. You could feel strangers’ eyes boring into the side of your face and your cheeks flamed against your will. Add that onto the fact that Ellis – who you’d never met before, and were intent on setting a good first impression – had just witnessed you argue with his best friend? You were nothing short of mortified.

“Right.” Ellis sighed, scratching the back of his head, and all three pairs of remaining eyes sitting at the table zipped to him for some form of guidance as to what to do next, “So, now that everyone’s introduced…another round?”

There were muted expressions of agreements, and even just looking at Taylor, you could tell that she was about to slip out and join Ellis at the bar, even after your pleading.

You watched her go sadly, your hands tucked under your thighs, trying desperately to ignore the other presence. You weren’t sure how you’d feel even looking at him – didn’t know if you could. Not only for the embarrassment, but for the sheer…eugh of having to look at him.

Blue eyes, brown hair – not too dark. Apart from that, your mind was drawing a blank.

He cleared his throat. You ignored it.

“What’re your first thoughts on Ellis for Taylor, then?” He mumbled, half-heartedly trying to engage in conversation, and it was because you knew he was only doing it to try and ease some of the tension for Ellis that you turned to face him.

The flare of irritation that presented itself felt like an allergic reaction to simply looking at him, but you swallowed, trying to paste on a nonchalant expression. You could do this. You just had to stare at the blank spot on the wood just a little bit off from his face.

Only, he seemed to take your lack of expression and interest as something else, because he tilted his head towards you fractionally, a rather condescending look on his face. 

“Your instincts?” 

Instincts? You had instincts – not necessarily about Ellis and what it was Michael was asking about, but you had them. And maybe it was the patronising glare, maybe it was the day’s frustration, maybe you were just tired and needed someone to take it out on, but you ignored his context for the question.

“My instincts?” You repeated, and he nodded, eyes squinting slightly, “That you’re full of shit.”

***

Usually you’d have no issue avoiding Michael when both of your presences were dubbed mandatory to these kinds of things: there was space, there were people – no reason to talk or even look in each other’s directions.

Only, this time, Ellis’s birthday party, somehow the invitation had been extended to you and the get-together was small. Intimate. Maybe seven people in total, not including Ellis himself. And because Ellis was Ellis, a party meant drunk games – and if not drunk, certainly alcohol-induced.

And to your bitter astonishment, the only two people left without split-second partners for a rough game of charades was…you and Michael. In theory, it shouldn’t have been much of a shock: it was inevitable for Ellis and Taylor to pair up together, and you were Taylor’s plus one (even though Ellis had told you himself he wanted you there), and it had become increasingly obvious throughout the evening that Michael didn’t know anyone but Ellis and Taylor; everyone else seemed to have gone to school together and jumped into pairs pretty quickly.

Needless to say, when you’d looked around the room and locked eyes with an equally disgruntled Michael, the two of you hadn’t broken eye contact as you’d downed whatever was remaining in your glasses and immediately reached for a refill.

Yet, for all your displeasure in the pairing, there was an odd satisfaction in knowing that you’d both absolutely thrashed the living daylights out of everyone else. It scratched a competitive itch inside of you, and against your will, you felt yourself softening up to him. His grin had become less irritatingly smug when he was directing it at you after a speedy guess, and his failure to hide his equally competitive edge through the half-smirks directed at his lap when other couples failed were more endearing than grating.

(You just blamed the alcohol.)

Although, probably just as shocking as that turn of events, Taylor and Ellis were awful at charades. They’d gotten one word right in the allotted time, and although they’d tried to hide it, no one was completely ignorant to their harsh whisperings to each other and pointed gestures. Or the confused glances they seemed to direct straight towards you and Michael, who, unlike everyone else, were sitting side by side on the carpet, a sizable distance between each other and managing to neither look or speak apart from when it was your turn.

It was remarkable, really, that two strangers could guess each other’s frantic motions easier than people who knew each other in arguably the most intimate ways. It felt like a test of compatibility, and Ellis and Taylor knew they were failing – hence, in your head, said compatibility test was clearly false. Michael was living, breathing proof of that.

“And Team We Don’t Care Just Pick Whatever wins.” Taylor announced, glancing direly at the small scrap of paper that she’d been documenting the scores on, “Ten points clear from the runners-up.”

You raised your brows, sighing despondently at your glass because you weren’t quite sure you could look Taylor in the eye without feeling some form of inexplicable guilt. You, however, wanted to savour this moment of triumph.

And what better way to celebrate than to pour yourself another glass?

The kitchen was quiet, dirty dishes stacked near and in the sink, along with a plethora of glasses and bottles from where people had decided to mix their drinks. It was quieter and cooler, too: a place to rest and breathe for a second. Only, as soon as the first sip touched your mouth, you had to stifle a yawn, your eyes suddenly dry and heavy. 

Half past twelve.

“You leavin’?” 

You turned your head to see Michael standing in the doorway, clearly having just come back from the bathroom and with a rather blank look on his face. At your attention, however, he seemed to force his mouth into a slither of a smile, looking mightily uncomfortable under your gaze.

His eyes quickly dropped, momentarily drifting to your glass, a little hesitantly.

“Might do. You?”

You almost wanted to wince at the awkwardness emanating in the atmosphere. It must be the first time you’d ever willingly engaged in a conversation with each other – let alone by yourselves. The silence in the room seemed to intensify that realisation that there was no Taylor or Ellis to act as a buffer, but Michael looked remarkably calm and unbothered by that knowledge. In fact, at your question he raised his brows as though shocked you’d reciprocated the conversation and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired.”

There was nothing particularly to say to that, so you just nodded, standing by the counter. He looked as if he wanted to say something: his hands were tapping against his jean-clad thighs and he kept glancing at you and then away, something playing on his features.

“You okay?” You found yourself asking, much to his surprise.

“Yeah, I just…” He stepped closer, throwing a careful glance back towards the open door, “Has Taylor talked to you about me?”

You blinked, tilting your head.

She had, many times on many different occasions and with a variety of different tones. Just off the top of your head you could list that time you’d gone over to hers for a movie night and she’d softly suggested that you try to get along with him; that one time she’d caught you pulling a rather put-off facial expression after he’d said something questionable; that one time she must have been a second away from grabbing you by the shoulders; eventually she’d given up, but that was after the basketball incident when you’d thrown the ball a little too harshly at him and winded him in the park. 

The ignoring each other thing worked – so why did you find yourself beginning to tolerate his presence? After all this time, surely, nothing would change so suddenly?

“Yeah.” You admitted, rather guiltily. In your defence, you’d tried to get along with him, but there was something about your personalities that clashed in the wrongest of ways. Both Taylor and Ellis had openly observed the two of you were pretty similar (you were a little offended by that statement) and would probably get along if you both put your pride aside, “Has Ellis…” You trailed off, watching him carefully.

He nodded, “Oh, yeah. He’s made a few bold statements about it, I’ll say that.” He huffed a bitter laugh, “But I was thinking–”

You pulled a face and he looked about ready to stop talking altogether, until he sighed, “Maybe we should just call a truce, or something? A fresh start, if not for us, for them. They seem pretty stable and if they’re for the long-term, then I think it’d be easier if we just agreed to get along, or at least pretend.”

Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, or maybe it was because tonight you’d found him a lot more tolerable than you usually would, but you nodded. And to that, he just blinked.

“Really?” He asked, almost recoiling in reaction.

“Yeah.” You shrugged, “Under one condition though.”

His face dropped – the almost triumphant smile that he’d nearly allowed himself to display had vanished completely in replacement for something harsher, more annoyed. His jaw had clenched and the hand he’d placed on the counter seemed to tap with more aggravation as he rolled his eyes in resignation, “And what would that be?” He asked, sounding rather like he already had an idea as to what it was.

“Just admit I’m not a bad driver.” You reasoned.

“Oh, I thought you were gonna…Nevermind.” He shook his head, holding his hand out for you to shake, “You’re not a bad driver.”

“Thanks.” Then, “Are you Michael or do you have any nicknames instead?”

There was a brief pause, and he looked at you like you were an alien, “Why?”

“I don’t know, Michael – you don’t look like a ‘Michael’, that’s all.”

“And what does a ‘Michael’ look like?”

“Probably twenty-thirty years older, balding–”

“Wow.”

“Is that a no?”

He seemed to think about it for a moment, “Purely because you don’t like it, no, I don’t have any nicknames. I’d rather you called me Michael.”

“Nice one. But when we’re in a public space and I yell your name, there’s gonna be at least three older, balding guys turning to look at me–”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Well, one of us has to be.”

Neither of you seemed to remember you were still holding hands.

***

One thing you never thought you’d be doing in your near future, was packing all of your makeup and three outfit choices and driving to Ellis’s place to have a conversation with Taylor. To be honest, there was a small part of you that was a little bit aggravated that to talk to your best friend you had to drive twenty minutes and risk missing packing something for the date you needed help with, especially seeing as though said date was in forty-five minutes.

Although, you did have time to reason with yourself in the car, the usual stuff: she could have just said no to helping you when you called her in a frustrated panic; the last-minute pep talk was probably going to make up for any residual irritation; on the bright side, though, at least Ellis’s apartment was closer to the date location than your own. 

You knew you’d feel better once you got there – only…

“You have got to be kidding me.” You breathed a solemn laugh, head lolling backwards and cheeks flaming at the sight before you.

Michael Bunting standing in the doorway with a wicked grin on his face, each pore practically oozing mirth at your current situation, eating an apple. And sure, you’d agreed to get along for the sake of your friends, but you had no idea that would mean him being privy to your moments – nor did it mean you were particularly pleased to see him at such a dire time.

“Hello, sweetheart. Heard you were stuck?” He tilted his head, pouting in your direction, and you didn’t miss the way his attention zipped curiously to the backpack over your shoulder and the garment bags slung over your arm.

“Do you really not have anything better to do on a Friday night other than third-wheel your best friend and his girlfriend?” You asked, smiling flatly and walking through the door when he opened it further.

He shook his head, crunching a bite, and you stood in the hallway, patience ticking away by the second as you waited for him to finish eating to speak. There were voices drifting down the corridor, and you turned your head to see shadows and flickers of light in the other room, Taylor clearly on her way – thank fuck.

“I have a game tomorrow, gotta have a tame night.” He muttered, reaching out a hand to touch the soft plastic covering of your garment bag, “And I’ll tell you one thing, I am so glad I get to witness this.”

You pulled a face, “Ha ha.”

“I can already tell you’re gonna make my fucking night, so I’m gonna just thank you in advance–”

“Hey, stop psyching her out.” Taylor appeared, a crease between her brows that clearly hadn’t materialised at his words alone, and for a split-second, you and Michael shared a worried glance, any previous teasing evaporating along with it.

He nodded easily, holding his hands up in surrender and disappearing into the living room, his footsteps slow and leisurely as though he was hoping to overhear a snippet more, but before you could even spit out a greeting of your own, Taylor had dragged you into Ellis’s bedroom and locked the door – the man himself nowhere to be seen.

“Is everything okay?”

Taylor spun on her heel, flashing you an urgent glance, apparently brushing off your question of concern, “I should be asking you that.”

“Oh, I’m fine–”

She shot you a look of disbelief.

“Just nervous, I guess. And I can’t decide what to wear, so I brought some stuff.”

In the other room, Michael was sitting on the sofa, apple half-eaten and trying to ignore the rather violent knee shaking Ellis was doing by tuning into the faint sound of voices from the bedroom that could still be heard over the TV. He knew he should probably be focused on his best friend – who was anything but subtle in trying to convey the fact that he was clearly irked by something – but he also knew that Ellis would talk when Ellis wanted to talk.

He was also kind of curious as to what had gotten you in such a pickle: he knew you were about to go on a date (first, he assumed), but why the sudden panic? You’d turned up armed with a Hannah Montana-type level of hair, costumes and makeup stuff and he’d just eyed it all a little bit confused. 

He was very aware of the fact that you were pretty – he’d seen you with the barest amount of makeup on (he assumed, he actually had no idea if you did) and in a pair of sweats, and his opinion hadn’t changed, so why all the makeup? Surely, if someone was to like you in that sense you shouldn’t have to dress up and put loads of makeup on?

He wasn’t too sure, really. His extent of first dates was restricted to his high school experience and he’d only been on a few since. 

“Why the panic?” He found himself asking aloud, turning to Ellis like he’d hold the answers in the universe. 

Ellis, however, turned to face him, a scowl already on his face, and it didn’t take a genius to gather that he wasn’t going to get much out of him with the mood he was in.

“What?”

“The girls.”

Ellis shrugged, turning his attention back to the TV, “Why would I know?”

Michael pressed his lips together tightly, trying to ignore the answers popping up in his head. Why wouldn’t Ellis know? He’d been talking to Taylor when you texted so if anything it’d be weird for Ellis to not know what was going on.

In fact, the longer he spent in Ellis’s presence, the more uncomfortable Michael felt. He shifted in his seat, the tense and awkward atmosphere feeling oddly claustrophobic and he felt the sudden desire to get out of the room, even if it was to fake a visit to the kitchen or something. 

He pushed himself off the sofa, the apple core in his hand sticky and by the time he’d stood in there and looked out of the window, washed his hands and decided he was going to leave anyway, there was a voice in the hallway.

“-look stunning, I promise.”

There seemed to be a muttered reply, but before he could make his way towards the door and announce his departure, there was a call of his name.

“Bunting–”

“No, don’t.”

He looked right down the hallway, Taylor leaning against the wall. Taylor wasn’t tall by any means, so he could easily see you behind her. You were clearly uncomfortable with something, unable to look at him or any living thing, your eyes instead fixated on the plants on the table next to the door. 

He had to remind himself to breathe when you rolled your eyes at Taylor and walked around her, your head down and pointedly trying not to make eye contact with him as you walked to the door to put on your shoes.

You were wearing a long black dress, not too long that you could ever trip over the hem, but long enough to accentuate the sheer length of your legs, and now he was close enough he could make out the little clusters of purple flowers embroidered onto the material. 

He couldn’t really get his mind to focus on anything other than ‘wow, that dress fits nicely’; it accentuates your curves perfectly and…he needed to breathe. He cleared his throat awkwardly, wondering when it had suddenly become so dry and ripped his eyes away to blink at Taylor.

He couldn’t read her face, but he didn’t like the look on it.

“Yeah?” He asked, unable to help glancing back at you. 

You looked…wow. 

“Does she look nice?” 

“Taylor–”

“You look really nice.” He blurted, his hands stuck in his pockets. When both of you turned to stare at him, apparently speechless, he felt his cheeks redden and his eyes drifted to the doorframe, a little mortified because you clearly hadn’t wanted him to say anything, but also because he’d said it embarrassingly fast and added a ‘really’ in there. And said it like he had a gun pointed to his head, which was one hell of a contradiction.

“Thanks.” You said, not having moved much. 

He just nodded, wanting nothing more than to melt into a puddle on the floor and soak through the floorboards and pretend this moment never occurred.

He wasn’t supposed to like you, he pretty much swore that from the start. But he had a niggling feeling you were wearing him down somehow. He didn’t know what it was, but lately he’d been finding himself sneaking a smile at some of the stuff you said and did. Like you were actually getting along.

And maybe it was because he wanted to test that unspoken theory out – to see if maybe you could be friends – but as he left he waited in the doorway for Taylor to finish talking. He had a sneaking suspicion, though, that Taylor was only talking for herself. The look on your face: he knew you were grateful for what she was saying, but there was something akin to impatience on your face if he looked hard enough.

And it was that, and the fact that the fake smile you’d plastered on your face was slowly slipping with every second that passed and every glance at the time on your phone, that he found himself stepping a little closer, whipping his keys around on his finger, “Hey, are you okay for a lift?”

Taylor shut up and looked to you for confirmation.

There was a pause and he almost regretted asking it–

“Are you offering?” Your voice was different to how it usually sounded when you were speaking to him; softer, perhaps a little more vulnerable.

And when he looked at you, he wasn’t quite sure what it was but it felt different. His stomach sort of dropped and he…lost his train of thought.

Still, he managed, ���Yeah. I can drop y’off on my way home, it’s no problem.”

“You’re leaving already?” Taylor asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired.” He didn’t really want to say that he didn’t feel like he was welcome at this particular moment in time, not with Ellis clearly in a mood, but he did feel a stab of guilt when he thought about leaving Taylor to deal with it by herself, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” She brushed it off, taking a step back and glancing between you and him with an odd glint in her eye, “I’ll let you go. Have fun.”

There were a few hushed mutters as he stepped out of the apartment, waiting by the elevator for you to join him, and almost as soon as you shut the door behind you, you sighed.

He still didn’t say anything, and instead turned to watch the numbers tick up to the floor, before an audible ding sounded and the doors shuddered open. He let you go first. And if he thought the tension back with Ellis was bad, this was a whole other level, because he swore he could hear the cogs of your mind working on overdrive – about the date or about his uncharacteristic behaviour, he couldn’t possibly guess, but it was driving him crazy.

“You good?”

“Hmm?” You looked at him, shocked at his words, and he’d never seen you this frazzled before, “Oh, yeah. Just nervous, I guess.”

He swallowed, uncertain. He wanted to say something to make you feel better – heck, he had it lined up in his head to just blurt out, but the only thing stopping him was that it might make it weirder, and you’d already been bombarded by that kind of thing from Taylor. And then he thought of you on your date and–

“If you tell yourself that the nerves are actually just excitement, I find it usually eases some of the, y’know, nerves.” He stuttered, glad the doors opened once more.

“Thanks. Also, thanks for offering to drive me here, you really didn’t have to.” You murmured, and he found himself shaking his head.

“You don’t have to thank me, it really wasn’t any trouble.”

“Do you get nervous before your games?”

The question startled him to such an extent that he almost tripped over the rug in the entryway, but his sneakers squeaked against the floor and he felt his body jolt a little. 

Was he actually losing it or was this considered a civil conversation? You weren’t at his throat with some quick witted jab, and you weren’t looking at him like you wanted to wring his neck.

It was weirdly refreshing.

“Sometimes.” He admitted, holding the door open to the car park, “It’s usually hit and miss though, it depends on who we’re playing. The car’s this way.” He pointed to the other side of the garage at your hesitation.

And it wasn’t until you’d buckled yourself in and he’d turned the engine on that either of you spoke again.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

He breathed a bitter laugh, “I’m usually nice to people, y’know, I’m not a–”

“Dick?”

“Yeah.” He shot you a look, “You test my patience, though. You bring out the worst of me.”

You seemed to ease up a little at his confession, managing a small smile, “Likewise.”

“I just…” he trailed off, pulling a face before momentarily losing his train of thought as he pulled out into traffic, “There’s a time and a place for that kind of thing. And I could tell Taylor was starting to grind your gears, so…”

You hummed, “Yeah. She’s great but sometimes she, like, I don’t think she knows me as well as she thinks she does. Sometimes I just need quiet.”

So, he thought, that’s what he’ll give you.

***

Unknown Number: SOS

Unknown Number: HELP

Unknown Number: PLEASE HURRY

You: Who is this?

Unknown Number: Michael Bunting

You could hear the yelling and the dumping of objects into a hollow box even through the door, and it was both the noise and the frantic messages that were still pinging through your phone that had you instantly pushing it open. If you hadn’t had some semblance of a warning from the messages, you’d have probably assumed the entire place had been ransacked by burglars: drawers had been turned upside down with the contents littered across floors in an attempt to find their individual belongings; there were cardboard boxes piled and stacked, stuff sticking up – and, more importantly you guessed, both co-habitants standing in the middle of the living room, yelling about something or other with a stricken Michael Bunting awkwardly holding a TV remote and waiting by the door like a kid.

It was clear from his face that he had no idea what to do. And despite the situation, you were able to find some amusement in that.

Although…

“What’s Taylor doing here?” You asked, the both of you still loitering in the doorway, watching your friends rip each other up like it was usual Saturday soap.

He shrugged, and you felt the heat of his stare burn the side of your cheek until you couldn’t take the silence. His cheeks were pink and he looked to be stuttering.

“What?” 

He winced, “I kind of walked in this morning and she was in the kitchen.” 

You blinked, your attention switching back to the arguing couple. Ellis had a cushion in his hand and they were both insisting it was theirs, only when you looked closer, you noticed Taylor’s bare feet and the Blue Jays t-shirt she was wearing, and you turned, shocked and disturbed, to Michael.

“When you said this morning…”

“Yeah?” He was refusing to look at you properly now, and that little seed of disbelief that had planted itself in your brain seemed to bloom, and a pebble of stress dropped in your stomach. His cheeks were still a bit pink, but it was hidden by a thicker wad of stubble than when you’d last seen each other.

“What time was that?” You continued, watching the delicate lines near his eyes appear when he pulled another face, almost confirming your thoughts with just a look.

“Nine.”

You nodded, “Right. And was she, y’know, dressed?”

His eyes closed briefly, a whisper of mortification barely heard over the yelling – but with the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder sharing a doorway it wasn’t missed, “Barely.”

You huffed a small laugh at his expense because he clearly hadn’t been prepared for his best friend’s now ex-girlfriend to be in the kitchen wearing next to nothing that early in the morning, and at the sound he sent you an offended glance.

“Sorry.” You apologised, turning to watch the spectacle with a barely-there smile that became increasingly difficult to hide the longer you felt him stare accusingly in your direction – if anything his undying attention only amplified the hilarity of his earlier memory and you had to lean your forehead against the wood of the doorframe and turn your back to him to block the image from your mind entirely.

“Listen, she’s pretty and everything, but…it’s weird for me.” He mumbled, folding his arms.

“Was it your first time seeing a half-naked woman?” 

He rolled his eyes, “You’re hilarious – shut up, don’t even say it. You know why it’s weird. It’d be weird if you walked in and it was Ellis with, like, a bowl of cereal covering his crotch.”

You wrinkled your nose, frowning, “I didn’t need that image, but point taken.”

You turned your attention to the bickering couple in front of you, now waving a fly swatter. In truth, you weren’t really sure why you were here or why Michael was here. Taylor had asked you to come with her when she’d made her so-called ‘appointment’ to pick up her stuff from Ellis’s place, but looking at them now she didn’t really need the help, or moral support. And neither did Ellis.

In fact, they were standing in front of each other arguing, and it was probably the least stressed you’d seen Taylor in weeks. Sure, their voices were raised, but there wasn’t anything malicious being said or anything physical going on. They were simply picking up objects and having a loud debate over whose it was, and it was that arguing combined with the obvious ‘last time together’ thing that made you think maybe this was more for closure for each other than anything else.

Even from Taylor’s point of view, she wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but she’d said it felt like everything between them had just gradually fizzled out for no apparent reason. It was odd, really: they’d seemed like such a good fit at the start and now, even like last week, they’d be in the same room and have more interest in talking to either you or Michael than showing interest in each other.

And it was that that had you turning to the man next to you, something plucking at your heart strings. It felt an awful lot like the dread you’d felt earlier, except it was laced with something heavier. Like knowing you’d never see your childhood pet again.

“Are they still broken up?” You found yourself asking, wanting him to turn his attention away from the scenes in front of you both.

He blinked once more before turning his head to look at you, about to say something on the tip of his tongue but clearly changing his mind at what he saw on your face. He tilted his head, eyes zipping from each of yours – back and forth – before his mouth curved up slightly at the edges, his expression taking an odd turn.

“What?” You asked, paranoid at the way he was looking at you.

His grin broadened, and he tilted his head adorably, “Nothing. But, yeah, they’re still broken up.”

You nodded, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. There was something rising in your chest, a tightness edged with panic, like you were aware time was clearly running out for something but your head wasn’t quite sure what.

“We’re still gonna be friends, right?” 

For a brief moment, you didn’t know what to do. Your pulse seemed to kick against your sternum and that tightness in your chest eased, an inexplicable reaction that you couldn’t quite get ahold of its meaning.

“Us?” You looked at him, and where he previously had a smile on his face, it was now replaced with a kind of cautious curiosity: his mouth was pulled tightly and there was a slight, very slight crease between his brows that deepened when you spoke again.

His eyes briefly skitted to your right before returning to meet yours, “Yeah?” He said, but with the way his voice ticked up at the end it almost sounded like he wasn’t too sure himself.

And you were so shocked at the words falling out of his mouth that you could only blink and stare, “I’m your friend?”

You supposed it wasn’t too shocking: after the initial agreement it had taken a while to warm up to each other, but you’d eventually gotten to the point where you’d managed to unintentionally create some inside jokes, and, sure, you’d still bicker like children from time to time, but the teasing was less malicious and more fond, like you’d known each other for a while.

And it was in that moment that you realised that tightness in your chest was because you just assumed that, like Taylor would lose Ellis, you would lose Michael. 

His eyes narrowed uncomfortably, and you could tell he'd gone a little defensive at your questions, probably assuming his own assumptions weren’t exactly reciprocated, “Yes.” He said, a little forcefully, “Aren’t I your friend?”

You nodded, awkwardly scratching your cheek, “I just assumed you only spent time with me because of Ellis and Taylor–”

“Nah.”

You nodded slowly, a small smile creeping onto your face, “Oh.”

He paused for a beat, watching you carefully, “Is that a no, then?”

“No, it’s a yes.”

“Good.” He grinned.

***

He was next to you one second and the next he’d just disappeared completely. It was the strangest thing. 

It wasn’t like he was particularly easy to lose in a  crowd, either, not with those shoulders and – well, actually, he was quite small so in hindsight, it was pretty easy to lose him in a crowd, especially when he was just another suit-clad man with a fairly recent haircut and shave.

You sighed in defeat, sitting back in your chair at the table surrounded by strangers that weren’t all that interested in your presence. You’d checked your phone at least five times within the past three minutes, expecting a quick text for an explanation and you hadn’t really been able to stop looking at the bar, helplessly expecting his face to materialise in thin air.

It was pretty shitty what he’d done: he’d all but begged you to come with him to one of his friend’s weddings and after you’d had to rearrange plans just so you could agree (he’d been so desperate he’d actually offered you a thousand dollars to go with him), yet the second you both enter the reception location, he dips? 

“Excuse me, hi–”

You snapped your neck towards the unfamiliar voice, heart pounding like a jackhammer in your chest at the unexpected intrusion, and managed a polite, albeit confused, smile as you found yourself faced with a pretty raven-haired woman. You’d never seen her before, but with the way she was looking at you, you were almost forced to second guess yourself.

“Oh, hi.” You replied, brain spinning and throwing out names, but your face clearly contorting into one of utter bewilderment, much to her amusement.

She chuckled, “Sorry, you don’t know me.” She said, slightly oddly, and you tilted your head, connecting the dots from what she hadn’t said.

“But you know me?” You asked, and she shrugged, her cheeks colouring slightly.

“Not exactly, but I saw you come in with Michael–”

“Oh.”

She cringed, “Yeah. I am really sorry for approaching you like this, but I was just wondering if he was okay?”

You just blinked.

“You know,” she continued, clearly sensing your confusion, “because of our breakup?”

Oh fuck.

You tried to hide the shock from your face – as though this wasn’t new news to you – but try as you might, you felt your brows rise a little and your heart rate quicken. He’d never mentioned anything like that to you. In fact, you guys rarely ever talked about relationships, even despite you currently being in one (though it probably wasn’t going to last with the way it had been going recently), so you just assumed he hadn’t been in one.

Nevertheless, you nodded, “He’s fine.”

She eased after that, smiling in relief, but still hung around as though you were supposed to say something else, but in all honesty you weren’t sure what to say. You didn’t know if he was okay, not if he’d seen her and bolted; you didn’t know when it was that they’d broken up, and you didn’t know how much he’d want you to say.

So you sat in the chair, smiling awkwardly – probably appearing pretty rude – and just sighed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t say–”

“It’s fine, I understand.” She replied, smiling tightly, “Enjoy the night.” 

You watched her walk away, and as soon as she disappeared through another set of doors, you picked up your phone and started to wind your way through the crowds to at least guess where he could have gone. There were little booths and food carts off around the edge of the room, along with some photo booths and drinks stands – it wasn’t until you reached the photo booth right near the entrance that you stopped for the first time.

There wasn’t a queue to this one, but there was a strip of photos in the hatch and a pair of freshly shined shoes under the curtain. You paused, taking a peak at the photos.

It was him, alright. Four photos: one of him in a ginger wig, one with a pair of huge glasses on, one with a moustache on a stick and the final one with all of them combined. If it had been any other time you supposed you’d have laughed, but all the photos did was fuel your desire to get the curtain open.

All he did was raise his brows at your appearance and shuffle over on the bench, tucking himself in against the wall with a defeated, unsurprised smile. You passed him the photo strip and he breathed a short, mirthless laugh before tucking it in his pocket and turning to you, an almost embarrassed look on his face.

“Sorry for ditching you.” He mumbled, looking genuinely guilty.

You shook your head, a pang of adoration shooting through your system for the man in front of you. You didn’t quite know where it suddenly came from or why it occurred, but you did know that it meant he was precious to you in a way you hadn’t even realised. You guys weren’t exactly close – there were obviously things you didn’t talk about (as evidenced), but you cared about him. Wanted him to be happy. 

Wanted to wipe that forlorn expression off his face because he was clearly beating himself up about leaving you but still a little caught off guard by…

“You don’t have to apologise.” You smiled reassuringly, before asking, “What’s her name?”

His brows raised, and he tutted as he pulled an uncomfortable face. Whether it was because he hadn’t expected the question or because he was stealing himself, you weren’t at liberty to say, “Jess.” He managed, eyes zeroing in on some lint on the floor by his feet.

You just nodded. If he wanted to talk about it, you knew he would – he wasn’t exactly an open book when you prodded him, but you were all ears regardless. 

“We were in a serious relationship for three and a half years before we broke up. That was a week before I met you. I wasn’t really coping well so Ellis dragged me out to that bar. I’m okay now, though. I still get a bit sad about it but I think I’m more sad for the me I was when we were dating than the me now, if that makes sense.” He spoke to his shoes, his arms crossed against his chest, as though to spit the words out and force himself to talk about it, that also meant he couldn’t face you, “I had a feeling she was gonna be here tonight, it was actually why I invited you, but the second I saw her, I don’t know, I just walked away. And the weird thing is that I don’t know why I walked away, because when I saw her I felt nothing. Maybe I walked away because I feel like I should have felt something, like walking away from her was something that was expected of me.” He sighed, swinging his head towards you, his eyes momentarily dropping to the necklace that sat comfortably against your sternum before darting back up to your face, “I’m just a bit confused.” He admitted.

You reciprocated his wry, self-deprecating smile, patting him on the arm fondly, “Me too; I actually thought you wanted to spend time with me–”

“Shut the fuck up.” He breathed a laugh, shaking his head. 

That despondent expression had gone, the tension practically drained from the lines of his face, and you rejoiced at the smile now there – a real one, not one put on for the sake of it.

You took a breath, and whether he could sense that you were about to say something potentially cheesy, or something that neither of you would really say or do, his smile dropped, but only slightly. His eyes were focused on you, and you almost wanted to shrink back under his gaze – you two were sitting pretty tightly together: this photo booth bench was only made for one person, so there was little to no room to even look at each other properly. You’d both had to lean backwards against the walls to not end up touching noses, and for some reason, that hadn’t even occurred to you until that very second.

The breath in your chest shook a little, “I know…Um…” You laughed uneasily, “I know you said you were okay, and I know we don’t usually do this kind of thing, but if you ever feel like it…just for the support – that my hand is here for you to hold if ever you want to.” You inhaled, and this time it was you who was unable to look at him, “And that it’s okay to feel confused about it all. You don’t have to have an explanation for everything, but there’s nothing you can feel that’s wrong in any way. And if you ever want to talk about it…I’m always gonna be here for you.”

When you finally found the courage to turn to him again, he was looking at you in a way that was almost equivalent to the secret adoration you harboured for him, and you fought to keep your cheeks from flushing and your face from smiling like a damn fool. With the way the LED overhead lights were shining on you both – the heat of them warming the box pretty quickly, made worse by the two bodies also in there – your eyes drifted to his nose. You’d never really noticed it before, but the light seemed to hit it just right to enunciate the straight bridge of it. There was a scar just above his lip, darker and also more pronounced from the fresh shave (he’d not got rid of it all, there was still a light bit of scruff left), and although he wasn’t smiling properly, the creases by his eyes seemed to suggest otherwise.

He swallowed once he noticed you’d turned your attention back to him, and he nodded, lips twitching, “That really means a lot, hearing you say that.” He said, rather hoarsely, “It also goes both ways, too.” 

You tilted your head in question.

“The hand thing – you can hold mine…for support.” 

“Ah.”

“I actually do have something to say, now that I’m thinking about it.” 

When did his eyes get so fucking bright? It almost angered you that you’d never noticed it before.

“What?” You asked, mildly curious as to his next words.

Though, nothing – absolutely nothing – could have prepared you for the bombshell of his next words.

“You look really beautiful tonight.”

***

“I know I said to avoid Tim Horton’s today, but I didn’t really mean to avoid–Oh, what the heck?”

His phone was immediately pocketed, and the smile on his face immediately dropped, and he stepped through the door without another word, leaving you both severely confused at his sudden actions and slightly light headed at the speed he’d managed to do all three things in. He simply stood in front of your now shut door, a mildly horrified look on his face and his hands tapping against his short-clad thigh.

“Why are you wearing shorts, it’s freezing outside?”

Your question of appal seemingly went unheard, because the crease between his brows only deepened and he pulled a funny face: his mouth turned down at the corners but he wasn’t angry or upset.

“Um…Okay, so you can tell me to shut the fuck up with what I’m about to ask you…” He trailed off, his eyes never leaving your face – all it did was elicit you to swipe against your cheek, expecting your hand to come away with pen or some dirt or something, because he was looking at you like you were an alien.

It was weird. And creepy.

“But have you been crying?”

You blinked, tilting your head with wide eyes.

He didn’t say anything but he copied your actions, before snapping into a more serious role, “No, but I’m being deadly serious.”

You hesitated, and he took that as your answer, his entire body deflating.

There was no point trying to hide it, clearly not if he’d just taken one solid look at you immediately after walking through the door and managed to figure it out. If anything you were a little impressed he’d recognised it because you’d never cried before or in front of seeing him ever – there hadn’t ever been a situation where he’d have seen your post-cry face to recognise it for what it was, and it wasn’t even as if you actually cried much. Maybe two minutes, tops.

“I broke up with Sam this morning.” You bit the bullet, willing your eyes to not tear up as you spoke the words into existence, but as you did so, the lump rose in your throat so impossibly quickly you physically couldn’t bring yourself to say anything else. Not if you didn’t want to actually start crying.

So you waited, and you watched and you looked as he stuttered, his eyes darting all over your face before going to your living room area. He circled his attention back to you after his forehead had creased and he’d seen what was on the TV, looking suddenly more comfortable than he had mere seconds ago.

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing out of his mouth, his backpack sliding off his shoulders easily to be deposited by the door, and all you could manage was a weak shrug, teeth scraping against your bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

You hated crying, and there was nothing worse than crying in front of someone else – you had no idea how he’d react if the dam did end up breaking, but if the soft, sympathetic gleam in his eye as he took an unsure step towards you was anything to go by, you had an inkling you were in safe hands.

He nodded at your uncertain gesture, “That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

The crack in your chest seemed to split further, as though someone had thrown an axe straight through it, and all you could do was nod, your arms crossed tightly against your chest as though they’d somehow protect you from the inevitable hurt and grief of the next few minutes, hours, weeks and perhaps months.

But, despite all of that, the fact that he’d shown up out of nowhere sheerly because you hadn’t had the energy to pick up your phone, and because he clearly cared, you felt okay. Better than you had earlier when you hadn’t even spoken the truth to anyone.

He was right, you didn’t want to talk about it – but he was here. And he was pulling a Tim Horton’s box out of his backpack, giving you space and time and he was so heart-achingly patient that it almost sent you into another spiral of tears for a whole different reason. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His friendship was different from yours with Taylor; you loved the girl to pieces but if you’d have told her like you’d just told him, she’d have corralled you into spilling your guts about everything, and you didn’t need that.

You needed peace and quiet and the familiar security and the unspoken knowledge that, yes, you were upset, but you were going to be okay.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, stomach growling when the smells emanated from the open paper bag.

He nodded wordlessly, but looked up with mild horror at the sounds your stomach made, “Hungry?” He joked lightly, already rooting through your cupboards to gather plates.

“Just a bit.” You replied hoarsely, helping him upturn the various boxes onto the plates, before, wordlessly, you both crashed on the couch, your eyes burning each and every single time you blinked. Your throat was aching with the effort to not succumb to the growing lump that had planted itself there, and you were so exhausted. So, so exhausted. 

“Thanks for the food.” You said, between mouthfuls, the hungry cramps of your stomach easing with each and every bite. You didn’t let him answer before you jumped into your next question: “How was work?”

You watched him out of the corner of his eye, swallow, also looking at you for a brief moment – as though to suss you out and to gather his thoughts – before he shrugged, a small smile on his face, “It was so bad.”

“Really?” You managed a laugh, the muscles in your face feeling tight at the sudden movements. His face was a picture: he was grinning brightly, the corners of his eyes crinkled and his brows had jumped up his forehead, mind clearly playing something on repeat.

“Really. Willy did the bare minimum and just giggled at me the entire time which made me worse at it, and I – fuck, I couldn’t concentrate on the people in front of me when there were people ordering down the line, and then Mo and Auston showed up too–”

“You’re kidding.”

He shook his head morbidly, “Dead serious. Wearing wigs and the most ridiculous clothes I’ve ever seen, and they ripped us apart, man. I can’t even do it justice, you’ll just have to watch it when it comes out, oh God…” He trailed off, breaking into a small fit of giggles that was so infectious you had to put your own food back down and concentrate on now choking on your drink.

“It was bad, but you had fun?” You summarised, grinning as he nodded, practically glowing at the memory of it.

“I think it’s one of the best days I’ve ever had.”

You just laughed, tucking into your food once more as it became clear he didn’t have anything else to say about it–

“Why’re you watching this?”

Your eyes jumped to him across the couch, briefly frowning in confusion before remembering exactly what you’d been watching before the knock on your door. The frame had been paused mid-first period of the game – there wasn’t anything particularly spectacular about it, and you wondered if he recognised it at all.

He tilted his head, a hint of confusion lacing his tone, and you swallowed, nerves picking up and your heart thrumming in your chest. You never really talked about hockey with him, at least not from your perspective. You guys talked about the Leafs and his games and his practices and his teammates, but you’d never really broached your affinity for the sport. And the longer you’d left it, the more awkward you’d felt it would be to just admit it outright.

“It’s my favourite game.” You admitted quietly, fighting the urge to smile fondly.

He hesitated, his head swinging from you to the screen and back again, and he asked, a little breathlessly – as though he was trying to wrap his head around everything bouncing around his mind – “You watch hockey enough to have a favourite game?”

You nodded, “I love hockey.”

“You do?” He asked, voice higher in pitch than it had been. The surprise was painfully evident, and with it, so was the guilt that seemed to make itself known.

“Yeah.”

He nodded slowly, “I thought you didn’t know who I was?” 

“I didn’t. I’d just moved to Toronto, like, a week before you started I think, and the Leafs aren’t exactly my team, y’know?” You explained, watching him carefully for any traces of possible betrayal he might feel, “It was a hectic time to be keeping up with any NHL news.”

He blinked, before shrugging, “Makes sense. Your team’s the Preds?” He raised an inquisitive brow, and for some reason you knew then that you’d both be locked in this amusing back and forth for a while. Of course you would: there’s no greater hockey fan than a hockey player, let alone a hockey player playing for their childhood team. 

You scoffed, barking a short, almost offended laugh, “No. I mean, I have nothing against the Preds, but it’s the Pens for me, all the way.” 

He arched a brow at your reaction, a smirk beginning to play at the corner of his mouth, “I mean you no offence when I say that.” Before, “I want you to win, though–”

“Just me?”

“Micheal Bunting against the NHL, yeah.” You rolled your eyes, “The Leafs are…I want you to win unless it’s against the Pens. It’s a conflict of interest.”

“What do you do when we play with each other?”

You widen your eyes comically, “Lock myself in a dark room and don’t come out until the game’s over.” You shrug, answering honestly, “It depends whose situation is the most dire, I guess. I always want the Pens to do well, but you’ve thrown a spanner in the works. You’ve made hockey complicated.”

“I’m honoured.” He laughed softly, “Why’s this one your favourite?”

“Sixth game of the Stanley Cup Final, 2017. I don’t know why that one specifically, it’s just the last one we won when I was back home, so it reminds me of…well, home, I guess.”

“You miss it?”

You nodded, almost wistfully, “Yeah. I sometimes think about moving back.”

“But?” He encouraged, almost afraid of what you were about to say.

“I don’t know. I have friends here, a job, somewhere to live; I guess I have that back home too, or I would given the time. I think I’m just waiting for the right moment to go back.” You trailed off, your voice becoming nothing more than a mere whisper, but he caught it – with a slow nod and the parting of his mouth.

You’d seen him speechless before, but he always managed to find something to say. The silence that ensued after spoke volumes, mostly just because you didn’t understand any of it. 

He reached over after that, taking the remote, before hesitating and turning to you, shocked when he found your eyes already on him, “What counts as the right moment?”

He pressed play when you shrugged.

***

Even after the conversation you’d both had last year about you leaving, you never would have imagined he’d be the one leaving first. It had always been a possibility, maybe even something you’d thought about since becoming friends, but there hadn’t really been anything to suggest he would leave. At least, not until the last season.

And it hadn’t ever felt realer than this moment: standing in the doorway to an empty house, your clothes sticking to you in the early Summer heat with your hands on your hips and feeling much more emotional about the prospect of a Bunting-less Toronto than you’d initially prepared yourself for.

He was wandering through the empty rooms, double and triple checking everything after you’d done the same, and for those lonely three minutes without him, you got a glimpse of what it’d be like not seeing each other every few days. You couldn’t exactly remember when Toronto had suddenly become him, but the idea of it felt strangely intimidating. It almost felt like you’d just moved in again, not knowing anyone or where anything was.

It was scary.

He came back into view, hand resting on a door frame as he stopped suddenly in the exact spot he’d looked up to you in. You offered a reassuring smile, standing up straight, but you could both tell it was strained.

“Checked everything?” You asked, voice tight, but you didn’t want to ruin this moment for him. He’d been looking forward to settling in Raleigh since he’d signed the contract – at least, once he’d gotten over the initial disappointment and sadness of leaving Ontario.

And you were excited for him, for this new opportunity and this new experience. 

You’d just never really anticipated how you’d feel.

“Yeah.” He nodded, swallowing, looking grave and strange.

“You good?” 

“Yeah.” He breathed a laugh, walking towards you and scratching his beard – he’d started leaving it longer between each shave now – “Just gonna miss this place, I guess.” He swung his hands in front of him, coming to a direct stop in front of you and swivelling on his heel, taking one last, long look at the place he’d called home for years.

You hummed in agreement, “Me too.”

You hadn’t even realised how true that admission was until you’d said it out loud. It sent an uncomfortable zing down your spine, like pulling down a zipper, and you shivered, rubbing your arms just to give yourself something to do. 

He turned to look at you, eyes assessing your every motion, and you froze. You didn’t really know where to go from here. The car was packed, the house was empty: you’d drop by the estate agent’s on the way to drop him at the airport, and from then on he’d be in Raleigh – at least, in every way that mattered to you. Sure, he had his training camps and he had his away games, but you’d very rarely get to see each other.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to say anything.

But where did you go from here? You? 

Well…you’d been toying with the idea for a while, but–

“You ready?” He breathed out, lips pressed together with his hands on his hips.

You nodded, managing a smile, but the lack of effort into pretending like you weren’t in the least bit affected by it was noticeable. 

“Let’s go then.” You whispered, leading the way to the front door, slowing down each time he turned to get another look – never too far ahead, not wanting to let him out of your sight. These moments felt crucial, somehow. It was the last time you’d actually be able to look at him properly; his eyes, hair, smile, arms, legs, clothes. You felt silly soaking it all up.

He followed closely on your heels, taking the keys from you on the porch and turning round to lock the door behind him for the last time. He didn’t say anything, but his mouth twisted and he ran a brief hand across his brow bone, almost as though he was wiping away some sweat or satisfying an itch.

You tried not to make it obvious you were keeping an eye on him, ensuring to stand behind him, a few steps down to give him the space to collect himself if he needed to. And when he turned back around, he tried to keep his head down but you still caught his red-rimmed eyes and his sucked in cheek and his shaky smile as he caught up with you.

It was silent in the car, too, no music playing through the speakers. He was looking out of the window, eyes catching onto everything that swam passed, drinking it all in. 

Each time ‘for the last time’ flew through your mind, you’d have to catch yourself and reign in the prickly eyes and the tightness in your chest as best as you could without drawing too much attention to yourself. It felt pointless, though, because you knew it was inevitable that you’d both end up shedding a few tears at some point.

The only thing that seemed to do it was the knowledge that it wouldn’t even be the last time, because he grew up near here. He’d come back when he could; you’d see each other at the Marner wedding next month, too.

It wasn’t the end of the world, but it felt like a part of it was dying.

“Here.” You mumbled, voice hoarse and wiping at the underneath of your eyes (no tears had fallen, but you could feel them welling up).

He looked up and out of the window, eyes zeroing in on the window of the estate agents. His seatbelt came next, and before you could convince yourself otherwise, you followed him in, ignoring his curious eye but taking the hand he offered anyway. It was something you’d both taken to doing lately, even in mundane moments like this.

Whether it was the knowledge that time was running out or if it was just a comfort thing, you never spoke about it. It just happened. And it seemed today was one of those days you both needed it.

Only, as he made his way towards the desk, you branched away towards the other side of the shop, hands ripping apart. He only threw a confused look behind, but carried on when his own agent walked out from the back of the shop.

You, however, found yourself standing in front of the magazine rack, hands clenching and unclenching at your sides, eyes roving over the words on each, searching for the correct one. Nothing seemed to ease the hollowness under your sternum, though. 

There was some comfort when you found the right one, though, picking it up and feeling the comfortable weight in your hands. It felt like a breath of fresh air, and the twinges eased only slightly at the familiar cityscape on the front.

You swallowed, rolling it up in your fist and making your way back over to where he was chatting to his estate agent, a pen in his hand and some papers in front of him. The key had been stripped of its keychains, and for some reason that little difference brought everything back again.

You wanted to reach for his hand, but you held back for a moment. The estate agent caught your eye and you managed a polite smile, but it dropped the second they looked away.

And before you could blink, Michael was pushing himself off the counter, snatching his keychains and pushing everything else back towards the agent with a final thanks, and then he turned.

He blinked, eyes dropping to the programme in your hand, and you tried to hide it by moving it behind his leg, but he wasn’t having any of it. There was a crease between his brows, and he didn’t look to be on the verge of tears anymore, but there was a specific ticking to his jaw – his entire being was still tinged with a veil of melancholy, but he gently took it from your hand once you’d stepped outside. You let him, your fist unfurling.

Your face seemed to act of its own accord, an odd wince appearing as his lips parted.

“You’re really gonna do it?” He murmured gently, an odd glint in his eye.

“Think it’s time.” You breathed an uncomfortable laugh, somehow not able to look at him or anything else.

He was so magnetic it was honestly a chore trying not to give him all of your attention, least of all when he was looking at you differently. It wasn’t something he’d done a lot before, but you’d noticed it a lot more recently: his eyes would fix themselves on you with an unfamiliar intensity, and even when you’d catch him red handed, he wouldn’t ever let up. If anything, the attention from you seemed to make it worse (or better?) because he’d start to smile and he’d expel a stuttering breath, like he hadn’t previously been breathing.

Each time, though, you never failed to blush slightly. Your cheeks would feel warm and you’d only be able to stand his look for so long before ultimately looking away, trying not to appear too flustered by it.

“Yeah?” He asked, handing you the programme back, “You can’t stand to be in a different country than me, eh?” He joked, but you could sense the underlying seriousness to his question, as though he was fishing for a specific answer.

“You wish.” You managed, scoffing slightly but unable to hide a small smile at the familiar dynamic.

It vanished the second the first wave of homesickness took hold of you though, and he noticed. Just grabbed your hand again.

The drive from the estate agent’s to the airport was even worse. Every time the sign appeared on the side of the road, you’d have to inhale and remind yourself to keep breathing in order to stave off the oncoming bout of tears. The entire time you were fighting against the wetness gathering in your eyes, and your nose had started to run – each sniff meant he’d look at you out of the corner of his eye and if anything, that made it worse, because as time went on and as you pulled into the parking lot, you could hear his sniffles too.

You put off turning the engine off. The second you did, he’d climb out, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that just yet. Judging from the utter stillness he was exhibiting in the passenger seat, he was the same.

Your hands were still clenched around the steering wheel, the rough plastic doing nothing to cure your cold hands, not even when the sun was shining through the windshield and warming the entire vehicle. Your body was on high alert, blood not really flowing to your extremities.

You’d never been so numb yet so aware of everything in your entire life: the way the hairs on your arms stood up when he turned in his seat to face you was almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart in the sheer effort it took to not show the tears wobbling on your waterline. 

It was a plane taking off and the sheer volume of the engine that snapped you out of the haze, your hands unclipping your seatbelt, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to even touch the door, flinching when the belt smacked against the inside of the car.

“I feel weird.” He muttered, eyes staring straight through the windshield and into the car parked nose to nose. He sniffed once, before unclipping his own seatbelt, and you watched him in silence as his shaking hands hovered above his lap before eventually settling on top of his cap, a shuddering breath passing his lips.

The sight was such a contrast to how he’d been earlier that morning – he’d gone from bouncing on his toes with giddy excitement to suddenly folding in on himself and the entire world crumbling at its edges.

You pushed open your car door, fully intending to make your way around to his own door and start from there but the second your feet hit the tarmac, he’d also pushed himself out of the car, his door slamming behind him. He’d made it to the trunk before you could even shut yours behind you or ask if he was okay, but it looked as though he’d made the decision to pretend he hadn’t just admitted his inner turmoil.

You helped him lift his luggage out of the car (there wasn’t much: most of his actual things had been packed in a moving van the day before to meet him in Raleigh tomorrow) in silence. The trunk shut.

You swallowed nervously, eyes darting to the entrance of the airport before jumping back to him. He had one fist clenched on the top of a suitcase, his other dropped by his side, gaze focused and unwavering into the glass window of the trunk, blinking every so often.

You cleared your throat and the corners of his mouth twitched before he turned to look at you, feet shuffling against the gravel. 

And he looked so despondent and not really like him at all that you didn’t have any choice whatsoever but to grab his free hand, which, similar to yours, was cold to the touch. You were both watching your fingers intertwine slowly, sliding over each other before finding solace in their places between each other’s knuckles. Three squeezes on your behalf and a small step forward had him pulling his suitcase along, an apprehensive and equally unreadable expression on his face.

“I could have stayed here longer.” He said, the both of you crossing over, a distracted gleam in his eye as he looked up at the entrance, nose scrunching on one side.

“If you stayed longer you’d want to leave less when you have to.” You reasoned, “And it’s better to move into your new place and get everything unpacked and ready for the season before it starts, to really get used to Raleigh, yeah?”

He nodded, swallowing, “Yeah.”

“Still feel weird?” 

He nodded again, looking to the floor as you walked through the entrance.

You frowned, a stab of something really getting you right in the ribs as he only looked up when the airport atmosphere bled into his bubble. It was busy, but it wasn’t the busiest you’d ever seen it: people were milling about, double checking for passports and boarding passes, everything ready at hand, and at the strangers’ checks, Michael’s own hand pulled away from the suitcase, forcing you to stop walking towards the first checkpoint, and patted against the pocket on the outside of his backpack.

He pulled it all out without looking, peering into the plastic wallet you’d given him to keep everything important organised so he wouldn’t have to check it all at this moment, right in the doorway. You reached over, letting him fret, and wheeled his suitcase over by the inside window, dragging him with you.

“What are you doing?” He asked, brows knitted as he continued looking into the wallet, not sparing you much of a glance as you patted imploringly at the straps of his backpack.

“Take it off.” “Only if you ask me out first.”

“Sorry, I just want no strings attached.” 

His eyes slid over to yours, his cheek sucked into his mouth to stop himself from grinning, and he gave you his wallet, shrugging his backpack off easily and dropping it on the floor next to where you’d parked his suitcase.

“Now what?” He asked, eyes darting back to your hand like he wanted to grab it again, but decided against it.

“I don’t know.” You breathed, “How long do you have left?”

“Two hours-ish until boarding.”

“Oh.” He had to leave now, you supposed, eyeing his luggage like they were the ones taking him away, and that ache in your throat reappeared before you could even blink, and you were rendered speechless. 

You watched him nod, and reach for his bags, but he must have changed his mind because the next thing you knew, your back was pressed up against the window, his arms wrapped around your shoulders and your head resting against his collarbone. 

There was a moment when all you could focus on was the sudden envelope of warmth that circled you, the cacophony of smells: deodorant, fabric softener, a slight twinge of sweat and something else entirely – something very familiar – and before you could even sigh at the ache in your chest, you’d melted into him completely, your own arms hooking around the backs of his. You tucked your forehead down into his chest, pressing at the supple muscle, hands tightening in his shirt.

It wasn’t very comfortable: the ridges of metal edging the glass panes were digging into your back, and–oh.

There was a shuddering against your forehead, and you froze, before tilting your head up to see his eyes screwed shut in an effort to not let anything show. 

“We’ve still got the Marner wedding – it’s gonna be okay.” And despite yourself, despite the watery smile on your face, you laughed a little, “You’re gonna enjoy Raleigh–”

“It’s not that.” He shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and blinking to get rid of the blurriness before dropping them to his sides again, the both of you still in entirely too-close-for-comfort-quarters. 

“The weird feeling?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his chin wavering, and he inhaled sharply, “It’s just gonna be so weird not seeing you.”

“FaceTime exists, as do away games to Toronto.”

“I’m not even in that division anymore.”

You sighed, “Pittsburgh is, though.”

Silence.

He was doing it again: “Stop looking at me like that.”

He frowned, “Like what?”

“I don’t know, just–” You rolled your eyes, reaching to tug him back into you like before, only this time your hands slid up his back to rest across the tops of his shoulders, and he sighed into the touch, his own rough palms dragging up your neck to plant a soft kiss against your hairline. 

You stayed like that until he really had to go, but there weren’t any tears.

***

“Do you like him?”

The question hung in the air for a good few seconds, you pulling a face, heart pounding like a jackhammer against your sternum before you could even find the words and the ability to talk, “He’s infuriating.”

“Do you like him?” Taylor’s voice rang out through your phone speaker, her eyebrow raised very matter-of-fact, and you’d never wanted to scream at her before, but you were cutting it pretty close with the way she was looking at you and the tone she was using.

You hesitated, your face falling. The words were caught in your throat, the admission you’d practised like a teleplay in your head, but the only thing stopping you was the way things would change. Sure, it would only be little things to start with, like Taylor nagging you with it, or her insufferably smug ‘I told you so’s. But eventually that meant that you’d have to do something about it, because Taylor could never leave things like that alone, least of all with rock hard evidence.

But…maybe you needed that?

“I…” You looked away from your phone, body trembling with an invisible cold, “Did I tell you what happened at the wedding?”

She frowned, “The Marner one?”

“Yeah.”

“The one that happened, like, Summer last year? Fucking months ago?”

You cringed, “That one.”

THE MARNER WEDDING:

“My God, are you a sight for sore eyes.”

Michael Bunting was never one to care about his appearance, least of all after crawling off a plane, but somehow he’d found himself in the bathroom of the airport, fixing his hair and straightening his clothes. All for it to fly completely out of the window when he strolled towards the exit and the first thing you did was say that. He couldn’t tell if it was the grin on your face or the sheer excitement racking your entire being that caused it, but he’d never felt sillier for feeling nervous about this moment.

“Could say the same thing about you.” He retorted, feeling the tightness in his chest dissolve, “What’s that?” He reached a finger to tap the underside brim of your cap, the sudden intrusion making you blink and jump slightly.

You knew what he was talking about: the black cap on your head, the sticker placed over a hidden logo with your handwritten message scrawled on. He furrowed his brows, eyes tracking over the words, before tilting his head in confusion, reading it aloud, “‘This is indeed my first rodeo’.” He said it slowly, as though he was worried he’d read it wrong, and before he could even ask you what it meant, you felt his fingers pick at the corner, peeling the sticker back.

He smiled sarcastically, patting it back into place with more force than necessary, the pats like small smacks against your forehead, “Shoulda known. What’s with the rodeo thing?”

“Bridal party thing.” You shrugged, “I’m not sure really.” You reached out to take the small suitcase from him, your own hands trying to pry his fingers off the handle, but he only held on tighter, “Let go.”

“No.”

“Yes.” You sighed, looking him dead in the eye hoping he’d get the hint and succumb, but he shook his head, his other hand peeling your fingers off him one by one, more condescendingly than anything else, “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want the dead body to fall out.”

—

“Hey, I forgot to ask earlier,” he called from the bathroom, the door shut as you took turns: he was cleaning his teeth and trimming his beard etc, and you were getting changed – later, you’d swap, “but how’s the property hunt going in Pittsburgh?”

You grinned, slipping the straps of your dress over your shoulders. Even the mere mention of your future plans had you smiling like an absolute idiot; you couldn’t wait to get back there. If you told the you that had just moved to Toronto what you were about to do, you were sure she’d have had a stroke from the shock. For so long, you’d envisioned living your life in Toronto and staying there. Moving back home felt more like a fever dream or something you shouldn’t do, because surely moving back to your home city meant you’d failed at something? At least, that used to be your thought process.

In reality, you just missed your family too much – every time something happened, whether it be a proposal or an illness, something in you just ached to be back there. 

“It’s going okay. I’ve got a few places lined up that my parents have viewings booked for to check out, but there hasn’t been anything that’s stood out so far, but…” you paused, sitting on the edge of the bed to sort out your shoes, “I’ve got an online job interview with a company back there next week and the starting date, if I get it, is on par pretty much with moving in if there’s a place found within the next two weeks or so. But that’s only if everything goes well. Reality is I’ll probably end up moving back in with my parents for a few weeks until I find a place which isn’t exactly ideal.”

There were a few bangs, things getting placed on the counter, before his muffled, “Can I open the door?” Could be heard.

“Yeah, I’m decent.”

He creaked open the door, leaning on the handle as it swung open with a dopey grin, and it took everything in you not to stall at the sight: he was only wearing dress pants and a pair of socks, his hair tousled and damp from the shower. You’d seen photos of hockey players shirtless before, but there was something breathtakingly stunning about seeing Michael without one. He was your friend, and friends kept their shirts on – but…you swallowed, rather wishing you didn’t have to tear your eyes away from his toned figure and the smattering trail of hair, and turned your attention to his face.

The grin on his face had frozen, and despite not even looking further down than his neck you could see his chest rising and falling, eyes narrowed playfully as he stood up straighter, eyeing you with something that screamed trouble in all ways imaginable.

“Were you just checking me out?” He let go of the door handle, one hand pointing at you in an accusatory manner, and you just blinked, frowning.

“No.” You shook your head, pasting an incredulous ‘how could you’ look on your face to try and deny what had, in fact, been absolutely true.

He hesitated, his eyes roving your face for a single speck of a lie, “You were looking.”

You shrugged, “I’ve just never seen someone so…well-built before, that’s all.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together to stifle another grin, “So you were checking me out?”

“No, I was looking. There’s a difference.”

He lifted his hand, thumb and pointer finger closed together, a slither of a gap between them, “Tiny difference. So tiny there might not even be a difference.”

You sent him an unimpressed look, one that you hoped would mean he’d shut up about it because the second you even so much as hinted at him being right, it’d be over. He’d hold it above you for the rest of your lives, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of that, not if you could help it, “You’d know if I checked you out.”

He fell for it, his smile dropping in curiosity, “How?”

You shrugged, “You’d just know.” You took a deep breath, “Why’d you open the door?”

“I was gonna ask you about this job interview next week – what’s it for?” He disappeared back into the bathroom, but the mirror in the room still provided you with the perfect angle to watch his focused motions as he ran a towel through his hair and picked up an electric shaver. Each time he moved, his body rippled, and you hated that you couldn’t stop looking.

“It’s a cheffing position at a hotel, but it’s almost like a club. There’s an entire golf course; the restaurant is gorgeous; it’s got a spa, and it’s just…it’s like an old estate house in a period film, it’s just beautiful.” You raved, fiddling with your makeup bag as you waited for him to finish.

“Sounds incredible.” He muttered, nodding at you to join him and shoving his things to one side, “What makes you think you won’t get it?”

You shrugged, placing your bag on the counter, missing the way his eyes dragged right across your figure in the mirror, his hand still shaving his cheek with close concentration. Perhaps if he’d wavered, you’d have caught the action, but you didn’t, carrying on, “They can’t really ‘interview’ me without trying my food. I had to ask if it was okay for an online thing and it was lucky they even agreed, so…I don’t know, it just feels too good to be true.”

“Why?”

You sighed, “It just does. Something has to go wrong somewhere.”

“Not necessarily.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up, that’s all.” You said it forcefully, throwing something back into your makeup bag and not even looking in his direction. He slowly lowered his hand to the counter, eyes fixated on you for a whole different reason.

You’d gone from being so infectiously excited about the prospect to suddenly…not.

“Everything okay?” He asked softly.

It had been four weeks since you’d last seen each other, and although he’d felt your absence like he’d never expected, he’d never felt it more than he had now. Ironic, considering you were standing right next to him. To have gone from texting each other with updates every day in Toronto to that eventually dwindling, mostly because he didn’t want to bother you too much – he’d assumed the same on your end, too – it was a big adjustment. He’d caught himself reaching for his phone a few times or eyeing it as each notification came through, and the remembrance of ‘oh, shit, we’re in different countries’ or not seeing your name pop up sent a shot of disappointment so deep through his chest that sometimes he’d actually have to massage it away.

It kind of killed him, though, that he didn’t know what was wrong. If he’d have still been back here…

“Yeah,” you clenched and unclenched your jaw, “it’s just stressful. There’s so many decisions that need to be made, and I have a date to move out now but I just want to go back to a job lined up at least. It’d be worth it then.”

His mind whirled, ideas of what to say lining up like there was no tomorrow, but he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say. He swallowed, nudging your arm with his elbow to get you to turn your attention back to him, and smiled smally in the mirror when you met his eyes, “I think it’s worth it anyway if it’s something that makes you happy. And it won’t be the end of the world if you don’t have a place to live or a job immediately. It might be ideal, but if it doesn’t work out, you’ll figure things out. Everything will fall into place, it just might take some time, that’s all.”

It was almost magical how quickly the sudden tension dissipated. The dread in your stomach and your racing heart calmed almost instantly – the very second you allowed yourself to believe his words. You knew he wouldn’t say something like that and not mean it, and the fact that he believed in you to that extent – to hear him topple each and every single doubt in your mind to the ground – had you fighting to grab ahold of him. Whether it be his hand or to hug him or to just check to make sure he was really there. It didn’t matter that one half of his beard was neatly trimmed and the other wasn’t; it didn’t matter that his hair was wet or he didn’t have a shirt.

You wanted to tell him you missed him at that very moment. Especially when he looked at you like that again.

Michael blinked, eyeing you. He was aware the entire room had come to a standstill and that all you were doing was simply breathing and looking right at him, and it was the latter that was odd. There was something skewiff about the way you were looking at him, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Your mouth had parted, and there was a faint, dainty crease between your brows, like when you were thinking about something. If it weren’t for the fractional tilt of your head or the softness to your eyes – they kept bouncing across his face like it was the first time you’d actually looked at him – he would’ve thought that’s what you were doing: thinking.

But then you huffed a laugh, almost shocking yourself, and snapped back to reality, that look disappearing as quickly as he’d noticed it, “Yeah.” You placed a hand against your cheek, eyes darting away from him briefly, and when you pulled your palm away, he could see the growing darkness of your cheeks, “Thank you, I really needed to hear that.”

You looked towards the counter, hair falling in a curtain and hiding your face, and not for the first time since he’d come back, a homesick pang seemed to resonate to the tips of his fingers, as though his entire soul had been plucked like the string of a guitar.

—

He kept telling himself that his arm was around your shoulder, his fingers against your skin, because your strap kept falling down – and he could tell it was irritating you. (He’d also made the mistake of actually looking when it had fallen the first time, the sharp motion catching his eye, and he had no intention of replicating that awkward moment again.) It had absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol in his system, lowering his inhibitions, or the way you’d scooted closer to him because of the tight-packed bar, or the fact that he’d realised mid-way through the ceremony that what Mitch was saying about Steph was eerily similar to how he felt for you.

Mo kept shooting him a look over Tessa’s head when you weren’t looking, and Willy had hilariously looked shocked when he’d had to correct him that, no, you were just friends, even after knowing that exact same fact for over two years now.

But you? He didn’t think you were thinking too much about him at that moment. Your eyes were fixed on someone further down the bar – someone that he wasn’t particularly fond of during the season in the first place – and he was having a hard time trying not to let it get to him. 

Sidney Crosby. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, but you kept glancing back at him and he could practically sense you vibrating at the mere knowledge that he was metres away. He was half-expecting you to straight-up ditch him to go talk to the man himself, or he would have if you hadn’t shaken your head at Mitch with a hilariously terrified look on your face when he’d offered to introduce you. Michael had an inkling you did want to meet the guy, but just didn’t want to appear too eager.

And realistically, he knew he had absolutely no reason to even be the slightest bit jealous of the guy. He wasn’t even sure he was jealous, but the thought did make him uncomfortable; though he wasn’t entirely able to think about anything other than the vows from earlier.

“Want me to help you out?” It was Willy talking in his ear. He didn’t even need to look at the blonde to know it was him; the garish chain peeking out between a shirt that was unbuttoned dangerously low down, and the cologne emanating from him. Bunts figured he must douse himself in the stuff before he steps outside, but he’d seen Willy get ready and the only conclusion he’d reached was that guy must just smell that good naturally all the damn time.

He didn’t know why that was the first thing that popped into his mind at that moment. What he did know was that nothing good ever followed Willy when he uttered those words. 

“Absolutely not, no.” He was very aware of his fingers still hooked onto the strap of your dress, keeping it held tightly against your shoulder. And on the way your other shoulder was pressed right against his chest. And the fact that you were chatting to someone he wasn’t quite sure he recognised – but the point was that you weren’t listening.

“What, why?” Willy frowned, pouting and swigging a bottle of something. Michael didn’t like the look on his face.

“Because.”

“Because you’re scared?” 

His silence was enough to answer Willy’s question.

“You need help.” 

Michael frowned, “Like, mental help or–”

“Me help.”

“I just said no.”

“I heard you but I’m electing to ignore that and follow my own instincts.” Willy flashed him a grin and Michael felt his stomach drop, watching and unable to move as his ex-teammate walked to his other side, coming to stand next to you and whisper something in your ear that had you recoiling, your head gently bumping against Michael’s shoulder. He pretended not to notice, but he couldn’t help drinking in your reaction.

He had no clue what Willy had done or said, but he could feel his heart beating in his chest, and he was half-expecting you to turn around and ask if he was okay, but, much to his own intrigue, you shook your head, an awkward apologetic expression on your face.

Willy shrugged, but there was a crease between his brows. And because Michael knew him so well, he could tell something had been proven. 

Willy then reappeared at Michael’s other side, and you returned talking to who you’d been chatting to before, a triumphant smirk on his face.

“What?” 

Willy said nothing.

“Dude.” Michael could feel himself getting agitated, his hand was tapping anxiously against his thigh and because he was so fully intent on focusing on Willy, he was completely ignorant to the way you’d turned around at the sudden shaking, eyes zeroing in on his spare hand with confusion. Willy noticed it, though. He also noticed the way your hand twitched before clearly thinking the better of it and turning back around.

“I just told her one of my friends thinks she’s cute.”

Michael blinked, nervous.

“Point is,” Willy continued, “That that was obviously untrue. I mean, she’s cute, but she never even thought twice about it. Didn’t even turn around. Said she’d rather not and stayed standing with you.”

“That proves nothing.”

“It proves she’s not looking at other people.”

“Barely. You’re clutching at straws.”

Willy rolled his eyes, “Okay. But you better do something about it before someone else comes along and she chooses them, okay? Because it’ll happen.”

—

You were about ninety percent sure that you were one of the only people in the entire cafe who didn’t have a hangover right now. It might have something to do with the fact that you hadn’t had much to drink last night because you wanted to be as sober as possible just to soak in as much of Michael as you could and actually have a chance of remembering it.

You had no idea when you’d see him next. He was leaving for a training camp in a few days and you had a feeling the next time you’d see each other you’d be in Pittsburgh, all being well. You still had to sort out your paperwork and the whole visa situation still had to come through before anything could happen, but other than that, both of your timelines were one giant question mark.

That seemed to weigh on you heavily now you were sitting opposite each other. His hair was slightly scruffy, none of the gel in from earlier, and he had bags under his eyes – a telltale sign of his own hangover.

He’d acted weirdly last night. You couldn’t really put it into words, but since walking into that bar it was like he wasn’t entirely there all the time. Like he was distracted. He kept checking his phone, and before he’d met up with you for breakfast he’d appeared with a gift bag with a book in it and smiled each time he caught sight of it.

You had a horrible feeling that he was seeing someone. It’d make sense, even if it did come as a bit of a shock considering the four week mark, but who could blame him? He was a catch if you did say so yourself. 

You’d tried to put the bubbling anxiety at that idea to the back of your mind, but the more you looked at him, it only felt weirder. 

“How’s Carolina?” 

The touch of his fingers ghosted your shoulder, a blazing reminder from the night before.

You blinked, goosebumps rising on your skin at the mere memory. What the fuck?

He looked up, nodding with a grin, “I love it so far. I’ve met up with some of the guys that stayed in Raleigh and I’m getting along with everyone well so far. It’s really pretty there, too. How’s Toronto treating you without me?”

You flicked your food over on your plate, “As well as it usually does. It’s quieter, though.”

The conversation wasn’t anything you hadn’t already talked about over text or FaceTime; it was something you kept coming back to when you just wanted to hear him talk. You weren’t entirely sure when that had started. You paused. You’d done for months, even back when he was in Toronto.

This time, when he answered, he leaned closer over the table, and for a brief moment you thought he was going to admit a secret or pick something off your face, but when you looked up he was doing It again.

And this time you didn’t shy away from it. In fact, if the spike in heart rate was anything to go by, you revelled in the attention. And the revelation just took your breath away.

“I know this might sound weird…” He trailed off, eyes carefully gliding over features, and although you didn’t know it was possible, your heart rate skyrocketed, the pounding tingling the tips of your fingers and causing a raucous rushing in your ears. Without even realising it, you’d leant closer across the table, too, the only thing separating the two of you being the condiments rack.

He seemed taken aback at your proximity, eyes widening and his mouth stuttering, “I do miss you, y’know.” He whispered, cheeks reddening almost immediately.

You blinked, allowing your mind to digest the gravity of his admission. Something happened: it felt like something in your brain sighed or something in your chest loosened, something you weren’t even sure existed suddenly being clicked to life, and you smiled shyly. You were completely unfamiliar with what it was or what it meant, but you knew there was a point of no return: you’d be chasing whatever this was for the rest of your life, without a doubt.

Where you’d felt jilted moments earlier, something evened out – it felt smooth, there was no ache when you breathed, and your mind cleared, the only thing on repeat…him. 

Oh.

There was a zing straight down your spine, and you shivered at the feeling of it.

“I’m gonna say something even weirder…” Your voice came out shaky, shakier than you’d initially like it to be, and he automatically glanced at your mouth because of it, “I miss you too.”

He blinked, stifling a grin by placing his hand over his mouth, and you took the opportunity to change the subject, not wanting to dwell on anything too long for fear of what it could mean, what it could lead to, “Are you gonna let your hair grow out?”

He pulled a face, his hand moving to his hair self-consciously, “You don’t like it?”

“No, I like it.”

“What about the beard?”

You hesitated, “I…Do you want my opinion?”

He pulled a face, like you were crazy for even asking, “I literally asked to get your opinion.”

“Keep it like that, then.”

“What’s this about my hair, though?”

“Nothing.” You breathed a laugh, wondering how an innocent question led to this entire ordeal, “You look good.”

Silence.

His cutlery clinked against his plate as he looked up, your own hand frozen midair around your cup of coffee, him staring at you incredulously and you staring at a stain on the table, a little too afraid to look at him. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t acted like you’d told him a monumental piece of news that’s changed the entire trajectory of his life. It also shouldn’t be too much of a big deal because he’d told you you looked beautiful before, and that hadn’t been an issue.

You broke first, taking a sip and mustering the courage to look at him once more, raising your eyebrows at the utterly shocked look on his face.

“I look good?” He reiterated, speaking each syllable with his entire body. His breathing was shallow, and for a moment you worried if he was about to pass out.

“Yeah.” This time it was your turn to act like he was crazy for asking, “You always look good.”

He breathed a mirthless laugh that bled easily into one of amusement as he pointed a finger at you, “You were so checking me out last night.”

You blinked, replying blankly, “If you’d have left it five more seconds I’d have lost my mind.”

He grinned mischievously, risking a wink, “Duly noted.”

You rolled your eyes, scratching your eyebrow to try and hide your face with your hand as you stacked your plate on top of his, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” 

For some reason you hadn’t pushed yourself up and out of your chair very quickly. By the time Michael had tucked his chair under the table and was standing next to yours, his head turned to the side – distracted – you’d only just finished tidying up the table. And because his attention had been stolen, and because he was standing so close to your chair, when you finally did make a move to stand up…

His head snapped in your direction, the sudden motion making you flinch backwards, legs bumping awkwardly against the table, and his hand shot out, flattening against your back. If you were more honest you’d have said you didn’t need the stability: all you’d done was knock your calves against the wooden legs – but the sudden, unprompted touch on the small of your back had you freezing where you were, breath hitching in your chest against your will. 

You were watching his face before, trying to pick out exactly what had caught his eye, but this time you could see when the realisation of what had happened set in: his mouth parted like he was about to say something, and his eyes were wide – probably slightly alarmed at the almost-stumble he’d seen in his periphery – and was, for lack of better words, practically hugging you to him. You were forced (though there wasn’t a single cell in your body that felt reluctant) to catch yourself in his arms to prevent yourself from being catapulted straight into him. 

He wasn’t wearing a hat. Usually he did, but today he’d left the hotel room without one, and you’d never really thought twice about it or missed its presence more than you did at that moment. A hat would have given you space to think, time to not spend looking straight at him, time to not fantasise about what would happen if either of you happened to lean in at the same time, but–

He’d folded first, his gaze flicking down to your mouth for a brief moment before returning to your eyes, the palm on your back not wavering one bit. He didn’t even take a step back to let you stand up properly, but instead stood there, holding you, waiting. Waiting for some indication from you that, yes, it’s okay to close the gap.

Your heart was thundering in your chest, and you were sure he could feel it against your ribs if he concentrated hard enough, but you couldn't bring yourself to focus on that for too long. Not when the sight of him in front of you was so enticing.

You inhaled quickly, wanting to say something but not quite finding the words, and he waited once more. He only seemed to do something when you chanced a glance at his mouth, not even intending to, but also not doing anything to stop yourself from sneaking a look, and his head dipped–

“Oh, hey guys.”

It happened quickly and a lot less clumsily as to how it had started: Michael blinked at the sudden interruption, seamlessly stepping backwards and pulling you with him, his hand dropping from your back once you were safely on your feet. You were a little slower, only managing to keep your breaths even and to turn your attention away from him in time to see exactly who it was that had just shown up.

Only, your bewilderment and vertigo increased when you set your eyes on the familiar figure taking a seat on the table next to yours, completely and utterly oblivious to what almost transpired. 

Sidney Crosby was sitting grinning in your direction, and your mind went blank for a whole host of different reasons. The main one being Sidney Crosby was grinning at you. You were vaguely aware of Michael’s hurried motions, placing your hat on top of your head after a quick greeting. You heard your name, and you smiled politely. 

Your face didn’t feel like your own, you were aware of moving your cheek muscles, but everything felt strangely foreign.

And then Sid was looking at your cap, and suddenly you were back in your own body.

“Cool hat.” He pointed, leaning sideways on his chair, and your smile broadened.

“Yeah, Pittsburgh Penguins, maybe you’ve heard of them?”

He laughed, feet kicking slightly under the table, and you felt Michael stiffen next to you, “I don’t think I’m familiar, no. They any good?”

You shrugged, “Won a couple of cups, made us locals proud. There’s this guy, Sidney Crosby, he’s pretty cool.”

He pretended to pull a face, “Oh, I know that guy.” He sighed, shaking his head.

“You don’t like him?”

“Hate that guy.” 

***

“What the fuck.” Taylor all but yelped through the screen once you’d done a quick rehash of events, before falling completely silent, her head in her hands.

You nodded, “I know. I got Sidney Cros–”

“Fuck Sidney Crosby, babe. With all due respect, fuck that guy.”

You swallowed, “Yeah, okay.”

“What are you gonna do about Michael?”

“We haven’t really talked since the wedding.” You mumbled sadly.

***

A meal was all you had. In three months, all you managed to snag of his time was a home cooked meal in your new apartment, and even then he couldn’t stay for more than a few hours. You didn’t just have to worry over the fact that things had clearly changed since the wedding, but you had to worry about cooking him a meal that adhered to his plan of what he could and couldn’t eat, and it had to be edible.

So, it was safe to say you were feeling a lot of pressure. Cooking at work was completely different to cooking at home: not only were you usually too exhausted to even cook something that nice when you got in, but there was something personal about cooking for people you know. It always felt like they were judging what you’d made, trying to decide if you were good at your job or not. Sometimes it felt like a make or break deal. If they didn’t like your food, they wouldn’t like you.

And while that had never been the case for Michael, tonight felt different. For starters, it felt like you’d had to fight tooth and nail to even get him to come over for a few hours, which was new. 

In all honesty, you were even hesitant in the entire…ordeal. Because that’s what it was, really, it wasn’t a quick catch-up, it was an ordeal. The last time you’d felt this nervous was when you were back in school, and gosh you didn’t miss the feeling at all.

He knocked three times and you had to stop stirring the pasta (shocker!) sauce to answer the door.

“Hey.” He sighed, flashing a tired smile, and in that instant all your anxieties seemed to diminish. They hadn’t disappeared completely, but it was as though the volume had been turned down, and you could breathe easily.

“Hi.” You answered almost breathlessly, and his brows jumped up his forehead in amusement, the small crinkle of a smile making an appearance, “I feel bad for pestering you now. You look exhausted.”

He shook his head, “Don’t, I’m glad I came.”

And then he did something he’d never done to you before: he leaned in and he pressed a delicate kiss on your cheek. The exact place he’d touched with his lips seemed to flame before you even registered what he’d done, and in that same moment, you were catapulted back to Toronto. Tucked next to each other under a blanket, an episode of The Mentalist on, both of you utterly immersed in the plot. 

You blinked, not entirely sure where that had come from, and grinned, his scent filling your senses, soon to bleed into your apartment and your couch and your cushions. The one thing you loved about having him around was that you could tell he’d been here even days later: whether it be the faint smell of his cologne when you sat down or the plants that had been purposefully switched around on the windowsill – something you tended to notice when you finally crashed, and it never failed to put a smile on your face. 

“This place is adorable.” He commented, easing himself onto the couch, feet up and reorganising the cushions around him, and all you could do was stand off to the side, simply watching him get settled.

“Adorable wasn’t what I was going for.” 

“What were you going for?”

“Cosy.”

He hummed, tearing his eyes away from you to have another quick glance around, “It’s that too.” And then he rounded back to you, still hanging around in between the living room and the kitchen, not really wanting to leave him alone but much too devoted to the food to even think about asking him to follow you in there, “How are you doing?”

You shrugged, “I’m really happy here.”

He fell asleep straight after he finished eating.

***

His stuff was everywhere: boxes and bags stacked and piled and thrown in the right rooms; zips unzipped and lids open, objects and clothes and cutlery scattered across floors like he’d picked up a handful and left a trail of nuts for you to track his steps. 

It was a mess, but it was a reassuring mess. You hadn’t really believed him until he’d shown up at the airport, and even then it had taken three days for you to actually comprehend the luck of it all. It took you fourteen minutes to walk to his apartment, now. Not over an hour on the plane, not counting the taxis and waiting for your luggage.

Quite frankly, it blew your mind.

It had taken you so long to adjust to even being friends with him, to then adjusting to him moving to Raleigh when you were still in Toronto, to then adjusting to you in Pittsburgh and him still in Raleigh…and now you were both in Pittsburgh and it had taken you approximately three days to get used to it. Not weeks, not months where you’d keep forgetting you couldn’t just show up outside his apartment.

You’d caught yourself laughing at it on more than one occasion.

For now, though, despite the welcome mess (as proof of life), you were looking straight at him. You’d caught yourself doing that a lot lately, but there was a reason this time – not just a genuine wonder at his mere presence. 

He walked back into the room, arms stretched out in front of him, clearly assessing the new jersey, and you swore, right then and there, that you’d never loved him more. For all his shit-talking on the Pens over the years, he was now wearing their jersey, much to your appreciation.

“I like it.” You spoke first from your position on his couch, your arm in the box of merch and kit he’d been given (he’d allowed you to have free reign over some of the items, all you had to do was ask him first), your teeth briefly scraping over your bottom lip. It wasn’t the first time he’d worn a black jersey, but it was the first time he’d worn one with a Penguin on the front and yellow text that spelt his name on the back, “A lot.”

You were grinning, and when he looked up to see you shaking with glee, he shook his head, huffing an amused laugh, “Of course you do.”

“I still don’t think I’ve gotten used to you not wearing blue yet, though.” You muttered, and he nodded, mouth flattening but face somehow still smiling.

“I do miss it, but I think I’m getting used to it.” He shrugged, before grabbing the front of the jersey by the NHL logo and chucking it off his shoulders and throwing it straight at your face, “You can keep that one if you want, I’m not short of any.” You heard him say, his voice slightly muffled by the fabric, and you pulled it from over your eyes, hand wrapped in the material – to see his cheeks flush at your expression. It seemed to worsen when you dropped your eyes to his bare torso.

“Thanks.” You averted your eyes quickly, instead focusing on smoothing the jersey out in your lap, fingers tracing the penguin before flipping it over for his name. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him reach into the box next to you and pull out a few t-shirts before a cap was in his hands and he was brandishing the logo in your face.

“Have you seen one of these before?” He asked, pointing to the circular black and yellow logo: the Pens motif was in the top half of the circle with two crossed-over sticks in the bottom half, and you shook your head.

“I don’t think so.”

He spun it around in his fist, eyes flicking from the hat to your face, “You want it?”

You hesitated, “Are you sure you’re allowed to let me have some of this stuff? I feel like they’re giving you different kits because you’re actually part of the organisation and that normal people aren’t supposed to have them.”

He blinked, jaw clenching as he took in your words. And before you could even say anything else, he placed the hat rather lopsidedly on top of your head and rifled back through the pile of clothes for the sheet of paper before throwing himself down next to you, the piece of paper held out so you could read it too.

You felt a bit pathetic at how quickly you felt your pulse start to pick up at the contact: his entire torso was leant against your shoulder, and although it meant you got an unobstructed view of…everything, and although you appreciated it, at the same time it felt a bit cruel. Like dangling a bone in front of a dog.

“It doesn’t say I can’t give it away.” He mumbled, turning to face you, his forehead bumping the brim of the cap. You blinked in surprise, but didn’t miss the way his eyes just casually flickered down to your lips, or the way his hand dropped down, still clutching the sheet, once he realised you’d not actually been looking at the words.

He’d caught you looking at him.

You cleared your throat, cheeks flaring but not too ashamed considering  you’d just caught him looking at you, and his eyes zipped back to your face, an awkward silence ensuing. Neither of you moved. You didn’t know if you were too scared to ruin the moment or if you were physically frozen by what could have happened – could still happen. Stillness seemed to be key. His breath was fanning softly against your face, and you were sure the same went for you. 

It was eerily similar to the whole Sid-situation. Only this time you were in the privacy of his own home, he was notably shirtless and the risk of getting interrupted was low, but not entirely zero.

You felt your own lips part at the same time his head moved an inch closer as though he was testing the waters, but before you could even think about leaning in, his mouth was moving.

What?

His cheeks reddened, and the blush seemed to travel down his neck and bleed into his collarbones, his attention now flicking between you and something off to the side, clearly too nervous to even look at you and speak.

“I asked if you were free on Thursday?” He whispered, his gaze travelling back down to the piece of paper still in his hand.

He hadn’t moved away from you but the stab of disappointment at the lack of his attention and the realisation that he’d chosen not to kiss you was profoundly disturbing. You didn’t like it, the way you practically yearned for him. The idea that your enjoyment in life was tied to what a random man did or didn’t do was absurd, and if you were being honest with yourself, you did feel a bit pathetic that you’d let it get to that point.

He was your best friend, for fuck’s sake. You weren’t supposed to actually fall in love with him – that was something that only happened in the movies or in novels. 

But…he was kind, he was funny, he was charming, he clearly cared for you. 

Did he feel the same way? It was impossible to tell in your eyes. Sure, it had just looked like he wanted to eat you, and you’d caught him looking at you like you hung the entire galaxy before, but who’s to say he didn’t look at other people like that?

And in all honesty, you’d spent so much time trying to not look at him that you’d given him plenty of opportunities to (if he did) sneak glances at you when you weren’t looking.

You sighed, folding the jersey, acting like his skin on your forearm wasn’t burning. Like you were completely normal being in his presence, “I should be, yeah. How come?”

He raised a brow, shyly turning back to you, “I was wondering if you wanted to go out?”

Something fluttered in your chest – it felt an awful lot like hope, and when you answered, your voice sounded off. You weren’t breathless, so to say, but your voice cracked and sounded ropey to your own ears, “Go out where?”

The question almost felt futile, especially with the wry smile he just sent your way. You had a feeling, but even thinking the feeling out loud in your head felt like you were about to jinx it, so you fought to keep your mind quiet. Everything else though (heart rate, blood rushing, the feel of his fingers tapping rhythmically against the inside of your wrist), that was loud. 

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek when he looked down at where he was delicately touching your wrist. His motions stopped, but the warmth never left.

“With me, I was hoping.” He didn’t look at you as he spoke, and you held your breath the entire time, a part of you wanting to make sure you’d just heard him correctly and weren’t imagining it, “Like a date.”

“A date.” You echoed, flipping your wrist over completely so your palm was pointing to the ceiling. He didn’t tear his eyes away from your hand, but you could feel his heart thumping through his back from where he’d pressed himself against your shoulder and a smile fell naturally on your face. It wasn’t a big smile, but it was soft. The kind of smile that was only ever really reserved for him.

His hand didn’t falter in its motions as he dragged his fingers down the inside of your wrist to swirl a pattern on your palm, fingers tracing the lines and creases gently. 

It took everything in you not to scream.

He just hummed, and when you tore your gaze away from the side of his face – he wasn’t giving much away – his chest was thumping in time with his pulse. Was it possible for nerves to make him catatonic? You’d never seen him this nervous yet so calm and collected at the same time.

You inhaled, feeding your starved lungs, and tried not to shudder when his fingers slowed only to tangle and interlock with yours. It was like he was testing it out, seeing how you fit together, whether your personalities blended as well as your bodies did–

You felt yourself blush at that insinuation, and squeezed his hand, prompting him to look at you instead of away.

He did so slowly, first peeking at you out of the corner of his eye with a small breath of relief when he saw you weren’t annoyed. Then he turned his entire head towards you, leaning back so he wouldn’t knock into the hat again, and his mouth twisted, still awaiting your reply.

“Have you been wanting to ask that for a while, or…”

His stare went blank, and you could tell her was trying not to roll his eyes at your teasing questions, obviously stalling to get a rise out of him. It was working, “Put me out of my misery first.”

“Okay.”

He blinked, leaning forwards slightly, “Okay I’ll go on a date or okay I’ll put you out of your misery?”

“Both.”

He smiled, using his free hand to swipe at his nose and look away briefly, flustered. His chest was still pink and blotchy and you nudged him playfully with your elbow, “Your turn.”

“Uh…” He hesitated, “maybe, like, since you told me I don’t look like a Michael.”

You stared at him, jaw unhinged and dropped in shock, “But that was–”

“Two-ish years ago, yeah.” He nodded, pulling a face at himself, “What can I say? You charmed me.”

“But I was rude to you..” 

“I wouldn’t say rude–”

“I wanted you to not like me.”

He froze, “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“It had the opposite effect.”

And then you laughed. Right in his face, not very loudly, but you laughed at him altogether, “You liked me when I couldn’t stand you, I would’ve said no.”

He rolled his eyes, flicking the underside brim of the cap he’d given you, “Good job I held out then, isn’t it? At what point would you have said yes?”

“When you left for Raleigh.”

“Wow.”

“You gotta remember, I was in a relationship for a while–”

“Oh, that guy.” He muttered, bitterly, "I think I blocked that out-"

You interrupted him, leaning closer to briefly press your mouth against his, effectively shutting him up. Even at the brief contact, and even as you were pulling away you could feel the relief of it dissipate from your shoulders, like a worn out elastic band had finally snapped. You paused, a breath away from him, and his eyes slowly blinked open having tried to chase your mouth.

Even despite that, he still maintained his grin, "That's a good tactic." He muttered, hand sliding up the side of your neck as his thumb slid gently and delicately across your jawbone. His eyes zeroed in on the motion, clearly enjoying the way your skin reacted to his touch, goosebumps rising to the surface and eliciting a shiver of pleasure from you.

It was barely three second of contact, but it had changed your genetic makeup.

He was addictive, even the smug look on his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, chin bumping towards yours. You held you breath in anticipation, eyes instinctively fluttering shut - it was difficult to ignore the pounding of your heart or the tingling beneath his fingers.

"Noted." You breathed, unable to help smiling at his tone, "You gonna make me wait until Thursday now-"

"It's rude to keep a lady waiting." Was his answer.

#michael bunting x reader #michael bunting imagine #michael bunting oneshot #michael bunting fic #nhl player x reader #hockey player x reader #nhl fic #nhl oneshot #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine #hockey oneshot

[christinebloodwrittings]

I ran into this little darling who wanted this as a request, and I just couldn't help myself hehe, my Hobie Brown brainrot is huge xD

So I hope you enjoy it, I suck at writing his accent so, I'm sorry in advance hehe, and also Y/n is always the victim so let's shake things up a bit.

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, unwanted drug, p in v, oral, cursing, a very drugged Hobie.

Words: 2530

Summary: Everything was going great at the concert until he went against a very dangerous perfume.

You've never felt comfortable or safe among so many people, especially in a space as small as the bars where he usually plays. But there you were, supporting him as always.

At some point in the evening, thirst had invaded you, so you asked the bartender for some water or soda, who gladly served it to you and so far so good.

"Hey beautiful, how was it?" Hobie had pushed his way through the crowd and groupies to the chair where you'd cornered to watch him play. "Loud and protestant, perfect" with emotion he hugged you, pressing your whole body against his chest, his chin resting on your head.

"I'm goin' to go to the back, store some things with the band, I'll be back to pick you up in a bit, 'kay?" Despite the fact that nothing between you and Hobie was formalized, there was a lot of affection and consideration towards the other, however he always presented you as his friend.

And how much it hurt

He always came to your rescue when some jerk made a move on you, but after that you were just his friend, and he did it because he had your back, but nothing more.

That was really getting old.

Hobie made his way through the fans again, when a girl dressed in leather and a mini stopped him, one of her hands took his face, the other grabbed the back of his neck to force him to bend him down to kiss him, but he resisted, separated from the girl's hands with a push, and he moved away fast.

After managing to get past the stage, he tripped on his feet, his mind was all over the place and his spider-sense told him something was awfully wrong. A cold feeling caught on his neck, panic crawled up his spine, he put his fingers to the back of his neck, scooping up some of a watery, clear liquid, it had a nice smell so he just assumed it was the girl's cologne.

He was in denial, so he just wanted to think there was a raid outside and he´ll have to take you round the back so you wouldn't be hurt by mistake. He didn't exactly convinced himself but it was enough to get him a bit calmed through the whole packing the band stuff up.

Right at the end, when he was picking his makeup supplies off, his sense froze him up and made him look up, in the mirror he caught on the sight of the girl that had tried to make a move on him.

The fans were leaving, soon the place was empty, Hobie was taking a lot of time more than usual, thus why you began to worry and why you went to the dressing room to find him.

That was the moment when you saw his panic eyes and the girl attempting to get her tongue down her throat. "Get the fuck away from him, bitch!" you pulled her hair and punched her on the gut to get her out of movements.

"You're my savior" he put his arm around you, being that the only way he could make a decent step, "Get out of the way whore, it will last long after I'm finished with him, then you can get your way with him" she stood up hardly, but didn't approached further, since you got out a taser, "You know, I bet no one will miss you if I just shock your senses into oblivion and toss your bitch body into the garbage" she opened her eyes to your lashing and stood there.

With a few extra help from members of the band, they managed to get him to your place in one piece, you weren't going to let him go off alone in that state.

That's when you understood, she drugged him somehow. "It's okay, Hobs, let's get you in the shower" cold water seemed to be the less weird way to handle his condition.

His hand found yours, pulling by it you hit his chest, looking up you found his face all blushed and sweaty, "It's okay, it will wear itself off, just stay" you cupped his face with your free hand, he leaned over your touch with his eyes closed, "Please?" His voice was so smooth and whiny, never in your life have you seen him like that.

"I'll stay, let's get you into something more comfortable ok?" He nodded, lazily getting out of his leather jacket and vest, leaving you to slip away his shirt, "Woah baby, if ya' wanted to get me naked, you should've asked" he had a shit eating grin, ear to ear, "Shut up, you're out of your senses" you folded the shirt lazily and left it on a chair he has discarded on a corner, so did his pants and socks, it seemed to you that removing his underwear was going a little too far, so you ignored them.

You tried to guide him to the bathroom, but he just wouldn't move from the bed, "C'mon Hobs, let's go" he refused with a whine, so you leave him there to go fill up the tub in the meantime.

You figured he would be in a different disposition when you returned to the room. A couple of minutes went by, *he probably passed out asleep* you hoped, but as soon as you opened the door of the bathroom, the sound of his moans filled your ears.

"Ah~ Y/N~♡" you couldn't believe what was happening. Taking a quick peek at him you noticed his boxers were discarded somewhere in the room, and he was stroking himself, his rather large self.

And moaning your name, *Oh God, please tell me this is a test! * heat was crawling up from your legs to your face, his moans were incredibly sexy and erotic, that was going to be well fit material for a lot of nights in the future.

"Y/n please, I need you, pretty please darling~♡" He sounded so desperate. You stepped outside the bathroom, and as soon as his eyes caught sight of you, a loving smile was painted on his face.

"I'm in a tight conundrum" he fought with his own tongue to word that out coherently, but you understood, "I feel like I'm taking advantage of you" He shook his head, making grab gestures with his hands.

As soon as you were in within his reach, he pulled you into his lap, emitting a hiss when your pelvis brushed his hard dick. "Please, I need you" He peppered kisses under your jaw and cheek, every contact on his lips and his piercing made you shiver.

His hands found the hem of your shirt, toyed with it for a second before looking up into your eyes for permission, after your embarrassed nod, he pulled it off, carelessly taking your bra as well and throwing both items away.

He started by nibbling at your collarbone, leaving small red marks along his way up to your neck. "I've wanted to do this for a long time" He panted, biting softly at your earlobe making you shift on his lap.

"You're so beautiful, so sweet, so lovely, you're always there for me" he said before kissing you, taking full control of your mouth. His hand circled your waist and the other held your neck in place, making you melt into the kiss. He then tilted his head back a bit, taking in the way you looked.

The he pulled up your shirt, he was clumsy while at it, so you finished for him, the bra following it into the darkness of a corner. The festival of kisses and bites started from your neck to every inch of your collarbone, working his way down to capture a nipple in between his lips.

His hands rocked your hips against his bulge, making his voice sing with moans and sighs, calling your name.

"I need you to say it"

"What?"

"I love you too much, say I can do this"

"Do it Hobie"

He released you, reluctantly. You tried to put yourself in a comfortable position, so you got rid of your jeans, his eyes followed each of your movements, even more so when you stood next to him.

"Where do you want me?" He didn't think twice, he pulled you by the waist to accommodate you, with his muscular body on top of yours. It was kind of silly, saying that, but with the few sexual experiences you'd had, none of them 100 percent complete, you really didn't know what to say or do. He, even in his drugged and frenzied state, noticed your shivering hands and how much you avoided looking into his eyes.

"I wish I could make it slow and special for you, but I don't feel like myself" you agreed, it's what you could do, the truth, you were uncomfortable because of the situation, the heat, not that any of those factors made you forget to have a condom nearby.

As he sensually kissed your neck, his fingers worked to open you up, slow and steady movements, his thumb brushing against your clit from time to time. Your senses were being attacked simultaneously, his teeth and his mouth sucking at the skin of your neck, and his fingers caressing your G-spot with the dexterity of a guitar player. Your back arched against his torso, an opportunity he took to hold your waist with his arm and lead you to sit on his lap, his hand still pleasing.

"Hobs, I need you" you whined, he smiled, mouth still latching down your neck, leaving several red spots along the way. Your legs were straddling his hips as he helped you get down on his dick, the length and thickness made you squirm and stop midways, he always reassured you, “You’re doing it very good, my love, just a little bit more, I’ll let you accommodate to it” speaking sweetly, brushing your hair away from your face and caressing your cheek.

When it was all the way in, very painfully so, he didn’t made any single attempt to move or you on it, he wanted to wait for you to be ready. As soon as you were, giving that you were rocking your hips slightly, he started pulling you up and down at a slow pace.

Moans and whines were filling the room, “Fuck, you feel so good” he bit gently into your shoulder, “I’m gonna lay you down princess, I need a-“, you pointed to your night stand, “Prepared are we?” he purred as he softly put you down on the covers, grabbed the condom and put it on.

“You can be more aggressive if you need” your voice came out almost as a whisper, but he caught it anyways, “It’s not that I don’t want to, I just want it to be decent” he was holding back, “Hobie, we need to get the drug out, please” Bad way for you to find out, but he had a creative thought, without thinking twice, he put your hands on your head and used his webs to tie your wrists together. Obviously your thoughts were snatched away when he propped inside again, soon the fact that he was Spider-Punk was long forgotten.

His pace accelerated, your whole body tensed up and you just wanted to be connected to him, you just wanted to keep kissing him, hugging him, if it ended and you were never like that with him again, you wouldn't know what to do. You just wanted to be like this with him, hitting every place that mattered, sending electric shocks through your body.

At some point you seemed to have passed out, but the change of position woke you straight up. On your fours, his hands pushed his shaft right into you by your hips, then he pulled you up, his arm working like an anchor across your chest, which by the way, was covered in saliva, red spots and bite marks, and so will your back as soon as he is over with it.

He wasn’t behind with the hickeys, you subconsciously left him lots of open mouth kisses, bites, he was fairly happy with each and every one.

“I know you’re tired, my love, but I’m almost there” your moans didn’t even sounded as such, they were grunts, sloppy non sexy at all choked grunts. You guys started around eleven, by the time he was almost there the clock marked three in the morning.

He finally came inside the condom, the one that by some miracle stayed on and unbroken though all the abuse the thick shaft made in your insides. Speaking of which, he was considerate enough to come out of you carefully and lovingly accommodate your body into his.

“Thank you, love” he slurred the words, his body was so big next to yours, so he easily surrounded you, arms around you, legs intertwined, he wanted all you to be with all of him.  

“How do you feel?” your voice was hoarse, “Better, tired, you?” you made a sound, it confirmed to him that you were the same as him.

"I'm still very on, I wanna eat you out" he hugged you tightly, "Maybe let me sleep a bit and then you wake me up with your face in between my legs" he laughed at you, "I'll take you up on that, love".

Around seven pinches on the insides of your thighs woke you up, turns up he really was in between your legs, hickeys adorning both inner thighs, "Good mornin' luv" he wasn't drugged anymore, just horny and hungry, giving on how he was licking and grinning.

Your back arched as soon as your brain connected with the rest of your senses, "Hobie, jeez fuck! Too damn early" you whined, getting hold of his hair, "I just obliged to your wishes" the vibrations made the assault even more intense.

"Don't talk with your mouth full" he was kind of liking the slight yanking you were taking on his hair, furthermore the tremble down your legs as you came.

"I love your sounds" he crawled up your body, gently laying down on top of you, his weight never fully on you though, he was careful, and his head fell down on the crook of your neck.

"Thank you for last night" he laced his voice with kisses behind your ear, "No problem, now please for fucks sake, sleep" he chuckled at your groggy voice, "I meant it, by the way" given your lack of response he pulled his body off of you for a bit, just to get a fair look at you face when he spoke those words that died already to come off his lips again.

"I love you" and then he smiled.

"And I love you" somehow, him being all bare for you, your case as well, made the confession deeper.

"Just so you know, you're trapped now, I'm not letting you go now" his smirk made you giggle a little, "Good, there's just nowhere I rather be than here...with you".

The end.

#hobie brown #hobie x y/n #hobie x you #hobie x reader #hobie brown smut #atsv hobie #hobie smut #spiderpunk #hobie spiderverse #hobie brown x you #hobie brainrot #hobie brown x reader #aphrodisiac

[sluttysissyslave]

For Sissies and Alike!

This is a very long post so bear with me, do with it what you wish, forget it if you want to, but maybe, just maybe consider it. So, let me tell you why and how you all became what you are today, and how to go forward. If you feel you relate to it then let it sit, if it doesn't, forget about it.

Most of you developed these feelings when you were alone and sad, your standards dropped lower and lower without you even realizing it, and next thing you know you're fantasizing about being a slut for women, or maybe even men. But what you forgot about, was that originally, you were just searching for female affection, the touch of that girl you really liked but were too afraid to go up to. You became so desperate for love, for some sort of connection that you started modifying things... "Maybe if I submit myself to a woman she will finally love me" you degraded yourself for love you didn't try hard enough to get. And now, behind a digital screen you've found what you call your little safe space, you don't feel like you're alone in this anymore, it's your coping mechanism. You seek validation in a place designed for men to be degraded, not validated. If you started cross-dressing when you were young. Ask yourself: did you get a lot of human connection? Did your parents pay attention to you? You realised that girls receive all the attention, the love you so desperately wanted that no-one gave you when you were young. So you subconsciously realised the being a girl could get you that. When you wore the girly clothes and finally felt warm, and embraced, you just manifested that for yourself over time and when it happened you actually believed it, which is only natural, that's what manifestation does. Your mind tricked you into believing that you found what you were looking for. 

So, we've established that doing sexually feminine things is because submissive thoughts in a gay way is because you crave the love and affection you've been missing in your life. 

Some people call this mental illness, I think that's disrespectful and inaccurate, I say these traits are mental coping mechanisms, and you know what? They feel good, they feel great in fact, but they aren't what you were meant to be, you find solace and comfort in those rushes of endorphins and other feel-good chemicals. But let me remind you, this isn't a long-term solution, you will realize this as time goes on, so you'll go even more extreme to cope, to get an even bigger rush. You need to reconsider, the withdrawal will feel terrible, but the way you are currently going won't get you to the desires you were always meant to have, not the ones you might think you're currently suppressing.

Brainwashing:

Arguably you are truly the victims, but no-one is coming to save you but yourself. You will always be tested, from all sides, it's up to you whether you give in or not. Be strong, don't give in, stand your ground. Trust that there's always a better way, a better option, one that's more rewarding than the path you're on now.

So why are you the victims? Well in modern western society it is being slowly programmed into people from a very young age, as soon as they can absorb information. Ideologies that men are worthless, good for nothing, and that women are superior. I don't want to go into the details of why this is the case because then you'll be reading this until tomorrow, but trust me that it's the case, and let me prove it with an adequate example. Most submissive men (and all woke and other LGBT people are all located in the "rich" west), almost none in eastern and conservative countries. Why is that? They don't have exposure to these things from a young age, it's not that sissies and alike don't exist there, they aren't created. Also they are often poorer than you are, with lots of social security, peace and plentiful resources, people get lazy and weak, those people living in let's say, Moldova, have other things to worry about than putting on makeup and sticking a butt plug up their bum. They aren't suppressing any femininity (sexually), they never had any to begin with.

Let's talk about how you and your thoughts are being manipulated.

Origins in modern pop culture:

Tv shows - the man is always the idiot and the woman is always the smart, reasonable one. That wasn't always the case in civilized history, both men and women were smart and reasonable, their combined traits completed each other's and they could be a strong couple. Let's look at some examples… It starts with Friends - Joey, Chandler, are portrayed as a bit dumb, and the girls generally smarter. The Simpsons - Homer is an idiot, his wife is the real boss. Family Guy - Peter is an absolute idiot and Louis is the brains of the family, a voice of reason. And it's even in shows for little children, in Peppa pig The father is hardly a figure to look up to. The disrespect towards men has been going on for decades, and it really started, rather perhaps interestingly, after the fall of the Soviet Union, but I once again don't want to get into politics or else this post will never end. We are at a stage now where especially if you're white you are almost persecuted for it. You can't disagree when I say all people should be treated equally right? So why doesn't that apply to race. A fitting quote to go by for this would be: "Don't humiliate yourself before anyone, and don't haughty yourself over anyone"

I actually feel terrible for the genuine, kind, trans women who have done so much for themselves and still don't maybe feel good and satisfied. You've had to overcome a lot in pursuit of happiness, and whether you made you right or wrong choice is now irrelevant. Try to live your best life with what you have, and don't look back, it's too late for that anyway, it would only make things worse now. Look towards the future and never look back, do things which make YOU happy, and not someone else.

For dominant women: Don't see this as a threat, there will always be guys who are more submissive, everyone is definitely and spread out all across the scale, you'll find who you're looking for, only men with with low self-esteem want a weak-minded woman who they can control in all aspects of life. Most men like a strong-minded woman, I also want a strong woman. But don't confuse this for sexual submissiveness/dominance, those aren't the same thing. Feminine doesn't mean weak! 

General statement: The world is all butterflies and fairy tales now, enjoy it while you can, it will get worse, wars are coming, political and ideological changes are going to happen and if you are unprepared then, I have news, it won't end well. You are living in a digital jail right now, you are getting affected/manipulated, but at the end of the day you are the one who holds your own phone or opens your computer. Give yourself the power to control yourself, and free yourself of this jail.

IDEAS AND SOLUTIONS

Become the type man you'd want to serve: Often I see people with slight or fully gay fantasies about men, or being outperformed by certain men (women want them and not you. Become that man. It's going to be hard, in fact it's going to be the hardest thing you will ever do in your life, and it won't even come close. Try it, a person should be adventurous in life so why wouldn't you like to feel what it's like being that person? And the best part is, if you don't like it, you can go back to what you were before and say that you've tried it all and found what you really are, but you can't say that without actually experiencing it, not even a discussion. It'll be a process for a minimum of 1-2 years, and will require discipline and self-control, hey that's similar to serving and/or being locked in chastity, both of those require discipline and self-control too. You can do it.

Find yourself: People love talking about finding themselves, I read it here every now and again, "I found my true self here". You cannot find yourself behind a digital screen, you will find yourself by putting yourself in difficult situations, the easiest way to do that is by going into nature. Take a large backpack with only your essentials and survive in the forest for a week. If that's too much, then just go out in the morning, spend the night and come back, walking through terrain and getting to some destination. Maybe you live in a cold climate, in winter go out into the snow and walk around the forests all day. Remember to bring an emergency phone if going to places you don't know too well. 

Estrogen vs Testosterone: Estrogen makes you girly, and Testosterone manly, we know that right? To increase your estrogen naturally you can drink soy product, live an unhealthy lifestyle, and mentally stimulate yourself. You cannot produce as much estrogen naturally as a woman does, you'd have to take supplements. A healthy lifestyle in women increases their estrogen, and a healthy lifestyle in men increases their testosterone. You can increase your testosterone by exercising, eating meat (protein), onion, dark chocolate, a Mediterranean diet is pretty good, and of course getting high quality sleep, (here I am at 3am writing this post - hypocrite, I'm ashamed and I'll work on it).

Reward yourself. When you achieved a goal to becoming your new masculine life, treat yourself to something fulfilling. Whether it's some sort of food or an experience. We all need positive affirmations. You can reflect on what you've done well and what you've done poorly. Like me who wanted to s few important things and instead procrastinated for 3 days, hence, no reward, but as double self motivation I'll do a super big reward after putting myself together and getting all I wanted done (this post was no. 5 priority).

Belief. Believe in yourself that you can do it, your mind is extremely powerful, you give it less credit than it deserves, if you channel it the right way then it was serve you as a great tool.

Energy. Energy is another real, powerful, but invisible thing. Have you ever entered a historical religious place of worship? Like an ancient church in Europe or a mosque in the old Ottoman Empire like Turkey or even spain, a Buddhist or Hindu temple in Asia… they all have energy which you can feel, you absorb things differently with various energies. Or maybe more relatable, you're having fun at an outgoing fun party, you feel good right, smiling and enjoying life. That's positive energy. If you put yourself in environments with the type of energy you are currently looking for, it will help, a lot. I don't mean to say you should be religious or anything, but there's nothing wrong if you are or want to, it gives you hope and a sense of safety and security in its own ways.

Stand up for yourself. Have some morals and beliefs which you like and stand by. Don't be afraid to defend them in an argument.

This is my first authentic post on this website and I was very hesitant to make it, after all no-one might even read what I spent so much time on, but if at least one person is somehow positively influenced then it was worth it. I know that I will probably be reported by someone simply because they didn't agree with what I wrote, and my account will be taken down. If you don't agree with the things I said then ignore them, I made this for people who can resonate with something I wrote (not at all necessarily all of it), people who don't even know why they like the things they like, know it's not what they always wanted but find pleasure in it now. Hence please reblog if you like what you read, it won't be here forever.

If you are unsure or want to discuss anything feel free to DM.

If you want to do some research yourself, start with researching "Subliminal perception". It's absolutely everywhere and affects everyone, like it or not.

I might start positive things with a little political subcontext explaining my points further.

#locked in caged #sissy and slave #permanent sissy #sissy fendom #faggot sissy #humiliated sissy #feminine sissy #submisive sissy #beta sissy #locked and denied

[sh0tanzz]

is it me or do i like men groveling

can i request riize second chance romance if that makes sense:’)

(ur work is amazing pls continie keeping us happy^^)

i love groveling men too it’s ok anon 😗

RIIZE SECOND CHANCE ROMANCE ~ based on their birth charts

reminder this is just based off of my opinion after looking at their birth charts and what I think would happen from my own observations these things are not exact fact unless they said it themselves !

Shotaro

SO MUCH ANGST OOOH MY GOF. Would be the most mature on the outside but on the inside he’d be ☹️☹️☹️. “I don’t even care about what she’s doing” [checked your instagram and other socials to see if you’re grieving as well or seeing someone new] He wouldn’t necessarily go out dating looking for a rebound he’d focus on his craft in all honesty and might even seclude himself a little bit. I see him taking a break with his s/o instead of just flatline breaking up and once he feels like he has emotionally healed as far as he can he’d return and it would be pretty serious like in a private closed space he’d want to talk everything out and NEEEDS you to be honest abt everything but he’d just want you guys back together and for both of you to be happy.

Eunseok

(I feel like Eunseok is aware that he could potentially fall victim to the “the one that got away” trope) but anyway. He’d be the biggest nonchalanter to ever nonchalant 😭 might even try to stay mutuals/cordial with you. Would date, see other people, have a mini roster and fwbs going on. But as soon as he realizes everyone else is boring him and wasting his oh so valuable time (And he hates. To waste his time.) he’d get so irritated at himself for letting go of such a good thing and would criticize criticIZE CRITICIZEE himself. Forces himself to not run from/internalize how he feels he’d reach out again, wouldn’t be the most sappy return ever he might even joke about what happened but he’d be as honest as he could ever be and would surprisingly admit where he fucked up.

Sungchan

His pride and the hurt he carried during the time apart would hold him back so badly. Would improve himself and boss up similar to Shotaro to show you what you were missing; try to find attention and praise elsewhere. But when he realizes you did the same thing and also became better in every way possible physically, mentally…and that people still have their eye on you like they did when he first met you..he’d cave. Would HAVE to shamefully put his hurt and pride aside. Cue his dramatic serious text at 11pm and him asking how you’re doing to see if the good things he’s heard about you were true (prays you say no when he asks if you’re seeing anyone) would ask you to meet him somewhere that was important to you two and nostalgic. Almost kills him to be wrong but has to accept it 😭

Wonbin

He’d be like “whatever” since he knows that so many girls want to be in your place, might even consider sliding back to that one ex. Would be torn between just letting things go back to normal but his stubborn stagnant attitude would leave him stuck in a victim state. But then once the pain slowlyyy seeps in and that what you two had was something genuine and you were one of few people that actually understood him and physically compatible with him then on the inside he’d lose it. Would have a wayyy more sappy lovey dovey way of coming back. Cue him using music in some way shape or form as his way of coming back. Would probably want to physically see you in a place that he’s most comfortable with.

Seunghan

So so sassy. Honestly he’d walk away pretty fast but would miss you pretty fast right after. He’d hesitate but only because he knows that he probably got a little mean when you two split and that you might not even want to talk to him. Tries to go dating around but wakes up and gets it together once he sees/hears that you’re talking to someone new (10 extra points if it’s someone he doesn’t like or thinks isn’t even close to how attractive he is ) . Tries to be cool about it but is hurting inside, would ask everyone for advice. The emotional side would take over and he’d just have to listen to how he feels and think later. His way of coming back is essentially him outdoing whoever has you on their sights or him showing you the epitome of affection. He’d have to force his virgo mercury to work and speak UP and apologize.

Sohee

Would seem pretty ok and normal compared to everyone else similarly to Eunseok. Talks about you but wants to jump someone if THEY try to talk about you. (“can’t believe she’d do this” “yea she’s crazy asf” “Don’t say that 🫤.” ). (Cue him singing “When I was your man” by Bruno Mars 😭). He wouldn’t want to constrict and limit himself or you after the breakup so he’d also try to date/talk to other people. Has to give in and accept that thinking about you while hanging out with someone else is a CLEAR indicator that he needs to get off his high horse and return. He’d probably word vomit about how he feels about everything and apologize but also goes on this passive lecture on how you two shouldn’t allow each others feelings to rip you two apart like that again and the principle of it all.

Anton

Word vomit pt.2. Could go two ways. Way one if the breakup was on good terms/mutual after the breakup he’d probably remain friends or still be in contact with you, then once he realizes he can’t just move on at the snap of his fingers and realizes that every person he’s with has resemblance to you whether it’s physical/personality he’d impulsively talk to you and get right back if he can. If it was on bad terms it’d feel pretty cruel ngl like you’d feel like he kinda just disappeared and made his way elsewhere..but once he’s alone with his thoughts he’d have to realize the errors of his way or the faults on his side he’d IMPULSIVELY come forwards with how he feels, would probably ask you to dinner and have the conversation there and says everything that he has to.

#riize #riize reactions #riize fluff #riize imagines #riize smut #riize x reader #riizenet #riize soft hours #riize soft thoughts #riize eunseok #riize shotaro #riize sungchan #riize wonbin #riize seunghan #riize sohee #riize scenarios #riize headcanons #riize anton #riize smau #riize angst #eunseok #sungchan #eunseok x reader #sungchan x reader #osaki shotaro #briize #wonbin x reader #seunghan x reader #sohee x reader #anton lee

[her-satanic-wiles]

October 15th

Noncon, Possessed!Swiss x Reader

Masterlist ⛧ Hellish Delights Masterlist

Words: 6.8k

Warnings: Noncon; extreme horror; dead dove: do not eat; explicit use of the word “rape” throughout; public masturbation; exhibitionism; possession; violence; demonic asphyxiation; victim blaming; face-slapping; sexual violence; rape; rape-kink; characters acknowledge that it’s rape; piv; vaginal sex; unprotected sex; pain; degradation; public sex; mind break; underprepared; dacrophilia; unconcious sex; multiple scenes; dubcon; fear play; breeding kink; cum eating; accidental filming via security camera; creampie;

The Ghouls aren't demons in my fic. They're humans who work in the Ministry but they're a different class of profession, somewhere between personal assistants and body guards depending on the importance of Papa's task.

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this is dark fiction, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my rating. Thank you.

**WARNING**

This is a work of fiction based in the extreme horror category and should be treated as such. I do not condone the actions the characters make, nor am I actively encouraging others to participate in such actions in everyday life. It also does not reflect the personalities of the performers who play these characters.

The purpose of this fic is to shock, scare, entertain, and make readers entirely uncomfortable. If you are not in a headspace where you can safely read and enjoy this story, or even if the trigger warnings make you uncomfortable, I highly recommend and encourage you not to read this. Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction.

If you are struggling to come to terms with past trauma, please talk to someone and seek professional help.

You deserve to feel safe, loved and cared for. Thank you.

Sometimes rituals went wrong. That was one of the things you learned when you first joined the Ministry. Rituals go wrong and not every demon is your friend. Of course, the more rituals one participated in determined the success of said ritual just down to the fact that experience was a key ingredient and so it was always recommended to bring someone who had experience to every single ritual just to be safe.

Papa Copia’s Ghouls were the more experienced ones in the Ministry, but more specifically Mountain, Rain, Swiss, and Dew. Yourself and Phantom were mere babes in comparison; sweet summer children who knew nothing of life and Satanism, only sex rituals on pentagrams give funny dreams and great orgasms. Because of this, you and Phantom walked into the ritual room with a bit of a pep in your steps, and no worries or concerns whatsoever - not concerning yourselves with seriousness or responsibility. This was just a regular, sex magick ritual surrounded by friends in order to contact the Olde One and get some advice is all. You had done this perfectly before, and you had no reason to think it wouldn’t happen again.

You, Rain and Mountain began lighting the candles in the room, ten of them to be precise. One for each of the pentagram’s corners, and a further five to outline the space in between. Dewdrop, the most experienced of everyone there, was in charge of drawing the pentagram from scratch. The first step was to scrub away the existing paint from a previous Sibling’s ritual.

“Why are we doing this?” Phantom asked as he wrung out the hot, soapy water from the sponge.

Dew sighed, “Did you not pay attention during training, Phantom?”

Swiss was now on his hands and knees next to Dew scrubbing at the red paint with a hard-bristled brush. “Clearly not. Look at those eyes: no thoughts just vibes.”

Phantom threw some of the soapy water at Swiss, in turn earning himself a middle finger. “I didn’t have time to study, remember? I was just thrown straight into life here after Aether…” Phantom trailed off, remembering how so many people in the room weren’t ready to talk about what happened. There was a brief silence while they all cast their minds back to their long lost friend.

“We clean off the old pentagram,” Dew said, clearly exasperated by his Satanic brothers, “because we don’t know what kind of ritual our Siblings performed before we got here. Cleaning the floor allows us to better control the safety of our ritual.”

“What could happen if we don’t clean up?” Phantom asked. “Moreover, what would happen if we just built upon these lines?”

“Oh come on, Phantom.” You said. “Even I know that.” Phantom got on his knees and began scrubbing away the paint on his third of the pentagram. “The cross energy between rituals and magic opens up a gateway for negative energy to come through. Sometimes that energy is just bad karma or bad luck, and you have one hell of a week.”

Swiss, “Literally.”

You continued, “Or it’s the souls of the damned coming through, or worse, demons.”

Phantom, “Has the Dark One ever travelled through these portals?”

Dew, “Probably. But He doesn’t do it often.”

“What I still don’t understand is why demons and damned souls would want to hurt us, we’re all on the same side, after all.”

Mountain, “Catholicism. You give energy to things you believe in, which in turn makes it more powerful, right?” Phantom nodded. “This is why Lucifer Himself wouldn’t come to harm us because we love and worship Him as a friend, a lover, a brother etc. But according to Catholicism, why does Hell exist?”

“To punish bad people after they die.”

“And what do we know happens to these bad people when they spend an eternity being tortured by demons?”

“They become demons themselves.”

“Good boy, have a Scooby snack.” Mountain threw a packet of mini-Oreos at Phantom, who caught it with one hand.

Rain, “Some of those bad people become demons, not all of them. The majority of demons are created by Lucifer as assistants to Him, and they’re usually picked from the petty criminals rather than genocidal maniacs and bigoted pricks. Like Mephistopheles, for example. He was just a businessman before he died. Think Ebenezer Scrooge, but in real life. Stole from the poor to put in his back pocket. In comparison to say, I don’t know, Stalin, he wasn’t too bad of a guy. If Mephistopheles showed up, we would have a great time sending him back. We’d just have to watch our wallets.”

Phantom, “And if it’s one of the dangerous ones, it would be catastrophic?”

Dew, “Absolutely. Papa and the Clergy would have to get involved. Papa would have to contact the Olde One directly to come and drag the beast away. Contacting the Olde One with the ritual that Papa would need could put Papa in mortal danger. So, we clean to save Papa as well as ourselves. So, make sure you get every spot, you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

That was the first mistake made that night: no one double checked before the paint went down that the previous paint had been cleaned completely. From eye-level, everything looked squeaky. But what none of you realised at the time was there were small, insignificant specs of paint left in Swiss’ third. Insignificant specs, but by no means safe.

The second mistake was that when the candles were being placed on the freshly painted pentagram, one of them wasn’t precisely sat atop one of the points. The candles usually acted as an extra barrier of protection, essentially trapping something inside the pentagram if it came through uninvited. Lower level demons or spirits could still be trapped if the candles weren’t precise, but the higher level ones wouldn’t be stopped.

The five Ghouls were there to conduct the ritual on Papa’s behalf, you were there to provide the energy to allow them to do so. This wasn’t your first ritual and so you had no problems at all getting completely naked in front of the five men you considered to be close friends, and sitting in the centre of the pentagram. You’d been part of these rituals before with them, if you hadn’t already had a few of them balls deep inside you on multiple occasions beforehand. And so when they had all joined hands, you had no shyness or reservations about spreading your legs and exposing yourself to them. This would be the third mistake.

Swiss wasn’t concentrating fully. If you’d have opened your eyes and looked at your friends holding hands around you as they chanted, you would have seen Swiss looking directly at you with his mouth open, watching as you touched yourself surrounded by men. You would have seen that he was concentrating on your hands toying with your clit more than chanting the Latin required to safely perform the ritual. You could have stopped the ritual because of it - but you didn’t. You didn’t know that there was a problem.

Your head was thrown back in pleasure as your fingers worked over your clit. Your body was draining of energy the closer and closer you got to orgasm. In your line of sight, you could see Rain looking back at you but his mouth reciting the Latin he’d learned. You couldn’t see Rain’s eyes, though you were desperate to know what he looked like under there right now. All eyes were on you, and it turned you on so much to know that you were being intensely watched by five masked men as you dipped two fingers into your cunt and began to hit your g-spot.

Masked men, the fifth mistake.

Had they all removed their masks, everyone would have seen the biggest problem in the room: Swiss. Not only had he stopped chanting in order to concentrate on your wetness, but his head had begun twitching. Had he not worn his mask, others would have seen his eyes glaze over and roll back into his head. They’d have noticed the white dimming into pitch blackness. They’d have been able to break the circle and preemptively send the demon back to Hell before it could fully appear in the real world. But as hot as the masks were, and as much as you loved looking at them, they were impractical and unsafe for private rituals.

The air grew thick with an unholy presence, and a palpable darkness descended upon the ritual site. The very ground seemed to tremble beneath your feet as a foul wind swirled around you, extinguishing the candles one by one.

As the ritual reached its zenith, a sudden surge of malevolent force swept through the circle, causing you all to recoil in terror. Swiss let out a deep, yet blood curdling scream causing everyone in the room to stop what they were doing and freeze, yourself included. Your wet hand now removing itself from your core and your body sitting up straight in alarm. By the time you’d focused on him, Swiss had broken the circle and was cupping his head over his helmet, as though he was in immense pain. His screaming continued as he doubled over, bent at the waist and yelling at the floor. Swiss’ voice, now filled with an otherworldly resonance, grew louder and more insistent, his body trembling with an eerie energy. One of his hands began to hit at the mask in an attempt to stop whatever was causing him so much discomfort.

“Swiss!” Dew shouted, running over to his friend. “Brother, focus! Come back to us! Phantom! Go get help, now!”

Phantom nodded and ran out the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Swiss, it’s me: it’s Dew. What’s wrong, brother?”

“My… head!” Swiss exclaimed through gritted teeth. “It’s in my head!”

You stood up and dressed yourself, making sure that at least your habit was covering you. All the while, you watched as Dew frantically tried to get answers out of his brother, and figure out what went wrong so he could help. Swiss was still screaming, still trying to escape out of Dew’s grasp.

Then silence.

Swiss stood straight. Still. No more screams of pain, no more frantic Dew. You couldn’t even hear the world outside the ritual room. Just maddening silence that could drive a person to insanity if they were in it for too long. Everyone remained unmoving, fearing even breathing in case it triggered something. You wanted to leave, to escape the room and get help - or even just pull your friends out and save them. But your body wouldn’t move. It wouldn’t respond to your brain’s pleas to get the fuck away.

In that chilling moment, a grotesque transformation overtook Swiss. His voice, now distorted and filled with malice, spoke words that were not his own. It was a demon that had taken hold of him, a malefic entity summoned from the abyss.

The demon had been called forth by all of the mistakes made that night. It reveled in the chaos and despair that surrounded it, relishing the opportunity to wreak havoc upon the mortal realm. With Swiss as its vessel, the demon’s power knew no bounds.

The demon’s dark presence continued to grow, casting a sinister pall over the entire Ministry. Outside of the room, a sense of unease began to spread. Siblings and Ghouls alike could feel the malevolence that radiated from the heart of the Ministry, an unnatural darkness that seemed to seep into their very souls. It was as if the very fabric of reality had been torn asunder, and the boundary between the mortal realm and the abyss had grown thin.

Everyone was simply afraid to speak, to move, to even breathe. There was a comfort in the silence that couldn’t be explained other than Swiss hadn’t attacked anyone or made any movements. You weren’t even sure if Swiss was still in there. No one move, no one blink, no one make any sounds.

Swiss moved first - his head shifting from Ghoul to Ghoul to you as though he were studying you all. He seemed more like a caged animal than a human as he weighed up his options, though he wasn’t entirely registering what he was seeing. Each room was designed with at least some kind of demonic suppressor so you knew whoever had stolen Swiss from you didn’t have the full extent of his powers. But as he’d barely done anything, you still couldn’t gauge just how dangerous he was.

Suddenly, Swiss’ eyes locked onto you and focused on nothing else. Your body was still very scantily clad in your habit, your legs fully on display even though you were hiding behind Mountain. Swiss’ mouth curled up into a sinister smile. “He likes you.” Two voices emerged from his throat, the first being Swiss’ sweet timbre, the second the demonic entity inside of him. “I am in his head. I know. I see.” He took a small step forward. “He has sinned against you. He does so nightly.” Another step. “He imagines things in his chambers when he is alone. He wants to bury himself deep inside you. Even today during the ritual, he considered getting on his knees and taking you in front of everyone.” Another step. That was when you all realised the final mistake: you.

Swiss got possessed because he was watching you masturbate in front of him. He got possessed because he was craving your body, your touch. He got possessed because he was concentrating on how you’d feel wrapped around him and didn’t pay attention to the most important things. You never should have been chosen for the ritual. You never should have agreed.

Swiss spoke again. “I think we should give him what he wants, don’t you?”

“You stay away from her!” Dew shouted. He’d gained enough confidence and bravery to step forward, arms outstretched, and ready to restrain Swiss. Or at least attempt to anyway. Dew was much, much smaller than Swiss, so even when he wasn’t possessed by a demonic entity, restraining him alone would have been damn near impossible. But the added power now coursing through Swiss’ human veins made restraint way more difficult.

All Swiss had to do was lift his hand and Dew was levitating from the ground. A simple push saw Dew flying backwards, his head smacking against the wall and his body falling limp to the floor.

“Dew!” Rain shouted. It was a natural reflex done out of fear and it caused him to lurch forward. The demon, presuming Rain had moved to attack him, copied the motion and threw Rain against the wall too, the sweetest of all the Ghouls now unmoving on the other side of the room.

Mountain still held you behind him and for every step the demon took towards you, Mountain moved you backwards. You could tell he was trying to move you towards the door without taking his eyes off of Swiss. But deep down you both knew that while Mountain was a worthy opponent for Swiss, he was no match for the thing possessing him. All Mountain could do was hope that you at least got out of the room safely especially now that the demon had its eyes on you.

“Give her willingly and your life will be spared.” Swiss’ two voices cut through the panicked silence.

“No.” Mountain said.

Swiss raised his hand into a fist and concentrated on Mountain. Mountain, like the others, was now being raised off the ground, but this time Swiss was being torturous, enjoying the pain he was inflicting internally. Mountain grasped at his throat as if a hand had been wrapped around it, and struggled to get air into his lungs. “___,” he choked out, “go!”

Somehow your body responded to the sound of his voice and you made a break for the door. There was a part of you that knew you’d never reach it - that knew you’d end up in a worse fate than your friends, but you still tried anyway. Maybe if you left, you would be able to find more help to bring. Maybe you’d run into Phantom or Papa, just someone who could come and save everyone. You refused to believe that they were all dead - you would have given up if you thought that. So for all the good it did you, you chose to run. You chose to fight as best you could.

Behind you, Mountain’s body thudded to the floor, but you could hear him gasping for breath. Swiss, who was now focussing on you trying to make your escape, didn’t put the full extent of his powers into hurting Mountain as he did Dewdrop and Rain. Mountain was weakened from the impact but he wasn’t unconscious… yet. But now you had no protection - now you were completely vulnerable.

You managed to get the door open, but by then, it was too late, Swiss had already come up behind you and slammed it shut again. His large hands grabbed onto your waist, thick fingers digging into your flesh and manoeuvring you to where he wanted you. Your own back slammed against the door and you were met with Swiss’ cold, unfeeling mask, glass eyepieces only showing a glimpse of the blackened eyes that had completely stripped away the humanity from one of your closest friends. His once beautiful smile brought you nothing but happiness now evil and no doubt the last thing you’d ever see. You struggled, fighting against the unholy strength that had caught you, but of course, you were no match for him - in fact, he seemed to enjoy you struggling. In your frantic movements, your hip grazed his and you felt his cock now standing hard beneath his Ghoulish uniform. You knew what was coming.

He cackled, the two voices giving a creepier edge to something so joyous. His free hand came to remove the helmet and allowed you to gaze at the face that was going to bring you so much pain. His eyes were, indeed, as black as you’d been told. Veins were popping from beneath his skin, no doubt Swiss straining from the inside to expel the demon from within but failing miserably. Even though you could hear it wasn’t Swiss, and you could see the eyes certainly weren’t his, it was so difficult to differentiate between demon and human. Your brain struggled reminding you that Swiss wasn’t the one who’d hurt your friends; that he wasn’t the one rubbing his clothed cock against your thigh; that his hand wasn’t squeezing one of your soft breasts so painfully hard; that it wasn’t his tongue licking a stripe from your neck to your ear.

You pushed against his large chest trying to distance yourself, but it was as if you were trying to move the Ministry itself. He wasn’t budging. “Get. Off. Me!” You grunted in your exertion.

“This Ghoul wants you - you would deny him? You would deny him after the show you put on for him?”

“There was no show!”

“Really? Because you angled your body to give him the perfect view of,” the hand that was on your breast now moved to your crotch and gripped your vulva tightly - so tightly you screamed, “this cunt. You wanted him to touch you. You were asking for him to take you. Begging for it, were you not?”

“I wasn’t!”

“Lying whore!” He slapped your face hard enough to leave a mark, the bite knocking you off kilter for a second and making the room spin. He grasped hold of your cheeks and forced you to look at him. He took his opportunity to kiss you, forcefully pressing his mouth to yours and using his tongue to lick over your unresponsive lips. Taking this opportunity, you kneed him in his crotch now extra sensitive from all the blood that had pooled there. This gave you enough respite from his attack to push him away from you and attempt an escape. The door was locked shut this time, though. And it didn’t matter anyway, he was faster than you thought.

His thick forearm wrapped around your neck and pulled your body flush against his. “You like pain, hm?” This time, when he spoke, he used only Swiss’ voice. He tightened his arm and began cutting off the air supply to your lungs. “You want me to make it hurt?”

“Swiss!” You choked from his anaconda-like grasp. “Stop!”

“He cannot help you now, little one. But I have made sure he can see everything.”

With one hand on your shoulder, he released you from his chokehold long enough to push you hard to the ground. As you stumbled and collapsed, you felt the skirt of your habit rising up over your bare ass cheeks, which earned another menacing snicker from the demon. “Look at you. The little Jezebel is ready for her master’s cock.”

“No!”

You got onto your hands and knees ready to stand and run, but you felt Swiss’ boot on your exposed backside and stamping you back down flush to the floor. Wasting no more time or effort, he straddled your hips to keep you pinned down and pressed his entire weight onto you. Over the sound of your struggling, you heard his jeans zipper undoing.

“Still some energy in you, I see.” He taunted as he placed his hands where his thighs were and moved further down your body, still fighting you. “I wonder how long that will last.”

You braved a look behind you to see if there was anything further you could do, but caught a glimpse of what Swiss was sporting under his clothes. Now he was fully exposed, you truly saw his length and girth for what it was and dread pooled in your stomach. The pain you were about to feel was beyond terrifying.

“Which hole should we rape?” Swiss asked, lining himself up with your ass and rubbing against the rim. “This one?”

“No! Please! Let me go!”

“Or this one?” He then rubbed over the entrance to your cunt and gasped. “She is wet! The whore is ready to accept Satan’s gift! She wants it even though she deludes herself otherwise.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Ghoul, which hole do you fantasize about the most, hm? Which one do you want us to rape today?” There was silence for a moment and you could swear you heard Swiss’ screams - similar screams to when he was first possessed. “Her tight, little cunt hm?”

He lined up once more with your hole, and you tried again to escape from underneath him. “Swiss! Please stop! Please! No!” Your wriggling proved useless when you felt him press inside you.

The pain was beyond anything you’d felt before, a searing white hot pain that shot through your entire body and only continued the more of him entered you. He wasn’t gentle with his movements, as expected from a demon. He bottomed out almost immediately, hitting your cervix roughly and causing you to scream. “He was right,” Swiss said, “you do feel incredible. This hole was made for cock, no wonder he spent all his time drooling over you.” He pulled out and thrust back in laughing at your pain-filled scream. “I have kept him awake so that he can remember this gift the Unholy Father has bestowed. More material for him to think about in the darkness of his room.”

“Please, stop!” Your voice was high pitched now and tears were staining your cheeks as your hands covered your mouth to muffle your cries. Your distraught sobs caught the demon’s attention, however, and he wanted his gratification.

He wrapped Swiss’ hand in your hair and tugged your face off the floor. Your mouth was hung open from your weeping and your screams escaped every time he thrust in and hit your cervix. “That is right, scream for him. Let him know how good you feel on his cock.” The sound of your cunt swallowing him made him speed up his movements, entirely enthralled by your body accepting him properly. “Show him how you love being raped by his fat cock.”

“P-please stop!”

He groaned. “Keep begging for me to stop. Keep crying for me. You get tighter every. Single. Time.” He thrust between each word, getting rougher and rougher with you.

With his hand in your hair, your head was lifted and you could look around the room. As your body was pushed along the floor by the power of his hips, your tears blurred your vision but you could still see your friends laying lifeless in front of you - spread in all manner of ways. None of them could save you. None of them could help you. If they were even alive. Your thoughts turned to Phantom, outside of this room searching for someone to come and exorcise the demon back to Hell. Your fear became overpowering at the thought of the sweet newcomer walking in and seeing you pinned beneath Swiss, being raped by someone you all used to love and trust. Would anyone else understand that this wasn’t Swiss hurting you? Would Swiss even survive the exorcism?

In a moment of adrenaline from the fear you felt, you shifted your body using all the strength you could muster. You wrapped your legs around his calves, swung your arm to hit his face and proceeded to turn as if you were about to lie on your back. Swiss didn’t anticipate this and so slipped out of you for a brief moment, falling off of you. Wasting no time, your weak legs forced you onto your feet and you ran towards the door once more. Your brain was clearer than before allowing you to unlock the door this time. But as you opened it, once again, Swiss pushed it closed.

“Clearly I have not broken you yet.”

By the collar of your habit, he pulled you back to give him the space to stand in front of you. His hand, now tightly closed in a fist, backhanded your cheek and all you saw was black.

When you came to, your jaw ached so badly. Your vision was blurred and it took a while to come to. Your hands were held above your head as you lay on your back, a large hand holding them together and restraining you. As your head was turned to its side, you saw Mountain and Rain laying next to each other, still entirely unconscious and unmoving. But you were still being attacked.

Now that you were pinned to the floor, and had been out for you didn’t know how long, Swiss had chance to fully savour you. Your habit had been torn town the middle, exposing you completely to the demonic eyes you were now staring into, those very eyes entranced by the way your breasts bounced from the roughness of his thrusts. His cock was now spearing into you much harder than before, the position allowing him to fuck into you deeper. His pubic mound was grinding against your clit as he pounded away, and for the first time that night you were feeling pleasure with the pain.

“I knew you wanted this.” Swiss said from above you upon hearing the small pleasured whimper that escaped you. “I knew you were a whore who loved getting raped. How you would spread your legs for anyone who offered you a bit of attention. I am not wrong, am I?” You moaned again accidentally, this time louder. “Say it. Tell me how much you love it. Tell him that you love it when he rapes you.” When you didn’t obey, he wrapped his hands around your throat. “Say it!”

“I love it!” You shouted reluctantly. “I love being raped!”

Somehow this wasn’t a lie. Since waking up, every hit against your cervix, every drag of his cock against your walls felt delicious. The demonic black of his eyes, the thick hands that held you down had you spreading your legs wider to let him continue abusing your hole. You were getting wetter and wetter with each thrust, more desperate to cum than ever before. You fear dissipated and was replaced with nothing but cock. The weight of it driving you crazy, the way he used you for his own pleasure and revelled in your agony. How he lowered himself to lick your tears away and bury himself inside you over and over again.

“There you go. That was not difficult. You got so much tighter too.”

Your screams turned from pain to desperation. Your mouth hung open in a perfect O. His cock had broken you, stripped you of everything and turned you into his own, personal toy. You sat up as much as you could to see where you both were connected. You saw the base of his cock was rimmed with white where your wetness had turned to cream and stuck in his pubic hairs. Each pull out of you had multiple strings of your own juices forming and snapping. You could feel yourself spilling out of your hole and running down your body, gathering on the wooden floor below you. Fuck! It felt so fucking good.

“Will you cum on his cock? Will you cum on the cock that rapes you?”

“Yes!” You screamed looking back up into his eyes. “I’m gonna c-cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-!”

The door opened right as your orgasm hit, your mind clouding over and drool dripping from your mouth as you came all over Swiss’ cock. The last thing you remember seeing was Papa Copia’s eyes look into yours in horror as you came like a desperate whore while your close friend took you against your will. Then the world went black.

When you came to, your eyes refused to open at first. Your head was pounding from the physical trauma and there was a deep-seated pain in your core that sent stabbing pains through your legs every time you moved them.You groaned and tried to sit up but your body refused to respond. The heart monitor beside you kept bleeping letting you know that you were, in fact, alive, but also that you were currently in the infirmary. But there was another sound coming from the foot of your incredibly uncomfortable bed. When your eyes finally opened it took you a while to fully process what you were seeing.

Swiss.

In a moment of pure fear, you panicked and tried to move further up the bed, as far away from him as you possibly could. You could feel a scream building in your throat, but your jaw hurt you too much to move it. Even still, your fear didn’t care. Swiss’ eyes were back to normal, and glassy with unshed tears. His face, pale and sickly, stained with the tears he had cried. He looked awful - his veins tinted a little black from the pressure of the demon inhabiting his body.

“Please, don’t scream!” He said quickly. “It’s me again. The demon’s gone.” You wanted to open your mouth and ask him what he was doing there, but your jaw wouldn’t move. “Your jaw isn’t broken, but it’s badly bruised from where I…” He started crying again, burying his head on your bed. “I’m so fucking sorry!” He wept hard, your heart breaking for him every time you saw his shoulders violently shake. “I hurt you so b-bad. I’m so sorry! I d-didn’t want to do any of th-those things. I tried - I tried to stop but it was t-too… strong. It w-wasn’t me!”

Deep down you knew it wasn’t. You knew Swiss would never hurt you like that because he never had. He’d never shown that level of ferocity and violence to anyone or anything. He was the kindest soul in the Ministry - a ray of sunlight the morning after a storm. Before all of this, you would have trusted him with anything, your life included. But even though reason told you he wasn’t the monster that attacked you, your brain still registered him as the attacker. When you saw his eyes before he hid them, you could have sworn for a brief moment they were still black. You wanted to comfort him, to tell him that it was okay and you forgave him even though there wasn’t anything to forgive. But there was such a hesitation. An annoying voice in the back of your head saying “what if”? What if that really was him? What if they didn’t exorcise the demon out? They must have otherwise he’d be in chains in the dungeons right now. So, you reached your hand out and touched his head, gently stroking at his hair. Tears were falling down your face too as your brain replayed the trauma.

When you both had calmed down a little, and Swiss was no longer hiding his face from you, you both sat in silence staring at each other. You were studying his face for imperfections and signals that he was unsafe, and he was studying yours for any hints of fear that should tell him he needed to go. “I know it’s selfish of me being here.” He said. “It only happened yesterday. I’m not supposed to be here. Papa’s going to come and talk to you when you’re feeling stronger, he wants you to decide my punishment.”

You shook your head. You didn’t want to punish him.

“Everyone else is fine. Dew has a broken shoulder but he’ll live. Rain has concussion. Mountain’s up and out of the infirmary with no problems at all.” Your mind cast itself back to yesterday, watching Swiss barrel through them and throw them around like children’s toys. How helpless you felt when he was inside you and they were all in the room, knocked out from his attack. How none of them helped you.

“I shouldn’t have come but I needed to see you. I feel so guilty. I…” he hesitated. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. I felt everything the de- he did to you. I heard everything, saw everything, felt everything. And you felt so… especially when… fuck! I know I shouldn’t but I keep remembering and my body reacts. I’ve used my hand so many times since but nothing compares to… I need it. I need you. One more time. Please.”

There was a feeling of dread pooling in your stomach again but you could understand where he was coming from. Since you’d been awake and your mind was showing you the images from yesterday, you were also losing your mind. You remembered everything in graphic detail, especially how good it felt when you woke up on the floor. Arousal began to replace the dread and your thighs rubbed together, making you hiss in pain. But the pain and the arousal seemed to control you, and for some reason unbeknownst to you, you nodded your head.

Swiss didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled back the comforter and climbed onto the bed. He lifted up the infirmary nightgown you were wearing and exposed your abused hole to him. You could see his cock tenting through his own nightgown at the sight of you. You were so broken and vulnerable, and it did things to him he knew he’d feel guilty for later on. But he just couldn’t resist any longer. It was like he was addicted to you. To it. “I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.” He told you. He lifted your gown further up to expose your breasts again before pulling himself free and lining himself up. You wanted to tell him to not be gentle, to disrespect you like he had yesterday, but the words couldn’t come out.

Pushing into you, you felt the same searing pain you felt the first time he did. You were so under prepared yesterday and even more so today. But after a few uncomfortable thrusts, the pleasure returned once more, and your hands, now finally responding, flew to his shoulders and grasped on, digging your nails into his skin.

His mouth had hung open and his own grunts and moans were escaping as he lost himself in the pleasure and the memory of your fear. You were deprived of this yesterday - and you were convinced that if you’d heard how good he felt, you’d have given up fighting long before you did.

“You feel even better than yesterday.” He muttered. His thrusts got rougher and you could feel the infirmary bed moving beneath you, groaning at the weight and the intense movement. “I kept thinking about how wet you got. The way you creamed on my fucking cock. I came twice to that thought alone. Fuck!”

Though your jaw was in pain, you were still able to whimper from the feeling of his fat cock railing you in a similar fashion to yesterday. Your own noises kept spurring him on.

“And when you screamed, yelling out how much you loved me raping you. Fucking hell. I want to hear it again. I want to hear you beg me to rape you over and fucking over. I want to keep you speared on my cock and make you cum on it because I just won’t stop raping you.”

You tightened at the thought, which made him let out a particularly loud moan.

“You want that, too?”

You nodded.

“Fuck. You want me to turn you into a little fucking rape toy, hm? A fuck-slut that’s only good for taking my fucking cum against her will. Have you beg me to stop while also sucking my cock back into your little hole.”

You dug your nails in again which prompted his hips to smack forward and whack your cervix.

“I’ll do it. Shit. I’ll find you when you’re out of the infirmary and I’ll force you to the fucking floor. I’ll take what I want from you when I want. You want that?”

You nodded.

“Fucking hell, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum again. I came inside you yesterday too. They had a hard time pulling me off you. I just kept holding onto your hips and railing you into the floor. I’m gonna keep doing it now. Use you as my fucking cum receptacle. Rape a baby into you too. Show everyone who this hole belongs to.”

You tightened and moaned again.

“I went feral when they pulled me off of you and I saw my cum spilling out. Proof that I’d - fuck I’m cu-cumming!”

Once again he pushed himself as far into you as he possibly could and stilled, painting your walls with his seed.

No one else had ever made you feel that good before. The fact that he was recreating the shared trauma also did things to you that you couldn’t quite explain. You knew he was suffering as much as you were, that the guilt was eating away at him in the same way the fear was. Maybe that was why you willingly spread your legs for him this time, because you needed someone who knew to make you feel good.

When he’d finished, he watched himself spilling out of you. “Fuck…” he lamented. “No tissues. You didn’t cum.”

You wanted to tell him not to bother, that a nurse might show up midway through. You knew how bad it would look that the man who’d raped you had come back for seconds not twenty-four hours after the incident. But even if you could speak, he wouldn’t listen.

He bent down and placed his tongue in your hole, licking his cum out of you. He swirled his tongue around your cunt, trying to find the parts of you that would tip you over the edge. Once he’d determined that you were clean enough, he moved up to your clit and sucked. Hard. It was like he knew that his treatment of you yesterday meant that you needed it rough today too, and so he did his best to deliver. He didn’t let up until you came on his face, your own juices spilling out of you. You did your best to muffle the scream that was threatening to come out of you as you tipped over the edge, hyper-aware of the fact that a nurse could come rushing in to make sure you were okay. Swiss knew this too and so finished up as quickly as he possibly could.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?”

You nodded and watched him press a kiss to your temple, completely juxtaposing his treatment of you both yesterday and today before making his exit back to his own ward.

You watched him leave and let your eyes wander around the room. That was when you noticed it and froze in panic. There was a security camera in the top corner of the room… and it had just captured everything.

Kinktober: Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

Hellish Delights:

Masterlist ⛧ Hellish Delights Masterlist

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#mel writes #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #ghost kinktober #the band ghost #ghost #ghost bc #ghost band #ghost the band #nameless ghouls #nameless ghoul x reader smut #nameless ghoul x reader #nameless ghoul smut #nameless ghoul #the nameless ghouls #swiss #swiss ghoul #swiss ghost #swiss ghoul x reader #swiss ghoul x reader smut #swiss ghoul smut #swiss smut #swiss x reader #swiss x reader smut #papa emeritus iv

[spacelazarwolf]

(to your knowledge) are there any genuinely trans affirming versions of ra/di/cal feminism? I've seen a few people here and there on the internet saying Their version of it is trans inclusive but I haven't had the time to do any extensive research..

imo no. ra/di/cal feminism relies on the idea that there is a Victim Group and an Oppressor Group. for traditional ra/df/ems, those groups are based on agab. "females" are victims and "males" are oppressors, and these are immutable categories. if you are female, you are and will always be a victim and nothing you can ever do will change that. if you are a male, you are and always will be an oppressor and nothing you can ever do will change that.

for neo ra/df/ems (tirfs, whatever you want to call them), those immutable categories are "man" and "woman", or sometimes "man" and "nonman." if you are a woman or "nonman", you are and will always be a victim and nothing you can ever do will change that. if you are a man, you are and always will be an oppressor and nothing you can ever do will change that. this ideology appeals to a lot of groups like trans and queer people who were afab that don't align with manhood and also to trans women and trans femmes, because those are groups who understandably have a lot of resentment toward the patriarchy for the trauma it's caused them.

but when you look at the other side of the constructed binary, you have a lot of trans and intersex people (whether that's trans men, trans people who pursue masculinizing transition, trans people who align with manhood regardless of agab, intersex people who choose to align with manhood or are forcibly aligned with manhood because of their intersex traits that are perceived as "male", or trans people who were amab that are forcibly aligned with manhood because of the way they present) who simply do not hold any societal power and are in fact profoundly oppressed under the patriarchy who are now being labeled as oppressors simply because of the way they identify or they way they're forcibly aligned. this can be particularly traumatizing for trans people like me who have a lot of deep trauma from the several decades being perceived as and treated as a woman/"female", because our trauma is usually dismissed as "misdirected" or "not as bad." this incongruence between lived experiences of oppression and perceived status as oppressor further marginalizes these groups; they continue to experience oppression in general society because of their status as "other", but are also turned away from safe spaces because of their perceived status as oppressors, and this leads to high levels of isolation, depression and anxiety, violence, and suicide.

ra/di/cal feminism also holds the idea that misogyny is the one true/most important form of oppression. it asserts that all other forms of bigotry stem from misogyny, so the priority should be to overthrow the patriarchy. which sounds like a noble goal in theory, but in practice what it really looks like is a lot of white women wanting to flip patriarchy on its head so they're the ones in charge instead of white men. and historically white women have had an integral role in maintaining white supremacy, so it's understandable why a lot of people of color, including women of color, reject ra/di/cal feminism.

this presents itself in neo ra/di/cal feminism as well when discussions surrounding gender based oppression and transphobia fail to take race into account. trans men are perceived as transitioning into an Oppressor Group, therefore they must be transitioning into an easier and more privileged life. but black and brown trans men report experiencing more violence after they transition. white trans women's voices are prioritized over trans men of color because one is seen as the Victim and the other as the Oppressor, which results in white voices and narratives being prioritized in trans discussions, and does not take into account the way white women have historically used their whiteness as a weapon against black and brown men.

so in conclusion of this mini essay, i argue that there can never be a form of ra/di/cal feminism that is truly accepting of all trans people because the mandatory binary way of thinking is incompatible with queer and trans existence, and because it is not structured to take race and ethnicity into account which makes it inaccessible to racial and ethnic minorities. intersectional feminism that challenges binaries and targets the system instead of individuals or groups of people will always be more inclusive and successful.

#ask avishai #gender studies #atm #neo rf

[lilyveselka]

On Jack Bright (An Exhaustive Perspective) [Edited 2/19/2024 w/ additional evidence!]

A couple disclaimers before I start: First, this isn't an "official stance." It's an explanation of my personal views; I speak for myself alone. Second, I'm not setting out to change people's minds or moralize to them; I just want to explain & respond to some common arguments in the fan space.

Third & finally, massive content warning for explicit discussions of grooming & sexual abuse. This includes screenshots. (I assume everyone is aware of this going in, but better safe than sorry!!)

Q: Why do you care so much, anyway?

A: Not your business, but I was groomed as a teenager in a very similar manner to the whole AB situation. Ok, on to the actual questions.

Q: First things first: Was AB/Duckman a groomer?

A: Yes, pretty definitively. First of all, DMs from one of their victims (who was underage while they were in contact; AB was aware of this fact).

[ID in alt text]

Maybe anonymous allegations aren't solid proof -- of course, there are public victims, but there are also screenshots of AB themself "joking" about being a sexual predator.

Straight up saying they want nudes from 14 year olds.

With the context of the first message -- the punchline is molesting/"corrupting" people who are underage (which they've publicly stated is a fetish of theirs)

This one just kind of... speaks for itself, I think?

[And again, ID in alt text for all these.]

These aren't the only examples, by the way -- just the most blatant. AB also explicitly wrote their interest in underage girls into tales on the actual wiki. Examples include the famed list, which implied Bright shouldn't be around people underage because he would come onto them (and that's without mentioning the blatant racism on there), as well as a now-deleted tale called 'Money, Money, Money' that involved in-depth description of a 13-year-old's breasts.

[Correction: my mistake, the tale was called 'Doctor, Doctor, Doctor.' You can find it here without the overtly sexual description of a child's body — it took 8 years (!!) for AB to remove these passages. Here's the original:

Highlighted in blue is the original edit history showing the article's content. Additionally, here's AB defending this on the talk page:

In addition to this, there's also AB requesting an artist draw incestuous rape porn — personally I find this far less heinous than a lot of the other stuff they've done, but I figure it deserves a place here too.

(iamnotadamnedmonkey is AB's old Tumblr handle, sorry for the poor quality screenshot!)

All new images also have alt text.]

Q: But AB is just the author. Why is the character bad?

A: A couple reasons. First of all, the character reflects a lot of AB's sexual proclivities, including towards underage characters, as I already mentioned in the previous point.

Second, Bright's popularity gave AB their social standing within the community. There are a few chat logs where they brag about people wanting to have sexual relations with them because of their work on the SCP wiki; also, it's pretty clear that creating something popular gives you access to a lot more people who are interested in talking to you.

When you manipulate fans wanting to talk to you into sexual relationships, it's pretty clear that you have the ability to access victims because your name is out there.

Thirdly, AB used Bright's amulet as a possession kink thing and would ask for nudes that had it visible. (And, you know, they solicited a lot of regular nudes too. What a great guy, who would totally never use their platform for their own sexual pleasure...)

Q: Right, but AB's not on the wiki anymore...

A: AB's publicly-spoken victims have politely requested that the character not be used anymore. Bright was used as a tool to access, manipulate, and engage in sexual contact with fans who were young and in some cases under the age of majority. Therefore, continuing to use Bright is disrespectful to their victims. Personally speaking, I also consider it to be disrespectful towards victims of grooming and/or sexual abuse as a whole.

Q: So you think people who still use Bright are bad people?

A: No, I don't.

Like I said, I think they're being pretty blatantly disrespectful. But I'm not the arbiter of morality or the censorship bureau. People can do what they want as long as it is appropriately tagged for.

However, the fact is this: if someone is publicly continuing to use Jack Bright, then they are doing something that goes against my values -- because my values involve supporting and respecting victims of sexual abuse.

I, personally, will not be comfortable speaking to them or seeing them in my internet space, and I'll probably lose a lot of respect for them if I had any in the first place. And since I consider my community to be a group of people who reflect my personal values and beliefs, I also do not and will never consider people who use Bright to be "part of my community."

You don't have to be a bad person to be doing something wrong, and I'll level with you: yes, I think promoting a known sexual offender & ignoring the requests of their victims is, in fact, doing something wrong. That's fine! You're allowed to do stuff that's 'wrong,' I'm not your mommy and I'm not going to call the thought police on you. But you should be comfortable with the fact that you're doing something that is going to upset other people. Using Bright will and does hurt other people, and that is not something that you can ignore.

I don't think anyone should be harassed. Obviously. I've received plenty of harassment for heading the rewrite project, and it sucks no matter who you are.

But I think people should get a little more comfortable with owning their decisions, instead of trying to argue that those decisions don't actually have any weight or consequences.

Q: But I can't control using Bright! [I have an introject of Bright/I have a DA to Bright] and it's not fair to act like I'm doing something wrong!

A: Sorry. Mental illness doesn't make you exempt from your actions having an impact on the people around you. I'll probably be more understanding if it's related to a mental health issue, but, y'know.

You don't have to do it in public. If you genuinely don't want to be hurting or upsetting other people, then you should keep your discussion of the Jack Bright character to private spaces, because otherwise you're still doing the thing you were respectfully asked not to do.

(I'm a system, just for reference. I understand. It doesn't absolve you of consequences.)

Q: I don't actually care about [your feelings/the victims' feelings], so this doesn't apply to me.

A: Cool. You can very easily block me, AB's victims, and anyone else who is vocally against using Bright. That's, uh, the point of the block button.

Q: I have something else to say that you didn't put in this post.

A: If you feel like being respectful or you have a genuine question, please direct yourself to the replies/reblogs/my inbox. If you don't, then please refer to my previous response. If you're blocked so you can't contact me, then, uh... don't contact me?

Ok, that's all my points made. Have the day you deserve, and hopefully it's a good one ❤️

#scp 963 #jack bright #talkin #cw grooming

[lgbt-cishet-movie-tournament]

Most LGBT cishet movie?

Movie Submissions!

Sometimes a cishet movie is a hit in this community even without any stories or characters reflecting us (or at least not explicitly or intentionally or... tastefully). Either because of its campiness and witty banter, its drama, its weirdness, amazing soundtrack and costumes or its diva-like personality taking center stage. Please don't take this poll seriously.

Examples of movies that follow the rules below:

The Wizard of Oz (1939), Clue (1985), The Exorcist (1973), The Servant (1963), The Sound of Music (1965), Heathers (1988), Little Shop of Horrors (1986), All About Eve (1950), Jawbreaker (1999), What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962), 9 to 5 (1980).

Rules for Submissions:

Please don't fight we're literally just ranking the straightest gay movies and transest cis people. The most conforming and queer paradox.

Because of the tendency of this site to call something "gay" just because 2 conventionally attractive men stand next to each other for 5 seconds, I'm not counting shipping possibilities that much. The level of drama, camp and the number drag parodies it has is way more important than possible romantic relationships or sexual tension in submitted films. Also there's ace and aro people voting. Keep them in mind!

It has to be cishet but somehow still queer. Can be the camp, general weirdness, gnc clothes, sassiness, the inclusion of a diva, accidental coding, or some other secret option. Honestly if you find a way to reason so hard it works, you could even try to submit The Godfather (... it is very quotable...)

Submit movies that aren't just American!

Submit movies that are cult classic masterpieces or movies that objectively suck!

I love Mamma Mia but it does have gay characters. This poll came about because I found that a lot of older movies had queer fans that were able to connect to others through these movies while creating their own spaces. This was despite the movie being "straight and gender conforming". I love that there's more rep now, but I'm aiming for this to poll contain more vintage movies for a reason. and I want to expand my watchlist. I'm aware that there are movies from the 70s, 1920s, and other older eras with explicitly gay themes and characters like Victim 1961 or Salome 1920 (and I encourage you to widen your scope of historically significant films) but this isn't that poll.

Old movies with very stealth trans or gay coding with its side characters and unintentional lgbt+ coding is allowed, but you know these things can be hit or miss. Besides, I put Heathers on here even though it's homophobic. Fun but homophobic. You can submit movies with homophobia or conformist themes to a degree.

You can submit propaganda videos, text, and images! If you know any drag parodies of the movies, send them my way!

If you don't want to submit directly, you can @ me

Posts with polls will be tagged as #mlcm poll. Movies posts with #user submitted or #user submission means it was submitted through the google forms and will enter the tournament

Given that not a lot of people watch older movies, the battling polls will be paired by decade until it gets whittled down to the finals where old and young will both compete.

Competition will start May 1 in honor of The Wicker Man 1973, which i wish counted as a poll entry, but I limited myself to one movie I'd slip into the tournament despite the fact that there's not a lot of lgbt fans of the movie. And this was my runner up because I really liked The Exorcist's Regan and Karras. Unless someone else submits him, Wicker Man's not gonna be there. Rest in Peace Christopher Lee and his ugly blonde wig.

#mlcm tournament #xanadu #the wicker man 1973 #horror #lsoh #dolly parton #lgbt #movies #polls #tournament poll #all about eve #whatever happened to baby jane? #q slur

[wellofdean]

So in my ongoing efforts to say nice things about Supernatural and, as @luckshiptoshore said yesterday, "reclaim this nice, gay show" together, and also probably because I listened to Bruce Springsteen earlier today while I was thinking: why is it that this particular love story has me like it does? Why can't I let this Destiel thing go? I mean... I watched all the recent queer love stories and as much as I enjoyed Good Omens and OFMD, they just don't take up real estate in my soul like Supernatural does -- and that's not a decision I made, it just is. I don't know about you guys, but my little rages choose me.

Anyway, I was thinking -- it's probably not just because of queer representation or whatever, and I don't think it's because I want to see dudes be tender -- I think I ran out of that form of interest in the life of dudes awhile ago, but yeah, Bruce Springsteen. Born to Run. He says "I want to know love is wild, I want to know love is real" and I felt like it pretty much hit the nail on the head for me, somehow.

It's been a long time since I have felt moved by a het romance story. I feel like I can no longer believe it when the roles are so pre-packaged in the tropes and trappings of what was sold to me as idealised love in my younger days. And, like, I am Gen X, so it was pretty gruesome out there when I was learning how to want love -- the power of compulsory heterosexuality was strong, and the shit that was sold to us all as ways to love and be loved were pretty gross, just watch any romantic comedy from the 80's or 90's.

I think I love Supernatural so much because of the way Dean plays the role of a standard issue dude, and postures like he is a stereotypical red-blooded American dude, but it's so transparent that it isn't him. I don't know if it's just Jensen things, or if it was consciously done, but I love how unconvincing Dean's act is, and how clear it is that he is a wounded child whose own real desires and needs have been beaten out of him somehow, and I just love the way the real Dean and what that guy wants slow rises out of him as the story goes on, until he's choking on it, and visibly swallowing it down. For me, the queerest thing about Dean is his pain, his aching loneliness, and his sense of failure at being what he thinks he is -- a violent man who only knows how to kill, and I love Dean's moments of clarity, moments when he speaks from his own soul -- when he tells Cas he's sorry, tells John he has a family, tells Chuck "that's not who I am" are just everything to me.

Both Dean and Cas are victims of conditioning and coersion -- Dean trying to be his Daddy's perfect son, and being manipulated by Chuck, and Cas horribly violated and brainwashed repeatedly for millennia in heaven -- and they love each other in defiance of conditioning, because love is wild, and it's the product of their freedom.

I feel like ALL actual love eschews force and arises out of freedom. All real love is specific and weird, and is co-created in the space between lovers from what is most real in them and in that sense, all real love is queer in some way in that it is not part of the big social project of subjugating what doesn't comply. I feel like a lot of people lead lives of mindless compliance and that a thing that's wonderful about queer people and queer community is that we work against the grain to honor what is truest in us, whatever that is.

I guess I just love that, on Supernatural, the kind of love that saves the day is the kind that grows wild, like a weed you can't kill, out of more than a decade of choosing each other, again and again, and choosing to fight coercion and conditioning. Love that just fucking refuses to comply, and in fact, cannot comply, because non-compliance is it's very nature. There's something so hopeful and beautiful about that to me. I want to believe in it, and I do.

It's also why, after ALL THIS, in the context of that narrative, Dean is incontrovertibly queered, and anything else is just straight up narrative malpractice.

#supernatural #dean winchester #love is queer yo #anti-trashnatural agenda

[codenamesazanka]

What is up with this obsession over the "other half" of Decay. Less so now that Shigaraki is like dead-dead, so I guess it was copium, but still. So Decay was derived from the Overhaul quirk. Okay. It was stripped of the restorative half; then added with the five finger activation and lack of control. By this point, it is its own quirk.

(It's the same with Kurogiri/Shirakumo. Shirakumo's quirk was cloud generation and manipulation; then it got turned into the ability to bend the fabric of space. It's its own quirk at that point.)

I don't see the need for any more connection than that? Decay came from Overhaul - it's an artificial quirk AFO created to be a super dick. That's where Decay came from. It's somewhat fortunate(?) that it wasn't naturally occurring, which means there wasn't some other poor bastard out there who probably also had a tough time with it, but just the fact that it's 'half' the Overhaul quirk makes me wonder if Overhaul didn't at least 'half' a tough time with it as well.

Which btw - the reveal also confirms that AFO and the Doc were also responsible for Overhaul's own early childhood... which no one seems to care about.

Hello??? Shigaraki has to be referred to as groomed and abused and brainwashed every other sentence in order to induce the greatest level of sympathy for him (because apparently otherwise if he ever had any hint of agency or genuine malice at all, fuck him and he's not as much a victim, I guess???), and the orphanage Touya wakes up in has cult vibes where he can't even leave, but Overhaul growing up in such an orphanage is not worthy of attention. Like you gotta wonder how Doc got his hand on Overhaul's quirk - best case scenario it was from a simple blood draw at a routine doctor's check up; worse case scenario is that he was experimenting on these kids, even if subtly.

It's in this orphanage that Overhaul reads about quirks and gets the idea that it's a sickness. Was that somehow from the instruction of the orphanage staff that's under Ujiko's employment? Was it because something happened to Overhaul that caused him to end up in an orphanage? Kid didn't just sprout from the ground - he must have had parents, a family. But here he is, in an orphanage, gloomily reading about quirks while all the other kids are playing outside. Kouta resentfully says quirks are freaky and Deku and the story bends over backwards to prove to him that he's wrong, and violent quirks will save his life, so he should love Heroes; it's obvious that Overhaul hating quirks is a flaw.

Later, it looks like Overhaul would run away from this orphanage too, and then gets picked up by the Yakuza. Luckily it was a very honorable yakuza who treated him with kindness, but listen to that sentence - """"luckily"""" he gets picked up by a nice mobster who raised him. And Overhaul is so affected by this kindness it gives him a devotion that turns twisted. I mean, I think the guy definitely has his own selfish issues, but he really does care about Pops a lot and still thinks of what he's doing as being for Pop's and the Yakuza's sake.

I know no one cares about Overhaul and probably thinks it's even funny he loses his arms and goes half insane in Tartarus, that that's just karma for abusing and medically torturing a little girl, but it's very clear that he didn't start out that way, and if things had been different, he might not have grown up to become a Villain. That's true for nearly all the Villains we see on the story. And that's why there's such a big push to save the League, because of that "if only, if only". They're sympathetic and maybe redeemable.

But unsympathetic and irredeemable villains like Muscular and Overhaul were the best training wheels for Deku to work up to saving Shigaraki. If he can reach out a hand to those freaks, he can do it for not-as-much-a-freak Shigaraki. Even if Deku fails in trying to save Muscular and Overhaul, if he had tried, he could've learned something from those encounters that he could later apply to Shigaraki. But Deku said nope and then crashes when he has to save Shigaraki. Sorry—not even Shigaraki, but the ghost of a Crying Child.

Muscular insists that there's nothing but blood and violence inside of him, so Deku gives up on him because he can't psychically dive into Muscular's head to prove him wrong; later, Shigaraki insists that he overcame the Crying Child and he wants destruction, and fortunately Deku doesn't give up on him, but only because he can psychically dive into Shigaraki's head to prove him wrong - except it's this exact act that brings back AFO and drives the train wreck into the conclusion that is Shigaraki's body crumbling to nothing.

Overhaul begs to see Pops and wants to apologize, demonstrating some tiny broken strand of caring and goodness inside of him, but that's not someone Deku knows or cares about so it means nothing to him except that he can test whether Overhaul is worthy of any measure of forgiveness (and so rewarded by a Pops visit) by apologizing to Eri; later, Shigaraki gets his hatred smashed but stays the leader to the League, and Deku seems flummoxed by this, while using his last words to the guy he wanted to save to yammer on about not forgiving him and ending the cycle of sadness by stopping Shiagarki.

(Plus like. Overhaul has hurt sooooo many people other than Eri. He used and manipulated many of the Shie Hassaikai too. But once again, none of them are people Deku knows or cares about so they don't matter and they don't need an apology.)

This got really off topic because it started out about people focused on the Overhaul-Decay then turned into a Deku rant (only semi-sorry), but. Actually maybe not. People only care about the Overhaul-Decay thing because the Overhaul quirk might bring Shigaraki back, because Shigaraki deserves it; meanwhile the actual holder of the Overhaul quirk is ignored, because Overhaul doesn't deserve any comeback, or anything at all. It's really just people only caring about certain Villains because they personally like them and feel sorry for them. Which is fine! Go have your blorbo.

But like, ironically, caring only about your villain blorbo's situation in the context of the wider story, when discussing the story using the context of abuse and marginalization and who is deserving of saving, is the same as what Deku and Hawks did - singling out one victim out of many as worthy of being saved, and condemning every other Villain. And how did that turn out for Deku and Hawks?

#of course my interpretation can be and is probably totally wrong #watch me next chapter when it turns out muscular and overhaul were not supposed to be training wheels at all #and none of this was the intent #point still stands tho #either you save everyone or you'll be saving no one #nalslastworkingbraincell #sorry for the 5 am rant #it's posted at 7 am but i wrote it at 5 am

[princejiu]

Blue Heart | Yu Jimin

Match : Aespa Karina x 7th!(G)-idle reader

Disclaimer : Even though this is a Karinaxfem!reader. I feel like there's minimum KarYn interaction, but I am planning to have a part two to this, and there will be more in the next one. This was just a way to introduce the plot. Also, Soojin is here because 0t6.

Summary: Karina becomes your knight in shining armor, protecting you from a single chili pepper

"Yah! Don't touch her!"

The loud groan that emerged from your throat gained sympathizers from nearly everyone in the room. Long arms that were once wrapped around you were suddenly replaced with short ones, and your body was forcibly pulled to the opposite direction, colliding with a smaller figure.

"Yah! Don't be so greedy!"

Before you knew it, it became a tug-a-war with you, unfortunately, being in the middle. Now, you weren't ungrateful for your members. In fact, you loved them to death, but there are times where they won't let you breathe. Not even for a moment, especially Shuhua and Yuqi, oh, how they loved to mess with you. But, surprisingly, but also unsurprisingly, it wasn't the usual pair this time. No, instead, it's Miyeon and Shuhua.

Shuhua is the main reason as to why you're in the position you are in, in the first place, but she begs to differ. On Shuhua's terms, Miyeon shouldn't have a peaceful day without her wrecking it in some type of way. And the second, she spotted Miyeon getting too comfortable on your lap she knew she had to do something about it.

Don't get Shuhua wrong. She wasn't jealous, far from it, actually. Even though, you're her second favorite unnie, Minnie being first (Soojin not be counted as an unnie considered Shuhua rather call Soojin, her wife), because the main vocalist willingly hands over her card to Shuhua whenever the younger asks for it. But, in her eyes, Shuhua refused to let Miyeon have the time of day to enjoy life, and if that means roughly pulling you away from Miyeon's personal space, then so be it.

You call for your saving grace, the only person that can reel in the menace that is Yeh Shuhua, "Soojin unnie, please, help me." Soojin internally debated. She wanted to help you, but at the same time, that would mean that she would be the sole focus of Shuhua. Right now, it was her time to get a little bit of peace the morning was filled with Yuqi and Shuhua arguing on who gets to sit next to Soojin in the car.

The result of that car ride being that the both of them sat in the back next to each other, far from Soojin.

"Yeh Shuhua, leave them be." To think that Soojin's little voice wouldn't reach Shuhua's ears due to the amount of yelling that was going on between the youngest and oldest nonetheless Shuhua snaps her head towards Soojin, immediately letting go of her hold on you which then led you and Miyeon tumbling to the floor.

Shuhua, on the other hand, happily skips to Soojin, "Yes, my love." Completely ignoring the fact that she causes a bit of havoc to the two peaceful people that were minding their own business. You glared at the younger while Miyeon, bless her heart, tried to make the best of the situation, and cuddle into you. Entirely used to Shuhua being a menace towards her. A smile graced her lips while a scowl graced yours.

Minnie, being the sweetheart she is, held her hand out for you to take, helping you up with ease. You helped Miyeon up right after, instead of clinging to you. Minnie, sadly, placed herself in the eyes of Cho Miyeon and became her next victim.

Purposely ignoring Minnie's pleading gaze, you set yourself back onto the sofa in the waiting room next to a sleeping Soyeon. Yuqi and Soojin were still getting tended to by the make-up artists, though it seems as if Yuqi's getting pumbled with the beauty blender. Shuhua took the time to admire the love of her life, giving compliments every two minutes, taking a minute in between each compliment to come up with a better one.

Minnie struggled with Miyeon, but her short prayers were answered soon enough because a staff member came in to inform the group of their needed presence in the studio in a few minutes. Each member took the time to prepare themselves for the camera as you gently woke up Soyeon before checking for any touch-ups yourself.

When everything was done, you quickly followed behind your members. You've done variety shows mainly with your members, it was utterly rare for you to be sent out on your own, you hardly spoke so the company didn't see the need to put you on schedules that required you to speak a lot. Due to that, your members are usually the ones to do all the work and keep the entertainment going. You did participate at times, but preferred to sit still and be pretty for the camera.

You and your members stood behind the camera, listening to the staff that were giving directions to your group. However, your attention was taken away from the staff when you heard more footsteps coming your way. Imagine your surprise when you saw four beautiful idols coming your way and as they got closer. You recognized them instantly.

Aespa.

You weren't aware of them also attending this episode. You turned to Soyeon, confused. "Are we collabing with Aespa for this episode?" Soyeon answered with the nod of her head, bowing and greeting the SM artists when they came near. Immediately, you and your other members followed, and bows and greetings were exchanged.

Your eyes met Aespa's leader, and dear God, you hope your heart is strong enough to last the next two hours. The eye staring contest was broken when Yuqi and Ningning practically jumped on each other, squealing. Everyone got to talking while waiting for the director's cue of instructions. You and Soojin were more than content to stay a bit behind and watch from afar.

But, you couldn't help but notice a certain leader sparing you a glance from time to time. Soojin nudged you with her elbow, a tiny smirk played on her lips. You wanted to know if she knew anything you didn't but wasn't able to ask due to a louder voice making their appearance.

"Okay! Aespa, G-idle, stand behind the camera until you're announced!"

Following orders, both groups stood by each other more organized than what it was earlier.

You stood in between Soojin and Minnie, the Thai giving you a comforting smile, being the only one aside from you and Soojin to notice Karina's lingering gaze.

Returning her smile, you set your focus onto the hosts in front of you. Former Lovelyz Member and now Soloist, Lee Mijoo, and your company senior, BTOB Eunkwang. The newest hosts of Weekly Idol. You and your members waved to them, being great friends with both idols.

"Everyone quiet on set! In 3, 2, 1!"

An hour had passed and were now moving onto the next segment of the show, after playing a game similar to your group's comeback, QueenCard, Eunkwang began explained a new game to promote Aespa's new comeback.

It was a game where two teams which basically was SM vs. Cube had to name a movie that contained the trope given by the hosts. If not, then the punishment consists of eating a red chili pepper. To be honest, you knew that you were gonna suck at the game. All you watched were animation. You were more of a Pixar, Disney kind of girl, so what the hosts were asking for was way past your knowledge.

And to know ahead of time that you're gonna fail and would have to shove a chili pepper down your throat made you feel uneasy. You made it your mission to go unnoticed. You hid behind Minnie, her height would make it easier for your smaller frame to be concealed.

Though, with this game Aespa had a disadvantage of four members instead of seven. To make it fair, you, Soojin, and Soyeon sat this game out. That meant that you didn't have to worry about the risk to eat the spicy fruit for now. It wasn't until Yuqi kept losing, where she had to switch out, and unfortunately, you were chosen to take her place.

You stood between Shuhua and Miyeon with Minnie being on the other side of Shuhua. You picked at your nails, internally cursing Yuqi, she knew how bad your spice tolerance is but at the same time you didn't blame her. If it wasn't you, it was Soyeon or Soojin, and Yuqi knew damn well that they would personally kill her for choosing them to replace her.

Aespa was in the lead at the moment, answering most of the questions right. Only Giselle and Winter had to take a bite of the pepper, but that was it on their part. For your team, Yuqi had to quit after eating two peppers, Miyeon had one but was still standing strong.

You paid close attention to the game. Even if you didn't know most of the answer, it didn't mean you couldn't try. The next trope was love at first sight, instantly, Karina raised her hand, "Karina!" Once Mijoo gave her the approval, the leader answered quickly, "Descendants of The Sun."

Your team was given a chance to answer, and thankfully, Shuhua gave one, a Chinese movie, but it still counted as Yuqi and Ningning back her up despite not being on the same team. It went back and forth until someone got one wrong. Everyone was doing so well that embarrassment began to course through your body.

But, your members had your back and answered for you, but someone started to notice how you didn't speak during the entire game. "Wait a minute." Eunkwang stopped the game and then looked directly at you. "Y/n, you haven't answered any questions yet."

Doing what you do best in every situation when you get called out, you begin to gaslight. "Yes, I have." Eunkwang scoffed a laugh, "I haven't heard you at all since we started."

"Maybe your ears are strained."

Laughter rung through your ears. It wasn't every day a junior commented on her senior's growing age. Even Eunkwang couldn't stop the smile growing on his lips despite being the target. "Yah! You little-" Mijoo managed to reel in her co-host and continue the show, "Y/n, if you manage to give us a movie with a love at first sight trope then you won't have to take a bite of the red pepper."

You were hesitant, but either or you knew that you would have to eat the chili pepper, so you just blurted, "Aladdin!" Seems like you were a real comedian that day, cause the studio continue to be filled with laughter, "Wrong!"

Your members, aside from Soojin, began to defend your answer against Eunkwang. You weren't totally wrong, but they were looking for more of a realistic movie. "Be more specific next time!" Yuqi yelled, taking her seat after jumping up to come to your defense.

The hosts placed a faux sympathy card, "Sadly for you, Y/n. You have to eat pepper." Sulking at Mijoo's words, uncaring for the eyes that settled upon you, "Why!?" Although, the answer was obvious, you refused. Shuhua, on the other hand, just wanted to get it over with. She grabbed your hand and tugged you towards the plate of chili peppers.

She was literally about to shove it down your throat when a voice stopped her, "I'll do it for her." Heads snapped towards the group besides your own, though eyes landed on the blonde.

Mijoo made sure she heard correctly by asking what Karina had said, "I'll eat the pepper if Y/n-sshi doesn't want to." Karina looked so confident, she sent you a bright smile when you made eye contact with her, damn, the universe really wanted you to die right then and there.

Shuhua slowly let you go as Karina walked closer, even her members looked flabbergasted by her actions. As she got closer, you began to feel more nervous, "Its okay, you really don't have to. I'll have Yuqi unnie eat it for me." In the background, you can hear Yuqi cursing you.

"I'm fine. I like spice, plus it helps me promote my album even more, no? Think about it, Aespa Karina saves G-idle Y/n from hot peppers. I would love to see both our names in the same headline."

The wink combined with the whispers were not doing any good for your heart. You thanked her for her sacrifice. Karina took a bite of the chili pepper as if it were nothing. You stared at her, jaw dropped, "Are you okay?" Though, Karina sent you a smile to reassure you that she was fine, inside she was trying to prevent a cough from coming up. That pepper was unnecessarily dry

You and Karina, including Shuhua, were sent back to your original spots, but now it was you that kept glancing towards Karina's direction. Time flew by, and now it was time to go home. You and your members thanked the staff, hosts, and Aespa before taking your leave.

"Wait! Y/n-sshi!"

Turning around, you see Karina heading your way. You quickly turned back to your members and let them know to go on without you. Returning your attention to the 00' liner once she was right in front of you, "Yes?" Karina reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, "Can I get your number? I was hoping to spend more time with you outside of work."

She had an obvious nervous smile, but luckily for the both of you, you thought it was adorable. "Sure, why not. I would love to have your company around more often, Karina-sshi." Karina, hand you her phone, and typed in your number. Once you were done, you handed the phone back, "Bye, Karina-sshi. Talk to you later."

Giving her one last smile, you took your leave before your members could leave you completely behind. Karina waved to your distant figure. Why did you have to be so beautiful even if it was you walking away from her. She took a little glance at her phone, and a certain contact name had caught her eye.

" Darling💙"

#kpop imagines #kpop gg #karina x reader #aespa #karina imagines #aespa scenarios #aespa imagines #kpop gidle #7th member #yu jimin #yu jimin x reader

[stopscammingartists]

Hi, I'm someone who used to hang out with a certain person who's been implicated in the Floraverse stuff and it's been beyond demoralizing to see a lot of people I've trusted just Nazijacket and call the victims out as KiwiFarms users and this is honestly helping me realize why a lot of them defended a few abusers in the community and label any of these victims as pushing "bad vibes" to their "uwu good vibes only" community.

This blog has been healing to read and I'd like to share a space with like minded people like you who won't tolerate abuse like this.

Are you kink friendly but just hate zoophiles and pedos? I can roll with that if you're still kink friendly as long as we agree that zoophiles, pedos, and Nazis all suck.

I don't care what adults do with informed consent with each other so long as no one is abusing each other. I don't care how 'weird' it might seem, I think people are at their best when they're true to themselves.

On this blog I pretty strictly talk about the abuse Floraverse has inflicted on people and the zoophilia and pedophilia. (Nazi's suck too, but that's a line Flora hasn't ever crossed, so it hasn't come up.)

The topic of kink culture really only ever comes up when it is related to the abuse.

The main examples of this are:

Because Glip let their cat perform oral sex on them, their drawn zoo porn in the past is more then just drawings.

Because Glip has groomed minors so their self-admitted grooming fetish and the fact they wrote an entire arc of their self insert grooming and having sex with a child in pmd-e is more then just drawings and bad writing.

I criticize Samael for forcing a character used in a significant amount of fat fur kink art in undertale because I don't think it's appropriate to force a project to become associated with a kink community if that project wants to be for all ages. Not because I think farfurs are weird or that the kink art of that oc is bad. It's just, you know, there's a time and place for involving fetish material and characters.

I also criticize Samael for commissioning porn of an OC who is a child and not informing the artists that the OC is a child, mainly because I see it as a violation of informed consent.

I criticize Eevee for her game foxflux which is a transformation fetish game. I don't care that it's a TF game, but I don't think it's okay that it's a TF game that she also markets to all ages. Nor do I like the fact Eevee justifies this grooming behavior with "2B has a fat ass and people were okay with that".

That said, I am personally not a fan of shota/loli/cub/feral. But I would rather shoot myself then discuss the ethics of either on this platform. This is for 2 main reasons. 1. It will distract from the main topic of this blog. 2. I am in my late twenties with a full time job.

I am also not involved in any kink culture, and am admittedly pretty ignorant on it. So some times I may phrase things weirdly when the topic does come up.

This is a really longwinded way of saying I consider myself to be kink friendly, and try my best to explicitly come across as such. But sometimes people can miss the points I'm trying to make and perceive it as kink shaming either because they missed the point or because I explained my point poorly because of my own ignorance. I try my best, and I know I'm not perfect, but when I mess up I'm willing to learn.

[thatfilthyanimal]

tw: stalking, grooming, pedophilia, sexual abuse, past suicidal thoughts

I've recently been made aware that Dupsy is still talking about me and is now going to random Megamind fans that don't know me and telling them to avoid me. I'm also aware that they're doing this in the Ruby Gillman fandom. I have no words to really describe the level of discomfort this brings me, but I will attempt.

First of all, all the "grooming" allegations were thoroughly debunked and proven to be bullshit. I can't believe I have to even say this. I'm a victim of grooming and sexual abuse myself. It's extremely traumatic and life-altering shit, and never something I would want to inflict on someone else. I feel like it should be obvious, with the measures I took in the server to ensure no child is exposed to such things. I was recently diagnosed with PTSD due to the shit that happened to me when I was growing up, and between processing that in therapy sessions and stomaching transitioning in a near-constant hostile-to-trans-people online social media hellscape, I am tired.

I love Megamind, more than anything, and this is known and obvious to anyone who's met me. This movie saved my life when I was extremely suicidal and planning to end my life back in 2010. Watching the movie when I did gave me something to focus on, a distraction, and a responsibility as a fandom member that helped distract me long enough to get out of the planning mindset I was in. Had I not seen the movie, I do not think I would have stuck around. I will leave it at that.

And moderating fandom spaces for Megamind has been lovely! I adore this fandom. The people in it are extremely talented and sweet, and just so damn nice, like by default. I say this all the time but I've never experienced another fandom space quite like it. There are usually bad eggs in fandoms, and perhaps -I- am said "bad egg" to some, but genuinely this one is special. I have always felt that way, even when the bad eggs show up and make a stink. It has always felt worth being here for, to me.

And while I hate to give Dupsy the satisfaction of knowing they hurt me, I need to be honest-- it's been rough. I stopped talking in my server, I locked up on most of my friends and stopped talking even in DMs. I still struggle with severe anxiety in the server and have talked to Dal on various occasions about transferring the server ownership to him. He's been very patient with my freakouts and super understanding, but it's still hard. This WAS a place I felt safe, for over ten years! And now it feels like any minor can just say I'm a groomer or a pedo or whatever with ZERO consequences, just because they're mad, just because these are words that make people go "oh shit" and listen, and man! It's not ok! And this coupled with the fact that trans people are often called groomers just for existing, just… man! I'm tired. I'm so tired.

There are real, severe, damaging effects to these claims being thrown around so casually. It's hurtful to me, as a victim of sexual abuse, because when I came forward to people about what happened when -I- was a minor, I was told I "wanted it" and "asked for it". It was made to be my fault that I was abused, and I internalized it for years. It nearly killed me. I cannot stress enough how important it is to not use claims like pedophilia and grooming so lightly-- these are VERY damning terms to use on people and should be reserved for people ACTUALLY HARMING OTHERS. Being mad I banned you from the server is not "abuse" and using my Customer Service Voice to be nice to you and then being obviously tired of you when you were banned is not "emotional grooming". What the actual fuck. ALSO. This was well over a year ago! Why am I still having to post about this? Why are you still TALKING about me? And yet again I ask, where the HELL are your parents?

Anyway, if you've been wondering why I've been so quiet these days and struggling to socialize… honestly? It's this. I hate that this is what did it. I know people trust and believe me, I know the fandom backs me up regularly and I appreciate them all so much for it. I see it, but I never know how to respond. You guys continue to make this fandom feel safe for me even when my entire brain is screaming to run, and I appreciate you so much for it.

Kids deserve to be trusted when they tell people they've been hurt and I hate that the recent proshipping discourse or whatever you want to call it, this culty all-or-nothing shit, has a bunch of minors growing up feeling like EVERYTHING is something to call rapey or predatory, with apparently little room to distinguish when REAL abuse is happening to them. I don't blame anyone for believing Dupsy, and it's honestly better they DO believe all unproven claims of abuse by default, just to stay safe-- but man, it has consequences that follow people, and really should not be a thing to just throw around because you're mad at someone. I just can't believe they're STILL going around and reaching out to strangers telling them to avoid me… like, what the fuck.

I will be ok, I always am eventually, but I needed to say something, because it's honestly been a while since I've said much of anything.

Keep being kind. <3

#trigger warnings in post #Megamind #Ruby Gillman #RGTK #personal #sorry if you have no idea what the heck is happening #continue scrolling its all good #but also maybe uhhhhhh avoid this minor #like a lot