#( memory ) ━ ✶ // talk about seamless

[askmerriauthor]

Homie. Darling. Muchaco. Please help me. You're an animator. You've worked in the video game industry. When you get to That One Memory in TOTK (you know which one I mean and if you don't, you will),

Please help me figure out what the fuck is going on with Ganondorf's face rigging

Man, I didn't even need to look anything up: I knew EXACTLY what you were talking about as soon as you said it.

Short Answer: Need more polys.

Long Answer: It's simultaneously a case of limited model structure and potentially some degree of intentional design choice specific to Ganondorf's presentation in this particular game.

Discussion below the jump, just for the sake of not stretching out people's dashboards. No worries about spoilers: none of this is story-relevant.

So! To give a very broad strokes bit of coverage on the wide and varied nonsense that is 3D modeling, this is a case of Topology. The basic thrust is that topology is the overall structure and layout of the mesh that makes up the 3D model's various shapes. The lower the polygon count on that mesh, the more angular its structure and the less capacity for deformation it has. The higher the polygon count, the smoother its structure and the greater its capacity for deformation. The trade-off, however, is that low-poly models are easier for a game engine to render. High-poly models are a massive drain on processing power, to say nothing if they're built inefficiently with a bunch of wasted geometry bogging things down.

Here's an example of a low-poly model on the left and a high-poly model on the right.

So when you want to make a character emote, you're basically grabbing a bunch of those polygons around the face and moving them around to shape the face into the desired expression. If you don't have a lot of polys to play with, it causes folding and tearing issues where the model and its textures do some pretty wonky shit.

Something both BoTW and ToTK have going for them is that they're actually very low-poly games, which is extremely helpful in making the games run as smoothly as they do given the world size and seamless loading. The lighting and texture work do A TON of heavy lifting to make the game look as good as it does. Really look at these models closely and you can see how angular they are. Look at Zelda's outstretched hand or how sharply light falls across the character's features. In the bottom right, notice how you can see the sharp points that make up Zelda's shoulders? They're not rounded; they're angled just enough to give the general illusion of a curve at a glance. Same goes for her eyes; you can count the angles that make up the shape of her eye but, at a distance and at a glance, they look big, round, and doleful.

Something you can also notice is when characters talk, a lot of them have little to no facial deformation. Mineru, for example, basically has a one-hinge Muppet mouth outside of pre-rendered cutscenes. A lot of characters' eyes are basically painted onto their faces and switch between static texture shapes as opposed to being fully rendered and animated orbs modeled into their heads.

Ganondorf actually has a fairly complex character model, especially compared to Link or Zelda, but he doesn't have a lot of model deformation. Basically the only parts of his head that move are his eyes/brows and mouth/jaw. If you look closely around his eyes you can see they're rendered basically as triangles. There's only two or three points along their shape the model can deform at. Further, since the rest of his face doesn't really deform when he emotes, it means the only thing that really moves are those small key elements. Which yields moments like this:

The animators are basically pushing his expression as much as they are actually capable of with this model's limited structure. See the hard fold in the lower eyelid, or the fact that his teeth aren't attached to anything inside his jaw? It does the job though; it overall looks good and, in the moment this scene happens, really adds something to the unsettling nature of what's going down.

I mentioned before that there may be a certain intent as well. Something specific to Ganondorf in this iteration is that, more than ever, he's become an Oni. Ganondorf's character design has slowly been leaning toward more Japanese-specific visual concepts over the past few appearances but he's gone full yokai for ToTK. Not just in his build, but in his clothing and weaponry. Dude is swinging around a kanabo for the first time ever in the franchise.

In Japanese mythology and Noh theater, a Red Oni basically functions as the embodiment of all the worst parts of mankind. They're greedy, brutal, cruel monsters who revel in causing destruction. If you want to look at their good aspects, it's traits like passion, ambition, and a wild spirit. But, overall, they're the bad guys. Ganondorf is 100% depicted as a Red Oni in ToTK. So when you keep that in mind, add in the implications of what Ganondorf just did in that scene, and consider the traditional appearances of a Red Oni...

...then that face-breaking grin makes a lot more sense.

#totk #botw #ganondorf #legend of zelda #animation

[highttowers]

Hello i am requesting for Carmen from the Bear!! Something sweet and heart warming about Carmen being worried about the reader and just the whole kitchen seeing how in love he is ❤️ thank you

yes to heaven.

pairing(s); carmen “carmy” berzatto x gn!reader

fandom; the bear (fx on hulu)

w/c; 758 words

trigger/content warnings; brief sexual implications, brief mention of past injuries, language, richie (he’s a warning all by himself), tina n richie being mean to carmy lol, tina and reader chisme together, is this another fic with an ldr song title????, brief touches on carmy’s trauma (not in-depth cuz this is a fluff fic), not-proof read, lmk if i missed anything.

stella speaks! i need him biblically. at first, i was like “mmm, jeremy allen white” as a joke. but bro. i don’t think it’s a joke anymore…

Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto who’s always watching you. Who has his eye on you, if you will ;)

Carmy, whose eyes are trailing your figure when you first meet. Not in a sexual way, just taking in every detail. The way you stand, the way you move your hands when you talk. Any time you wear a shirt more than once, the nervous tics you have while he tries your food, if you have any visible tattoos, freckles, or birthmark. His eyes snag on every little thing you do for a split second.

Carmy, whose gaze is locked in your hands while you demonstrate your abilities. He’s taking in every scar, every cut, every tear, every burn that was once fresh in the skin of your hands and committing it to memory. He doesn’t know why, he just is.

Carmy, whose eyes will flicker to your face every so often as you cook, lingering in the scrunch of your brow, the purse of your lip, the muttering under you breath, every curve and divet on your cheeks.

Carmy, whose brain short-circuits the first time he sees you in anything other than your lose white tee, black pants and blue apron. Logically, he knows your body has always been shaped that way, so why is heat crawling up his neck in the biting Chicago air?

Carmy, whose new favorite thing is watching you cook. Especially the recipes you know by heart, when every lovely movement your body makes is muscle memory. Seamless and smooth.

Carmy who appreciates the habit you have of cleaning your station as you cook. Those pale blue eyes locked in you as he exits his office, watching you dumping veggies in a crock pot before scooping up the cutting board, knife, and any food waste and making short work of it.

Carmy who is personally offended by Richie watching you cook. Richie and his Richie-esque comments making him roll his eyes, or warning a scoff. “Makes you wanna know what other moves they can do, eh?” “Shut the fuck up, cousin.”

Carmy, whose habit of paying microscopically close attention to you has whispers from Marcus to Tina to Sydney to you. He appreciates the way you wave them off, using the new kid excuse.

Carmy, who’s been reduced to a stuttering mess when you confront him privately about it. He’s spilling out excuses, until you quietly ask him if he wants to grab coffee with you sometime.

Carmy who, the more and more he arrives to work either with you or with a dumb smile on his face, is getting endless teasing from Richie and Tina. Sydney quietly smiles at him, but mainly sticks to talking about the nature of y’all’s relationship with you.

Carmy, who admittedly fears anytime you let sitting with Tina, exchanging words that have her yelling curses or exclamations in Spanish.

Carmy, who has a retort ready for Richie when he asks you if that means he has a chance now, only to clamp his mouth shut when you wordlessly flip Richie off, bringing another soft look into Carmy’s eyes and a dumb grin on his lips.

Carmy who has to kiss every scar, every mark, every little thing in your body when given the chance. It’s a love language, remembering and worshipping every little thing about you.

Carmy who has his eyes on you so much, regulars at The Beef are silently questioning if there’s anything going on. (there is, but Carmy would sooner be Richie’s personal chef than admit it to customers.)

Carmy whose new greates comfort is you. Any fleeting fragment of you. Maybe you washed his clothes once and now they smell like you. Maybe you hugged him so much your scent lingers in his nose. Maybe he’s got a small piece of jewelry from you or reminiscent of you. Anything that has to do with you can bring him out of the deepest panic.

Carmy who swears up and down and to the ends of the Earth that he’s never gonna lose you. It’s not even an option anymore. He would actually just fall to pieces on the floor.

Carmy who shows the uglier parts of him slowly. You actually have to peel back the first layer and stare it directly in the face without fear before he shows you more. He’s just so scared.

Carmy who’s so so grateful you don’t try to fix him. You just leave him as he is, just giving extra love to those broken bits.

Carmy who used to hate love songs before you arrived.

Carmy who was losing faith in the very idea of love until you arrived.

#how many ts/lana del rey references can spot??? #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto headcanons #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #headcanon #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear on hulu #sydney adamu #🖋️ — my writing #🪁 — requests #🔪 — the bear

[tawaifeddiediaz]

of epiphanies

Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz, Evan “Buck” Buckley/Tommy Kinard

Rating: T

Chapter: 1/1

Word Count: 4,085 words

Snippet:

After he meets him the first time, Buck sees him everywhere . It’s not that he doesn’t know who Tommy Kinard is. He replaced Tommy, after all, after the other man was transferred to the 217. He’s heard all the stories of him, from other members of the 118 that have moved across the other shifts. He’s heard them from Hen and Chim, too. After the rescue that frankly, would’ve gotten them all fired had Maddie not revealed the truth, it’s like Tommy remembers what it was like to be at the 118 with Hen and Chim, what it was like to be under Bobby’s captaincy.  Buck sees him on the nights they go out to drink, sitting in the corner laughing with Chim about an old memory. Eddie sits next to him as they listen quietly, chiming in with an anecdote of their own when the opportunity presents itself, but otherwise, Eddie stays a silent line of warmth at Buck’s side as they pick at the labels on their beers. He sees him during the afternoons where they all play basketball, or baseball, or whatever they’re in the mood for that weekend. He’s included easily in the games, the way everyone is, and they have fun with it. Tommy and Eddie have the same streak of competitiveness, but Buck and Eddie have an understanding that makes them come out on top, every time. He sees him at the station sometimes, too — catching up with Bobby in civilian clothes. Bobby’s told Buck about the reasons he’d decided Tommy would be happier at the 217, but watching them catch up like they’re old friends, Buck’s not really sure he understands any of them. Hell, Buck even sees Tommy with his own best friend, laughing away with Eddie about baseball stats, sparring in the gym, and even talking about the damned helicopters. It all forms a picture that Buck struggles to truly comprehend. (Buck is not jealous that Tommy seems to take to everyone like a duck to water, and he is not jealous that he even gets on with Eddie in a seamless way that even Buck hadn’t managed to do easily.)

[Read on AO3]

#zee writes #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buck x eddie #buck x tommy #911 abc #kinkley #911 on abc #911 fic #userisha #userdahlias #alielook #userabs #usersonny #usernicolo #911fanfic #911 spoilers #im calling them kinkley because i want to

[hunny-pp]

PENACONY 2.1 SPOILERS /

[basically a more elaborate version of my twt thread on this]

I don't think I'm the first or only person to say this, but I do think Gallagher is v likely a memory zone meme

EDIT: heres pt 1.2 with additional evidence

Sunday deduces that Gallagher is an amalgamation of fifty-one Family members, who he's inherited physical traits from to create the appearance he has now.

Gallagher alludes in his own story that he may not be human

In short, Memory Zone Memes are amalgamations of multiple fragments of the Memory Zone, all have reflections of different memories, cognitions and emotions.

A meme in definition is when something, usually ideas, culture or behaviour is passed to another person through imitation or non-genetic means.

It makes sense for Gallagher, as he mimicked the physical traits of Family members without taking them or that trait away - these NPCs are very much fine and you can interact with them. It's more like a copy-paste onto himself.

Other little details include: -This could change in the future depending on if we get any fire units, but for Gallagher specifically, he takes the Raging Heart materials - which is harvested from a Memory Zone Meme-type enemy. This one's a bit of a stretch but it fits nonetheless

-His signature colour is magenta - shown in his clothing, his marketing materials and in the VFX of his attacks, his claw and his brew. This colour is specifically his and not something he had inherited from someone else.

Memory Zone Memes, especially "Something Upon Death" have stark magenta/purple/pink eyes and cores. When seen from afar or at least in a general sense, the shades are similar enough

-The writing style of Gallagher's stories feel strange, like different aspects of Gallagher's personality and life are on the outside looking in. Akin to a reflective surface giving off different reflections from different angles of the same subject. It adds to the idea that there are multiple aspects and fragments within Gallagher all looking within each other.

Mixology and The Dreamjolt Hostelry:

Gallagher's main interest outside of work is mixology. Like any culinary craft, there's an inherent science behind it, and it takes a lot of work and knowledge to craft well constructed cocktails and drinks. Symbolically, mixology complements Gallagher, as he himself is a combination of a diverse range of people. When you view these inherited traits isolated, you know they come from someone real - but when put together, they form One Complete Gallagher - cohesive and seamless.

While you can say the same for different branches of culinary arts, mixology in particular symbolically represents Gallagher the most. This is just from a layman's perspective but when I view the same with cocktails - from a general inspection it's one cohesive drink even if from taste or watching the process, I know it's all made with different components.

Notably, when Gallagher talks about mixing drinks, he describes it as akin to combining different emotions, experiences and memories into a singular cocktail and it's reflective of both customer and bartender's own current state of being.

His philosophy on mixology links back to the concept of Memory Zone Memes, manifestations of fragmented memories, emotions and cognitions nestled into a vessel.

The reason why I bring up the Dreamjolt Hostelry is because of the Vignettes in a Cup event (spoilers for it). It's not explicit in his stories or voicelines, but going by the Trailblaze quest, it's implied that the Dreamjolt Hostelry is the lounge/bar he regulars for a drink or to hone his craft as he's v friendly and familiar to Siobhan and is seen in the 2.1 trailer to be serving a Dreamjolt Domescreen (whether it's Lady or not doesn't matter).

Dreamjolt Hostelry is in the sealed off dreamscape Reverie, where the corrupted Dreamjolt Troupe monsters and Memory Zone Memes reside. Notably, where you encounter Something Unto Death in key moments of the story.

I'd like to believe Gallagher is very comfortable with the company of monsters, going by the fact that he himself is non-human.

In Vignettes in a Cup, Siobhan explains that the reason why she mixes drinks for the Dreamjolt Troupe monsters is that it helps regulate their emotions - since the dreamscape is falling apart and in turn they have become unstable.

Gallagher himself in one of his idle animations drinks an unknown concoction from his hipflask once his scar starts acting up - in which it settles back down. It's hard to discern in this point in time how long this has been going for, but as a non-human entity (meme or not), the dreamscape's decay is also likely affecting Gallagher and thus he has to regulate himself.

Why Do The Heathen Rage?: In the mission "Why Do The Heathen Rage?" we learn a lot of the Watchmaker's secret history as well as a general run through of Gallagher's own personal story.

First off, a lot of Penacony's trailblaze mission titles are references to songs, literature and media relevant to the themes of Penacony and/or by American classical authors or poets (ie Heaven is a Place on Earth, Cat Among Pigeons, The Tell-Tale Heart).

Why Do The Heathen Rage is both based on Psalm 2.1 Old Testament, but also it's a fragment of an unfinished novel by Flannery O'Connor. Fragment of a novel -> Gallagher is made of fragments of different people -> Memory Zone Memes are fragments of (I'm booed off the stage for being a broken record).

The story tells of a man called Walter Tilman who lives on his family's farm. There he starts to write letters to different people - particularly to Oona Gibbs, a black civil rights activist. However, he writes to her under the guise of a black man, and writes with the intention of testing the commitment and integrity of her beliefs.

Going with what we know in hindsight, Gallagher is masquerading around as a human, likely as a Memory Zone Meme as we've realised hopefully by now that they're the monsters most likely to pull something of Gallagher's calibre off.

This is all I'm gonna talk about from "Why Do The Heathen Rage" mainly because my additional theories are based off leaks and are more speculative.

Bonus section: "Something Unto Death" When it comes to Gallagher's connection to the Memory Zone Meme "Something Unto Death", a lot comes from his many symbols of death. This is just a bit of a bonus since we're talking about Gallagher likely being a Memory Zone Meme, we might as well address the elephant in the room as well.

For brevity, we'll call the little guy "Death Meme". Death Meme is a Memory Zone Meme created from the Dreamscape's fear of death and murder as "death" shouldn't be something that can happen in the dreamscape.

Gallagher has a FUCK ton of symbolism and nods to death. The most striking is that Gallagher's iconic "I'm Thirteen", which is the number for the Major Arcana "Death". (For additional reference I also think Thirteen could be the amount of Amber Eras he's lived in, or that he's at least 1300 years old. Also since he has a lot of dog theming, 13 dog years in human years is around 60-80 depending on the dog's size).

Additionally, thirteen is a common number to represent bad omens and misfortune - namely the well known Friday the 13th superstition, amongst other things.

When Gallagher makes you a drink, no matter what choices you make - the cocktail will have a memento mori/death/morbidly themed name and he will accompany most of them with a sardonic toast.

Gallagher's eidolons are names of different cocktails which fit his mixology theme. However, Corpse Reviver, Last Word, Death in the Afternoon and Blood and Sand are all death centric names, as if he couldn't get edgier enough.

There's also the call into question his playstyle, where he's a much more aggressive battle healer than the likes of Luocha and is the first abundance character to provide debuffs on the enemy, and derives healing through damaging opponents.

Conclusion: If you've read this far then I'm assuming you're as normal about Gallagher as I am. But yeah, there is so much to him I haven't touched on, his connections to the Enigmata, my continuation on this theory based on leaks and his shared past with Mikhail, what I think he'll do in the plot moving forward. This patch and its characters are themed around hiding secrets and that there's more than meets the eye. Gallagher in particular has proved to be the most mysterious of the trio, as while we've gotten a clear enough picture of both Acheron and Aventurine but there's still enough intrigue to keep them going, Gallagher's just given me more questions than answers man.

#honkai star rail #hsr gallagher #gallagher #honkai star rail theory #hsr theory #hsr spoilers #penacony spoilers #im normal about him (smile)

[mrsfatu]

Never A Mistake

Paring: Jey Uso x Fem!Reader

Warnings: language, pure smut, 18+, body fluids

Word count: 6,713

Summary: The reader reunites with her former personal trainer, Jey Uso. The reader is overwhelmed by the memories and feels guilty for their past actions. Jey confronts her, accusing her of seeing him as a mistake. The reader is left with a deep, seductive desire, and Jey's possessiveness fuels the flames of their passionate encounter.

Attending my inaugural WWE event was an electrifying experience that left me spellbound. Positioned in the coveted front row, I became part of the action, enveloped in a world of larger-than-life characters and adrenaline-pumping spectacles. My journey into this captivating realm was made possible by my best friend Tracy, a devout follower of the oiled-up, half-naked men who grace our screens every Monday and Friday. As Tracy would passionately recount the intricate storylines, I found myself intrigued by the bloodline and the impending Judgment Day.

From the moment I stepped foot into the arena, I could sense the palpable energy that enveloped the air. The atmosphere was electric, a fusion of rumbling cheers and thunderous boos, creating an intense symphony of emotions. Excited fans, adorned in their favorite superstar's merchandise, added an extra layer of vibrancy to the spectacle.

As the lights dimmed, the crowd erupted into a deafening roar, signaling the beginning of the show. The stage transformed into a battleground, and the wrestlers emerged, embodying the epitome of physical prowess and showmanship. Each character had a distinct presence, captivating us with their larger-than-life personas and charisma. Their performances were a seamless blend of athleticism, drama, and storytelling, creating an immersive tapestry that held us captive throughout the night.

In the realm of friendship, Tracy has always embodied the essence of an "It-Girl." With her long, luscious curls, velvety soft skin, and lips adorned with a cherry gloss, she effortlessly commanded attention. Tracy possessed an allure that made heads turn whenever she passed, earning her the title of "The Instagram Girl." And then there's me, a more understated presence in our friendship.

While I too possess thick, curly hair, I prefer to gather it in a simple, elegant bun. My skin boasts a delightful caramel hue that adds a touch of warmth to my features. Unlike Tracy, my approach to life is more laid-back and serene, allowing me to embrace my own unique beauty.

My phone buzzed, alerting me to a new message. Curiosity got the better of me, and I glanced at the screen. It was Ivan, my ex-boyfriend. Memories of our tumultuous past flooded my mind, and I hesitated before opening the message. After all, it had been a year since we broke up, and he had always managed to find a way back into my life despite my efforts to move on. His persistence was both annoying and frustrating.

Ivan's messages were always filled with the same clichés that exes tend to use. "I'm sorry for how I treated you," "I hate myself because of what I did to you," "I only want you, give me another chance." It was all too familiar, and I had grown tired of his empty promises and apologies. But this time, the message was different. It simply said, "I just want to talk."

Ivan: Hey, I was wondering if you're busy. I know you probably don't want to talk to me but, I just want to talk a bit.

Y/N: Can't talk now, I'm out.

The excitement in the air was palpable as another figure made their entrance. The crowd erupted in a deafening cheer, and Tracy's voice soared above them all. "Oh my god, OH MY GOD! Y/N, IT'S JEY USO!" I discreetly slid my phone back into my pocket, trying to hide my lack of recognition. Tracy's reaction was akin to that of a child visiting Disneyland for the first time, a symphony of joyous squeals.

I attempted to play it cool, pretending I knew exactly who she was talking about. But then, it hit me like a wave of nostalgia. Jey Uso, my personal trainer from a few years ago. I recalled the countless times I had seen him on television, thanks to Tracy's monopolization of the TV whenever she visited. Jey Uso, the man who had departed from the bloodline. At least, that's what Tracy had informed me on a few Mondays ago.

This unexpected reunion sparked a torrent of memories. I remembered the grueling training sessions, the camaraderie built through sweat and determination. Jey Uso had been more than a trainer; he had become a mentor, a guiding force in my fitness journey. Seeing him now, amidst the roar of the crowd, brought back a flood of emotions.

Inevitably, the moment arrived when he gracefully exited the scene. His presence was somewhat elusive, until he finally reached the end of the ramp. A mere distance of 10 feet separated us. The deafening chorus of women's screams mingled with his entrance song, creating an atmosphere of frenzy. Every step he took exuded an air of confidence and self-assuredness. His chin held high, while his arms hung loosely by his side. There was an enigmatic beauty about him, one that eluded my comprehension. Tracy's assessment proved accurate; this man was undeniably captivating. In person, his allure was only enhanced, leaving me in awe.

In the midst of the bustling arena, Tracy had been desperately vying for his attention for what felt like an eternity. Two minutes had passed, with Tracy's repeated attempts to catch his eye going unnoticed. But then, there he was, just a mere five feet away. I couldn't help but fixate on him, my gaze unwavering.

As he drew closer, making his way towards the ring, Tracy's voice echoed through the arena, resonating with fervent adoration, "WE LOVE YOU JEY!" I had hoped that her passionate cry would finally capture his attention, but to no avail. Instead, it was me that he locked eyes with. The intensity of his gaze was so potent, it felt as if my eyes were about to burst from their sockets. In that fleeting moment, time stood still. It was as if the entire arena faded into insignificance, leaving only Jey Uso and me. With a mischievous smirk, he acknowledged me before stepping into the ring. The connection we shared in that brief encounter left an indelible mark, an electrifying energy that lingered in the air.

In a sudden turn of events, a perplexing entrance unfolded before my eyes, leaving my mind awash with confusion. Amidst the chaos, Tracy's piercing scream broke through the haze. My attention snapped to her, and disbelief colored my words, "Wait, there's two of them?" Tracy's response was sharp and laden with exasperation, "Yes bitch, they're twins, Jimmy!" Twins? The revelation struck me like a bolt of lightning, leaving me dumbfounded. So, you mean to tell me that there are not one, but two of these men?

In a surprising display of agility, Jimmy briskly made his way out, taking each stride with purpose. Upon reaching the front of our section, he cast a disdainful glance at the individual standing beside me. Tracy, eager for a photo opportunity, whipped out her phone and called out to him, "Jimmy, over here!" Yet, once again, he disregarded her plea. Instead, the man directed a contemptuous stare in my direction, leaving me perplexed as to what I had done to provoke such animosity. In response, I returned his glare, causing a smirk to creep across his face.

I was taken aback, my mind swirling until Tracy forcefully shook me. "Oh. MY. GOD! HE SMILED AT YOU! THEY BOTH SMILED AT YOU! I swear to god if they’d have done that to me, I would've died on the spot. aren’t they so sexy?'' Tracy exclaimed. My gaze remained fixated on Jey's silhouette. “Yeah, I guess," I replied. Tracy's jaw dropped, “YOU GUESS? Oh come onnn Y/N, they are literally the sexiest twins in this arena right now.” My eyes shifted to Tracy as a faint blush colored my cheeks, “Yeah, I said I guess. Don't get me wrong, they’re good looking. But I'm sure they enjoy the attention they receive from all you women.'' I explained. 

“Well, that's your opinion. Hopefully, I get invited backstage," she added. Did they actually do that? Invite people backstage? If that were the case, Tracy would probably be the last person they’d invite. Her high-pitched screeching could kill an entire army.

As I gazed towards the ring, my eyes locked with Jey's while he adjusted his wrists. A wave of nerves tingled down my neck, and I quickly averted my gaze. Tracy, standing beside me, couldn't contain her excitement. "Just wait until you see their moves in the ring," she exclaimed. The tension between the two men was palpable, evident in their hostile glares. It was clear that they harbored some deep-rooted animosity towards each other. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps I should start watching WWE to gain a better understanding of this intense rivalry.

In the intense atmosphere of the wrestling ring, the referee handed microphones to both Jey Uso and his twin brother, Jimmy. With a deep breath, Jey grasped the opportunity to address his brother in a fierce tone. "Why you even here? This is not SmackDown, it's Monday Night Jey. Your best leave my arena," Jey exclaimed, his voice filled with determination.

Jimmy, however, refused to back down. "Don't act innocent in all this, uce. You may think you're perfect, but you're just as flawed as I am!" he retorted defiantly.

Jey's eyes twitched with anger as he responded, "No, I have always been there for our family. Unlike you, who only cares about his own success and glory! You've let success get to your head, uce!"

The tension between them grew, and I found myself captivated by their verbal sparring. Jimmy continued to challenge Jey, "Oh, really? And what about all those times you let us down? When you prioritized being 'Main Event Jey Uso' over our own blood, huh? Do you think that makes you a saint?"

Jey took a step closer, his voice now raised in a yell, "You know damn well that I have worked tirelessly to get where I am today! But at least I never lost sight of what truly matters – family and loyalty! Those are things you clearly know nothing about!"

It wasn't the sarcasm that left me gasping; it was the empathy in Jimmy's voice as he responded, "Family and loyalty? Is that why you abandoned me when I needed you the most? Where were you when I was struggling with my own demons?"

"Well, maybe if you weren't so controlling all the time, things would have turned out differently! Maybe I wouldn't have felt suffocated and trapped!" Jey's face showed a tear rolling down, revealing the pain he had been carrying.

In an unexpected turn, Jimmy resorted to gaslighting, saying, "Maybe if you had listened to me instead of pushing everyone away, we wouldn't be in this mess right now. It's always about Jey Uso and his problems!"

Jey was now openly crying, feeling hurt and betrayed by his own brother. He spoke with raw emotion, "Our family was never truly united in the first place! We were always living under your shadow, Jimmy. I'm tired of being second best!"

"Don't blame me for your mistakes! You're the one who made choices that led us here. And now our family is torn apart because of it!" Jimmy retorted, his frustration evident.

"This is not about being better than me. It's about you tearing apart everything we've worked so hard to build together – our legacy!" Jey exclaimed, his voice breaking with sadness.

"Our legacy? Our legacy died a long time ago, uce," jimmy concluded. Jey drops the microphone and surprising everyone with a sudden superkick to Jimmy. The match had begun, signaling the start of a fierce battle between the brothers in the ring.

-20 minutes later-

As the wrestling match reached its climax, the crowd held its breath in anticipation. The familiar "1-2-3" echoed through the arena, and to everyone's surprise, Jey emerged victorious. A wave of excitement washed over the spectators, including myself, as cheers filled the air. It was an unexpected turn of events, and I couldn't help but get caught up in the moment.

Rising to my feet, I joined in the thunderous applause, applauding Jey's hard-fought triumph. The wrestlers slowly made their way out of the ring, each one leaving behind a trail of sweat and determination. Tracy, my companion for the evening, leaned over and reminded me that there was still one more match to come. With Jey's victory behind us, I finally had the chance to take a much-needed bathroom break.

  In the midst of a bustling crowd, I found myself navigating through the throngs of people, trying to make my way to my destination. It was in this chaotic environment that an accidental collision occurred, causing me to bump into a woman. Unfortunately, the impact resulted in the contents of her cup splattering all over my pristine white top. Frustration welled up within me, and I couldn't help but mutter an expletive under my breath.

The woman, whose blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders, immediately reached for a napkin, attempting to rectify the situation. "I'm so sorry, ma'am," she began, her voice filled with genuine remorse. Before she could even finish her sentence, I interrupted her with a dismissive response, assuring her that it was no big deal. We exchanged a few polite words, and I couldn't help but notice the black shirt she was wearing, emblazoned with the word "mami." The top seemed to be tailored to accentuate her ample bosom, which appeared to strain against the fabric.

As I ventured into the hallway, my eyes were immediately drawn to the row of doors stretching along its length. Each step I took was accompanied by a nagging question, "Why were they staring at me like that?" It was as if their gazes held a hidden secret, one that I was desperate to uncover.

The uncertainty gnawed at me as I continued down the corridor, my mind racing to find an explanation. Could there be something on my face? I hurriedly wiped my hand across my cheeks, hoping to remove any potential blemish. But as I glanced at my reflection in a nearby mirror, I realized that my appearance seemed perfectly normal.

Still perplexed, my attention shifted to my shirt. I looked down, only to discover that it was immaculate. The fabric was unblemished, and yet the stares persisted, leaving me bewildered and self-conscious.

As I stood there, faced with three potential doors, my hope was that the one on the left would lead me to a much-needed bathroom. With a mix of curiosity and determination, I reached out and grasped the knob, ready to discover what lay behind it. As the door swung open, the room revealed itself - a dimly lit space with a comforting warmth. Instantly, I knew this was not the bathroom I had hoped for.

Despite my initial disappointment, I couldn't help but wonder if there might still be a bathroom hidden somewhere within this mysterious room. Part of me was tempted to give up the search and move on, but another part urged me to press forward, to see what other surprises awaited me.

In the absence of a visible light switch, I refrained from illuminating the room. Consequently, I cautiously navigated through the dimness to access an adjacent space. My hand landed on the wall beside me, and serendipitously, I discovered the elusive switch. As the room came into view, I observed the presence of essential bathroom fixtures - a toilet, sink, and shower.

As I finished my business, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of annoyance. Removing my shirt, I rinsed it under the sink, soaking it in the cool water. My frustration grew as I muttered under my breath, "Literally fucked up my Calvin Klein shirt."

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the room, jolting me from my thoughts. My heart skipped a beat as I realized there was someone else present. Fear crept in, and I instinctively switched off the light, hoping to conceal my presence. The darkness enveloped me, and I whispered to myself, "Oh shit... is someone else here?"

In that moment, I contemplated how to handle the unexpected situation. Perhaps I could play it off with an excuse like, "Sorry, I was just looking for a bathroom." The adrenaline pumped through my veins as I prepared for whatever may come next.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I was met with darkness that enveloped the entire room. The intruder, if there was one, had intentionally left every light off. It was my cue to move swiftly towards the exit, praying that I wouldn't stumble upon any obstacles and give myself away. With cautious steps, I began to navigate my way through the darkness, when suddenly, an exasperated curse escaped my lips. How could I have forgotten something so crucial? My shirt still lay abandoned in the bathroom, leaving me half-naked and resembling a bizarre fan.

I spun around in a hurry, only to be met with a forceful impact. Someone had bumped into me, leaving me momentarily stunned. Fear gripped me, rendering me speechless. "Who you? And what you doing in my dressing room?" I was taken aback. It dawned on me that I had inadvertently stumbled into a wrestler's private domain. Panic washed over me as I processed the situation. "And why don't you have on a shirt?" the man interrogated. Nervously, I stuttered, "I...I was looking for a restroom, and I needed to rinse my shirt. Someone spilled their drink on me...".

As the light flickered on, my gaze met his, and a wave of unease washed over me. It was Jey Uso standing before me, a figure admired by many. However, it wasn't simply his celebrity status that made my heart sink; it was the overwhelming presence he exuded. Straightening my posture, I stammered, "sorry for being all up on your personal space."

His unwavering gaze locked onto mine, not a single blink to break the intensity. "You good. I'll get you a shirt," he replied, before turning towards his closet. As he busied himself, I took a moment to survey the room, absorbing the details.

The space was a reflection of Jey Uso's character – bold and vibrant. Wrestling memorabilia adorned the walls, showcasing his journey and achievements. The room seemed to pulsate with energy, each item holding a story of its own.

My eyes wandered to a shelf displaying trophies and accolades, symbols of his dedication and hard work. Each one represented a triumph over adversity, a testament to the resilience required in the world of professional wrestling.

As I continued to explore my surroundings, I couldn't help but notice the meticulous organization of his wardrobe. Rows of neatly arranged attire, each piece seemingly chosen to reflect his vibrant personality. The colors and patterns mirrored the charisma he exuded in the ring, capturing the attention of fans worldwide.

A sense of authenticity permeated the room, reminding me that behind the persona of Jey Uso was a genuine individual. Despite his fame and success, he remained humble and approachable, willing to lend a helping hand to a stranger who stumbled upon his domain.

Returning with a shirt in hand, Jey Uso broke the silence, his voice warm and friendly. "Here you go. It might be a lil big though," he offered, extending the garment towards me. Grateful for his generosity, I accepted the shirt with a nod of appreciation.

Dressed in a blue shirt adorned with the word "yeet," I could sense his intense gaze fixated on me. Feeling a sense of urgency, I quickly commented, "Umm, thanks, I should probably leave now." Just as I was about to turn around and make my way towards the exit, he unexpectedly reached out and grabbed my wrist. With a hint of confusion in his voice, he inquired, "Don't you want to wait for your shirt to dry?" It occurred to me that leaving my Calvin Klein shirt behind in the dressing room of a charismatic professional wrestler would not be the wisest decision. Realizing this, I reluctantly agreed, "Yeah, I guess I'll wait."

He gestured towards the couch, invitingly. "We can sit and talk if you'd want. I aint got nun else to do for the rest of the night," he offered. Jey Uso's unexpected invitation to sit and talk, even though I was only half-dressed and he had intruded into his personal space, left me feeling a mix of curiosity and uncertainty. Nevertheless, I nodded in agreement and made my way over to join him on the couch.

Jey sauntered over to a small table by the door, casually pouring himself a glass of Hennessy. Turning to face me, he took a hearty swig from his glass before posing a question. "So, you come to these shows often?" he inquired. Unsure whether to fib or be honest, I opted for the latter. "Nope, this is actually my first time. I'm here with my best friend Tracy," I replied. He slid into a seat next to me, our knees nearly brushing against each other. "The girl who was screaming beside you?" he asked. "Yep, that's her," I confirmed. "By the way, I never properly thanked you for being my personal trainer three years back," I admitted. A soft chuckle escaped him as he responded, "Nah, don't worry about it. You still look like you're in great shape." I nodded in agreement. "Yeah, it's good to see you again, though," he remarked. "Definitely. If I ever need a personal trainer again, now I know where to find you," I teased. "I mean, I'm all over the place, flying in jets and whatnot. New York, South Carolina, Florida," he boasted, spreading his legs a bit. 

Leaning forward in my seat, I couldn't help but ask, "What exactly caused the whole beefing between you and your brother?" He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself to share his story. "A few months ago, I had a golden opportunity to dethrone the Tribal Chief and claim the title of WWE Undisputed Universal Champion. It was a defining moment that was brutally snatched away from me by none other than my own flesh and blood, my twin brother," he revealed, his voice tinged with pain. Restlessly, he began to fiddle with his wrists, a physical manifestation of the turmoil within. "The betrayal cut deeper than you can imagine. I had no choice but to walk away."

"I didn't know you had to go through all of that, but I'm glad you're out of that situation," I said. Jey smirked and chuckled softly, "Yeah, just some family issues and shit," he agreed. He leaned back on the edge of the sofa, taking deep, calming breaths. This vantage point offered me a better view of him – his glistening abs, intricate tribal tattoos, and the sleekness of his black leather pants. I couldn't help but find it all incredibly enticing. As he lifted his head back up, he apologized, "my bad, I'm just a bit tired," he whined.

My phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. Surprisingly, it was Ivan calling. I sighed, wondering what he wanted this time. Reluctantly, I answered the phone, my tone tinged with annoyance.

"Hello? What do you want, Ivan? I told you I couldn't talk because I'm busy," I said, my frustration evident.

"You never have time for me, and now you're mad because I'm calling? Get a grip," Ivan retorted.

"Get a grip? I've told you hella times that I don't want nothing to do with you. Yet you continue to slither back into my life like the snake you are," I snapped back, my anger boiling over. Before Ivan could respond, my friend Jey snatched the phone from my hand. He looked at me, puzzled. "Who is this?" he asked. "It's my ex," I replied, my face buried in my hands, feeling the weight of the situation.

Jey raised the phone to his ear, his voice devoid of sympathy. "look, I don't know what's going on, but she dont wanna talk to you, uce. So get off her phone," he stated firmly. He handed the phone back to me. "Hang up. Now," he commanded. Feeling the weight of Jey's words, I obediently ended the call. Collapsing back onto the sofa, I tossed my phone onto the table beside me. Tears welled up in my eyes as I let out a shaky breath. "When is this ever going to end?" I whimpered, my voice barely audible.

Jey gently lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. He stood directly in front of me, his presence calming. "It'll get better, trust me. I've been through some similar shit. And how old are you again?" he asked, trying to offer some perspective. "I'm 24," I replied, wiping away my tears. "See, you're still young. I bet in a few years, hell, maybe even months, you'll forget he even exists," Jey reassured me, his words carrying a glimmer of hope.

Jey delicately approached me, his touch as soft as a whisper, tenderly wiping away my tears. Despite his outward appearance, a sense of warmth emanated from him, revealing the gentle nature of his heart. I lifted my eyes to meet his, and in that moment, I was utterly captivated by his presence. There was an irresistible charm about him, a magnetic allure that stirred a deep longing within me, an insatiable desire that refused to be ignored. The hunger in his eyes was palpable, a yearning to possess every part of me. With genuine concern etched on his face, he softly asked if I was alright, and I could only offer a silent nod in response. As he leaned back, a deep inhale filled his chest, and I couldn't help but notice a restlessness in his movements, a struggle to rein in his own desires. The ache in my abdomen intensified, intensifying the yearning to be enveloped in his embrace until it became almost unbearable.

In a daring and audacious move, I found myself straddling him, overcome by the magnetic pull of his gaze. The air crackled with electric anticipation as I whispered sensually, "Can you feel it? The weight of my body pressed against yours." His response, a throaty moan, “i- i cant concentrate with you on me like this.”

Inching closer, my lips tantalizingly brushed against his, igniting an inferno of longing for the taste that awaited him. Our bodies moved in perfect harmony, a symphony of desire that reached a crescendo with a shared gasp. The room hung in suspended silence, punctuated only by the rhythmic sound of our labored breaths.

With a tender caress, he pressed his lips fervently against mine, setting ablaze an insatiable hunger within him, mirrored by the fervor that consumed me. Our mouths became a battlefield of passion, a dance of devouring where he hungrily savored the essence of my being, leaving us both breathless and yearning for more.

Unexpectedly, the door swung open, revealing Jimmy's presence. Startled, I quickly rose to my feet, while Jey sat up, clearly taken aback. Jimmy wore a sly grin, leaving me utterly perplexed as to the reason behind his amusement. "Aye bruh-. Yo ass in hee gettin freaky and shit," he chuckled, "the tribal chief wanna talk to you, bro."

Jey retorted, uninterested, "I don't want to talk to him or you, so get out my shit." Jimmy ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating his response. "Listen, bruh, if Roman shows up, you know he's gonna start some shit, right?" he warned, slowly advancing towards Jey. Resolute, Jey stood up and made his way to the door. "ight, I'll be right back, and don't touch my shit. When i get back, ion wanna see yo face nomo after this," he emphasized before the door closed behind him, leaving me alone with Jimmy.

In the midst of Jey's dressing room, I found myself engulfed in a wave of shyness, apprehensive about the shirt I was wearing. The piercing gaze of Jimmy Uso seemed to burn into my very core. "So, you and Jey, huh? Something going on?" he inquired. It would be sheer madness to assert any sort of connection given that I had only reunited with the man today. Responding with a simple "yes" or "no" would hardly suffice, especially when I was merely borrowing his shirt and our interaction had been limited to a fleeting kiss. My mind drew a blank, struggling to conjure up any suitable response. Before I could gather my thoughts, Jimmy impatiently snapped his fingers, urging me to speak. "Come on, use your words, baby. You're a woman," he added. Flustered, I managed to stammer, "I... No," attempting to put an end to any misconceptions.

He approached me, his question hanging in the air. The one I had been dreading, hoping it wouldn't arise, finally did. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of my response. "We only recently reconnected after three years," I replied. Jimmy furrowed his brow, clearly perplexed. "So, in other words-" I interrupted him, not willing to hear the rest of his sentence. "Please, don't say it. I don't want to hear it," I snapped. Jimmy chuckled softly, his curiosity evident. "Say what?" he inquired. "Something along the lines of 'so you sleep with people you've just met again after 3 years?' And if that was your question, then no, I don't," I retorted, my anger starting to bubble to the surface. "Honestly, this was a mistake. I don't even know why I'm still here. Is it already 11 PM?" I shouted, frustration seeping into my words. "Actually, it's 12 AM," Jimmy added, trying to provide some clarity. I slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand, realizing my mistake.

"The hell you mean a mistake?" Jey Uso's voice caught me off guard, not because it was particularly loud, but because I hadn't realized he had been listening. I cursed under my breath, realizing that he must have overheard some of the terrible things I had said. Memories of our long conversations about life, his stories about his family, and the time he stood up to my ex-boyfriend flooded my mind. It was all too overwhelming, and I found myself at a loss for words. "Um, nice to meet you, uh…”  “Y/N," I stammered, desperately trying to regain my composure. "Yeah, nice to meet you, Y/N. See you later, uce," Jimmy chimed in before leaving. "Leave faster," Jey added, his tone sharp.

Jey's gaze remained fixed on me, unrelenting and piercing. I stood there, enveloped in a heavy cloak of silence, burdened by guilt and shame. It was clear that a mere "I'm sorry" wouldn't suffice in this moment, so I decided it was best to gather my belongings and make my exit. As I reached for my phone on the table, I could feel the weight of the tension in the room. The short walk to the bathroom to retrieve my shirt felt strangely disconnected, as if I were moving through a dream. When I returned, Jey was still planted by the door, their eyes never wavering from my figure.

In a swift motion, I hastily discarded the shirt he had given me. But before I could even think about slipping into my now dampened garment, Jey abruptly approached me, snatched the shirt from my grasp, and carelessly flung it to a corner. His piercing gaze locked onto mine as he uttered, "Seeing me was a mistake, huh?" Stammering, I attempted to explain myself, but my words were cut short as Jey forcefully pressed his lips against mine. His fervent desire was evident as he sought to entangle our tongues, engaging in a passionate struggle for dominance. Breaking away from the intense kiss, he questioned, "Was kissing me a mistake?" Trembling, I managed to utter a feeble denial before Jey's hand forcefully struck my rear, causing me to whimper in pain. "Speak up, ma, I can't hear you," he growled, his eyes never leaving mine. "I'm...I'm sorry, Jey!" I whimpered, my voice filled with remorse. Yet, even as he maintained his unwavering gaze, he coldly declared, "Sorry won't fix this."

He pressed his hungry lips against the soft curve of my neck, igniting a fiery passion that consumed us both. Each kiss was a tantalizing blend of urgency and tenderness, leaving a trail of electric sensations in its wake. His tongue, like a skilled artist, traced delicate patterns across my skin, awakening a symphony of desire within me.

"You looked so fucking good tonight," he breathed, his voice dripping with unbridled lust. The way he spoke, filled with raw desire, made my heart race and my body ache for his touch. "That tight ass Calvin Klein shirt hugged yo curves, teasing me, tempting me. And those black leather pants...fuck, you driving me wild." My toes, painted in pristine white, became a symbol of my surrender, a visual feast that intensified his longing.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped my lips as his mouth continued its exploration, his lips tracing a path of pleasure along my sensitive skin. His voice, deep and seductive, sent delicious shivers dancing down my spine, heightening my senses to new heights. "No wonder Jimmy couldn't take his eyes off you," he whispered, his voice laced with possessiveness and desire, fueling the flames of our passionate encounter.

"But...wait," I gasped, my breath hitching in my throat as I struggled to regain composure. "I have to make sure my friend made it home...I can't leave her alone." "She can wait," he growled, his voice filled with a primal urgency that mirrored the burning hunger in his eyes. The intensity of his desire, his longing for me, drowned out any rational thoughts. In that moment, nothing mattered except the intoxicating connection we shared. The world around us faded into oblivion as our bodies entwined, consumed by an insatiable craving that could no longer be denied.

In the midst of the electrifying moment, a realization struck me like a bolt of lightning. He had a point - she was indeed a mature individual capable of tantalizing patience. However, a delicious sense of guilt danced seductively within me. Jey raised his head, locking his smoldering gaze with mine. With a touch as tender as a feather, he caressed my bottom lip with his thumb, while teasingly nibbling on his own. His hands, filled with a hunger that matched my own, embarked on an audacious journey, venturing upwards and reaching the edge of my pants. In one breathtakingly swift motion, the buckle came undone, a symphony of desire echoing in the room as the sound of fabric hitting the ground nourished our escalating passion. Jey wasted no time, driven by an insatiable desire that consumed him, as he effortlessly removed my underwear, leaving my vulnerability exposed to his voracious longing.

As he descended to the floor, his eyes locked onto mine, now level with my most intimate sanctuary. A tidal wave of desire crashed over me, drowning me in the intoxicating realization of the depths of his insatiable lust.

I locked my eyes onto him, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down my spine. Speech escaped me, replaced by a wordless gasp as a jolt of electric pleasure surged through every inch of my being. My mouth formed a breathless "oh my god," a testament to the overwhelming ecstasy that his tongue, so skillfully and tenderly, bestowed upon my most sensitive area.

His lips embarked on a seductive journey, planting sensual kisses along the smooth expanse of my inner thighs, teasingly inching closer to the pulsating core of my desire. With every tantalizing touch, the fire within me grew, an inferno consuming all reason and inhibitions. He knew exactly how to push every boundary, how to unravel the deepest recesses of my pleasure.

Our eyes met, his questioning gaze filled with a mix of longing and hesitation. In that moment, I realized that this forbidden indulgence was a precarious path we were treading. But as my chest heaved with unquenchable longing, the undeniable truth washed over me. This desire, this primal need, was not a misstep; it was a plunge into the abyss of unadulterated bliss.

“Is tasting you a mistake?” he asked. With a voice thick with desire, I moaned in response, affirming what our bodies had already declared. "No, it's not." And in that instant, all doubts vanished, replaced by an unyielding hunger that consumed us both, fueling the flames of passion that burned brighter with each passing moment. 

jeys tongue flicked my clit again before he began to slurp me over and over, making a wet mess. My hands found their way to his silky soft damped hair, and I gave it a squeeze. “You taste so good ma,” he said. My head fell back as I began to moan a bit louder. “Eyes. on. Me,” he demanded. I did as I was told, I lifted my head and made eye to eye contact with him. God, the view was so beautiful, I watched his tongue disappear into my cunt over and over. In the midst of our passionate embrace, I reluctantly let out a sigh as he gently disengaged. My hand instinctively cradled his cheek, urging him closer for a more intense kiss.

Slowly, we moved backward towards the inviting comfort of the couch, his gentle guidance ensuring our seamless transition. With a soft thud, we both collapsed onto the cushions, his weight comfortably resting upon me. As our lips finally parted, a shimmering trail of our combined desire lingered, connecting us in the most intimate of ways. I could feel his thick bulge through his pants. As he pulled away from the kiss, a trail of our joint fluids trailed to one another. He thrusted his hips into me, “tell me what you want mama,” he spoke, following a hiss. My breath was so shaky, “i want you, please, please jey.” he pulled his pants down along with his boxers with one hand. His mouth slammed onto mine once again.

As his cock rubbed against my sensitive folds, I couldn't help but whimper his name. "Please Jey," I begged, my body craving his touch. He slid into me with ease, and I let out a thick moan as my back arched. "So big," I stuttered, my mind consumed by the pleasure he was bringing me.

With each thrust, he grew deeper and deeper inside me, sending waves of ecstasy through my body. "Shit ma, you grippin me so good," he groaned, his eyes locked onto mine. He lifted his head to look at me, his voice low and husky. "Is. Fucking. You. A. Mistake?" he asked, each word followed by a deep and hard thrust. I couldn't help but whine as my toes curled, my body on the brink of release. "N-n. Fuck!" I managed to stammer out, my senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. 

His movements grew more erratic, more primal, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. "This is my pussy, ma, you hear me? Mine. You know this shit was never a mistake," he grunted, each thrust driving him deeper inside me.

I whimpered, lost in the sensation of him claiming me in such a raw and intimate way. "It's all yours, Jey. I'm sorry," I cried out, my voice filled with a mixture of pleasure and remorse.

He continued to move inside me, his pace relentless as he sought his own release. I could feel myself spiraling towards another climax, my body aching for the sweet release that only he could give me.

And then, as he pounded into me with an intensity that bordered on obsession, we both reached the peak of ecstasy. I cried out his name as I came, my body trembling with pleasure.

He followed suit, his own release sending him over the edge as he collapsed on top of me. We lay there, breathless and spent, our bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs.

In that moment, I knew that what we had was special, that the connection between us ran deeper than mere physical desire. And as he held me close, I knew that I was his, just as he was mine. Our hearts beating as one, our bodies in perfect harmony.

#jey uso #jeysuso #jey uso smut #jey uso fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #fanfic #jey uso one shot #oneshot #smut

[incomingalbatross]

Things that make Weirdmageddon a top-tier finale:

Every victory and ally the characters gain is essential to pursuing the next victory.

Dipper needed Wendy to reach the bubble, needed to talk down Gideon to reach Mabel, and needed to reconcile with Mabel to do anything. Then they needed to reach the Shack to get Shacktron, needed Shacktron to reach Ford, needed Ford and all their previous character development to build the Zodiac—oops! not enough character development! REVERSAL! But they still pulled out a win from having all four Pineses in the Fearamid, which wouldn't have been possible except as salvage from their previous victories.

It all builds really nicely—it's easy to get your characters running in circles to fit in enough action and/or screentime (see certain Classic Who serials), but that doesn't happen here.

Personal issues and plot problems were interwoven in a way that genuinely made resolving the former a basic step in resolving the latter.

The big problems at the start of the finale were the rift between Dipper and Mabel, the older, deeper rift between Stan and Ford, and... well, the Rift. And Bill. The finale is able to resolve all of these things together because it is, in fact, crucial that the Pineses all be able to work together; they need each other to defeat Bill. This means that, for instance, Mabel and Dipper's reconciliation is the urgent first step on every level, personal and situational (neither of them will accomplish anything until Mabel's free), and that Stan and Ford's reconciliation is a necessary condition for the last step of beating Bill. It's seamless—no one has to take time out of the plot to talk about their feelings, because the plot can only move if their feelings are being addressed.

Even more, the action works in such a way that Stan and Ford have to show character growth to defeat Bill and the way they defeat Bill then results in healing for both of them (Stan gets to be a hero while Ford gets to let go of his hero complex).

Gave time to addressing the big themes and made them structurally important, too.

This ties in to the point above, but... the fact that Dipper and Mabel's conflict (the manifestation of a much longer-running tension of "is it possible to grow up and still be happy? is it possible to be sure we'll stay in a close and healthy relationship, and not lose each other?") is given its full weight. Dipper and Mabel have the conversation they need to convince themselves, each other, and the audience that this ghost has been expelled from their futures. That's big.

And the themes continue consistently throughout the finale! They answer the questions raised by Stan and Ford's estrangement—first through Dipper and Mabel and then repeatedly through the rest of the cast—with consistent reassurance and hope for the future. It's thematically sound. That's not easy to balance with plot progression in a way that makes sense, but like. The plot can only progress to a happy ending if these themes are tested and found to be true.

Plot development and emotional impacts hinged on information the audience already had.

When the finale revealed new information (the zodiac's function, for instance), it was almost always answering specific questions the show had previously raised for fans (what's that zodiac about??). Not always true—the barrier around the town was not foreshadowed—but a very high percentage of the time.

More, the moments with a big emotional punch hinge on us realizing something at the same time as the characters and sharing their reactions to that thing, rather than reacting to their reactions. That sounds clumsy, but you know what I mean—"Grammar, Stanley." Ford pulling out the memory gun. "Get off me, Waddles!" Ford holding out the picture of the Stan O' War. The finale builds on what we already know so strongly that we can react to good or bad events alongside the characters.

(Well, except for the exact moment revealing the twin switch, I guess. We are not having the same emotional reaction as Bill Cipher there. ;P)

A fully satisfying send-off.

After the plot is resolved, and even after the eucatastrophe moment of Stan getting his memory back, we get to stick around and see for sure that everything's okay. The twins turn thirteen. Stan and Ford plan to go sailing. Soos gets the Mystery Shack. Everyone in Gravity Falls is fine. Everyone gets to say goodbye. We end on repeated reassurances that the thing the story most highlighted as crucial but uncertain will, in fact, happen—that they'll stay a family and they'll all be happy.

I'm not saying every story needs to end with a wrap party, but it was the right move for Gravity Falls, and they nailed it.

#i did not have the energy for a short post so i wrote a long one sorry

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 3

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, Sam Kiszka x f!Reader (STAY WITH ME)

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 24.6k+ (i am so sorry)

Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering: MDNI 18+ ONLY struggles with body dysmorphia/eating, heavy emotions/ talks of an absent parent, *extremely* sick & terminally-ill parent, mentions of sexually explicit scene on film being shot, anxiety/stress, stressing about college grades, worries/anxiety about failing, test anxiety, over-indulgence of alcohol (drunkenness lol), spook/haunted houses, people in scary clown makeup, mentions of jumps scares, *consensual* relations where people put their mouths in *certain places*(not full smut. yet.), ambulances, someone being wheeled out on a gurney (with a lifeless-looking body), JEALOUSLY. lots of jealousy.

a/n: i apologize for this chapter taking me literal years, lol. this one is a bit heavy & was a little hard to write at certain points. but, it's been my brainchild for over a month now & i had to be sure it was perfect before i posted it. i hope you enjoy & as always, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think. 🤍

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

Le Morte d'Arthur Masterlist

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The midterm pressure is now properly underway. With tests nearly everyday this week, a rigid filming schedule, work, and taking care of your mom, you’re on the edge of being worn completely thin. 

Not to mention, you’re awfully distracted these days. 

Filming has continued as normal. And you finally tackled that scene with Sam just weeks ago, and it went perfectly. Josh had a vision— to show the first fully intimate moment between the secret lovers. The first time their bodies become entangled in their heated passion. The ‘most significant image of the film in its entirety,’ as Josh had put it. 

You’d been scared. 

But after the kiss you shared with Sam, the one that moved far beyond the legendary characters you were portraying, the scene was performed to utter perfection. It was seamless; it felt completely natural. 

Something ignited within once you put the costume on; something you’ve never felt before. A new kind of assured confidence in your body that has never once exuded from you. Your body that you’ve hated since your first cognitive memory, the body that you’ve opted to shield with oversized clothes to hide yourself beneath their stitched fabrics. 

But, something happened.

After draping the thin lace over your frame, you were no longer you. You became a queen with a body worthy of being desired. 

Josh and Malachi knew just what they were doing when they chose that (extremely erotic) dress. 

For once, instead of being ashamed of your skin, you were fucking proud of it. You looked goddamn good.

And by the way Jake had been frozen solid in the door frame with his eyes locked on your exposed figure, you’d say he thought so, too. 

You’d half expected him to drop to his knees right then and there, to fully submit and hand himself over to your will. And he probably would have, had it not been for Nat physically throwing him out of the way. (Had you not been so utterly turned on in the moment, you probably would have busted out laughing at the sight.)

The scene was filmed the very next day (with tattoo makeup, of course) and you used that exact heated tension within you to perform your very best. 

When Sam saw you in the gown, his reaction was much the same as Jake’s. He was entirely transfixed by you; his eyes never diverting from your body. Not even once. 

You had belatedly decided to forgo nipple pasties, much to Natalia's surprise. There was something about the way you felt, with your breasts still hidden, but your buds peaking through the thin fabric. In a weird sense, it made you feel even more in control of your body. 

And the way Jake looked at them…

You couldn’t get his lust blown eyes out of your mind. He was, inadvertently, the reason why you felt so self assured during that scene, why you were able to give Sam such a heated performance… even if only a little. You had to credit his reaction for the help it had given you. It had been what your brain kept going back to time and again, anytime you swept the lace over your body. It was him who had helped you to have this overwhelming, new confidence when wearing the revealing piece.

(And you’d never admit it to anyone, but every time you put the costume on, you only ever thought of Jake. Not even his initial reaction—just him. When you felt sexy, he came to mind. And the thought of him alone helped your nipples to be prettily peaked for every intimate scene Josh would shoot.)

But Sam. Sam is the one who actually uses his words to reassure any unsureness you may have every single day. 

Sam is the good one. The sweet one. The brother who never fails to put a smile on your face.

“Y/n…holy fuck.” He had said as you met him on set the first day you’d worn it.

And fuck, he’d looked damn good himself. No shirt, tight satin pants of the purest white. His hair was fixed to look disheveled and tangled, framing his features and giving him a look of pure sex ridden lust. 

As heavy as the kissing scene had been, this one was levels heavier. 

According to the script, you were meant to be laid out on a bed of red satin. You, sprawled out before him, and he on his feet at the foot of the bed, admiring the vision that is the ever lasciviousness Queen Guiniverre. (The vision of you.) 

And admire you he absolutely did. 

With the same look his brother gave you the night before, sending flutters to your heart and a pulse to your core. You envisioned Jake, but you saw Sam. 

These two have entirely consumed your every thought. Sam has been in communication with you nearly every day, even outside of filming.

He conned you into giving him your number (not that it took much convincing) and he texts you, even calls you, multiple times a day. 

Just innocent small talk, usually. Something little will make him think of you and he’ll send a quick message to tell you what it was. Sometimes he’ll send a joke or two that will force a laugh out of you, along with an eye roll. However there have been a few times that he’s taken it upon himself to make sure you know just how much fun he’s having with you on this film, that he knows his body sometimes speaks his infatuation with you louder than his words ever could. 

And complain you will not. He’s a fucking dream, the sweestest man you’ve ever encountered. And so outlandishly beautiful. 

It would be strange for you to not develop feelings for him, especially given just how close and personal the two of you have become during filming. 

But,

Jake. 

He wrapped you into all of this. He showed you a side of him that you’ve yet to see since. You couldn’t deny him, although you had every reason to. 

It’s like he only wanted you to keep his promise to his twin of helping him find someone to play opposite of him (Sam, mostly, of which he clearly didn’t realize) and he only did so because you’re partners in this blessed project. Not because of who you are. 

He buttered you up, to convince you to say yes, and that was the end of it. 

Then, he went right back to his asshole ways. 

That’s why for the life of you, you can’t fathom the idea that you’ve developed much stronger feelings for him than for Sam. (Who is, obviously, the far better candidate.)

And Sam is the one who gives you the attention you deserve.

But fuck. 

The way Jake stared at you in that costume. And the way he didn’t take his fierce eyes off of you during the filming of your scene in that gown.

His jaw clenching with every kiss shared between you and Sam, his fists bunching up with each touch that connected your bodies. You heard deep, drawn signs coming from him when Sam caressed you. Furious sighs from flared nostrils. 

He ended up storming out mid scene, slamming the door so loud you all nearly jumped out of your skin. Thanks to that, you had to redo certain parts of the scene. Sam had made a joke about how he “wasn’t upset” to have to do it more than once. (And you weren’t, either.)

But not having Jake in the room made it slightly more difficult to put yourself back in the mood. His presence alone, the deep breaths filling his lungs, his stare casted on you each time you glanced his way— that was plenty of inspiration to perform your sexiest. 

But without him there, all you could do was picture him in your mind. Which you did with no problem. But it just wasn’t the same without his body in the same room as yours.

Before you left that night, you heard yet another fight commence between the twins.

“You should’ve told me it would be like this,” Jake fumed.

“I abso-fucking-lutely did, Jake. You just don’t listen worth a single shit.” 

Jake slammed his fist on the kitchen counter, “I helped you write the goddamn script and those scenes were not in there. You know that for a fucking fact.”

“Okay— so I took a little creative liberty and added a few things. I am, after all, the director for god's sake. I think I’ve earned the right. But you knew the plot, Jake. Don’t act like you didn’t,” Josh spouted. 

You’d gone to walk out the door before more was said. You felt guilty for listening, them both under the impression that you’d left. 

But you’d heard something more that kept you from fully shutting the front door on your way out. 

Sam was apparently in on this argument, too. And you’d overheard some rather interesting things regarding you— some things you haven’t been able to let go of since. 

“Just admit it, Jakey boy. You thought you would be the one enjoying all these scenes with y/n. That’s why you asked her to join the cast, isn’t it? You’re just pissed that I get to share these moments with her and not you.” 

Hearing those words come out of Sam's mouth was something you were not prepared for in the slightest.

You needed to just close the door and leave, to stop listening in on this conversation that you were most definitely not meant to hear.

But after hearing that, you just couldn’t bring yourself to take a single step. You had to hear Jake’s response. 

“That’s true isn’t it, Jake.” Josh agreed. “That’s why you’re all out of sorts with this whole thing.”

“First of all,” Jake raised his voice with yet another loud crack against the granite countertop, (His fist must’ve fucking hurt like hell that night) “I only asked her because I had to. We were assigned this ridiculous project together and I was not about to work on something alone with her.”

…that was a fucking blow to the heart.

“Secondly, Sam, I don’t give a fuck one about your special little scenes with her. What I’m pissed about is that you’ve made this entire plot about fucking, Josh. That is not the only goddamn thing that happens in the original texts.”

He did make a solid point there. But from everything he’d told you about the plot before you agreed, (which wasn’t much, if you’re being honest) that was the whole point of the film. At least to show their adulterous human desire, that their love for one another wasn’t a strong enough force that others couldn’t break their way through.

“Jesus, Josh.” You heard footsteps coming closer to where you were hidden, so you quickly made your way out the door to conceal yourself. Before fully closing it, you heard Jake say, “I don’t want to be part of a fucking x-rated film. That isn’t what I signed up for. And you’ve basically taken everything I’ve helped you with and thrown it in the trash. Why did you even ask me to help if you didn’t want to use me for anything other than your precious fucking Arthur that you’re ruining with these worthless rags you call costumes?” 

You quietly padded your way to the car as you heard Jake coming closer to the door. You felt you had heard enough, and you weren’t sure if you could mentally handle hearing much more. 

As you drove home that night, your car squeaking and rattling its way through the middle of Detroit, the sound of Jake’s words in your mind were far louder than that of your beat down Firebird. 

“I only asked her because I had to…I was not about to work on something alone with her.”

You couldn’t control the stray tears that fell down your cheeks. You’d always known that was the only reason he asked you, but hearing him say it…was something else entirely. 

At that point, you’d decided that you’re not doing this for Jake anymore. Not even for the sake of your class. 

You know it’ll get a good grade. That’s no longer a worry of yours. 

No; You’re doing it for the friends you’ve made in the process of this goddamn thing that you would regret doing if it weren’t for them. 

They way Jake’s family has treated you, especially in comparison to how he has treated you…you’re only sticking it out for them. Fuck Jake and his shit attitude that he’s given you since the first moment he met you. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You dramatically set your cold brew on the plastic table, throw your bag on the sticky floor and plant your ass so hard in the metal chair you’re sure it’ll be purple in a few hours. 

Elbows resting on the table, you let your head fall in your hands as you let out a long sigh.

“That good, huh?” Nat questions.

You peak at her through your fingers, taking in her almost apologetic smile. “I’ve not scored anything above seventy percent on a single midterm. And I still have one more to go.” 

True to her character, she pulls your hand away from your face. She’s told you before that she likes to see your full face when she talks to you— just another reason, that even in the short time you’ve known her, she’s been the best friend you’ve ever had. 

“And what is wrong with that, might I ask? Seventy percent is a C. And last I checked, that’s a passing grade,” she says with her slim fingers still held tight to your wrist.

You move your other hand away from your face as it falls limp into your lap. “I didn’t move over fourteen hours away to go to the school I’ve dreamt about since I was a child to make C’s, Nat. I want to excel. I want to make the dean's list. I want to leave my mark. I won’t be doing any of that with anything less than all A’s on my transcripts.”

She just smiles at you and softly shakes her head, a few perfect ringlets falling from her silken scarf.

“You will make your mark with or without a perfect 4.0, y/n. Your life is more valuable than a silly cumulative number that isn’t reflective of the person that you are.” She lays your hand down on the table with a soft pat against the back of it, her long acrylics leaving the gentlest, comforting scratches. “You have to stop being so hard on yourself, babe.” 

She’s absolutely right, and you know it. In the grand scheme, grades don’t matter as long as you’ve passed. But dammit– that’s just not enough for you. You can’t, you won’t accept anything lower than an A. 

You have to prove it to everyone who said you’d never make it. Everyone from your tiny hometown, everyone in this city who expects you to fail.

Everyone. Even your father who left you and your mom when things were at their outright worst. The man who cared more about his own well-being than that of you and your disabled, ill mom. You have to defy the standard, beat the odds. You refuse to become merely a product of your shitty situation. 

You have to show him. Show him that you’re worth more than he thought you were. That you can do just fine taking care of your mom and yourself. Without him. 

“It does matter, Nat. If I don’t do well now, I’ll never get accepted into a grad school and if that doesn’t happen, all of my hard work has been for nothing. I’ve proved fucking nothing.”

The sternness in your voice causes her to withdraw her hand from yours and sit herself all the way back in her chair, arms crossed in a state of defiance. “Who the hell do you need to prove yourself to? Why do you care so much about what other people think when I’m sitting right here trying to convince you that you don’t need to do that?” Her voice matches your tone perfectly, with seriousness and irritation present in her inflection. (Perhaps a bit more than you had anticipated. She’s passionate, you can’t deny that for a second.)

You pause for a moment, taking in the vast realization that you’ve never gotten that personal with Natalia on your behalf. She knows of your struggles with your body, and she’s done everything in her power to make you see yourself the way she sees you ever since you opened up to her.

She knows where you live as she’s had to pick you up and drop you off a few times for filming, so you’re sure she realizes that you live in a complex for low income, disabled tenants. She knows you leave and come back periodically if filming runs a little late, unbeknownst to her that it’s to take care of your ailing mom. But not once has she ever pried with a wandering mind. She’s been waiting for you to tell her. 

Talking about these things is just something you’re not keen on doing. It presents an awful lot about you that you wish you could’ve left in Oklahoma. 

It’s just hard. 

And it’s hard to know who you can and can’t trust, who will take advantage of you and who won’t.

But as far as Natalia goes, you’re certain you could tell her just about anything and she’d be the last person to use it against you. But that doesn’t make it any easier to say everything out loud. 

Suddenly, she stands up from her chair, the sound of the metal legs against the tile floor sending a shiver throughout your body. “W-where are you going?”

“Come on,” she responds, swigging down what’s left of her coffee. “We’re going to my car.” 

Instead of arguing, you stand up with her and gather up your things, following her as she takes quick strides towards the glass doors. 

“Why are we going to your car, again?” you ask.

“So you can tell me what you’re not telling me.” 

At first, you’re a bit confused as to why she’d prefer to go to her car to talk. But as you open her passenger door, you remember that car talks are always the best place for deep, emotional conversations to happen. That’s exactly what she wants from you, and as soon as you take residence on the black leather of her Escalade, you feel the unrelenting urge to spill it all. 

She slams the car door before adjusting body so she’s facing you. She rests her elbow on the center console, placing her face in the palm of her hand as she scans you with her chocolate eyes, waiting for you to speak. 

“It’s just…” you sigh deeply from your chest before you begin telling her everything. “I’m the sole provider now. My mom isn’t much longer for this earth,” The sting in your heart upon hearing yourself say those words feels like an electric shock to your system. Speaking them feels like pure bile leaving your mouth. But it’s true. And not saying it doesn’t make it not true. “So it’s up to me to take care of her. She doesn’t have anyone else.” 

Nat’s eyes soften at your vulnerability. Where they were once inquisitive, they’re now full of warmth and realization.

“I can’t fail her by failing myself. My education is just as important to her as it is to me. She didn’t even question it when I told her I wanted to come here for school. She showed me nothing but support, even coming with me when it was most definitely too dangerous for her to make the move. She did it anyway— she wanted to do it. She wants to see my education through as much as I do, and I’ll be goddamned if she doesn’t.”

“Is that why you go home so often? Why you can’t always stay very late for things?” she asks with a timid, sweet voice that calms your spirit a bit.

“I have to take care of her. Make her dinner, sort out her medications, make sure her oxygen tank is well tended. I’m terrified to be away from her, Nat. But she insists that I still live my life. I feel like I’d be doing her a disservice if I wasn’t, you know? But my biggest fear is that I’ll come home and she’ll be gone…and I wasn’t there to save her.” 

“Shit, y/n,” she says, hardly above a whisper. “I hate that there’s so much pressure on you, girl. What about a live-in nurse? Or home health? Is that something you could do?”

“Her insurance won’t cover a live-in, unfortunately. And there’s no way in hell we could ever afford one on my paychecks alone. Her disability plan claims she doesn’t need home health, and that is something I just don’t understand,” you respond. 

“Do you have any other family that could step in and help? What about your dad, where is he?”

You haven’t spoken of your dad since he left. You’ve hardly given him a single thought, even. The move was another way of purging him from your life completely— leaving the home you had once shared with him, getting rid of all of the stained memories once and for all. 

You know that deep down there are plenty of happy memories of him somewhere, buried, in your psyche. But after the way he just up and left you and your mom as soon as her diagnosis was confirmed, the way he left in the middle of the night with no warning and leaving you to manage it all yourself, it’s hard to muster up a single pleasant feeling towards him. 

“I wouldn’t care to know, if  I’m honest.” You chuckle rather cynically,  “The very moment he found out my mom could no longer serve his needs, that he would have to actually take care of someone for once in his goddamn life, he fucking ditched. Left over a year ago, haven’t seen nor heard from him since.”

Your life changed forever when you woke up that morning to his stuff cleaned out of the house, his oil stained spot in the driveway missing his pickup truck, and nothing but a handwritten note on the fridge that said ‘I’m so sorry, baby girl -Daddy.’

From that very moment, you became your moms entire world. Her one and only ‘person.’ It was no longer your life you were living for. She needed someone to take care of her, and the person that vowed to do that in ‘sickness and in health’ left. Just fucking left.

“He is who I have to prove myself to. That fucking asshole needs to know just how well I’ve done— how well we’ve both done without him. I don’t need him to take care of her, to get myself through school and graduate with fucking honors, and then go on to get my masters. I can do it all without him.”

Heavy tears begin to well in your tear ducts, tears that have been begging to be shed since the day he left. But you haven’t allowed yourself to cry over it. You swore to yourself that you’d be strong for your mom. 

“Y/n I–I’m so sorry. I shouldn't have asked.” She most definitely picked up on the sudden onset of your emotions. As much as you try to hold it back, you just can’t any longer. Your flushed cheeks become soaked with your tears. You're sad, but more than anything, you’re angry. Angry for you, angry for you mom. You haven��t allowed yourself to properly feel any of it. From finding out your moms terminal diagnosis, to your dad abandoning you the very next day. You haven’t done a bit of healing since. 

But something about her presence makes you feel like it’s okay to show your emotions, to at last let them come to the surface for the first time since everything has happened. 

You try to tell her it’s okay, that you actually really needed this. But the words are incoherent behind your sobs. 

She takes note and doesn’t say anything more. She reaches her arms out towards you and you lean forward, falling into her embrace. 

She rests her head on yours, her own tears falling onto your hair. Her empathy is something you treasure most in your friendship. 

She always knows the right thing to say, and she always knows when words aren’t necessary. Right now is most definitely one of those times. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I can help whoever’s next!” You shout to the small line of students filling the lobby, each one hugging a pile of books flush to their chests as they patiently await you and Natalia, stationed at the other computer behind the desk, to lend them their study tools.

Work has been especially hectic this week as everyone is cramming in their last minute studies. Each computer designated for student use has been occupied nearly everyday this week, but even with the prominence and accessibility of the internet these days, there have been plenty of students checking out real hard backed, leather bound books as well.

As an avid reader yourself, it brings a spark of joy to your heart to see so many people still reading physical forms of literature.

You’ve loved seeing the mass array of books that have come through the counter this evening, ranging from the iconic literary classics all the way to the Fundamentals of Trigonometry.

Next in line is one you recognize from your beloved (sometimes) class on the mysterious King Arthur. 

Toney Carmichael. The six foot something, brawny, platinum blonde wide receiver for the Michigan Wolverines. And one of the most academically scattered people you’ve ever encountered. 

You’ve made up your mind that the only reason he’s taking classes is to play football. He couldn’t care less about the school aspect of it all. 

He makes the most outlandish, blatantly incorrect comments during class each week. You question how he managed to weave himself into such a high level English course. 

Your first thought: rigged. Absolutely rigged. Someone pulled some tight strings for him to be able to continue his education so he can keep his precious football schedule. 

From what you’ve heard, he’s quite good. One of the best on the team.

Not that you would know (or give the slightest shit) about a single thing to do with that area of the university. 

You’re far too ‘liberal arts’ brained to understand the intense lore behind competitive sporting. 

You fight off the urge to roll your eyes as he quickly pads his way to the edge of the counter, plopping a mass amount of books before you, one even falling behind the counter and onto your keyboard. 

“Hey, Toney,” you say, with little to no enthusiasm.

You begin scanning the ISBN tags on his books, noting that they are a cumulative of the required semester readings for your shared course, all of them pertinent to the first half of the class.

You snicker to yourself, realizing that he’s waited until the very last opportunity to read these novels before the midterm test, which is tomorrow.

This class is very reading intensive; you can’t fathom waiting until the last moment to tackle all of these incredibly difficult reads.

Nine books in, you’re finally down to the last two to scan into his account. With a limit of twelve books that can be checked out at once, he’s cutting it awfully close.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight are next, scanned in and bagged with the rest.

At last, the final novel.

It's so torn up and ragged that you can’t even make out the title on the tattered cover. 

You scan the faded tag placed on the spine; Le Morte d’Arthur. 

Not just that, but the exact one Jake had returned months ago.  The one you wouldn’t loan back to him because you had a far better version that you let him borrow in lieu. (That he also hasn’t given back yet, you suddenly remember.) You recognize it as such now, though you didn’t realize it at first. But the computer also conveniently notifies you of the last six students who had possession of the book. 

You twinge a little upon seeing the name Jacob T. Kiszka in bolded arial font on the desktop screen.

But, no matter. It isn’t Jake in front of you right now, it’s Toney Carmichael. Star football player. (Sadly.)

You finish the last few steps, placing Mr. Carmichael’s receipt with the date of return stamped on the top in his bag. 

“Here you are, Toney. Good luck on the midterm tomorrow!” you say, bidding him adieu while handing him his stuff. 

“Shit, that’s tomorrow? I thought it was Friday!”

Idiot.

“Nope, it’s tomorrow. Better get to reading,” you tell him. He flings his plastic bag of books over his shoulder and nearly sprints out of the building. Again, you ask yourself, how the hell did he manage to get enrolled in his course?

You turn your attention back to the led screen, fully intending to clear the display in preparation for the next student. You’re met with the harsh realization that a certain name is still grievously present. 

It serves as a reminder of the very night he asked you to do this confounded film for his brother. Where the very seed of his kindness was planted, only to never be watered and die in the soil with his shit personality. (That somehow still hasn’t turned you off entirely. What the fuck, y/n.)

You see a student walking up out of your peripheral, and before you can tell them you’ll help them in just a moment so you can finish ridding your computer of Jake’s name, they slyly place a venti cold brew next to your hand situated on the mouse. 

You pause your task to snap your head up to see who in the hell brought you your go-to drink.

What’s the perfect distraction from Jake? His charming and equally stunning younger brother.

And god, stunning doesn’t even begin to describe the vision before you.

This is the first time you’ve ever seen his hair pulled back, tied in a loose messy bun sitting at the nape of his neck with a few strayed pieces framing his cheekbones. 

He’s wearing the most lovely blue button up embellished with cream colored flowers, left partially unbuttoned on the top to frame a dainty silver charm hanging from a matching chain, complete with a black and white canvas belt bag draped across his midsection. 

Fuck, the way that these colors accentuate his flawless complextion is rather elating. Your heart jumps a few extra beats when he makes eye contact with you.

“Sammy! What are you doing?” you inquire with an embarrassingly huge smile plastered to your face.

He flashes a smile that matches yours, the corners of his mustache curling with his sweet grin, his round eyes crinkling above his cheekbones.

“Figured you could use this,” he says while nudging the cold brew a bit closer to you. “Oat milk and extra vanilla, right?”

You pick up the drink and take a long swig of the cold coffee, sighing in relief at the feeling of the caffeine entering your worn down system. 

“I most definitely needed this. How did you know this is my favorite?” you ask him, taking another sip.

He looks to Natalia who’s standing near you behind the counter and throws her a sly wink. “A little bird told me.”

You turn your head to look her in the eye, while she quickly looks away and pretends to busy herself with something useless.

“Natalia Dolores! Are you the little bird?” you say with a shocked tone, a massive smile threatening to make an appearance as she attempts to make herself look as inconspicuous as possible.

“Woah, she middle named you, Nat. This is serious,” Sammy jokes, his lips tucked in a patronizing grin and his eyebrows hiked.

“Don’t look at me, girl! He’s the one that asked!” She wags her finger towards Sam, her other hand planted firm on her popped out hip. 

It’s staggering how the smallest act of genuine kindness, something as simple as surprising someone with their favorite coffee, carries a meaning far beyond the gesture itself.

Also, it just so happens that coffee is one of the direct lines to your heart. 

You snicker at her response as you shift your attention back to Sammy, catching the twinkle in his drowsy, honey eyes as they set their gentle gaze on you.

You can see so much behind them, so much that he isn’t afraid to hide from you. His unfeigned honesty is captured perfectly beyond his feather lashes.

But the only thought pounding from the screaming voice in your head…why couldn’t it have been Jake instead?

You quickly force yourself to shove that thought down immediately. It’s quite simple; Sammy gives a shit, Jake doesn’t. It’s time to put an end to your sad, unreciprocated little crush on Jake. His disinterest is unequivocally clear, he’s even said so himself. (Even though he had no idea you were listening in.) So why bother with your silly infatuation any longer when there’s someone far better giving you the attention you deserve?

“Thank you, Sammy,” you tell him, the feelings for his insolent brother waning as you catch the genuinity behind Sam’s smile. “You’re truly my knight in shining armor.”

“You’re quite welcome, your majesty,” he counters with a regal bow of his head. 

You smile at him as you take another sip of your gifted liquid gold, humming at the bitter sweetness as it falls down your throat. Perfection in a cup.

“You know,” Sam resumes, shifting his body to get a good look of the old building in which he resides. “I’ve never actually stepped foot in this library. Not even once. It’s quite beautiful.”

Nat, still standing behind you, huffs a rather obnoxious laugh that makes you jump a bit. “That’s because you’re never on campus, Sam. It’s a wonder to me that you manage to pass all of your classes.”

“Geniuses rarely have to try,” he retaliates, placing his elbow on the counter in front of him, resting his head condescendingly in his opened palm. “Which one of you ladies wants to give me the grand tour?”

“That’s a big fat hell no for me. Y/n, show the man around. I’ll take care of the front desk,” Nat says, logging herself back into her computer on the opposite end of yours. “But make it snappy. And don’t forget we’re closing early tonight! I want him out of here by 5:15 and not a second later.” she says with a cunning grin. 

You grab your coffee and walk around the other side of the counter, giggling as you get a look at Sam’s full outfit. He paired his rose patterned shirt with gray drawstring pants, covered in contrasting white stripes. 

 Sam matches your giggle, asking “What’s so funny?”

“Sammy,” you say through your almost uncontrollable chuckles, “you look like the fabric section of a craft store.”

Another boisterous laugh echoes from behind you, as Natalia chimes in with her agreement. 

Sam looks down at this outfit with knitted brows, smirking to himself while drawing a deep breath to say, “Well, jokes on you both. I happen to love the fabric section at craft stores.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“And this is my absolute favorite spot; the British Literature section.” You tug on Sammys arm to pull him closer as he smiles at your unbridled passion. “You’ll find all your British classics here. The Once and Future King, The Mists of Avalon, The Canterburry Tales,” You list them off as you read the titles off the exposed spines, stopping once you get to one you’re sure he’ll be intrigued by. “And, of course, The Adventures of Sir Lancelot The Great.” You pull the book from the shelf and flip through the first few pages, quickly noting the intense worn smell emitting from the bound paper. It’s clear that this book has been sitting here for quite some time. “God, I just love this smell. I could make a candle out of it.”

Sam gently takes it from your hands and takes a whiff himself, making a face that tells you he’s not as entranced by it as you are. “That’s an… interesting scent. Kind of smells like Jake’s musty room when we were growing up. Makes sense, with all of his old books he used to keep in there.”

No. Please don’t say that. 

“I know absolutely nothing about our beloved Sir Lancelot,” he continues, glancing at the words printed on the first page. “Well, other than what we see in the Monty Python masterpiece.” 

As much as you’d hate to admit it, The Holy Grail is, in fact, a masterpiece. You’re pretty sure you could quote the whole thing word for word.

“And,” he proceeds, “that he likes to bone the king's beautiful wife.” 

His eyes flick up from the book to meet yours. You can’t help the flush of pink that encompasses your cheeks upon his brash statement. (Or the heartbeat that is pounding at your very core.)

“I guess you could say that’s a pretty significant trait of his character,” you say, your soft tone cracking a little. 

He smiles at you as you smile back, quickly casting your eyes downward to avoid the prolonged contact that’s only intensifying the blood rushing to your face. 

You hear his feet shuffle a little closer to yours. That heartbeat you were feeling a second ago has now tripled. He gently takes your chin between his index finger and thumb, lifting it ever so softly so you have no choice but to look in his eyes. “Guiniverre could only wish to be as beautiful as you.” 

You move your glare to his lips, so soft and pink. You’ve lost count over how many times you’ve kissed them the past few months. How many times you’ve wished the camera wasn’t there during those moments. 

His gravity is pulling you closer to him, urging you to crash your lips with his in a kiss that would put everything you’ve ever done on camera to shame. 

But just as you’re about to…

“Sam? Y/n? Where the hell did you go?”

Natalia. Like clockwork. Here to ruin a special moment just as she did with Jake all those weeks ago when he saw you in the black lace gown for the first time. When she removed him from your sight. 

You curse under your breath, reluctantly stepping away from Sam as she stomps up the old wooden stairs and finds you both.

“You guys! I told you 5:15 and it’s…” she pauses to pull her phone from the back pocket of light wash mom jeans. “5:21! Sam, you need to leave. We have to close.” 

Sam hands you the book and you place it back in its designated spot.

“I can’t wait to hear more about his story,” he says as he walks away. 

“What? Whose story?” you ask absentmindedly. Your mind has become so jumbled with everything that transpired in the last few minutes, you’ve completely forgotten what you two had been talking about beforehand.

“Our good old Sir Lancelot. It’ll help me perfect his character on the screen, you know, like you said.” He throws you a little quick wink as he makes his way down the stairs, leaving you alone with Natalia. 

“Do I want to know what you two were doing up here?” she asks, her eyes opened wide and her hands settled on both of her hips.

You look back to the book you’d just put away, running your finger along the spine, stopping on the engraved Lancelot in gold lettering. “Just as he said,” you tell her. “We were talking about his character for the film.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

An air of confidence fills your lungs as you walk into Movack’s class. Finally your last midterm of the semester, and while the others haven’t gone as well as you’d hoped, you feel good about this one. 

This is the class you’ve felt the most prepared for. And admittedly, this is the one you’ve studied for the least. But, you feel you can get away with that. 

If there’s anything you’re sure of yourself in, it’s your knowledge of this lore. You’ve studied it on an academic and scholarly level for more than half of your life. Needless to say, you’re pretty well versed in it all. 

The only issue with this class: Jake.

He’s proven to be a bit distracting during quizzes, resulting in you receiving less than satisfactory grades. But you’ll be damned if you allow that any further. 

He’s disrupted things long enough since you’ve started classes, it’s time to forget about him once and for all and focus on what truly matters. 

He’s already seated in his spot, books opened flat on his desk as he does a little last minute reading before the exam begins. 

You don’t even look his way as you sit in your chair. You simply pretend he isn’t there, a method you’re planning to use for the entirety of his test. (And the rest of this semester, if you’re lucky.)

You sure as hell don’t smell his cologne, vanilla mixed with a musky sandalwood, that has bewitched you since the very day you met him. Nope.

And you certainly don’t care that he’s wearing a white button up that gorgeously flatters the leftover tan he still has from the summer. Or that he’s not wearing his John Lennon sunglasses that you’ve hated (sort of) for months now, allowing for you to see his sparkling, whiskey colored eyes underneath the shadow of his brown leather wide brimmed hat. 

No, you don’t care at all about these things. Your heart isn’t racing erratically at feeling his body heat radiate on you in the cold classroom from just how close your seats are.

Fuck. You can only tell yourself that for so goddamn long. And no matter how much you try to fill your head with other thoughts, when he’s sitting right next to you, drawing deep breaths as he’s focused on his reading, he’s the only one you can conjure up. 

Of course he would choose today to look the best he’s ever fucking looked. 

You hold your breath as you hear the clinking of his necklaces each time he moves to open and close his books, the ridiculous amount of silver charms he wears being one of your favorite things about him. 

He seems a bit flustered, sighing and anxiously rubbing his chin (a nervous habit, according to Josh) with each page he turns. 

Surely he’s not nervous for the exam…right? 

“The exam will begin in one minute. Please place any books you have under your chairs and silence all cell phones. The link to the exam has been sent to your school email through LockDown Browser. Please be sure all other tabs are closed as the system will not allow you to open the test otherwise,” Dr. Movack announces.

You tuck your bag beneath your chair and open your laptop, scrolling through your emails until you find the one from Dr. Movack for the test.

“Good luck,” Jake says in a monotone voice, still so alluring and sexy despite lack of tone.

He’s shocked you almost completely still as you sit there staring at the homescreen for the test. You don’t say anything just yet, giving yourself a moment to register that he actually spoke real words to you. Words that didn’t sound angry or annoyed for once. Something kind of sincere, even.

“Uh- yeah, you too,” you stumble in response. 

“The test will begin now,” says your professor. 

You try to read the first question, however your mind is turning it into a jumbled mess of incoherent words. You read it over a second time, slower to really focus on what it’s asking. 

But it’s no fucking use. 

Jake is clicking away at his keyboard, typing his answer with hardly a second thought it seems. You hear his silver bracelet (that you find rather appealing) hitting the side of his laptop and causing a hitch in your breath. 

The sound of his heavy breathing as he types should annoy you, but of course, it’s only affecting you further in your distraction. 

No. You need to focus.

You shake your head a little to snap yourself out of it, realizing it’s taken you more than two minutes to just read and comprehend the first question of the test. 

You're wasting time. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let this happen. 

In yet another attempt to reread the question, it finally proves worthy as your brain can make sense of it this time. 

Rank and briefly describe the Three Estates of medieval society. Then, describe their individual significance and contribution.

You rub your temple and your eyelids to relieve the tension before you begin writing out your answer, going as fast as you can as you’ve already wasted more than an appropriate amount of time on the very first question. 

As you type out your response, you can’t help but notice that Jake hasn’t stopped typing since this whole thing began. Curiosity has you wondering what question he’s on, since he’s clearly flying through this thing with absolutely no problem. 

You glance up at Dr. Movack to see him seated at his desk, eyes cast downward at his own computer. You then look around the room a bit, each student fully attentive to their own test. 

Turning your head to Jake, you sneak a look at his computer to see what question he’s on. 

Number five. Already. And you’re still stuck on the first one. Pathetic. 

As you turn your attention back to your screen, you hear someone clearing their throat rather loudly. But it’s not coming from just anyone, it’s coming from Dr. Movack. 

“Ms. Y/n.” His deep voice startles you, your body jolting a bit at the aggressive tone bouncing off the walls. He’s now standing at his podium, looking directly at you while every student follows in his suit with nosey eyes cast on you. “This is your first and final warning. Keep your eyes on your screen and off Mr. Kiszka’s, or you will leave my classroom and take a zero for the exam.” 

Great. He thinks you’re trying to fucking cheat. And so does everyone else in this goddamn class. 

You’re not cheating. Didn’t even think about cheating. But how the fuck do you even begin to defend yourself?

“Sir, I-I wasn’t-“ You trip and stutter your words, trying desperately to make yourself look any better than you do right now. But you quickly realize just how terrible it truly looks as you scan the room to see forty nine sets of eyes glaring at you, judging you. And yes, even Jake’s.

He abruptly cuts you off before you can somehow explain yourself. Although there’s really no good way to explain it. “I didn’t ask for a response. Cheating is strictly not tolerated here and you should find yourself awfully lucky that I’m letting you off with a warning.”

Lucky. That word isn’t even a part of your vocabulary these days.

You nod your head in understanding, shamefully setting your attention back to your laptop. But the words are even harder to read now, as you’re trying to comprehend them between welling tears sitting in your ducts. 

The humiliation is settling in as you’re trying to finish your exam, but it all feels in vain now. 

Everyone in here, including Jake, thinks you were cheating. On Jake’s test, no less. 

So much for your fucking method of pretending he isn’t there. In no way did you manage to be even remotely successful in that pursuit. 

And not only did you fail yourself in that aspect, but now the whole class, including Jake, knows it was his screen you were peering at.

Humiliated doesn’t even crack the surface. 

You can’t win in this class, nor can you win with fucking Jake. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Walking out of class feels like the ultimate walk of shame. Worse than a walk of shame. Like utter defeat— an ignominy.

The most painful part is this is now the third time you’ve been the center of attention in the class— for the worst reasons. 

And to add even more salt to the wound, you only received a sixty eight percent on the test. A fucking D. In the subject you’ve considered to be your best since you can remember. 

And it’s not for a lack of knowledge. It’s because of the string of shit luck and continuous distractions that seem to follow you as of late. 

The uncontrolled tears are soaking your cheeks as you speed walk down the halls of Angell Hall, considering never coming back as you run down the concrete steps outside. 

You heard footsteps following closely behind you, but you couldn’t be bothered to turn around to see who it was. In fact, you were hoping that whoever it was would just fucking give up and stop following you. You thought that if you ignored them long enough, they’d just give up. 

But, no. They followed you all the way out the door, and now you hear them continue down the fucking steps after you. Relentless. 

You stop on the last step, having every intention of turning around and giving whoever the fuck is behind you what for.

But just as you’re about to, you hear, “Y/n. Will you please talk to me?”

Of fucking course.

With the sleeves of your U of M hoodie, you wipe away the streaks of tears sitting on your face, looking at the black marks staining the cuffs from your running mascara. You don’t want him to know you’ve been crying, but the state of your makeup is most likely a dead giveaway and there’s not much you can do about it right now. 

You snap around to see him standing at the front door of the building, hands tucked loosely in the pockets of his blue patchwork pants.

“What, Jake? What is there to talk about?” you say, your voice quivering from the tightness in your throat.

He walks down to the step you’re standing on, and you catch his eyes widen at your confrontational tone before he takes his sunglasses from his breast pocket and places them on his face, tucking a few hairs behind his ear.

“Well, first,” he says, using his index finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose the rest of the way. “Movack can be rather gruff at times, so just turn a blind eye to him. But second, I just want to know why you were looking at my test. You’re smart as fuck with this stuff, I can’t fathom why you would need to read my answers.”

You’re struggling to think of an answer. You want to explain yourself, to defend yourself. But where do you even begin?

Do you tell him that you were so fucking distracted by him that you couldn’t focus, inevitably causing you to take far too long to answer even the simplest questions, and that you just wanted to see how far along on the test he was to compare to your sudden ineptitude?

No. Not a goddamn chance. While the whole thing looks terrible, you find the true reason behind it all to be much worse than the cheating allegations. 

“I wasn’t reading your answers, Jake.” Your voice is still restricted from the lump in your throat that just won’t go away. But you shove it down as much as you can. The only thing that would make this entire thing worse is to cry about it in front of him. “It wasn’t anything more than my eyes needing a break from my own screen for a tenth of a  second. Movack already has it out for me, so I’m sure he was eyeing me the whole time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.”

He chuckles softly to himself, and you can’t help but watch the way his adam’s apple bobs up and down. And his pretty smile that illuminates his entire face, his cheekbones sitting high atop his glowing features… it sends an electric shock to your heart. You don’t get to see him smile nearly enough, and you wish so much that you did.

“You’re probably right about that one,” he agrees. “I swear Movack picks and chooses students each semester to single out. And you made it easy on him with those first few days in class.” 

There’s his sweet smile again, prompting goosebumps to rise on your skin and forcing out a smile of your own. 

You can’t tell if he’s being genuine or not; being the utter enigma that he is makes him incredibly difficult to read. 

And after hearing him angrily spit out his true feelings for you a few weeks ago, your brain won’t let you forget his harsh words. Of course, he doesn’t know that you heard. And you’ll continue to act as if you don’t know.

But, knowing what he said makes you wonder if anytime he’s being “sincere,” it’s just a facade. 

Still yet, you’re appreciative of the fact that he’s not outright accusing you. Almost coming to your defense, even. Not only that, but he sort of complimented your knowledge and academic abilities. 

At this point, you’ll take whatever you can get from him. 

“If you have any tips on how to survive his class the last half of the semester, I’m all ears,” you tell him, nervously twirling a strand of your hair  between your fingers. This is the closest you feel you’ve ever gotten to a ‘normal’ conversation with him. 

“At this point,” He places his hand on your shoulder, gripping it tight. You don’t even notice the breath you sucked in at his touch, feeling like you’ve suddenly forgotten how to blow it back out. “you’ll have to go above and  beyond to put yourself in his good graces.” 

He wraps up his advice with a soft squeeze of your shoulder before he steps down onto the sidewalk.  

“Above and beyond?” you repeat, matching his tone with an added sarcasm. “Got it. No problem.”

Although it would be a lot easier if you weren’t there to distract me. 

“You can do it,” he says as he’s beginning to walk away, adjusting his leather satchel over his shoulder. “Remember how you put me in my place on the first day?” he recalls through a laugh. “Yeah, just keep doing that.”

You dramatically cringe at the memory of your first day of classes, not really in the mood to ponder that mess just yet.

But he is right. That’s the only memory you have of Movack actually being somewhat kind to you.

“Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t have any problem doing that,” you say with a devious smile.

“That’s only if I let you do it,” he remarks with a smirk as he’s already halfway down the sidewalk. “See you tomorrow.” 

Your tummy immediately fills with butterflies as you watch him saunter away. You weren’t sure how to feel about him being a decent human being… you just know you wanted more of it. More of the Jake you’d come to fantasize about from time to time in your cluttered mind. 

Like the one who throws one more small (devastatingly handsome) smile over his shoulder at you, still standing in the same place where he’d left you, before he turns the next corner.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Filming has just ended for the night. Jake filmed one scene and left just as you arrived for your shots, so it’s just been you, Josh, Sam and Malachi for the better half of the evening.. Things tend to go much more smoothly with this crew; you quite enjoy nights like these. 

You’re seated on their fluffy beige couch in the living room next to Sam, Josh and Malachi perched on the opposite end. With filming ending a bit earlier than usual, (given that Jake wasn’t here to cause any delay with his constant arguing) you’ve got a little time to sit around and enjoy a movie with everyone. 

Josh did ask everyone what they wanted to watch, however it’s clear he never intended to let anyone's preference determine what would actually be viewed. 

Once he turned on the television, he’d already had A Clockwork Orange queued up on the roku— it appears it was predestined for that to be tonight's film of choice. Not that you’re complaining, though. You do rather enjoy the madness that is this classic Kubrick film.

You’re no more than thirty seconds in the beginning of the movie when Josh says, “You know, Kubrick never really wanted to make this film. He thought the book was a yawn fest when it was presented to him. Just didn’t find much interest in it.” 

Sam and Malachi basically ignore him, merely nodding their heads while their eyes stay fixed on the blue lit screen. 

Still yet, he continues. “It was only when he imagined Alex being played by Malcom McDowell that he decided it’d be worth a shot. Can you believe McDowell didn’t even know who Kubrick was? He’d seen 2001: A Space Odyssey, obviously, but didn’t know Kubrick by name. It’s mind blowing, truly.”

Now that is a fact you most certainly did not know. And being the massive Kubrick fan you are, you’re surprised you didn’t know that. 

“Wait, really?” you ask with genuine curiosity to discover more that he might know. 

Sam places a hand on your knee and squeezes ever so gently. “Don’t encourage him, y/n. Or he’ll never stop,” he says with a half grin. 

From where you’re seated, you can see Josh’s face perfectly. And even with nothing but the bright screen illuminating him, you see him roll his eyes and toss his hand in Sam’s direction. 

“Yes, really! Isn’t that wild?” Josh proceeds despite Sam’s interjection. “I bet you also didn’t know that his nod to Gene Kelly was improvised.”

“It was?” you respond with a bit more shock in your tone than you had wanted. You can’t help it; this stuff fascinates you. 

“Indeed my dear, it was. Kubrick directed him to do anything that would serve as a major contrast to the violent and sinister nature of the scene, told him to dance around or something. So, that’s exactly what he did. Took one of the most convivial moments in cinematic history and turned it into an example of Hollywood’s gift of euphoria, using it  against the very corporation it came from.” 

“How on earth do you know all of this, Josh?” you question.

“Because he spends all of his time studying this useless stuff,” Malachi jokes. He pulls Josh in by the shoulders and hugs him tight to his chest while they both bust up in a fit of laughter.

“Watch the hair, please!” Josh says, his voice muffled by Malachi's shirt.

You’ve truly come to admire their relationship over the short time you’ve known them. The love they have for one another and the love they each give to everyone around them, so selflessly and without condition— they are just wonderful, beautiful people.

You still can’t help but question how Jake carries the same DNA in his body as Josh, because they are so vastly different from each other. 

The movie continues while Josh throws in a few more tidbits, piquing your interest and subsequently annoying Sam. (That’s almost more entertaining than the movie.)

Sam seems to be a little antsy. Antsy over something else other than his older brother talking away about mindless things. 

You’ve noticed him glancing your way periodically out of your peripheral, and he keeps taking a breath as if he wants to say something but stops before he gets a word out. 

You can’t take it any longer. “You okay, Sammy?” you ask in a hushed voice, trying not to disturb Josh and Malachi. 

“Y- yeah, I’m okay,” he whispers. But you know better. Something is plaguing him, and you will get to the bottom of it. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, a little bit of inflection on the last word.

He nods his head and hums in confirmation, setting his eyes back on the sci-fi film while you shrug him off and do the same.

As many times as you’ve seen this movie, you still can’t help but cringe during the infamous torture scene. 

You verbally express your disgust over the torture being inflicted on Alex, holding your hands over your face and barely peeking through the space between your fingers. 

The guys all snicker at your squeamish recoil, opting to watch you versus the movie as your reaction is probably more riveting than the horrid images on the screen. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The early evening has now cast a full, lunar glow as time has drawn on with the movie now running its ending credits. 

Josh and Malachi have long since fallen asleep, cuddled up in an impressive knot together. 

You peel yourself up off the soft cushion and stretch your stiffened limbs as Sam remains tucked deep between the pillows, still awake as he scrolls mindlessly on his phone as you suddenly remember you haven’t checked yours since filming came to an end hours ago.

You reach in your bag to fish it out, only to find that the battery is now completely dead. 

“Shit,” you mumble more to yourself than anything else. 

Your mind is instantly filled with the worst case scenario. Is your mother okay? What might have happened in the time between your phone dying and now? If she was in trouble, there is no way you would’ve known. 

“You okay?” Sam hushes from his cocoon in the couch, lifting up a bit as you give him a sideways glance. 

You had just tried to turn your phone on, to no avail. Only being met with the red battery telling you that you’re shit out of luck. Deciding to play it off, you do your best to not overthink it as you toss your phone back in your bag. 

You feel your heart plummet with the phone the slightest bit. “Y-yeah,” you stutter, keeping your tone quiet for the sleeping lovers. You throw a thumb towards the door, connecting your eyes with his again. His expression is so concerned, his eyes mimic that of a baby calf. “I’ve just gotta go. Just a grade I’ve been dying to check and my phone is dead,” you lie through your teeth, starting to head to the door.

But just as you get to the door, his hand is over yours on the handle. Your heart rate admittedly speeds up at the proximity. Cute, sweet guy who you’ve been sitting closely with all night? Touching your hand? 

You turn your head back and upwards to get a look at where he is standing behind you. 

“Let me walk you out,” he offers, his tone kind but leaving no room for argument. “I don’t like the idea of you being out there at night by yourself.”

Little does he know where I fucking live. This place is nothing. 

But, again, you play it off. Company on the way to the car wouldn’t be bad.

“Okay,” you grin. And he’s so close, you can’t help but blush as you open the door under his hand, still covering yours. 

Once you get out to your car, you’ve built up a little bit of nervous energy from Sammy following you out. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a bit of a crush, and having him so near was doing funny things to your heart. 

You turn to the driver’s side door and go to put your key in the lock. 

“Thanks for walking me out, Sam,” you look over your shoulder, trying your best to look as cute as possible in front of your beat up, jank-ass car. “I really loved hanging out with you tonight,” then you turn back to open the door. “Have a good night, Sa—.”

“Wait—,” you hear him say, his voice anxious. You follow the tone of his voice, and turn to face him front on. You can’t help the grin that flutters to your features as you wait for him to finish. “I’ve—I’ve actually been wanting to ask you something. I just wasn’t sure how to do it, but— fuck it. Do you want to go out this weekend? With all of us, I mean. Well, with me, but everyone else will be there too.” he utters, stumbling all over himself as he does so. “Josh wants to have a party here with all of the cast and crew to celebrate being halfway done with the film, and then we’ll all go out afterwards. Well, just my brothers and I. Of course Malachi will come. And you, I hope.” He’s spitting this all out so quickly, it’s like whiplash trying to keep up with everything he’s saying. 

He seems…nervous? That is quite shocking to you given how close you two have been for filming. He seems to never have an issue in those circumstances. He’s incredibly confident and sure of himself while he kisses you like no one has ever kissed you before. All for the sake of a silly college project. 

You smile at him and grab his hand before you respond, attempting to reassure him and make him feel more comfortable. “I’d love to, Sammy.” 

You can visibly see the anxiety wash away from his body as he relaxes a bit, loosening  his stiffened posture. “Great! How do you feel about haunted houses?”

“Haunted houses?” you question. “Like, spook houses?”

Your Oklahoma is showing, y/n.

Sam chuckles, “I forget you’re from down yonder,” he jokes with the worst fake southern accent you’re sure ever heard. “Yeah, like those. We go every year to them, kind of an annual ritual for my brothers and I. I’d really, really love it if you joined us this year. It’s a blast. That's what we’re planning on doing after the party. There’s a new one we’re wanting to try out for size.”

You’ve been so caught up in the chaos of everything consuming your life at the moment that you’d completely forgotten that Halloween is this weekend. Time has utterly flown by since your move. It still feels as though you’ve just begun classes at the U of M only days ago, when in fact, it’s been months since the semester started. 

“God, I haven’t gone to a spook hou– sorry, haunted house, in years.” you tell him. 

His face scrunches up in a tenderhearted grin at your correction. 

“It’s a date, then!” he exclaims with an enthusiasm that swarms your belly with tiny butterflies. 

He opens your car door a little wider as you climb yourself in the driver's seat. “It’s a date,” you repeat through a full toothed smile. He matches your grin as he gently shuts your door, bidding you a farewell with a sweet salute. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Each outfit you put on just doesn’t flatter you in the slightest. Every shirt is either too tight or too low cut, each pair of jeans has a weird gap in the crotch, your leggings only look good with a baggy sweater. And even though that’s your go-to comfort outfit, that is not the vibe you're going for tonight. 

No; you have to look damn good tonight. You want to look good for Sam, for him to see you in something cute that’s not just a film costume. (But there’s also the incessant part of you that desperately wants to impress Jake, too. And your usual attire just won’t do the trick.)

You dig through to the deepest crevices of your closet in hopes to find something that looks good, but also makes you feel confident in your body. 

The only thing you do feel confident in these days is your seductive wardrobe for the film. But, for obvious reasons, you can’t wear those to the party or the spook house. That is not the kind of attention you’re attempting to draw this evening. 

You stumble upon a black velvet skirt, short with a small slit on the left thigh. You’ve never worn it. You bought it years ago for a reason that you can’t seem to remember at the moment. But it’s managed to withstand the multiple closet purges you’ve done over the years, so part of you has clearly always thought it would come in handy at some point. 

Holding it up to your hips, you figure it’ll probably still fit. (Fingers and toes crossed that it does.)

It’s supposed to be a bit chilly out tonight, so you rummage through the second drawer in your dresser for the pair of  black tights you have tucked away at the very bottom under all of your other undergarments. 

You sit on your bed as you pull the tights over your calf, up to your thigh before repeating the same thing on the other leg, standing up to awkwardly pull them the rest of the way up over your hips and ass, covering the cute black boy shorts you chose to wear underneath that match your black t-shirt material bra. These particular tights have some serious tummy control— something you’re quite grateful for. 

Now, for the brutal moment of truth. Will the skirt fit?

You certainly hope so. Trying on anything can be incredibly difficult for you. You live in fear that nothing will fit you. Too big or too small, it doesn’t matter. Dealing with the size of your body in any aspect is paralyzing and far too triggering. So, doing this right now is a massive step for you. But, if it fits, it’ll be worth it. 

You undo the zipper on the back and step into the skirt on one foot at a time, sucking your stomach in fiercely as you zip it back up at your waist and clasp the small hook and eye at the top. 

As you let out the breath you’d been holding, you’re delightfully shocked to find that the skirt fits. Not too tight, not too loose— it’s perfect. A wonderful surprise that you truthfully weren’t expecting.

You walk over to your small vanity to take a look in the mirror sitting on top of the white wooden table. You bend down a bit to get a better look at the skirt, and holy hell. 

Your ass looks fantastic. And the little slit sitting on your left thigh is tastefully sexy as hell. The tights were a great choice as they make your legs look smooth and complement the black velvet beautifully. 

Now, to find the right top. 

Giant sweaters are your comfort, but you’re feeling like trying something a little different tonight. 

You have a dark gray, long sleeved mock neck that’s been hidden away almost as long as your skirt has. The fit of it has always given you wild amounts of anxiety. It’s tight. Like, skin tight. Yet, it’s remained part of your wardrobe for a long ass time. So, why not give it a try? You’re feeling a little more brave at the moment, and it might surprise you just as the skirt did. 

Shifting through the hangers holding your shirts, you finally find it. Still brand new with the tags. You can’t remember why you bought this, either. Perhaps past you was looking out for future you to have something hot to wear on this very night? Who the hell knows. 

You rip the tags off of it, figuring it’s probably much too late to return it now. You stretch out the mock neck a bit before pulling it on over your head, smoothing it over your breasts and down your stomach, tucking the length into your skirt and tights. 

You adjust the arms a bit, feeling a tinge of apprehension at just how snugly the material is clinging to your biceps. A body part of yours that you’re not so keen on accentuating. 

But as you take a look in the mirror, you’re shocked yet again— over just how good this looks on you, too. The tight-fitting fabric is actually doing you a lot of favors, particularly in the region of your breasts. 

The shirt isn’t cut in a way that would show any cleavage, but the way it fits around them emphasizes their shape, making them look rather perky as they sit perfectly upon your chest. 

The whole outfit is flattering you in ways you’ve never explored. The anxiety about trying something so far outside of your comfort is still ever present, but as of late, you’ve convinced yourself that it’s okay to do that every once in a while. 

You’re tired of being trapped in the prison cell that is your self conscious brain. It’s time to break free, and the confidence that filming has brought to you feels like the very key to unlocking the bars that keep your thoughts in confinement. And so does this moment as you’re seeing yourself in yet another new light. It makes you feel utterly silly for feeling as shitty as you always have. 

You glance at your phone to check the time, and you still have over an hour until you have to be at their apartment. You’re thankfully making good time, so you have plenty to dedicate to your hair and makeup to perfect it. 

You decide to throw a few loose curls in your hair, letting the waves fall around your face to frame it. Keeping your makeup a bit on the light side, you choose to go with a small, subtle black wing and black mascara to accent your eyes. You decide on a daring red lip, but not just any red lip– the same shade of red you’ve been wearing while you’re portraying the highly coveted Guiniverre. You grin as you swipe the scarlet color across your lips, thinking back to all the times it’s become smeared on yours and Sammy’s. The giggles that you two have broken out in over the mess you’ve created on his face. 

Digging through your jewelry box, you find some silver and gold chains you like to pair together. You place them meticulously around your neck, making sure they’re stacked to perfection. Then a pair of big hoop earrings that show beautifully through the loose curls around your face.

But just as you’re closing the lid to the floral painted ceramic box, something catches your eye. 

A little golden charm in the shape of a heart with your initial engraved on it. Your fifteenth birthday gift from your dad. You used to wear it every single day, up until the very day he walked out of your life for good. 

You threw it away that day. Tossed in the garbage the second you realized what he had done. 

While you’re not entirely sure how it made its way to Michigan with you, you’re willing to bet your mom dug through the trashcan to salvage it for you, hiding it in your box for you to discover later on. 

As much as you’ve struggled to contrive a single memory of your dad that doesn’t involve him leaving, looking at the necklace has your mind venturing back to the moment he gave it to you. Wrapped up so elegantly in a red velvet bag, with a letter from him that told you the story behind your name, how he chose it special after his grandmother that helped raise him when his parents gave him up. (Seems a little ironic.) 

You suddenly begin to panic. Where did that letter end up? Did you throw it away, too? God, you really hope you didn’t. But it seems like something you definitely may have done in the midst of your unforgiving anger with him.

But you loved that story. You used to make him tell you about your name all the time, and having it written down in his handwriting was something you held rather close to your heart until he up and left.

You start scrambling, pulling your tangled jewelry out in handfuls to see if it’s buried in there, but it’s no use. It’s not here, and you truly feel in your heart that it’s somewhere in the landfills of Cherry Tree, Oklahoma. Disintegrated to near nothing. 

It breaks your heart to think of it in that state. But maybe it’s for the better. Maybe that’s the universe trying to tell you that it was meant to stay back in Oklahoma with the life you no longer have with him. 

One thing is for sure, there’s no use in shedding tears over it. It’s in the past, and that’s probably the best place for it. 

You check your phone once more, realizing that you have to leave in no less than twenty minutes if you want to be there on time. 

You begin rushing around, looking for your black thigh length leather jacket (faux, of course) that you know will match your outfit perfectly. 

You find it buried under a few other coats on the shelf of your closet. You swiftly grab it and start heading out of the door of your bedroom, realizing that you’re still clutching the heart necklace in your right hand’s grip.

Mindlessly, you slowly place it around your neck, lining it up with your others so it sits in just the right place. You hold tight to the engraved charm, swiping your thumb over the initial a few times, just as you always did for comfort  in the years that it was worn.

The comforting feeling is still there, strangely. Everything has changed since you last wore this, yet somehow it all feels the same. 

The memories start to flood back like a tsunami, but you don’t have time for them right now. You don’t want to overwhelm yourself with it all. Wearing the necklace is just one step towards forgiveness, and that’s all you have the mental capacity for at the moment.

Throwing your jacket on your shoulders, you walk down the hallway to the living room to search for your purse and keys. 

Your mom is seated on the couch, watching her favorite television show and cleaning up the plate of food you made her. She starts to get up to take her dishes to the kitchen, but you stop her before she can stand all the way.

“Let me get that, mom.” You take them from her,  rinsing them off in the kitchen sink before placing them in the dishwasher. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with me gone for so long?” 

Tonight will be the longest you’ll be gone from her since you made the move, and the worry sitting on your heart is almost too heavy for you to truly feel okay with leaving her tonight. 

Your biggest fear is playing over and over in your head like a damaged record. But when you told her about tonight, she wouldn’t accept anything less than you going and having a great time. 

“You look beautiful, sweetie. Does my poor heart some good to see you like this,” she says as you saunter your way back into the living room to meet her warm, smiling face. “And I told you, honey. I will be fine. Don’t you dare fret about me tonight.”

Triple checking that all of her nighttime medications are out and within her reach, you also take a moment to check that her oxygen tank is full and that her mask is nearby should she need it.

“Y/n.” She takes your hand away from the tank and pulls it close to her. “I am just fine. Now get on out of here and enjoy yourself, sweet pea.”

She pats the back of your hand with her other, something she’s done since you were a child. 

“Okay, mom,” you utter through a deep sigh. “But please promise you’ll call me if you need me for anything, okay?”

She nods her head in agreement, sending you a warm smile yet again as she lets go of you and softly nudges you in the direction of the front door.

“Love you, mom,” you tell her as you step through the threshold. 

“Love you more, y/n.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You nervously pull your car in the lot of their complex. It’s been clanking around more than usual tonight and there’s an odd smell emitting from the engine. You’re counting your lucky stars that you’ve made it here in one piece. You’re hoping that having it sit and rest for a while is just what it needs. 

Your dad was always your right hand in fixing any issue that arose with your old piece of junk. Without him, you don’t even know where to begin. What shops to take it to, who will overcharge you and who won’t. Car mechanics are a foreign concept to you.

He even promised you a new one by the end of your junior year. It’s a pretty safe bet that that won’t be happening. 

Josh answers the door before your fist even collides with it. “Y/n, my sweet dove! I’m so happy to see you!” he exclaims, clearly more than a few drinks in as he holds one tightly in his hand.

He practically pulls you into their home, wrapping you in a Josh-famous hug while nearly spilling his glass filled to the brim with some stout, honey colored liquid. The same one that you smelled on his breath as soon as he opened his mouth.

“Joshua!” you huff, laughing at his loose state. “The night has barely begun and you’re already drunk?”

“Ah, yes! The night is still young, and there’s plenty more trouble to get into!” 

Your hand covers the sound of the giggle that erupts from you. “It sounds like you’ve gotten into enough already, Josh,” you say through your fingers.

His drink meets your empty hand in a clumsy ‘cheers,’ a few drops of his drink landing on your skin before he lifts his glass to take a big swig.

“The queen is here, everyone!” he shouts while stumbling through the crowded living room. You cringe at the sudden influx of eyes staring at you from Josh (loudly) announcing your arrival. 

You flash an uncomfortable smile, waving stiffly at everyone while you take your jacket off and hang it on the coat-stand in the corner of the foyer. 

“The queen, the queen!” Sammy roars from the kitchen, setting his glass down on the granite before swiftly padding  his way across the living space to meet you. He instantly envelopes you in a warm, soft hug, digging his chin in your shoulder. His coarse facial hair tickles your neck as you playfully squirm away from his embrace.

He takes a step back, amorous eyes flicking up and down your form. “You look intoxicatingly lovely tonight,” he whispers, taking your hand as he gives the tops of your knuckles a quick peck. 

Although he’s not quite as inebriated as his older brother, you can tell he’s had at least a few. Enough to sustain a pretty decent buzz. So, you don’t think his actions are completely due to the alcohol. Perhaps a bit, though. 

“Come with me,” Sam says while he drags you by the same hand his lips just met. “Your lack of beverage is deeply concerning.”

As he leads you to the kitchen, your eye is caught by Jake standing by the array of finger foods intricately splayed out on huge charcuterie boards. 

And fuck, does he look sexy as hell. 

His dark beige collared jacket over his loose, worn white t-shirt is something brand new to you, and his denim button up tied around his waist above his black skinny jeans shouldn’t be nearly as inviting as it is. 

You instantly notice the slightly cropped nature of his top, revealing just enough skin. Even the slightest vision of his lower stomach has your head spinning. 

But then you realize… he’s not alone.

And she’s pretty. Really fucking pretty. 

Her sun bleached hair falls just below her impossibly tiny waist. Her green eyes are complemented beautifully by her mulberry sweater, the deep neckline emphasizing her perfect breasts.  

He’s smiling, laughing, and she’s laughing right along with him, making doe eyes as he talks to her. She’s holding some bright pink concoction, of which she’s taking the daintiest sips, never breaking contact with his eyes.

You’ve never seen him so outgoing, so talkative. And it’s all thanks to her.

Sam notices your stare in their direction, and switches directions so you’re now heading towards them. 

“I don’t think you two have properly met!” Sam interjects. “Y/n, this is Stacy. She’s playing the woman that steals your man.” 

He laughs ridiculously loud at his own joke, obviously not understanding where your mind is at all. (How could he possibly know? But, still. Poor taste, Sam.)

She is Stacy. Of course she is. 

You’d heard about Stacy, but you hadn’t met her yet. All you knew was that she was the one cast as Camille, Arthur’s very own secret lover who will later turn out to be as evil as Morgan le Fey herself.

Nat has mentioned her briefly, telling you that she’s “kind of a moron, but a fantastic actress,” whatever the hell that means.

Her availability has been much different than yours for filming, so your paths have yet to cross. And since Josh has a strict ‘no pre-edit viewing’ rule, you haven’t seen any of her scenes with Jake.

And part of you isn’t entirely sure you want to. With how titillating your scenes with Sam have been, and the rather exposed nature of your own costuming, your wandering mind can only imagine how similar Jake's scenes are with Stacy and the costumes they’ve chosen for her. 

The script you possess only includes scenes with you, so you haven’t even been able to read any of Jake’s that don’t include you, which also means you haven’t even read any of hers.

You’d already made it up in your mind that she was probably quite beautiful. That Jake probably believes she’s quite beautiful, too. 

And you were unfortunately right. She’s a fucking goddess. You can’t hold a candle to her. And given the way Jake is looking at her, it’s safe to assume that he would agree.

Does he feel the same things for her that you feel for Sam? Why does it seem he gives her the attention you so desperately crave from him? Is she the reason why he has next to nothing to do with you?

It shouldn’t matter to the extent that it unfortunately does, but the thoughts are deafening nonetheless. 

You’re jealous. And there’s no reason to be jealous, but you can’t begin to help it.

Out of instinct, you bring your arms up to fold them over your chest. You suddenly feel like hiding once again. 

The thrumming bass from the loud music is keeping perfect time with the amplified beating of your heart.

Why do you have to care so much?

You swallow it all down, breaking free from your thoughts to be cordial with her. Because she has yet to give you a reason not to be, and you don’t want to be that jealous bitch.

“Hi, Stacy!” you exclaim with a forced smile and a reach of your hand to shake with hers. “It’s so great to finally meet you.”

She disregards your outstretched hand, opting to pull you in for an unexpected hug in lieu and nearly causing you both to topple over.

She smells fucking incredible. Like fresh cherries and oranges. 

She breaks from the hug, still grasping hold of each of your shoulders as you’re standing completely stiff in shock over the way she’s greeting you, as if she’s known you all her life.

With a giant smile, (displaying her perfectly white, straight teeth) she says, “I am so happy to see you! The boys have told me so much about you— well, mostly Sammy. He told me you’re a super awesome actress and has gone on and on about how pretty you are.”

Sam wraps his arm around your waist, giggling and blushing at her statement. You find his sudden onset of embarrassment to be absolutely adorable. You catch yourself smiling at the thought of him speaking of you in such a way. His sweetness more than makes up for the lack thereof from his older brother, who is standing stiff as a board behind Stacy. 

His eyes flick to yours, and they burn a hole through your own gaze before they land on Sam’s arm that’s hugged tightly to your body. His nostrils flare and his jaw clenches before he gives Sam a look that you’re pretty sure could actually murder him if it were possible.

You can’t discern how he’s feeling, but whatever is on his mind, he certainly does not appear to be happy about it. 

You look up to Sam to see that he’s staring right back at Jake, even throwing him a sly wink before Jake abruptly walks away from the three of you without a single word.

What the fuck is his problem now?

You all stand there in silence for a moment, Stacy’s head quickly whipping around in the direction he left in.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat to draw the attention elsewhere. “I’ve heard plenty of wonderful things about you also, Stacy. I am so excited to see you in the film. I bet you’re absolutely great!” You’re more so telling her this in an effort to relieve the tension that Jake so lovingly left behind.

She smiles before taking a few sips of her drink, licking the rememints off her full, rose colored lips. “Jake is just a dream to work with. He’s so patient and kind with me. And he’s just the sweetest guy! When he asked me to come to the party tonight, there was no way I could say no.” 

No. There’s no way she’s using ‘patient’ and ‘kind’ to describe the same Jake that’s been a rude, arrogant pain in your side for the past few months. He is most definitely not the ‘sweetest guy.’

You’re practically biting your tongue in half to stop yourself from saying anything. 

Why the hell has he been treating her so much better than you? What is so special about her that you’re lacking?

Well, aside from her Barbie-like beauty. That is something you can’t compare to, sadly. You’ll never equate to girls that carry her kind of flawless, graceful allure. 

And that is probably why you don’t receive the same respect as her. It makes perfect sense.

What a vain, fucking asshole.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’ve been subtly eyeing them all night, watching as they’ve kept themselves tucked away together in a desolate corner of the living room, completely separated from the rest of the party.

He’s been ogling the hell out of her while she rambles on and on, talking his ear off for what feels like hours. (About something mindless and irrelevant, you’re sure.)

But whatever it is has acquired his full attention as they’ve basically not lost sight of one another since the night began. (Aside from the numerous times you’ve caught him glancing your way tonight. Maybe this outfit was a good idea.)

Sammy thankfully hasn’t taken notice of your wandering eyes. In fact, he’s been just as glued to you as the two of them seem to be. 

And if you’re honest, he’s been a welcome diversion. 

The drinks have made him a little extra clingy to you, and even more complimentary, as if that were even possible.

You’re asking yourself yet again why you care so fucking much about what Jake is doing, when you have Sam practically falling all over himself for you. (Almost literally, thanks to the alcohol flowing freely through his system.)

You’re still working on your first drink that Josh mixed for you, and you now know what Malachi meant when he told you to beware of an infamous Josh cocktail. There’s just a hint of lime juice swimming in an endless sea of Camarena tequila. (A Kiszka staple, you’ve come to find.) 

You can only sip on it gingerly as a full gulp would probably cause your blood alcohol levels to rise rather quickly, so taking it slow is necessary. 

“I think I’ll go pour myself another refreshment. Anything I can get you?” Sammy asks, effectively pulling your attention away from them again for the umpteenth time tonight. (Thank god he hasn’t noticed.)

“I think I’m good. Thank you, though.”

He gives you an inquisitive look as he downs the last few drops of what's left of his drink. “And you’re sure you don’t want something to eat? There’s plenty up there.”

You’ve turned down his offer at least three times now. He’s been questioning you all night about eating, but you just can’t right now. 

The fear of becoming bloated while in an outfit as tight as this, clinging to every square inch of your body, is far too great to allow yourself to indulge. 

If you want to look good, especially around the likes of Stacy, food is out of the question for tonight.

“I ate with my mom before I came over, so I’m really not very hungry.” That’s a lie. And you hate to lie to him, to anyone. But you don’t want to be tempted by him bringing you a plate of food. You’ve hardly stepped foot in the kitchen for that very reason. 

He just smiles and says “okay” as he stands up from the couch to grab his refill, leaving you sitting there by yourself. 

Normally you’d be grateful for the moment of solitude amongst the wild party goers as they dance and galavant around. 

But all it’s doing is setting your attention right back on Jake, who’s still conversing with Stacy. 

Only now, it’s much worse. 

Your stomach tightens and drops when you see him mindlessly run the backs of his fingers up and down her forearm, landing loosely on her waist as their proximity has become even closer somehow. 

You shouldn’t care. You really shouldn’t fucking care. But goddamnit— how you wish it were you. 

You’ve told yourself over and over again to let go of this idea that he could ever possibly like you. It’s pointless, useless. He’s made it plenty well known that he isn’t and never will be interested. 

But suddenly, he makes eye contact with you again as he’s wrapped up with her, and she doesn’t notice. She just keeps talking to him as if he were still listening.

But you can tell he’s not. His eyes are tightly fixed with yours, and this time, neither one of you are quick to break the contact. 

There’s close to twenty people between the two of you, yet they all suddenly disappear. The music has turned into a muffled, incoherent beat. It’s as though you’re both standing on either end of a tunnel, the rest of the world stuck on the outside, unbeknownst to what’s occurring beyond the cylinder walls that encompass only you and Jake.

Your trance is broken by Stacy taking hold of his face and turning it back towards her. You can’t hear what she says, but based on the movement of her lips, you’ve gathered it was something along the lines of, ‘who were you looking at?’ 

She turns her head in your direction, looking around intently to answer her own question.

But she doesn’t look at you. Because in her mind, why would Jake ever look at you when she, perfect and beautiful as can be, is standing right in front of him?

No. She’d never suspect it.

And maybe she’s right, anyway. You turn to look behind you to see a slew of beautiful girls standing close by. Friends of some of the crew for the film, you assume. 

He was probably just looking at them. Not you.

Never you.

You feel the couch cushion sink in next to you with Sammy sitting back down, clutching his newly fresh drink, completely oblivious to everything happening within your mind.

You suddenly feel your phone vibrate from your purse, and you unlock the screen to see a text message from Natalia.

It’s suddenly registered with you that she isn’t here yet, which isn’t like her to be late to anything.

Nat: “So, about tonight…”

You: “Are you okay?? Where are you, dude?”

Nat: “I *may* have a date planned, & I *may* not be making it to the party because of said date. ;)”

You: “A date?? With?? SPILL IT!”

Nat: “A certain curly headed boy who was also supposed to be there tonight. :p Any guesses?”

You glance around the room to determine who should be here but isn’t.

You still don’t know very many people in this town just yet, so the possibilities of who it could be are rather limited. 

It clearly isn’t Sammy. And it most definitely isn’t Jake or Josh.

Then, it hits you.

Daniel. Sammy’s best friend who has been nowhere to be found all night, who was most definitely supposed to be here.

You’ve loved getting to know him over the last few months. Everything runs extra smoothly when he’s around to help with the camera work, and he serves as the best mediator for the twins. (And Sam when he’s feeling extra ruthless.) Fights are almost non-existent when his presence is looming.

And he is absolutely sexy as fuck. The tallest of all the boys, and the most muscular. 

With Nat’s unmatched beauty along with her kind heart, the two of them would make the most ideal, movie worthy couple.

You’re sad she won’t be here tonight, but the thought of her going out with Danny has you far too excited to care. She deserves this.

You: “Danny?? SHUT THE HELL UP? I’m so happy for you!”

Nat: “Maaaaybe. ;) I’ll keep you updated! Sorry for ditching you tonight, love you & have fun!”

You: “You’re such a shit. Love you!”

“What are you so smiley about?” Sam asks, nudging your shoulder playfully with his as you grin at your phone. 

You lift up your screen to show him, his smile matching yours once he discovers what has you so giddy,

“No fucking way!” he shouts, taking your phone from your hand to get a better look at the messages. “He’s been wanting to ask her out for ages. Way to finally grow some balls, Daniel!”

Sinking into the cushions a little further, you accept your fate of not having Nat with you for the night. You’re going to miss her. You are not sure how you’re going to make it without her perfectly timed buffering. And tonight of all nights is the one where you need her as a distraction. A distraction from the continuously ridiculous display that Jake and Stacy are giving with their secret giggles in the corner. 

Next to you, Sammy’s small, drawn out cackle pulls you back. It brings a small smile to your face as it’s an honestly endearing sound–reminiscent of a laugh influenced by weed. You’ve gotten used to hearing it often, as Sam is always laughing if there’s a laugh to be had. 

He’s a good distraction. A good buffer. You’ll have him to lean on all night. You’re assured of this as he looks down at you with his big, beautiful, deep brown eyes. He’s pulling you in, making you feel safe in this overly crowded room. 

But another drink would be nice. Just to alleviate any tension that could unintentionally make its way into your muscles. It’s a humongous risk as Jake and Stacy leave their cocoon in the corner to make their way back to the kitchen. 

Yeah, you don’t want to go back there. You need a drink, but you don’t want to accidentally see them canoodling when that’s the last thing you want to be privy to. The drink’s a necessity, though, you realize as you already feel irritation flare in your veins at the thought. 

“You need something, hun?” Sam asks. 

You bring your eyes, zoning out on nothing, back to him. God, he’s so sweet. Why can’t he be the Kiszka you want most?

Not knowing what else to say or do, you figure asking him to run to the kitchen for you might be a good idea. You need the alcohol, and he would surely love to help. Perfect combo.

“I need a drink,” you say, a shy smile taking over your features. “And I’m too comfy to get up.”

You really feel bad making him be your errand boy. Especially when his face lights up at the prospect of possibly helping you. 

“Yeah!” He eagerly responds, getting up in no time. “Whaddya want? Mixed? Beer? Wine?”

“Glass of wine, maybe?”

“Dry? Sweet? Sour?”

“Sweet,” you respond, without thought. Sweet wine is always the only route. “Thank you,” you offer, blushing with the quiet thanks. 

“Sure thing,” he winks. Then, he’s crouching in front of you, his hand landing on your thigh. Your skin heats under his touch. He’s so fucking gorgeous. And he’s so close. And he’s leaning in. 

You lean forward, too, and capture his lips in an effortless kiss. So soft, his mustache tickles your upper lip just right. 

He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and your tummy does a funny twirl before he’s standing back up with one more wink and a little grin that makes your cheeks flare red. “Be right back, sweet thing.”

As long as you can without having to move from your spot, you watch him lazily (and sexily) walk to the kitchen for your beverage. You’re biting your lip, still, when you turn back to face the rest of the party in front of you. 

Then you see Jake leaving the kitchen right as Sammy enters it. And with Stacy momentarily distracted, he lets his eyes wander. But, you realize, they don’t really wander– no, they go immediately to you. 

You’re still biting your lip, but you let your teeth slip just the slightest bit with the look he’s giving you. It’s haunting–almost as though it’s a best-kept secret. He looks…pensive. But his eyes are open, wondering and curious with his lips parted just slightly– so prettily. 

You let your gaze stay on his face–continue looking in his mysterious eyes–until Sam is the one exiting the kitchen. So, you turn your attention back to his face. He’s smiling at you, holding up a clear plastic cup, holding what looks like Pink Moscato. Your lips turn up at the sight, but let your eyes float back to Jake’s of their own accord… but he’s no longer looking at you. 

No, he’s looking at Malachi, who is still engaging in conversation with Stacy. 

But he’s not smiling along with their conversation. He’s scowling, his jaw clenching enough to make your skin feel hot. Why’s he so mad?

You choose not to think about it, instead averting your eyes to Sam, now back in front of you with your wine, setting his new drink on the table. You let your eyes settle on his ass in his gray jeans and you can’t help but appreciate the view. 

Then he’s turning around and his phone is getting clicked open from his pocket. 

Peering at the screen, you wrinkle a brow. 

“What’s–?”

“Twenty Questions!” He excitedly says as he hands you your wine and settles in next to you again. “Thought it could keep us busy for the next bit of time.”

Your eyes twinkle. He’s adorable. 

“Okay,” you smirk, taking a drink of your wine, which settles immediately into your cheeks. Warms you right up. And, yes, it’s Pink Moscato. “How did you know I love this type of wine?”

“Lucky guess,” he chimes, the apples of his cheeks pink after a swig from his brand new mixed drink. “You wanna play?” He flashes his screen at you again, lit up way too bright with the questions he’d found online. 

“Yeah,” you reply with a sure nod. “Give me your worst.”

And, without being able to help it, you’re peeking over your shoulder once more. 

You find Jake’s eyes, dark and waiting for you, before you’re both turning back to your tasks at hand. 

Your tummy is positively fluttering as Sammy asks his first question.

“What’s one of the craziest things you’ve ever done?”

Not helping the giggle that bubbles out of your chest, you know exactly what your answer is.  

Ironic. 

“Craziest things I’ve ever done…” you hum, already knowing what you’re going to say when you give him a tiny smile. “Well, one of the craziest things I’ve ever done is definitely agreeing to star in a project film with a bunch of people I really didn’t know worth shit.”

His signature cackle comes to join your giggle, and you feel totally at ease in the moment. 

God, he’s easy to talk to. 

“That’s fucking hilarious,” he responds. Then, there’s a wholesome smile under his mustache, his eyes encompassing a brand new emotion. “But I’m really glad you did it.”

And, with Sam’s precious face making you feel a little giddy, and the feeling of eyes burning into the back of your neck making your stomach feel heavy with want, you say the only thing you can think of. 

It’s simple.

“Me too.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

The chill of the night is nearly unbearable as you’re waiting in the line for the hayride that takes you to the haunted house, and you’ve found yourself regretting your choice of attire.

Your pleather jacket isn’t doing a damn thing to block the crisp breeze, and the small amount of alcohol you had ingested earlier has completely worn off, so you can’t rely on that to warm your system. 

Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest in a desperate attempt to use your own body heat to warm up, but  there isn’t any heat left to be used. You’re sure everyone can hear the incessant chattering of your teeth and the jingling of your jewelry from your uncontrollable shivers.

Michigan cold feels different than Oklahoma cold. Your body clearly hasn’t adjusted to the northern weather as of yet. (It also doesn’t help that you haven’t eaten a single thing since you woke up early this morning, but you turn that thought away fast. You’re not ready to confront that just yet.)

You half expected Sam to offer you his coat by now, but he’s too busy cutting up with Josh and Malachi at the moment to pay you any mind. You feel too awkward to ask, so you’ll just stand here and wait for your body to completely ice over while you wait for this fucking hayride that won’t allow you to be any warmer than you are right now. 

Hell, even Jake gave Stacy his coat, and she didn’t even have to ask for it. He just did it. 

And it doesn’t help that she can’t stop making her ‘pick me’ comments about how his coat is so big on her that she looks so tiny in it.

You’re annoyed as fuck that she’s here. The way she chimed in before you all left, nosing her way in to figure out where you all were going, just to get Jake to ask her to come. And of course he did. Of fucking course. 

So, she’s here. Bumbling about and talking about whatever comes to her dull mind. But, her looks give her a pass. You’ve found yourself wondering more than once tonight why they didn’t cast her as Guiniverre. Her beauty alone makes her more than qualified for the role. And if her acting is as good as everyone says, it just doesn’t make sense why she wasn’t chosen.

You’re really wishing Nat was here. She would just get it and share along with your annoyance. But she would definitely say something along the lines of what you’re thinking. She’s not one to hold back like you are.

(And you’re starting to understand why she referred to Stacy as a ‘moron.’)

The line has been still for well over forty five minutes at this point, and you’ve not even moved a quarter of an inch since you’ve been here.

This better be worth it.

Stacy decides to join in on the guys’ fun, making an obnoxious show of herself as she does so. You know she’s only doing it for the sake of Jake’s attention. 

And apparently Sam’s, too. 

She’s got her arm interlocked with his as they stand in front of you, making ‘jokes’ with one another that might actually make you hurl. 

Sam is too naive (and still a bit too inebriated) to understand her little game, but you’re not. 

And it should be pissing you off that she’s suddenly all over your date, but at least it’s keeping her from clinging to Jake.

The vexed look on Jake’s face says everything you’re thinking— his annoyance isn’t quite as subtle as yours. 

You’re a little relieved to find that he is also not thrilled about the situation. Everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves, and it’s not that you’re not, you just wish you weren’t so damn cold. 

A sudden gust of wind hits you like a frozen freight train. It’s nearly painful, piercing through your skin to your chilled bones. 

“Jesus!” You exclaim from the sharp gale, causing everyone to startle and snap their heads in your direction. 

“You alright?” Jake asks.

You notice the bright pink hue on his cheeks and the very tip of his nose, and you’ve heard him sniffle every few minutes since you’ve been here. You kind of feel bad for him. Having given up his coat to the little blondie keeping Sam’s attention far away from you, he must be as cold as you are. 

“I’m fine,” you fib through your jittering teeth. “I’m just so fucking cold.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad out tonight. Actually this whole month has been much colder than normal, I believe.” He cups his hands, bringing them up to his lips to blow warm air on them before sticking them back in the pockets of his skinny jeans.

You’re definitely not used to this kind of simple, small talk with Jake. And his annoyed demeanor has suddenly vanished. He no longer looks completely miserable, probably because he’s now ignoring Stacy’s obnoxious, forced laugh as she’s still messing around with Sam, Josh and Malachi just a few feet in front of you.

You’re absolutely over her at this point. The way she will snort out a fake laugh and casually peek over at Jake to see if he’s looking at her— it’s nauseating to watch, really.

“I think there’s a hot chocolate stand over there if you wan-” Jake starts, but he’s interrupted by Sam.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I didn’t realize you were so cold.” Sam says, wrapping his arms around your frigid body and rubbing his hands up and down your back to warm you up.

You’re grateful for his body heat, the way it instantly puts your endless shivers to rest.

But you wish he would’ve waited until Jake finished his thought. (And you wish Jake were the one warming you up instead.) 

But while in Sam’s embrace, you catch Jake watching, glaring. 

His jaw becomes tightly clenched, his chest rising up and down rapidly with his deep breaths, his eyes narrowed in on you wrapped tightly in his brother's arms.

And even as Stacy waltzes her way to him, tucking herself into his body, seeking his warmth, (quite literally just mimicking you and Sam) Jake's burning gaze doesn’t cease.

You’ve stood like this for so long that you don’t even realize you’re all next in line for the hayride. 

Sam helps guide you in the back of the wagon, being sure you don’t slip on the unstable wooden step. Josh and Malachi pile in shortly after you, then Jake and Stacy. 

You wince as you take a seat on the sharp hay, wishing even more that you would’ve chosen something thicker than your skirt. The hay is stabbing you through your clothes, and no efforts in situating yourself to find a comfortable spot are proving to be successful. 

“Here, “ Sam says, patting his thigh. “Sit on my lap, you’ll be a lot more comfortable.” 

The dry hay may as well be needles poking your ass, so you don’t turn down his offer. Plus, his body heat will also come in handy as you’ve got a pretty substantial way to go before you reach the haunted house. 

He holds you close to him by your waist as you situate yourself on his warm thighs, but you hear a rather unpleasant scoff coming directly from Jake’s mouth as you do so. And so does everyone else, apparently, as everyone looks his way at the sound.

Sammy snickers, asking “You good over there, Jacob?” 

His condescending tone catches you completely off guard. And clearly has pissed off Jake. 

“Sam, it’s in your best interest to shut the fuck up.” Jake angrily retorts. 

Stacy is seated next to him, a ridiculous smile splayed on her unaware, perfect face. Giggling and laughing when she has absolutely no clue what’s going on between the brothers.

(If you’re completely honest, you’re not entirely sure you do, either.)

But the tension is evident, nonetheless. And she is obviously incapable of picking up on it. 

But what she does pick up on, is how you're seated comfortably on top of Sammy's lap, giving her the idea to also do that. Because for some fucking reason, she feels the need to always do the exact same thing you and Sammy do. 

You have to hold back your laugh as she moves to sit on Jake, and he tells her it’s not a good idea and makes her sit back down on a dirty piece of hay. 

Serves her fucking right.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

A slew of bloody, killer clowns lead you all out of the hay covered wagon. Their makeup is…mediocre at best. Not the most realistic you’ve ever seen but you can tell there was at least a little more than minimal effort put into their costuming.

Stacy, of course, is screaming at the top of her lungs with each move they make, attaching herself to Jake in an obnoxious manner that almost prohibits him from being able to walk. The look on his features tells you he’s less than pleased with her actions, but he doesn’t stop her. 

They then lead you all to the beginning of their ‘Three Ring Maze of Horrors,’ guiding you through the dark black lit entrance. The sounds of exaggerated screams and wails can be heard through their less than adequate sound system, playing on an endless loop along with circus music in an eerie minor key. 

A typical cliche; nothing you haven’t seen adapted a hundred times before. The concept is a bit overdone in your eyes. Being the horror fan that you are, you’re pretty desensitized to things like this. It takes a lot to scare you anymore. But, you still enjoy the atmosphere nonetheless.

Not only was Jake chosen to be the designated driver tonight, it was a collective decision to have Jake lead the whole group through the haunted house. Of course, Stacy is close behind, clutching his back and burying her face into his jacket, seeking her pick-me attention yet again from him.

You and Sam are close behind, with you in front of him. He’s not quite as brave as you are, closely mimicking the reactions of  Stacy, much to your annoyance. 

Josh and Malachi are the tail end, clinging to one another as they both share in their fear together.

You and Jake seem to be the only ones who aren’t phased in the least. He’s hardly even winced at a single bloody clown threatening to have him for dinner. 

But with every jump and yell of a clown, comes a blood curdling scream from Stacy that is far more dramatic than necessary. 

Again, you have to fight back your laughter at the fact that Jake quite literally shrugs her off and ignores her every time. It appears he’s not buying any of her shit anymore tonight.

Sam, on the other hand, is much more fearful than you would have initially thought. (Especially considering they do these every year. Surely he doesn’t think this one is bad, right?) 

He’s basically using you as a human shield everytime a clown reaches for him, squealing and bending down to your height to hide himself behind you while you simply look at the clowns and wave, being the pretentious asshole you are. 

You’re thankful that both him and Stacy can’t see the ceaseless rolling of your eyes each time they make a fuss over something that is not as scary as they’re making it out to be. Yeah, you’ve jolted backwards from a jumpscare or two, but the whole thing is planned out in a way that you can almost guess exactly when and where an actor will strike. It’s textbook for spook houses. Some of them (including this one) are incredibly predictable. 

As you’re finally nearing the end of this poor excuse of a fear seeking thrill, you catch the smallest glimpse of a grotesque clown's meticulous hiding spot. But he’s not hidden as well as he thinks, since you can still spot him even with the neon lights flashing about in an attempt to disorient your vision.

Jake is walking closer and closer to his spot, and you have a pretty good feeling that he’ll strike once Jake is within the appropriate distance. 

You see the clown prepare himself and just as Jake is in the perfect spot, he jumps out in front of him, letting out a rather deafening wail. 

Jake clearly did not see him, having the ever loving shit scared out of him and raising his fist to throw a punch at the actor. 

Thankfully, the clown tucked himself back away in his little hiding spot before Jake could throw his self-defense punch. 

Why was that so fucking hot?

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

After a rather interesting time out, you’ve all finally made it back to their apartment.

The night ran a little later than you intended, so you’re making haste in preparing to leave so you can get home. Sammy isn’t too keen on you leaving just yet, offering hug after hug in an  attempt to keep you here a little longer with him.

I don’t deserve him.

“Do you really need to leave?” Sam asks, his tone of voice telling you he’s got something special in mind. You’d be lying if you said that wasn’t intriguing to you. “It’s pretty late, you know. I’d hate for you to drive all the way home at this hour. You’re more than welcome to stay here.” His wink sends a swarm of butterflies to your undeniably  eager tummy.

You hear Josh agree that it’s a good idea as he and Malachi are making their way up the stairs to their room. You instinctively look to Jake to try and gauge his thoughts, but, as usual, you can’t read his stone cold face.

If circumstances with your mom were different, you might agree. But you’ve been gone from her for far too long. And being away from her overnight just simply isn’t an option.

“I wish I could, but I’ve got piles of homework sitting on my bed waiting for me.” Again, that’s a lie. But telling everyone the true reason is a task for another night. 

“Will you at least text me that you’ve made it home safe?” Sam asks. His request sends a wave of warmth to your heart. The fact that he just fucking cares about you, and makes it evident.

“I will, Sam. I promise.” 

You start gathering your things that you left on the couch earlier, and as you’re about to open the front door, you hear something that sends a boiling heat to your blood.

“Sam's right, Stacy. It isn’t safe to be out driving at this hour. I’m going to insist that you stay here tonight.” Jake tells her. 

Don’t stay, don’t stay, d-

“I’d love to, Jakey!” her squealing voice answers.

Jakey?

“You can just sleep in my room, if you want,” he continues. 

As if your blood wasn’t heated enough, now it’s blistering. 

You cock your head in Jake’s direction, and his eyes are frozen solid on you.

He’s doing this on purpose. He’s getting even with you for all of your antics with Sam tonight.

Fuck you, Jake. 

She follows him down the hall to his room, and when you hear his bedroom door shut after they walk in together, you decide that enough is enough.

You throw your stuff back down on the couch and stomp your way towards Sammy who’s staring at you with wide eyes.

Non verbally agreeing to his inquisition, you wrap your arms around his neck and attach your lips to his with everything you’ve pent up from the entire night, letting it all out on Sammy who’s willing to take it with no question.

He doesn’t break away to ask what changed your mind, he just reciprocates the same passion you’ve bestowed upon him. He’s practically clawing at your body to bring you closer, shoving his tongue past your lips and moaning straight into your open, hungry mouth.

With no more thoughts running through your mind, you leap into his ready arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hands reach to cup your ass. 

He starts carrying you up the stairs, holding your body as if you weigh nothing. His lips only detach from yours long enough to open his bedroom door and carry you in, carefully letting you to fall on his mattress. 

He wastes no time crawling on top of you, sucking the skin of your neck before finding your lips once again.

You grab hold of his white button up and tug on it until it reaches his shoulders, digging your nails into the now exposed skin of his back.

He lifts up to take it all the way off his body, tossing it across the room somewhere before gracefully flipping you both so you’re now on top, straddling him, your skirt now fully bunched up around your hips as his hands begin kneading the flesh of your thighs over your black tights. 

You grind yourself on his body in desperate search for a release to ease the built up tension tonight has caused you.

“Shit, y/n,” he hisses, moving his hands to your hip bones to help guide you even further into him.

The moan you let out is one you’re sure everyone else in the apartment heard, but you couldn’t begin to care even if you wanted to.

I hope he fucking heard that. 

You lean yourself down, your lips flush against his once again, making a show of sticking your ass out as much as you can.

“Y/n,” Sam pulls away from you. You chase after him, but he stops you again. “Hey, are you sure you want this?” he whispers.

You find his question to be utterly ridiculous. Of course you want it. 

Even though it may not be for the right reasons…

You lift yourself up to look him in the eyes, “Do you not want this?” you ask, a bit of defensiveness in your tone.

His hand reaches out to pull you back down to him, enveloping your lips with a long, drawn out kiss that steals every breath of air from your lungs.

“I have wanted this since I fucking laid eyes on you,” he utters against your parted lips. “I just want to make sure that you are ready.”

You don’t want to think anymore, you don’t want him to think anymore. 

Instead of using words to tell him just how badly you want this, you lift back up to tear your shirt off your body, leaving just your black bra on your top half. There’s no use in overthinking that, considering he’s already seen your breasts due to the sheer nature of your black lace piece for the film.

“Fuck,” he whispers, running his hands up your bare stomach, reaching to gently cup your still clothed chest. His thumbs trace delicately over your hardened nipples through the fabric, a rise in goosebumps enveloping your body. “You are so goddamn sexy, y/n.”

Just as you’re about to lean back into him, you notice something catching his eye. You instantly realize what it is. 

Fuck. You weren’t ready for that yet.

“What’s this?” He traces the outline of your tattoo etched under your right breast, no longer disguised under the heavy stage makeup you’ve used during filming. Your body stiffens at the realization. 

Now that he’s officially witnessed the most personal part of you, it suddenly registers what you’re doing. 

And the anxiety becomes all consuming. All you want to do is cover up, to hide.

At this point, you’re only doing this to get to Jake. It’s absolutely not fair to Sam, using him and his affection for you like this. It’s not fair to yourself, either.

This isn’t what you want. But you’ve convinced yourself that it is, letting it go so far that your best kept, most intimate secret has officially been revealed. 

You begin feeling a loss of your sacred identity, a piece of yourself that you weren’t ready to share just yet. 

It’s much deeper than the tattoo at this point. 

What the fuck am I doing?

You swing your leg over Sam, removing yourself from his body and searching frantically for your shirt.

You have to get out of here. You should’ve just fucking gone home.

“Y/n?” His voice sounds shaky and unsure. “Shit. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken it so far.” He stands from the bed to meet you, the concern painted on his features shattering your heart. 

As bad as you feel right now, you would’ve felt a thousand times worse had you continued this whole thing for all the wrong reasons.

“You didn’t do anything, Sam. I need you to know that. I just—“ Fuck. You don’t want to hurt him. And you don’t want him thinking any of this is his fault because it absolutely isn’t. “I thought I was ready, I don’t think I am. I’m so sorry, Sammy.”

You swallow down the massive wave of tears threatening to fall, but you can’t help the wetness forming in your ducts.

You’re angry with yourself for letting it get this far. You’re angry that you almost used someone who’s been nothing but kind to you to get to someone else, for your own selfish purposes. And you’re angry that you almost gave yourself fully to him without being ready to do so. 

And for allowing him to see a part of you that practically no one knows about. 

“Hey, hey,” he says, cupping your cheek. You know he can see the tears welling in your eyes, as much as you wish he didn’t. “Please don't be sorry. I’m only into this if you are. You call the shots, okay? I don’t want you to ever feel rushed.”

“I think I’ll just go home, if that’s okay.” You pull your shirt back on over your head, wanting nothing more than to be in one of your giant sweaters for just a semblance of comfort right now. 

“Of course that’s okay. Do you want me to walk you out?” He asks. His sweet, quiet voice is comforting you a little, but you can’t shake the guilt you’re carrying heavily on your shoulders right now enough to find enough solace.

You tell him no, that you’re okay to walk out on your own. You can’t bear letting him do anything else for you. You just need to go.

He hugs you goodbye, telling you to be safe and reminding you once more to text him when you get home.

You tell him you will, and walk out of his room, shutting the door behind.

As you run down the stairs, you’re immensely hoping that no one is down there to see you leaving but as you reach the last step, that hope you were clinging to is no more.

It’s Jake. Rummaging through the fridge in the dark kitchen, and to make matters worse, (and slightly more awkward) the only thing on his body is a pair of black sweatpants. 

And when he turns to face you, you realize how low they’re sitting on his waist. Low enough that you can see his hip bones and a small trail of hair sticking up from the waistband. Fuck. His hair is an absolute mess, tangled and sticking to his sweaty, flushed face.

You would enjoy the view, but you know good and well why he looks like this. And you know Stacy is still in his room, probably in a very similar state. 

He watches you while your hurriedly head to the door, not stopping to say a single fucking word to him. He mutters something to you as you shut the door, but you don’t bother turning around to catch what he said. You just ignore him, practically racing to your car to get the hell out of here. 

You throw the driver's side door open, slamming it shut once you’re seated. You sit in silence, laying your head on  the steering wheel while the levees in your eyes finally break. The tears are uncontrollable, and leaving right now would prove useless as your vision is completely blurred.

The disappointment in yourself is ripping your soul in two. 

And you feel so fucking bad for Sam. You made him feel as though he was to blame. But the real reason for everything that transpired is so terrible. This isn’t like you, to take advantage of someone for the sole purpose of making someone else jealous. 

Someone as lovely as Sam who absolutely doesn’t deserve something so cruel. 

You’ve successfully lead him on in ways you never intended, all for the sake of someone who can hardly hold  a normal conversation with you. 

You feel like you’re beneath the lowest levels of the earth right now. 

You’re just ready to be home. All you want right now is to be tucked away in the comfort of your bed, to finally go to sleep and forget about everything for a while.

And the reality of how long you’ve been away from your mom is setting in, yet another thing to feel guilty about. 

You choke back your sobs, fanning your eyes with your hands to dry them enough to see. 

You take your key and turn it in the ignition, waiting for the car to start.

Nothing. 

You pull it out and try once more. It almost starts to turn over, but the laggy engine isn’t doing anything other than sputtering and heaving. 

You wait a minute before you try again, giving it a second to breathe and praying to every god in the universe that it’ll start.

In one last ditch effort, you hold the key as long as you possibly can this time until you hear a loud pop from under the hood. Then, total silence. 

This isn’t happening…

You try the ignition once more just to see if by some miracle it’ll start, but it won’t even try to turn over now. There’s no more power.

Your car is fucking toast. And there’s not a goddamn thing you can do about it. 

The last thing you want to do is go back inside to ask for a ride. But at this point, your options are rather limited.

Your first thought is to try and call Natalia. But both times you try, it goes straight to voicemail.

Great.

You have to get  home, even if that means swallowing your shame and going back for Sam’s help.

With a reluctant and heavy sigh, you leave your car and drag your feet back to their apartment.

You turn the knob of the front door to find that it’s still unlocked. (Thank god you don’t have to knock.)

But when you quietly step in, you’re mortified to see Jake and Josh now awake and in the kitchen, snapping their heads sharply upon you entering.

“Jesus Christ!” Josh shouts, his whole bodying jolting forward into Jake’s in a dramatic display. 

You feel bad for scaring him so bad, but his comical reaction does bring a hint of a smile to your face. Although you’re far too upset to laugh right now. 

“You okay, love?” Josh asks with a gentle voice while he quickly walks over to you, looking at you with sweet concern.

You know for a fact that your mascara has left streaks of black down your face, so you’re sure you look absolutely insane right now but you couldn’t be bothered to fix it before you came back inside. 

“Um, my car-“ you start, clearing your throat to strengthen your weak voice. “My car broke down and I need a ride. I really have to get home.”

Without as much as a single question, Josh takes his coat off the rack and grabs his keys off the hook beside the door, but he’s promptly cut off by Jake swiping them away from his hand.

“You’ve been drinking, Josh,” he says while hanging the keys back in their spot. “Driving isn’t a good idea.”

“She needs to get home,” Josh argues, ripping his keys off the hook yet again. “I’m completely fine. I’ll take her.”

Jake takes the damn keys back again, this time shoving them in the pocket of his sweatpants to ensure Josh can’t get ahold of them. “No. There’s goddamn liquor running through your blood. I’m not letting you drive. Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

“Do you want to take her, then?” Josh asserts, rubbing a frustrated hand across his forehead. 

God, please no. 

The thought of being in a car alone with Jake is enough to make you put your foot down on that idea. But you’re also not too keen on him seeing that you live in one of the most rundown, shitty complexes in the entire city. 

But Jake is right, as much as you’d hate to admit. With as intoxicated as Josh had been earlier, it’s not smart that he drives you. You can still smell the alcohol on his breath and he’s not even standing that close to you.

“Just go get Sam,” Jake responds, stomping off to his room. 

Josh grunts and matches his heavy footing up the stairs to Sam’s room, leaving you standing there alone and wondering what the fuck this whole night has become. 

A few minutes pass, and as Josh is heading back down the stairs, you notice he’s alone and appearing even more irate than he was previously. 

“I’m so sorry, y/n. He’s completely passed out and won’t move. I’ll just have to get Jake to take you since he’s so insistent that I can’t drive.”

Fuck. 

Before you can oppose, he’s already knocking on his door.

“Jake, put a goddamn shirt on and take her home.” He yells, not caring enough to quiet his voice for the sake of the others who are fast asleep. 

You take a peek down the hallway to catch Jake tossing open the door, damn near slamming Josh with it while aggressively putting on a Jimi Hendrix hoodie.

Stepping into a pair of black vans, he takes what you assume are his keys from the hook, already halfway out the door before he asks, “Are you coming, y/n?”

His tone pisses you the hell off— he’s not hiding the fact that he’s not thrilled about this. Both with his tone of voice and his assertive body language.

Sorry to inconvenience you so goddamn much. 

You’re not in any mental state to argue; getting home is your only goal right now. 

“Yep.” You sneer, grudgingly following him out the door to his car.

You had seen the practically brand new, matte black Range Rover sitting in the parking lot plenty of times, but you never gathered that it was his. 

Although you should have guessed, given the way it so perfectly matches his aesthetic. You recently discovered his affinity for all things piratical, learning from Josh that the medallions he wears around his neck are ancient coins found amongst the ruins of old shipwrecks. He also told you about Jake’s childhood obsession with Johnny Depp's famous portrayal of the beloved Jack Sparrow character, so you’re not the least bit surprised when you see ‘BLK PRL’ engraved in the metal license plate. Clearly a nod to that part of himself. (That you can’t help but find awfully endearing.)

It’s nice. Really fucking nice. And clearly very well taken care of as there’s not a single flaw to be found.

The question remains– how the hell does a college student afford one of the nicest apartments you’ve ever seen and a new Range Rover? 

You still don’t know what he does for work, but you don’t care enough at the moment to find out.

To your shock, he pulls a pure gentleman move by opening the passengers door for you and helping you in his car. Something you certainly hadn’t planned on but found rather charming. 

Once he verifies that you’re in and secure, he shuts the door and heads to the drivers side, letting himself in and starting the engine. 

He begins backing out of the driveway, one hand on the steering wheel and one on the headrest of your seat, his bottom lip is tucked between his teeth in concentration. You find it all to be inexplicably attractive and you can’t take your eyes off of him.

But when his eyes catch your stare, you look away, hoping he doesn't realize just how long you’d been watching. 

“Where do you live?” he asks while putting the car in drive. 

You don’t want to tell him. You don’t want him knowing that you live in one of the worst areas in the entire Detroit, Ann Arbor area. 

But you no longer have a choice. 

“Redwood Apartments,” you say quietly, wishing that this whole thing wasn’t happening. “Down on north Highland, just a block away from Meijer down the road.” 

“Yeah, I think I know where that’s at.” He nods his head as he begins to take off in the direction of your home.

The car is completely silent, the rumbling tires against the pavement being the only thing you can hear. Neither of you says a word for what feels like hours, but when you look at the clock, you realize your trek began only ten minutes ago. It’s a solid twenty minutes between your place and theirs, so you still have another agonizing ten minutes left to go. 

Once you hit a red light, Jake reaches to the center console for his phone and unlocks it, handing it to you with his screen open on his Spotify page. 

“Pick something to listen to,” he says as the light turns green once again. 

It feels utterly illegal to be in charge of his phone right now. But you’re also a fan of having something to listen to that isn’t your combined breaths and the sound of his heavy tires rolling against the road. 

You take the opportunity to scroll through his playlists, seeing literally hundreds of them categorized quite specifically. 

Picking the one titled ‘Fave Psychedelic,’ you scroll through until you find Voodoo Child by Jimi Hendrix. An old favorite of yours and the song you instantly thought of when you saw him put on his hoodie. 

You set his phone back down as the song begins, feeling your spirits beginning to lift upon hearing the transcendent tonality that can only be described as the Hendrix experience.

Even Jake can’t sit still, nodding his head to the beat and tapping his fingers to the rhythm of Jimi’s strumming. 

“Good choice,” he mutters, humming along to the classic tune.

“I must say, though,” he continues. “I actually prefer Stevie Ray Vaughan’s take on this one, especially when he played it live. He just exuded the very essence of Jimi, took everything he did and amplified the hell out of it while showing nothing but respect to the original masterpiece.”

Stevie is another favorite of yours. God, the hours you spent during your childhood watching him play, appreciating the passion and time he put into his art. 

You went through years being bullied relentlessly for your taste in ‘old people’ music, having never found anyone else who shares the same musical palate with you.

Until now.

Having this conversation with Jake is something you so desperately needed right now. 

“I completely agree,” you say, searching for his cover on Spotify and adding it to the queue. “The way he could make his guitar sing, like you can hear his emotion through his strings. One of the only guitarists worthy of being compared to Hendrix.”

You’re thinking about Jake’s style, his hats and choice of mostly black attire, his mass amounts of jewelry… it suddenly dawns on you that he must really love Stevie because his style is so closely linked to his. A style you’ve been attracted to since you can remember. 

You’re shocked that you’ve not picked up on that until now, but it perfectly explains your instant infatuation for him.

“Absolutely,” he responds. “They’re both my biggest inspirations with my own music. I have so much admiration for them, and Clapton, Petty, Harrison, all the rock and roll greats who incorporated the deep roots of the blues in their playing.”

Imagining him playing like some of your favorites… it’s nothing but elating. Your imagination is running rampant with picturing him playing the kind of music you’ve spent so much of your life deeply appreciating. The music that connected your soul to things far beyond the physical realm. 

“I’d love to hear you play sometime,” you say, turning a bit shy at your sudden valiant request. 

Stopped at another red light, he looks to you with the most genuine smile you’ve yet to see from him. “Yeah?”

“Of course.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You suck in a deep breath as Jake makes it closer to your apartment complex. 

Lights. Flashing of blinding red and blue. 

In the parking lot of your complex.

Fire trucks, police cars, an ambulance. All situated in front of the run down building. 

“What the hell is going on? I can’t even make it in the parking lot, jesus.” Jake is driving around in slow circles trying to find a place to enter that isn’t blocked by cops.

It’s all beginning to set in. You feel your heart plummeting to the depths of your stomach, your breaths barely filling the capacity of your lungs.

Your worst fear. 

You shouldn’t have fucking left her.

“Jake. Pull over. Now.” 

You pull your seatbelt off, grabbing the handle of his passenger's door but it won’t open. You try tugging on it further, realizing it’s locked.

Jake picks up on the urgency in your voice and abruptly slams on the brakes, throwing the gear shift into park to unlock the doors. 

“Y/n, what are you–” he tries to ask, but you’re already out of the car and sprinting towards the maelstrom of lit up vehicles. 

But as you’re stepping over the curb into the lot, an officer stops you. 

“Ma’am, you need to stay back. They’re about to carry someone out and we can’t let you over there just yet,” he says, holding your forearm to stop you. 

Using every bit of strength you can muster in the moment, you pull away from him and continue running. You hear him yelling for you to stop, but his shouting is muffled by the voice in your head telling you to get to your mom now.

As you make it closer, you see them pulling a gurney down from the second floor. 

The floor your apartment rests on.

They pull it down the stairs slowly, and they’re angled in a way that you can’t see who they’re carrying. 

All you can do is stand there and wait amongst the paramedics and EMTs who are trying to tell you that you’re not supposed to be here. 

But they’re blurred images to you. The only thing you can see clearly is the gurney being wheeled in your direction, squeaking metal being the only sound that fills your ears.

And as it finally reaches you, your fear is imagined. 

Her swollen face is distorted by an oxygen mask, her weak body bound to the flat table by straps holding her tight to its cold metal. 

Her right hand dangles off the side, swaying back and forth lifelessly with every push and pull of the wheels. 

You lunge yourself forward towards her, being stopped forcefully by two officers who’ve been telling you this whole time to step back. The weight of their bodies against yours knocks the wind from your lungs, hardly allowing your choked cry for her to be heard. 

“I have to go with her!” You scream as they situate the gurney in the back of the ambulance. 

One of the paramedics steps between you and the cops, taking your hand and looking you in the eye. The kindest  gesture you’ve encountered in the midst of this whole thing.“Honey, you can’t be in there when they take her. You can drive yourself and meet them at the emergency room, okay?” she tells you.

But your car. You don’t have your fucking car. It’s sitting completely useless at the Kiszka’s complex. Without it, you have no way of getting there.

You suddenly feel another hand on your body, your left shoulder. It’s warm. Firm. Yet soft and assuring all at once. 

It pulls you from your disorientation, grounding you. You peek over your shoulder to see Jake standing there, his presence crashing in like a wave of peace over the chaotic storm that has become your reality.

Your eyes become wet at the mere sight of him. 

He’s still here. 

“Come on,” he utters calmly, moving his grip down to your hand, interlocking his fingers tight with yours. “I’ll take you.”

a/n: i'd love to hear your thoughts about everything! as i said, this one was tough for me to write, but it was something i desperately needed to do.

i hope you all love it as much as i do. 🤍

(i would also like to apologize again for taking so long with this one. i promise the next chapter won’t take nearly as long.)

if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. ☺️

sending all my love!

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr @watchingover-hypegirl @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface  @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflame4goinghome @heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon @gretasfallingsky @i-love-gvf @styles-canvas @mackalah @gvfmarge @sarafrusciante2 @jordie-gvf @gretavansara @highway-tuna @vikingsisthenewsexy @louiseecraigg @hippievanfleet @citylight-delight @blacksoul-27 @hippievanfleet @jazzyfigz @sirjaketkiszkasharmonica @smoking-jakelane @hernameis-heaven

i'm fairly certain i've included everyone but if i've forgotten you, please let me know! (& i sincerely apologize)

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfiction #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #sam kiszka smut #jake kiszka fic #sam kiszka fic #jake fic #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet fic #jake kiszka fluff #greta van fleet smut #gvf fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf smut #greta van smut #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet #le morte d’arthur #gvf

[viric-dreams]

Reference Montage.

There's something odd about Ockham. Ockham seems cordial enough when you meet at a society soirée, or in the crowded lobby after a theatrical performance, even if Ockham seems to say very little. It's not until you get out into the crisp night air that you feel suddenly awake and refreshed, and the haziness of your encounter truly sets in. What were you talking about anyway? Did she say something important? Was it she? Or maybe it was he... you seemed to have known at the time. The longer you think on the encounter, the more nonsensical it seems. What did Ockham even look like? Your memory of him... them(?)... doesn't seem right, like trying to remember a dream... Perhaps it's best not to think too hard.

Though it would be many months before Ockham himherthemself would catch wind of it, Ockham is not the original sailor who fell into the mirrored surface of the sea, but rather his Parabolan reflection, and an amalgamation of memories and identity from both the original, as well as many from the Fingerkings in possession of said body for the better part of a century. Something like this is not unheard of in Parabola, but a creature native to the Is-Not should not have been able to escape to the Is.

The transition is not seamless. Ockham seems to give off significant viric radiation when outside of Parabola, and it tends to affect anyone who tries to interact with himherthem.

Ockham did eventually manage to track down the body of the Original, still possessed by Fingerkings. The interaction did not go well. This has left Ockham at something of a loss at what to do about it, that would not endanger hishertheir existence. Ockham wants some sort of revenge on the Cacophony, but cannot risk their retaliation to hishertheir counterpart, due to the very real risk that it would affect himherthem too. Expelling the Fingerkings, however, might also have negative effects, should the majority of hishertheir memories then return to their original host. It's a quandary.

-

Ockham speaks several languages (primarily Flemish and French, but also German and to a lesser extent Spanish and Portuguese). English falls near the middle of this range, though it's not a language that Ockham willingly learned or has any interest in improving (courtesy of being impressed into the Royal Navy, and now living in London). It's a language heshethey's been forced to use, and Ockham refuses to respect it. As a result, there is a very large gap between what Ockham might think, versus what heshethey would actually say aloud (this is partially due to linguistic difficulties, but also because Ockham doesn't often feel the need to voice most of hishertheir thoughts).

Ockham is very blunt and direct. Heshethey doesn't care much for etiquette rules and will cut right to the point. Ockham also finds a lot of the social stigma around certain topics in Victorian society silly, and has no compunction walking right over those taboos and discussing or acting on them. This occasionally leads to trouble.

Ockham is also stubborn, often to hishertheir own detriment. A certain degree of spitefulness also goes hand in hand with this. Ockham can and will hold very petty grudges. Heshethey can also be cruel or truly nasty at times, but never without provocation.

Heshethey is a quick judge of character, and steadfast to those who pass the vibe check, with a high breaking point for when an acquaintance would fall out of hishertheir good graces.

Ockham doesn't really have close friends. The language barrier and the difficulty being perceived don't make it easy. This doesn't bother Ockham much, since heshethey's used to and doesn't mind it. Ockham often seeks out busy spaces, just to spend time in and bask in the ambiance. Romantic encounters also often don't seem to have much depth, when some other priority inevitably catches Ockham's attention and heshethey doesn't have the time and energy to maintain an in-depth interpersonal relationship. Ockham is happy to enter a romantic or sexual relationship, as long as all parties are in accordance over its likely intermittent nature.

Ockham's clothing choices tend to favour practicality over aesthetic (practical to the mind of a working class 18th century sailor, at least), often dropping the respectable amount of layers when the weather grows too warm, without much care for the signals it sends off. Most of hishertheir clothing is in neutral colours, though heshethey is not impartial to a nice green. Ockham's hair was a long-standing point of contention with the Navy, and therefore out of principle extremely unlikely to change. Heshethey normally plaits it out of the way, though does occasionally wear it loose.

-

Ockham's original plans to work as a zailor were thrown out almost immediately after coming to the Neath. The Zee is a horrible place. There are creatures in there. Ockham set fire to hishertheir ship and has not looked back.

Though technically a Silverer, Ockham does not spend any time trying to attract clients. Most of hishertheir work nowadays is in tracking creatures in Parabola and collecting bounties for them. Ockham's also considering expanding into Parabolan imports and exports.

#ockham #hey look a profile update exactly one year later #fallen london #ockham ref

[glystenangel]

one kiss is all it takes😙✨

Simp! Satoru Gojo, Getou Suguru, Nanami Kento, & Toji Fushiguro x EmotionallyUnavail&Gn!Reader

tags/warning: slight angst but mostly fluff!, they r obsessed with youuu, reassurance and comfort, words of affirmation type beat, kinda corny but :)), v soft!!, also pretending getou is not evil here *coughs*, reader is a sorcerer also btw

summary: you're scared of getting heartbroken, but after an unplanned kiss you get all the reassurance you need from the jjk men

~less than 1k

thanks for reading and enjoy<3

________________

Why, of all people, did he have to kiss you? 

It was enough that you two flirted on an almost every day basis as you trained or ran into each other on random errands, but this? Unacceptable.

This wasn’t some vapid conversation or sparring session.

This was a kiss.

And worst of all it happened when you were at the end of what was supposed to be a casual, meaningless stop for drinks after a mission.

The man had to have been insane to even try.

Even if you had leaned into it.

Or, even if the kiss did have you melting into his arms as they encircled your figure.

Maybe because after so many seamless conversations and underneath that borrowed secrecy just outside of a random streetlight, it had felt a little too good to be true.

As if you could truly mean something to him.

Now you had no choice but to stave off any potential heartbreak by dashing in the opposite direction whenever you saw him.

Unfortunately yet predictably, this solution is short-lived.

Gojo-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where are you going?” 

Gojo has been popping up everywhere today.

It doesn’t matter if you’re teaching a class, overseeing spars, in the office area, or even eating lunch in your car. There he is, all pale hair and pretty grins, asking if he can talk to you.

“Bathroom.” You lie, briskly upping your pace as Gojo easily glides alongside you in the hallway.

“Liar. You’re avoiding me. It’s obvious, you know?” He clicks his tongue, tilting his head towards you as you continue walking.

“No, I’m not.” You lie again, and this seems to amuse him.

You roll your eyes, figuring the truth might get him off your tracks, “I’m going to the library…and then the bathroom after that.”

A smirk plays across his lips, and he holds out his hands.

“We should probably talk about that kiss before you get to the library then-”

You shove him into an empty classroom, and Gojo starts guffawing as you lock the door.

“Shut up for a second.” You hiss, shushing him with a glare.

He straightens, scratching at a spot above his blindfold with a tight smile.

“What’s the matter? Are you okay?”

His genuinely concerned cadence has butterflies swirling in your stomach. For someone normally so lackadaisical, he could become intensely serious in an instant.

Like he was now, with his jaw clicking shut and his stare piercing through his blindfold.

“Sorry. Everything’s fine. Really.”

He steps closer, and the hard wood of the classroom wall hits your back as you try to maintain your distance from the renowned sorcerer.

Gojo, ever observant with well, everything, furrows his brows at your lack of proximity.

“Did I… Am I doing something wrong?”

Guilt starts to set in, so you shake your head.

“I must’ve done something. Can you tell me?” His large hand hovers close to your cheek, and then he seems to think better of it as he drops his palm to his side.

You want to return it to its natural place on your skin. Maybe replicate the surreal manner he caressed your face prior to kissing you, with the pads of his fingers resting along the nape of your neck and his thumb finding precious home on your bottom lip before replacing it with the soft confidence of his own lips.

A brief grimace crosses his handsome face, wrinkling the black fabric across the bridge of his nose. It’s almost like he remembers that same, loving sweep of his fingers.

The dreamlike memory chips at your resolve, and eventually your emotions become caught in your throat.

“It’s not what you did, it’s what you might do. I don’t want my heart to break because of you.”

The admission comes out shakier than you anticipated.

A bite of your lip, and the corners of your watery vision threaten to spill out.

“I’m scared. That’s all.” You mumble quietly.

“How foolish.”

You’re about to protest until you register the tender, mournful tone of his voice.

“I would never do anything to hurt you. Okay?” Gojo leans down, tugging down his blindfold so he can look into your eyes properly.

In an instant, you’re mesmerized. 

His irises are flooded with light, and akin to nothing except adoration encapsulated.

Perfect mirrors.

You could tell he was thinking the same thing about the sight of your own eyes.

“I want to protect you…and I’m scared too. Trust me.”

He chuckles, patting your head and letting his fingertips cascade down to your cheek.

You close your eyes, kissing his knuckle when it ghosts the corner of your lip and his other hand cups the small of your back.

At that, the smile seems to return to his voice, “I care about protecting you more than my duty should allow. It’s dangerous, but I don’t mind it.”

“Why?” You tilt your head, tentatively crossing your arms behind his neck.

A sigh escapes him, but the wry smile never leaves his face.

“Because I know you’ll protect me too. I trust you as if I’ve never been betrayed before. Isn’t that stupid?”

Getou-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hey, I’m trying to talk to you. What are you doing?”

Getou paces behind you as you collect your things from around the sparring ring.

“Leaving.” You rifle through your gym bag on the floor, hellbent on wiping yourself down and then getting the fuck out of here.

You swore that you had brought a freshly washed one today.

The frustrated thought leaves you right as Getou waves your towel in front of your nose.

Of course, when you reach towards the square of fabric he swings it above your head, “You can’t leave.”

“I can’t?” You stand to glare at him, and he sighs as he palms a hand through his raven strands of hair.

“No,” He throws the cloth over his shoulder, “We have to talk about this. About us.”

You cross your arms in defeat, “Why? So you can pretend to care and then break my heart like nothing ever happened?”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you feel shame sinking into the bottom of your stomach.

Getou’s entire demeanor seems to shift, and his face appears so crestfallen you can hardly look at him.

“Is that really what you think this is?” He asks, voice brimming with palpable hurt.

Saying anything seems wrong, so you remain silent, pressing your lips together and bowing your head.

“Come here.” Getou finally says, a more gentle tone lining the request.

Despite the way the request soothes you, you don’t move.

“Come on, c’mere.” He approaches you steadily, and in spite of yourself, you open your arms and allow him to hug you close.

Getou leans back with a sigh, pinching your cheek with a hand.

“I won’t let you think like that anymore. Don’t come to conclusions by yourself either, okay?”

“Okay.” You shyly accept, and he rolls his eyes with a scoff before carefully wiping at your face with the towel.

“Besides…you know you can’t get rid of me that easily, right?”

Nanami---------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

Nanami has caught up to you, and he’s as straightforward and nonchalant as you expected he would be.

He probably wanted to get this situation out of the way, you infer, pressing random buttons on the water boiler to avoid eye contact. 

The blond is leaning against the counter space next to you, keenly watching your every move. His normally crisp, teal dress shirt has some missed lines, and you wonder if he had been too distracted by you to finish ironing his laundry these past few days.

It was probably best not to entertain that thought.

“No, I haven’t. Just…been busy.” You wince as your mug warms up a little too fast, splashing water on the break room counter as you quickly set it down.

Nanami jolts up and grabs your hand, wiping at it with some paper towels and the severe lines between his eyebrows deepening.

You feel your breath catch at his closeness, and you can’t help but swallow as his familiar cologne floods your senses and he frets over your accidental burn.

He seems to feel your stare, peering up at you with curiosity before you attempt to tug your hand away.

“Don’t.” Nanami breathes, covering your hand with his and effectively preventing you from moving, “Just tell me what’s wrong. I’ll fix it.”

The warmth of your hand simply being held in his seems to travel all the way up to your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

“I don’t know if you can.” You whisper truthfully.

“What is it?” He draws your hand closer, muttering softly under his breath as he examines your palm nested within his larger ones.

You chew on the side of your cheek for a moment, “I’m afraid we’re heading towards…”

Nanami lifts his chin up, meeting your eyes with a question in his gaze that makes you hesitate.

“Something.” You finish lamely, turning your face to the ground.

Nanami pulls both of your hands carefully together in his, encasing them in his firm grip.

“I want to.” He confesses, regarding your expression with quiet consideration, “Don’t you?”

The sentiment is so clear and honest that your heart squeezes.

You shake your head in an attempt to dissuade yourself, but can’t manage to bring yourself to release his hands.

“I can’t-I don’t know you completely yet. What if you break my heart?”

Nanami presses your hands to his heart, and you feel the helplessly erratic rhythm of it between your fingertips as he speaks.

“Then, I’ll give you mine.”

Toji--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Gotcha.” 

Toji cuts off your escape route, and you let out a huff as you glare up at him.

He’s smoking a thin cigarette, the end of it jauntily balanced between his canines and poking out towards the corner of his mouth.

Your eyes flit to the floor as soon as you catch yourself outlining the scar notched over his lips.

You remember precisely how it feels.

“Leave me alone, Toji.” You mumble, and you hope it sounds more convincing out loud than in your head.

He lets out an exhale of smoke and flicks the cigarette butt onto the ground, “Look doll, I gotta apologize if I did somethin’ stupid the other night.”

You keep your eyes lowered.

“Ah, fuck. I’m sorry. Did I? I didn’t mean to, angel.”

The tone he speaks with isn’t accusatory, just gravelly with uncertainty and the smallest question of hope.

So earnest and kind it makes your heart ache.

His hand reaches towards you, and you immediately duck the pleading touch. 

“Get away from me, Toji.”

As soon as you back away though, the regret rears its head and fills your stomach.

He straightens, hand falling to his side and his broad shoulders heaving downwards. The normally rough and sarcastic man has a faint glisten in his eyes. 

You realize that you’re hurting him.

Finally, Toji rakes a hand through his dark locks as he peers through the strands that fall over his forehead, “You don’t mean that, do you?”

“Of course I don’t!”

You clap a hand over your mouth, and Toji’s widened eyes meet yours. 

That’s when you start running again.

“Hey! Hey!” You hear Toji right on your heels, and then he wraps his arms around you from behind.

The warmth of his chest on your back as you both heave in disjointed breaths forces you to stop.

The bounty hunter loosens his grip, and you stop resisting completely when he rests his cheek against yours.

“Don’t do this to me.”

You tentatively place a hand over one of his own, feeling your heartbeats syncing together, “I don’t want you to hurt me either. If you break my heart, I don’t know if I could take it.”

The dejected confession stills the air, and then to your surprise, Toji starts laughing.

The deep rumble of it tickles your ear, and when it dies down he gently turns you around.

He softly pinches your chin between his fingers, scanning your face with relaxed brows and a lazy grin, looking at you as if he had all the time in the world to do so.

“Darlin', you’re only breaking your own heart that way.”

As you absorb his words, Toji leans down to give your cheek a kiss before tucking a loose tendril of hair behind your ear.

“That should be my job.” He whispers, “Right?”

The tease has you worriedly clutching his hands, and Toji gives you a more tender, sweet kiss on the lips.

“I’m kidding, doll. I know I’m not a good guy, but I’ll take good care of your heart. And the rest of you if you’ll let me.”

Relief sinks into your chest, “Really?”

Toji nods, clusters of stars surrounding the reflection he has of you in his gaze, and this time there’s no doubt in your mind that he is telling the truth.

“I promise.”

________________

End Notes:

this is my welcome back present to u, lovely readers!! xoxo

#myfics #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk reader insert #jjk scenarios #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami jjk #nanami kento #toji x reader #toji x you #toji jjk #toji fushiguro #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo jjk #gojo satoru #geto x reader #geto x you #geto jjk #geto suguru #toji fluff #nanami fluff #getou suguru #getou x reader #getou x y/n #getou x you #gojo fluff

[atinystraynstay]

Life Goes On - Park Jimin

Synopsis: It was finally happening. Jimin would be leaving for the military in a few weeks. The boys have worked hard to make the enlistment process seamless for themselves and the fans, but that doesn't mean you are ready.

Pairing: idol! Park Jimin x reader Genre: Flufffffff Word Count: 2.1k Note: BTS was the first k-pop group I got into, all thanks to a college friend who was obsessed at the time. I still remember her sending me Spring Day as a recommend and listening to it on repeat all winter break. They were a huge source of happiness, especially during the pandemic. Watching each member go has been tough, but I am excited for the day that OT7 is back in 2025. 💜

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

It was a calm Friday night. Probably the last Friday night we would get like this. The world outside had a particular stillness to it, almost as if nobody else existed besides us.

The only source of light in the living room came from the fairy lights strung around the apartment. I had suggested to Jimin that we decorate our shared space early seeing as he would soon be joining his six friends, his six brothers in military service. We weren't sure how much more time we would have together, so we wanted to create joyful holiday memories before the rush of preparing for enlistment fully began. I wanted to give Jimin a chance to enjoy the holiday season with friends and family before the goodbyes start.

We were laying on our couch. Our bodies were positioned so Jimin's back rested against the arm of the couch, my body resting against his back and sitting in between his legs. His right hand rested gently on my hip, running up and down lazily. His touch left me feeling hypnotized like I was putty in his hands. A dark green blanket was draped over our bodies, keeping us warm. Some holiday movie was playing in the background, but I was not even paying attention. Hence the popcorn bowl was only half empty. I was trying my best to savor the feeling of being this close to Jimin, what it was like to feel his body warmth against mine, to feel his presence next to me.

A soft ding brought me back to reality. I glanced over to my right, away from the TV, when I saw Jimin raise his cellphone with his left hand. I instantly recognized the app responsible for the notification. Weverse.

"It's posted," Jimin whispered. I could sense his body trying to sit up a bit straighter. I followed suit, allowing him to adjust his posture before gently leaning against him again. He had moved his phone so it was in front of the both of us. His phone was already unlocked due to his camera recognizing his face. The notification push is already open for the two of us to read.

I could feel my heart sink a bit. I knew this was coming. We already talked about it. Why was I so nervous?

Hello. This is BIGHIT MUSIC.

We would like to inform our fans that RM, Jimin, V, and Jung Kook have initiated the military enlistment process.

All of us have been aware of the plan for a while. There have been numerous, lengthy conversations since 2020 about what would happen, what life would be like, what the boys wanted for themselves before and after enlistment, and everything in between. The protocol all the boys would follow made sense. Jin was going to go first, seeing as he was the oldest and had the shortest amount of time. J-Hope decided that he would go second, just wanting to get it over with to get back on stage sooner. Yoongi would go third, seeing as his military service would be the longest period as a civil servant. He wanted to stay on track with rejoining the group in 2025. The other four wanted to go in together, to be able to support each other and say goodbye rather than leaving one person left behind. Three years ago, the plan seemed like it was so far away. But the plan was now in action and the rest of the world knew it.

The boys have been able to pursue projects they had only dreamed of. They had gotten the chance of a lifetime to take control and make decisions for each of themselves. And I was beyond proud of them all, especially Jimin. It was just now happening too quickly for my liking. I felt like I was losing time now.

What was my plan? What was I going to do? 18 months without Jimin, without my source of happiness and laughter in this sometimes dark world. Everyone seemed to know what they were meant to do, but what about me? "Babe? Y/n?"

I blinked a couple of times after registering that Jimin was calling out to me. I looked down to see the phone had been removed from in front of me, now sitting next to the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. I felt a hand cradle my cheek, turning it gently to the side until I met those deep brown eyes. I tried offering a light smile but knew that it was all an act. My glossy eyes a dead giveaway.

"Angel, what's going on in your mind? Talk to me." "I don't want you to go. Like I know you have to. We've talked about it basically over the last three years, but that doesn't mean I want you to go."

Jimin frowned. I felt him gently push on my body, indicating he wanted me to shift. My frown deepened as I turned to sit forward, my legs hitting the wooden floor. Shivers shot up my spine from the contact with the cold floor. Jimin remained sitting in the same position, his body against the corner and arm of the couch. However, this time, his hands were extended towards me. I shifted my body slightly, to face him, but also slipped my hands into his. His warm touch. That brought a smile at my gesture. He slipped his fingers in between mine before giving my hand three tiny squeezes, our little way of saying 'I love you' without having to verbally say it. It worked in situations where we were out in public, unable to hear each other, or for times like this when speaking might be too difficult.

"I don't want to go either, baby. I really don't. The thought of leaving you for a short while pains me, but it's something that has to be done."

I nodded my head, listening to his words. I didn't even realize at this point that a few tears had slipped down my cheeks.

"18 months just seems like such a long time. So much can happen in a year and a half." "And I look forward to hearing about every single moment, every second when I see you again. Or if it is something you absolutely cannot wait to tell me, you know you can write me a letter. I always loved your handwriting."

His thumb gently caressed the back of my hand. My eyes were trained down at our interlocked hands. I watched the way his thumb gently moved across my knuckles. Three tiny squeezes.

"And you won't be completely alone, you know."

I picked my head up, turning it slightly. What was he talking about? His eyes widened in return to my expression. "You didn't think I came up with a plan for us?"

"We never talked about it, Jimin. We always talked about what you and the boys needed and wanted before and after enlistment. That was the sole focus."

"But you're my focus," he whispered. He leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to my cheek, a lingering kiss. My head naturally tilted towards his lips, one more tear falling as I just soaked in the moment. Who knows how many more kisses I would be able to receive from Jimin. Now that the world knew of his intention to enlist, we were waiting anxiously for the report-for-duty date. "Stay right there."

Jimin slowly leaned away from me. He then slowly detached himself before he got up and started walking in the direction of the Christmas tree. In a few weeks, we had planned to throw a Christmas party not just for us, but for RM, V, and Jungkook to celebrate one last holiday season before leaving us for a little bit. The tree would soon be lined up with gifts for each of the boys and from them. Jimin glanced back towards me, winking which caused me to giggle a bit. He soon tucked himself between the wall and the tree to retrieve something from the back. What was he up to?

I wiped my tears, not wanting to bring any more somber energy into our evening. While yes I was sad about having to depart from my beloved for a bit, tonight and the days to come were about making Jimin feel comfortable. It was tearing him apart inside at the possibility of missing important family time.

Soon, Jimin reemerged with a white bag that had red ribbons holding it together. He held the gift bag in one hand before coming back to sit right beside me. His free hand wrapped around my shoulders, placing the gift bag right in my lap. "No such thing as an early present. Merry Christmas, my love," he whispered. His lips pressed into the side of my head.

My eyes widened in surprised as I took the gift bag into both of my hands. Using my left hand to stabilize it, my right hand began to take out the tissue paper. It was white, matching the exterior of the bag, but had gold mixed into it. The tissue paper was discarded onto the floor by our feet. Inside was a brown book with black pages. Black pages? How was I supposed to read that?

Very carefully, I took the book out of the bag. I set the bag beside me to place the book in my lap. On the front was a brown cover with a star cutout. I assume you can place a photo that you like in the front. The book was closed due to black straps of leather that were tied into a bow. I slowly undid the bow, freeing the pages of the book to be flipped. The book wasn't a traditional book. The pages opened like an accordion.

I placed the cover by the one end of the coffee table, seeing it stretch all the way to the other end. "Jimin, what is this?" I asked softly. The pages were currently blank.

I heard that heavenly laughter behind me. Soon, arms were wrapped around my stomach and pulled me back in. My hands gently rested on top of his arms, his chin resting on my shoulder. "It's a photo album. It's not just for you, it's for us. You can fill it with whatever you want as a way to keep me in the loop on all the adventures you'll have while I'm away. I want to be present in your life as much as possible. I know I won't get much time to be here physically, but I figured this would be the next best thing. You can take photos of yourself, what you see, put in flowers that you want pressed - whatever you want to show me when I get back. And then, when I come home, we'll sit right here on the couch and look through it all." His lips pressed against my shoulder as I stared at the photo album.

"And then, of course, my parents will always welcome you in with open arms. I'm convinced they get more excited about having you visit than they do with me," he laughed. "So if you feel the urge to be around family, my family is ready to step up to the plate. Or even if you want them to come visit you, they are more than happy to do so."

"It's just going to be so weird without any of you guys around here," I sighed. "Well, don't worry. Jin is going to be back soon, so you won't be too lonely for long. I know he'll make sure you are fed, you are happy, and you won't have a moment of silence again until I arrive home."

Staying in Jimin's arms, I smiled brightly. "You really have thought of everything, huh?"

Jimin nodded proudly. His arms gave me a gentle squeeze before reconnecting his lips to my cheek. "I tried to! I know life is going to go on while I'm away. And I want you to be able to live it all. You can do that for me, right?"

This time, I nodded my head before turning my head to press my forehead gently against his. "Of course. I'll take all the photos in the world and be waiting for you to come home," I whispered to him. He seemed satisfied with my response as he soon pressed his lips gently against mine. I melted into his warm embrace.

I have a plan now.

#jimin x reader #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #jimin #park jimin #bts jimin #jiminie #bts #bts army #bts imagines #bts fanfic #bangtan #kpop #jimin bts #fanfic

[misscammiedawn]

Derealization in Night in the Woods and Metal Gear Solid 2

This post contains discussions and descriptions of severe dissociation that may be triggering to those who experience those symptoms and details themes of abuse, war and alcoholism please be kind to yourself when reading. Full game spoilers for NitW and MGS2.

In my Media, Myself and I series of posts I've been talking about depictions of Dissociative Identity Disorder in media. Highlighting good representation because I think it's easy to tear down what doesn't work, but showing what does is a very teachable moment. Best way to increase understanding and tear down stigma is to show understandable and relatable examples. Even if they're imperfect.

To that end, I wish to take a mild distraction from talking about identity focused symptoms of dissociative disorders and do some posts on elements of dissociation which aren't highlighted as often, particularly not well.

Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder is on the dissociative spectrum and the symptoms are experienced within forms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and Dissociative Identity DIsorder.

To borrow an info-graphic I utilized in my Hypnosis and Dissociative Disorders essay a while back

Source: Mayo Clinic

The brain processes the world and our association within that connects the concepts of "Me" and the concept of "Reality" and integrates them so we are able to process external reality and express our internal reality.

When we look at our hand we can look at it and understand "this is my hand", the shape of it, the sensation of proprioception, the knowledge that we are able to move it and it will move based on our innate intention. There is no process of "I want to move my hand, I am going to move my hand, my hand is moving" it all happens as part of one seamless process.

A practice within hypnosis for creating a sense of dissociation required for trance states is to have a person look at their hand and turn the phrasing from "my hand" to "that hand". Gradually having a person look at a thing until our brains stop processing it in relation to our surroundings until it "detaches" as a way of temporarily removing critical filters in an effort to lead a person to an altered and suggestible state.

A good example of this one can experience without assistance is to stare into a mirror for an elongated period of time. Our brains are always attempting to process a large amount of information and presents context to you that changes "those images on the mirror's surface" into "my reflection", it's why we are able to feel familiarity as a sense. When we perceive something that activates those associations the relevant information automatically filters in our mind and presents the concepts associated with the stimulus.

If we stare at the same reflection for too long those associations begin to disintegrate and we begin to view them divorced of the contexts we hold for them.

For those who suffer dissociative disorders, this is the root of why someone with DID will not "recognize" their reflection or why a person may not feel familiarity with something/someone they are aware of.

Dissociative amnesia is a topic I wish to cover in a future essay but it is also included in this process. Essentially when we dissociate our minds lose the ability to effectively filter what we are perceiving and relate it to our selves, our memories and our experiences.

Derealization is what happens when that critical filter between the external world and our internal perception breaks down. It's when we are not processing the world as being something we are engaging with. This may present as a disconnection between our perception and our understanding, for example "my hand feels like it's larger than it looks" or it can be a complete disconnect from what is happening in your present reality causing you to feel like you are in a dream. In extreme cases you lose your ability to relate your actions from consequences.

Let me tell you, having this happen while you're behind the wheel of a moving vehicle is terrifying and I hope no one reading this ever has to experience that.

I should also note that these symptoms tend to get dramatically worse the more you focus on them. In my own life, if I have a sensation that parts of my body feel incompatible with my inner perception of them then the vague dysphoria can blossom into full dissociation if I try to examine the feeling in any depth.

For an everyday version of it, think about the sensation of Deja Vu and how it feels like you have already experienced something which is happening in the present. During that state you are dissociated enough from processing your present reality that it "feels" like you've already experienced it, despite the knowledge that you are currently in the moment.

All of this is to give a vague view of what Derealization is and what it feels like.

Today I want to share two pieces of media that include a character overtly experiencing these symptoms and how the fiction displays the character experiencing this internal experience so that an external audience may understand.

Night in the Woods is a 2017 narrative driven adventure game by Infinite Fall. It follows two weeks in the life of Mae Borowski, a 20 year old cat suffering from severe anxiety who has dropped out of college and returned to her childhood home, an impoverished Western Pennsylvania mining town named Possum Springs.

There she moves back in with her parents and reintegrates with the rural community of Possum Springs. She spends time with her childhood friends, talks to the locals and tries to solve the mystery of a severed arm found in town. All while having vivid dreams on a nightly basis and dealing with the an ambient level of judgment from her parents, friends and community over her perceived irresponsibility.

Where Mae is trying to solve the mystery of the severed arm and the secret cult that hides within Possum Springs, the audience has some other mysteries to solve attached to the attitudes of some of the residents. Mae's parents and friends constantly pressure her to explain why she felt it necessary to drop out of college when so much was sacrificed to get her there. There is also "The Incident", a mysterious event in Mae's past, ominously hinted at when Mae's next door neighbor warns...

"No one's forgotten who you are and what you did, you know. Small town polite's all you got, kid."

The player is left in the dark as to the circumstances that paint Mae's reputation in town and throughout the course of the two weeks we begin understanding more about Mae's past, the circumstances behind her return to Possum Springs and the reasons those around her harbor a mild resentment towards her.

There are some potential supernatural elements relating to Mae's dreams and the nature of the cult but I feel it is best to stick to the grounded elements of the plot for the sake of this essay.

The Incident, it is revealed, is that 6 years before the game Mae beat another kid with a softball bat. Seemingly unprovoked. It earned her the nickname "Killer" and shaped much of the way people in the town, including Mae's own parents, view her.

"Why did you beat Andy Cullen?" and "Why did you drop out of school?" are questions people constantly demand of Mae and it forces her to become defensive and prickly to those around her. There's even a sequence involving a heated argument between Mae and her mother when the latter drops her kindness and patience over the matter and demands answers that Mae refuses to give.

To give the game away without fanfare, Mae suffers from extreme dissociation.

She's ashamed of it, afraid of it and the local town doctor, who I will discuss shortly, has no meaningful way of helping her deal with it. Mae is left to journal about her feelings with no meaningful way of understanding her symptoms or preventing them from crippling her. It is not even referred to as dissociation within the plot of the game, though those who are familiar with derealization will recognize it easily.

If you wish to see the conversation where Mae confesses her condition, it is about 4 minutes long and will provide some context, though I will brush over the description if you do not have time/ability to watch and listen.

Mae describes a time when she was playing videogames and felt an intense empathy towards the characters on screen. She felt like she knew them intimately and at a certain point something "broke", she came to understand that the characters she had been so connected with were not real. She was not actually connected with the events happening on screen, it was all a game.

And in understanding that she felt alone and abandoned on her side of the screen and the sensation spread out to the view outside of her window. The trees blowing by in the wind were as fake and distant as the characters in the video game. She had memories and attachments and associations with that tree, but looking at it from her window she could see that it was just a tree. Just an object.

"Just shapes"

This disconnect spread into every aspect of Mae's life and all of the associations she had built between herself and the world around her had vanished and she found herself in a world that she no longer felt attached to in any meaningful way.

"Just like this meaningless bulk of... stuff."

She felt alone. Abandoned. Overwhelmed by the simultaneous enormity and emptiness of everything.

The next day during the softball match she cannot even remember how it happened but she ended up ontop of the mass of shapes that was Andy Cullen and... that was The Incident.

Mae's family lost a lot of money paying off the medical debt for Cullen's family and everyone's attitudes towards her turned cold. She was sent to Dr. Hank for therapy... and this is where I take a break to discuss the causes of dissociative disorders and how badly Mae was let down.

The root causes of DPDR are the same as other dissociative disorders in that extreme abuse, neglect and continued stressful situations cause the mind to put up barriers and break associations to protect the self from harm. To boil a complex idea down to a few words consider the mind saying "This is not happening to me." as a way to prevent pain from an experience.

Where identity based dissociation focuses on the words "to me" and removes the self from the harmful events, derealization focuses on the words "this is not happening" and rejects the events outright, refusing to process the context behind what is happening.

Much of the game's story is told through implication and one must peel back layers in order to get a full story. At first glance Mae may seem like a normal young woman from a rural community in the rust-belt and question what could have been enough for her to develop a dissociative disorder.

First off, don't do that. No one owes anyone a justification for their condition and there is no such thing as "traumatic enough" to be valid for a diagnosis. What a person experiences is what they experience. But Mae is fictional and the core of her character is having an under-treated dissociative disorder. Half the reason I wanted to write this entry was because her depiction of it is deeply relatable and can be used well for teaching what goes into a person developing PTSD and dissociative disorders; most depictions seem content with sexual abuse or violent deaths.

For Mae, it's a lot more subtle and all too human. At least, for a cat in a world of anthropomorphic animals.

Mae's mother, Candy, never went to college and always regretted it. She feels like her life hit a dead end and she has remained in the mining town of Possum Springs decades after its mining industry faded out. She works as a receptionist at the local church, spends all day reading True Crime novels and had a number of miscarriages before finally giving birth to Mae, her "miracle baby".

Mae's father, Stan, was working with the mine when it closed down and has since been bouncing between job to job trying to keep his family afloat, especially after the medical expenses from The Incident, the subsequent remortgaging of the house and Candy's dreams of sending Mae to college. Stan tries to be a good father but hates his job, is always working and it is revealed he used to be an alcoholic.

Lastly you have Mae's Grandfather. He is dead before the game starts. Mae loved her granddad very much and his influence can be felt throughout the whole game. He would read to her, pay attention to her and teach her things. One of the game's DLC chapters even involves him reading Mae a bedtime story.

Also grandpa Borowski was a union man and collected the teeth of an employer who tried to abuse the workers. That doesn't really play in to my essay as Mae does not discover this fact until the events of the game but I am not going to go without hyping up a man for taking teeth.

Mae misses him so much that even 6 years after she was asked to keep a journal by Dr. Hank the first page reads "RIP Granddad" and as the game goes on the following can be found inside:

This information is drip fed to us through organic and relatable moments. For instance, Mae reveals her father's alcoholism while she is drinking too much (sidenote, she is underage for the location she lives) at a party.

The idea is to give a full and rich view of Mae's life and show that she may not even recognize the trauma for what it is and was.

For instance, we know from the start that Mae has crippling anxiety. This could easily be linked to the expectations of Candy putting her hopes and dreams of college on her "miracle baby". Before Mae was even born she had expectations placed upon her for being the long wanted child of a mother who wanted her baby to do all the things that she never could.

For neglect you have the fact that both parents are forced to work in abundance to maintain their lifestyle and pay for Mae's college in an economically depressed community. Mae spent a lot of her home life alone, feeling pressured by her mother and literally scared of her alcoholic father.

Both parents are good and loving and kind parents. But they failed in some regards. Sometimes you can want the best for someone you love and do everything you can to provide the best life and a failure to listen, adapt and accommodate can do more harm than anything.

Her grandfather eventually passed away, taking her positive links away in her home life and after The Incident she was ostracized from the community and forced into further isolation. Socially anxious, outcast and without her supportive grandfather, she eventually is given an opportunity to go to college. Something her childhood friend would have literally killed for an opportunity to do in her stead.

---and she drops out.

---and upon returning no one will get off of her case about it.

This damned statue did it.

A statue so loathesome to Mae that it appears in her nightmares and she relives the fantasy of smashing it to bits with a baseball bat.

If you watched the above video (or have played the game) you will know that the statue was made up of several shapes and was installed at Mae's college.

The sight of this statue terrified Mae to the point of which she would spend entire days holed up in her dorm room either not eating or gorging pizza and sleeping for days at a time.

Being away from the familiar sights and people of her home town made her dissociative symptoms go into overdrive. At home she knew that The Tree that had lost all meaning and association to her was still the tree that she played with when she was young. She knew that her parents are the people who raised her. Even when she saw them as "dead shapes" the memories persisted and she could endure.

At college it was nothing but strangers in a strange land and a statue comprised of shapes reminding her that everything was shapes.

But they sent her to therapy, did they not? Why wasn't she being treated?

Dr. Hank is a small-town doctor he is the physiologist, he is the dentist, he is the psychologist. He is the doctor. The only doctor and he has no idea how to treat someone with severe symptoms like Mae.

In town Mae can talk to a character named Selmers every day. Selmers is a self-styled poet with depression and also being seen by Dr. Hank. In discussing both mental healthcare treatment and depression with Selmers the player can learn that Dr. Hank treats all forms of mental illness the same. Essentially "journal until you feel better". The town lacks the structure and framework to provide help to someone like Mae.

In other words she has been untreated this entire time and removed from her support network and sent off to college, she could not handle things. Of course she was going to fail under those circumstances.

The game does a remarkably good job of displaying how DPDR can impact a person, especially as it is linked to anxiety and depression, and creates an empathetic narrative about what it must be like to live with that condition.

Sadly it offers little in the way of answers for treatment. In reality treatment involves psychotherapy and creating a structure of coping mechanisms for how to handle episodes and ground oneself. This can come in the shape of breathing exercises, kinesthetic sensation fixation, identification exercises ("name all of the blue items you can see" "name all of the items that begin in A") but above all else, getting a grip on what emotional triggers one has and learning to resolve them will help.

For Mae, being away from home is a trigger for her. Home isn't going to be the same place and people forever. She needs to be able to get on top of her symptoms in order to cope. Dr. Hank was not helping her with that.

The game ends on a bittersweet note that Mae may end up spending her whole life in Possum Springs purely from fear of leaving her zone of familiarity.

Unfortunately the narrative is about clinging to a dying town and how unsustainable it is.

We do not know what will happen next. The structure that failed Mae has only gotten worse in the 2 years since she left for college. Her parents may end up selling the house because they cannot keep up on the payments and on a long enough timeline Gregg and Angus will move away (should their relationship survive the effort to escape) leaving Bea and Mae to watch Possum Springs continue to decay.

Part of Mae's journey is accepting this inevitability and not fighting it, but choosing not to abandon the town regardless. After all, she can't stray from it without a risk to her mental health.

The game offers no answers. It simply shows a slice of hard reality for those who live caught in the trap of decaying towns, economic collapse and mental illness without support structures and treatment. but it does a very good job of providing an empathetic case that an audience can relate to and sympathize with the symptoms of.

But what about a game that tries to make the audience feel the same way that the character does...?

Metal Gear Solid 2 is a 2001 self-proclaimed tactical espionage action game developed by Konami.

It tells the story of a secret military operations agent code named Raiden who is attempting to save the US President from a terrorist group called Dead Cell. There is much more to it. But I am attempting to be brief.

Metal Gear is absolutely frustrating for me to write about in this essay series because their research tends to be fairly good but their sensitivity often comes off as actively malicious at best.

In terms of conditions, symptoms and sensitivity to emotional triggers, Raiden is on paper a fairly decent representation of dissociative disorders developing in those who grew up in war. In practice he has a murder alter named Jack The Ripper who breakdances with 3 katanas.

I promised I would stick to positive depictions only and so I will stick only to the final 2 hours of Raiden's first appearance.

At this point in the game the president is dead, we have learned that the terrorists were really after a giant battleship that houses a powerful AI which is going to be used to censor the internet to control the flow of information and control the populace. Raiden has met up with protagonist of the first Metal Gear games, Solid Snake, and has managed to install a virus into the AI system that will corrupt the data and prevent it from controlling the internet.

In order to get on the battleship, Snake betrays Raiden and hands him over to the terrorists.

Thus begins the final act of MGS2.

It is imperative to understand that these events happen in rapid succession right after the AI is infected with a virus.

Neither the audience nor Raiden are given an opportunity to truly process all of the rapid fire information that we are hit with.

MGS2 has a metatextual narrative about the nature of sequels and audience expectations. Many of the events happening within the story are intimately playing upon our familiarity with the series, recreating circumstances from both Metal Gear 2 and Metal Gear Solid. Part of the critique is that players are looking to simply recreate the experience of the first game and the narrative goes out of its way to punish Raiden (and thusly the player) for trying to "be" Solid Snake. Much of the game has been mired in failure and any wins we have received are either negated in a cutscene following our gameplay victory or are displayed as being ineffective next to Solid Snake who is forever being displayed as the better protagonist.

So when Raiden wakes up in a torture chamber directly designed to look just like the Shadow Moses Island torture chamber from Metal Gear Solid 1 (and both dialogue and graphics of that cutscene are displayed briefly) we, the player instantly assume familiarity with the concept. To drive that point home the player is forced to survive a button tapping mini-game which is sprung upon us out of nowhere (there is no tutorial. The game expects your familiarity with the concept and thusly does not need to explain it - as a side note it is impossible to die in this minigame, so a lack of familiarity does not impact gameplay, only narrative experience)

All while the only surviving villain from the first game directly says in dialogue "We're also inside the memory of Shadow Moses"

The cutscene also has Raiden face to face with the main villain who recognizes Raiden as a child soldier he helped raise to fight in an African conflict. For the first time we are able to view Raiden, view Jack as his own man outside of his similarities to Solid Snake. We find out he is a child soldier with an impressive kill record who was raised with other child soldiers, drugged and forced to kill in a conflict that he had no personal connections to. He claims "I was given a gun and told to shoot, if I refused then I was the one who would be shot."

Throughout the game, Raiden has been getting phone calls from his girlfriend, Rose, who serves as the mission analyst. When the villain, Solidus, reveals Jack's history she calls him to ask more about this and Jack at first pushes away the memories, claiming that "they" wiped his memories and that he experiences nightmares only to give a vivid and emotionally description of his experiences as young as 6 years old killing for no reason other than he was told to.

Rose attempts to comfort him, to say that she wants to share the burden of his past, Raiden refuses, blocking everything out and pushing Rose away, claiming that he cannot afford to start a family.

Children are a huge emotional trigger for Raiden. This is displayed heavily in the future games of the series.

Overall this is an extreme example of a backstory that would give an adult severe PTSD and forced to confront his past, Raiden is emotionally primed to have a complete dissociative break from reality.

But presently I am not writing about how Raiden experiences derealization. I'm writing about how the player experiences it.

We know that Raiden has been trained in virtual reality to prepare him for this mission. When we see cutscenes describing this we are shown footage of the previous Metal Gear games, particularly the virtual reality training missions from the PS1 game.

The implication is very much that Raiden has played the same games that we ourselves have. The Metal Gear Franchise has an interesting meta-narrative going on that displays games are released in order of declassification with an early conversation in MGS4 mentioning that the events of MGS3 (which takes place in 1964) were declassified recently in the game's present of 2014.

Raiden has played the Metal Gear games. We have played the Metal Gear games.

And the game itself is overtly recycling moments from earlier entries of the series and trying to highlight this fact.

Right after we put a virus into the AI.

Things got really weird from the moment we insert the disc to infect the system.

Escaping from the torture chamber our character is completely naked and runs to the next area. We are given a loading screen.

Ominous music plays and we receive a phone call from Campbell, the mission control from both this game and the previous Metal Gear games. He speaks with a distorted voice. He stutters, telling you that you must proceed with your m-mission. He notes that in your current condition you will not be able to attack or "enter the hanging mode"

He continuously spouts the mission objective and says your role is to take out the terrorists. Raiden demands to know why he keeps saying "role" and Campbell replies

Raiden then notes that he has never met Campbell in person. He has only spoken to him over long distance communication.

Should you return to the torture room the title card will be switched with the name of Japanese rail stations. If you pause the game you are treated to a "map" of Arsenal Gear:

The image is from Glauben, Wissen und Kunst der alten Hindus

All while Campbell calls you every few steps to order you to turn the game console off, recycle further lines from previous Metal Gear games (as well as show footage from them) and your radar is replaced with voyeuristic footage of a young woman sunbathing.

The enemies are now wearing thick armor with no humanizing characteristics and they fly about with inhuman power while wielding katana that can block machine-gun fire.

The floor has scrolling text floating across the surfaces something that the series uses for the VR stages to signify you are in a training stage.

The game is pulling out all of the stops to make sure you are confronted with the reality that you are playing a video game while the character within the video game is experiencing the same information.

He meets up with Snake who reveals he has the unlimited ammo bandana from completing MGS1, all but confirming this is a video game. Much of the information in this segment can be justified in-game. I literally cannot sidestep the fact that a flesh and blood man pointed at a piece of headgear and said "Unlimited ammo". I almost wanted to skip over it as it's devastating to my point about how the game tries to pull you and Raiden out of reality.

See to Raiden, he can no longer be certain if any of this is happening or not because of his experiences with VR. With everything collapsing around him, it feels reasonable to assume that the AI Virus is breaking down the universe around him. With full knowledge of the plot, we the audience can know that everything is happening and the virus has infected his augmented reality elements that make up the in-game HUD. But Raiden doesn't know that and the player on first playthrough cannot fully know it either.

It's almost reasonable to assume that the entire game is taking place within a VR Simulation.

Virtual Reality has long been studied as having links to DPDR with a number of scientific studies examining the link.

The connection is very much there though typically VR only influences a mild sensation of derealization when playing, though to those prone to dissociation they may experience more rapid and powerful effects with prolonged exposure.

Raiden tells Snake what is happening and how his grip on reality is falling apart, going as far to doubt whether his girlfriend, Rose, was ever real either. Snake has no idea how to verify for Raiden that the things that are happening are real and tells him to just keep moving forward and figure it out. He also provides Raiden with a sword.

In the metatext, this is a symbol for Raiden gaining his own unique playstyle. As long as he is emulating Solid Snake he cannot succeed but when he accepts himself as his own person and embraces his unique gameplay mechanic he is able to break free from the narrative and actualize as his own person.

In the sense of the derealization episode, it gives Raiden an opportunity to mow down the wave after wave of "Tengu Soldiers" who come after him and Snake.

Metal Gear is a franchise that doesn't like it when you kill people. Here it has handed you a sword and told you to go to town with an unlimited supply of anime ninjas. The game lightly insisting "it's a video game, it makes no difference how many people you kill" and to flaw the game's philosophy for a moment, the only penalty is a ranking when you beat the game. MGS3 is the one that actually hits you with consequences for in-game murder.

As Raiden stands on a platform with Snake the game continues to devolve and a custom Mission Failed screen appears, mimicking the standard game over.

Gameplay continues inside the small box that typically displays where you died, you can die on this screen.

You then fight 25 copies of the giant mech in a recreation of the photo area from the Metal Gear VR Missions and the world's most convoluted plot reaches its crescendo point with every character betraying everyone else before Raiden has to kill a cybernetic US politician with a sword for the first but not last time.

The sequence takes about forty-five minutes to an hour thirty depending on your play style. The plot is too much and has a layer of metatext on top of it regarding the nature of audience expectations and sequels along with a haunting premonition of what the internet would become.

There are a lot of reasons to praise and a lot of reasons to hate the ending of MGS2. Personally I adore it. But one thing that truly cannot be stated enough, especially back in 2001, is how the game intended to make the player feel during that final section.

It's not enough that Raiden was having a complete dissociative episode, losing grip on his reality, it's that the game was designed to make the player go through those emotions at the same time as the character.

I was going through a really rough patch at the time. It was a few months before I was kicked out, my ties with my mother had been cut off, my dad was in a ward and suffice to say where my head was at the time? The immersive dissociative experience this game offered worked like a charm. Though external factors had a lot of influence.

DPDR is weird in the sense that everyone dissociates. It's a natural and normal thing, but disorders that are born from an excessive amount of disconnect between the self and reality tend not to be relatable experiences. Displaying a character losing their grip on reality is not an easy thing to do.

When we see someone say "I don't know what's real any more" in a piece of media we have empathy for their situation but it's not easy to have the audience in the same mindset as them.

Another hauntingly good example is Perfect Blue which I will likely not discuss in detail in this essay series because the content is a little too dark and the depiction of Dissociative Identity Disorder is not flattering in the slightest.

But the movie does depict an actress whose reality is blurring in with fiction by having a series of interactions happen one after another and revealing that the entire scene was part of a television shoot, with every subsequent scene piling on the confusion between what is happening on camera and off camera.

I can think of other examples of characters experiencing derealization episodes. Some even have fairly good depictions of how someone can be driven to that point, such as the slowburn of Bojack Horseman Season 5 where a number of circumstances pile on until the title character has an episode. The problem is... every single depiction that is coming to mind right now ends in either stigmatizing depictions or violent outcomes.

Heck, even Mae and Raiden up there had violence attached to their dissociation.

If there's one thing I want to make clear as I go through these essays, it's that those who have mental illnesses featuring dissociation are usually trauma survivors and are far more likely to be the victim of violence than the perpetrators of it.

I'm happy with the two examples of derealization I've written about today, NitW for the realistic depiction of the origins and impact and MGS2 for taking the player along for the ride; but I'd still love to see an example where a break from reality did not end with blood.

Please send me an Ask if you can recommend any.

-

So... that about brings it to a close for my little ramble on DPDR. I've a few other entries in the essay series on the back-burner. Next will likely be a breakdown on how Umineko handles recontextualizing memories. I've gotten a few paragraphs of that drafted out already.

These essays are really a bit of self-indulgence for me, though so they happen when they happen.

Thank you for reading.

#dawn posting #night in the woods #nitw #metal gear #mgs #mae borowski #raiden #media myself and I #what a thrill #DID #watch me post my trauma in public #derealization #DPDR #unreality #media essays #Youtube

[peachykoii]

…

I–

All right, y’all, I’ve got some things to say.

Spoilers for ramblings about Dislyte Unknown Collection Story Mode:

First, some positives!

• There were some pretty interesting concepts introduced: Raven having premonition and memory-erasing powers, using her wings + comet/shooting star + all how it influences the EU: the use of stone tablets, giving out only pieces of information to the public, not interfering with the future, etc.

• I liked how the Esper Union felt more gray aligned than straight up black or white considering its origins.

• I enjoyed seeing Triki a bit fleshed out, but let me just say that I'm biased about this because I literally don't have him yet so I don't know too much about him aside from the basics. A little disappointed to not have seen the whole crew. I was also hoping to see Zora and Ren Shi too. 😭😭 I will say, I can appreciate Yamato just coming around to be a menace and have fun, lol

• The silly and cute things like the Draw and Guess game, Tevor’s photo with Hilda??? (When and how even was this/could this happen, lol), commander Xuan Pin post-Immortal Fire and her relationship with Mateo, Alexa and Abigail having their moments together, and Alexa being a Wattpad writer amateur romance novelist on the side, lol.

• Lots of lovely and memorable artwork especially! Sachiko was obviously the devs’ favorite since they drew her so adorably, lol Assassin’s Creed reference?

Negatives.

• Y’all… This felt like an alternate universe rather than an addition to literally everything we’ve ever been introduced to in canon, so I’m just going to treat it as such. I could've avoided this and wouldn’t missed out on anything.

• Also, as interesting as it is, Raven being clairvoyant came out of nowhere, lol There’s no mention, reference, or anything anywhere suggesting this in Dislyte canon, besides the fact that Odin (Norse Mythology) has that ability. I do miss her bike and wolf though, lol The [Player] character gave more Mary Sue isekai’d into the game vibes rather than someone literally not from this world who’s experiencing Grandis and Miracles for the first time. If Markiplier can be canon in the universe but not in a weird way, then they could’ve done something along those lines for him too. Why exactly did Tang Na turn into a “Miramon”? Usually, overdrawing on your powers (could) just kill(s) you like in Gaius’ or Leora’s event. I guess it changed for then humanity/divinity balance. Where’s Discboom? She could’ve been a good lock instead. 😔😔

• What was going on with the writing and pacing? There were lots of typos, weird wording, and kind of a strange flow from chapter to chapter. Maybe localization editing was rushed? Like, I could appreciate trying a new style, but it also felt off-putting a lot of times and not as cohesive or seamless as it could’ve been. The Shackled Collection, the OG story mode, was much better in this regard. And then, there’s…

The ending…

• Honestly, it’s a bit hard to play devil’s advocate with that ending because from the standpoint of a first-time new player, who hasn’t been through Gaius’, Norah’s, or Embla’s event, the OG main story/Shackled Collection, or any other big lore heavy events, it might feel like “whoa, plot twist! That’s interesting!” But it’s still a little lackluster.

As a long time player whose way too DEEP and invested in Dislyte lore, characters, and world building, I was very disappointed.

I mean, he didn’t even have a hinted-at “I want” moment or off-putting conversation with the [Player] to help build it up. All the Anesidora moments literally could’ve been her talking to Embla or Hyde for all I know. I think that I needed better breadcrumbs not because I didn’t see the twist coming, but because it didn't really pay off. As if they chose him to be the villain for the sake of shock value instead of any substance. Why does he want the power? Gaius. Union Hub Director and Researcher Gaius? He was just like, “Good job, Mayor Abigail. Pot, kettle. Yes, I’m bad. AND I want a new world order. 😈😈 What'd you wish for, Sachiko!???” And was anti-climatically blasted away.

The Shadow Decree is more than just “bwahaha evil villainy because evil” kind of people and we’ve seen that several times now so there was a lot to work with. Personally, I’m anti-evil Gaius, but if they wanted to make it a bit more believable, here’s three different scenarios off the top of my head that fits Gaius’ personality and the whole fate theme going on.

1. Desperate Gaius “It’s been more than a decade of fighting and failure and bloodshed. I’m tired of seeing Raven hurt because of her [powers™] and witnessing both the Esper Union and SD fail at achieving what for mere humans and Espers is impossible. But then, I remembered Hannah’s private research from long ago all this time about [insert gate of promotion info to explain how that even cropped up]. And it was all true. Yamato finding [Player], Raven’s vision, and Abigail’s intel confirmed that even further. Hyde, not believing in [insert gate and wish stuff], had tried to counter it with his artificial esper project, but it devolved into something entirely different [insert Sieg]. But I knew if I wanted to prove it, I needed to take measures beyond just the Union’s resources. So, I reached out to Yamato and Hyde and the rest was history. Hannah told me that I could use my powers for good. With the full power of the Starlight’s Miracle Nexus, I can save this world from the havoc and turmoil the Miracles created — by making a new one.”

Or like, 2. Slightly Ominous Positivity™ Derails into Deluded Gaius, “Don’t worry, Raven and [Player]. Just as I trust you, trust me. Even if that was her final premonition, I trust that all will play out according to fate. If fate brought us [Esper Seven] together, if it brought Hannah into my life, then I know that it will lead me to where I need to be to help everyone that I can.” Slowly turns into obsessive, corrupted selfishness as he stresses over of Raven’s prophecy, learning about the Gate of Promotion does through Yamato and the Shadow Decree, corrupted with thoughts of its unlimited potential and what it can do for him; “Can you believe it? Fate brought us to the Starlight Miracle’s Nexus that can grant me the power to do anything. Raven was wrong. This is true destiny [taking all the divine power for himself]. Hannah, give me the strength to best this fate like you did for me to save everyone. I will succeed no matter who’s against me!”

Heck, even a 3. Turned His Back on the Light to Save His Friends Gaius “They’re my friends. Us Seven have been through more than you [Player] can ever imagine. So, when Hyde and Embla came to us [Raven and Gaius] with a truce and told me that we could use this power for actual good for the world... I had to make a decision. One that could change the fate of everything Raven knew, regardless of what she saw, but be our only chance at saving everything. I know Raven would never forgive me after what I did… especially to her… but as the Esper Union Hub Director, I will do anything and sacrifice everything I have to save as many people as I can, even if it means colluding and sinking to the darkest places. Even breaking bread with the dark forces I once knew as my comrades. I promised Hannah that I would help others. You need to understand that the ends will always justify the means.”

Or something like that since we know he can be incredibly selfless/borderline sacrificial when it comes to saving people close to him and up keeping this position. Also, is Leora’s backstory still the same bc I feel like she would’ve already tried to tell everyone about Gaius being a shadow councilor when she defected since she was mentored by Embla, a shadow councilor. They hold annual end of year All-Hands, for crying out loud, lmfaooo Ain’t no way she didn’t know.

I don’t know, y’all. I’m just rambling at this point.

I really needed the seasoning Gaius was missing in his life if they’re going to make him bad. He wasn’t a very compelling bad guy. 🤷🏾‍♀️🤷🏾‍♀️

Furthermore, it felt like they potentially retrofitted the general Dislyte lore/world building for a lot of stuff?

For me, one of the biggest things was everything around the Gate of Promotion in the Nexus. “The Miracle Nexus, the source of all Miracles,” Mkay, but how did they learn about the Gates? How did Narmer and Cang Ji, dudes who LOVE researching and exploring Miracles, not find it or learn about it years before? It’s been about 10+ years since the whole Miracle-Miramon situation began when the Esper Seven explored Miracle Prime and you’re telling me that supposedly somehow only now Yamato, Gaius, Raven, Abigail and the SD know about the Gates? And if Raven’s premonition gave that info, that still doesn’t explain why everyone else knew about it before then like Xuan Pin, Abigail, and Yamato. And about the lock too. Who gave everyone this knowledge? Like, Did the [Player] character come with a manual that Yamato’s been making leaks of or something, lol? He’s supposed to be a whole ‘Miracle destroyer’ and no one else is interested in that?

All in all, all I can say is that it was a choice and I had fun if I just think of it as an OVA or Isekai AU or something.

Bonus pics bc Hall’s censored for some reason lol AND my bby girl, Jiang Man, is looking cute here.

#dislyte #dislyte unknown collection #I’ve gotta unpack this because… huh????

[vinxxvi]

nov '23

— someday.

Someday, my sun will rise with your moon,

Someday, the wind will whisper to me your tales,

Someday, your daylight radiance will brighten my melancholy,

Someday, your illusive shadow will warm our house.

Someday, I will find you again. And once again, I will borrow your mirth– but this time around, I’ll make it worth it.

You never said you’d turn back, anyway. Then, why is it that I wait for time to turn on itself? Every now and then, I think about how seamless our existences would have been were they not bounded by the restraints of aging and growing and moving forward. I would have guffawed with you all night long and shared my favorite chocolate as many times as you asked. But now all I can cherish are those memories and all I can share is a piece of my soul.

I will find you again, won’t I? You’ll let me borrow your mirth again, won’t you?

We will no longer belong under the same roof but we will forever gaze upon the same sky.

Tell me, when life will cascade into figments of your memory, will you see me gliding in the dark? Will you hear our juvenile banter and our unsolicited talks? Will you feel the weight of my head against your chest? Will you recall my frivolous laments and long for my hand to hold onto yours?

Will you— Will you remember me like I am destined to remember you?

— vin.

#literature #poem #poetry #prose poem #prose poetry #spilled ink #spilled poetry #spilled words #words #words words words #english literature #lit #my words #writers society #writers on tumblr #writing inspiration #my writing #writing #writeblr #writersociety #writing prompt #writers and poets #writerscommunity #poetic #poems on tumblr #poets corner #poets on tumblr

[robobrainrot]

The Knack

Chapter 2: It’s Not Stalking

Notes: its a Knockout-Centric Fic with a human OC. Breakdown is alive and well. Optimus is alive and well. Set in the Prime Universe: Post Predacons Rising, Pre-RID15

[Chapter 1 Here] [Chapter 3 here]

enjoy my scribbles ✌️

Two weeks later...

Though he’d loathe to admit it, Knockout had returned to that parking spot three times in the last two weeks. Not that he was counting. His excuse to himself was that it was a pleasant covert spot in the shade. The weather was pleasant in this area at this time of year and he deserved a break.

It was merely a coincidence that it was also the way the human artist walked.

He had only seen them once in his last three attempts. They had been walking with a femmine human and didn’t notice him. Not that it bothered him.

Today, it was exactly two weeks after their first meeting. Same time. Same place. Sure enough, they came walking down the hill. When they were about 20 meters away, they finally noticed him.

In Knockout’s rear view mirror, he saw them smile brightly. They didn’t run over exactly, but their posture straightened instantly. The human paused in their stride for a moment. “Hello again, pretty boy.” With nothing more than a flirty finger wave at the car, they continued down the street.

That was it? What a tease.

…

Against his better judgment, Knockout looked up the username the human had given him. He was very familiar with social media. He used it occasionally to find races and fellow car enthusiasts.

Their account was mostly art stuff. Some occasional rambling posts. Scattered memes.

He learned their name was Kylan and they were an art student at the local university. They liked drawing various cool things they found around town. There was a text post referencing a gorgeous red sports car that they forgot to take a photo of.

Attached to that post was a rough approximation of what he looked like. It wasn’t as good as the one they did live, but considering it was from memory- it wasn’t bad. The detailing on his doors was completely wrong.

He scoffed. The purple scribbles they had added made him look like an illegible death metal band logo. Much less elegant than his custom pattern.

“My decals do not look like that.” He commented indignantly.

“Knockout. Darling,” Breakdown’s voice came behind him followed by two large servos on his hips. “What’s got you so revved up? I could hear you from across the bay.”

He minimized the tab quickly. “Nothing!” He looked up at his Conjux. Even leaning down to accommodate his ample chest, Breakdown was still taller. “Just a personal project.”

“You know I support your car junkie addiction… you don’t have to hide it from me.”

“It’s not an addiction. I can stop whenever I choose to.” He huffed. Knockout placed a kiss on his chin. He traced his servos down to intertwine with his partner’s. “If you want to talk about addiction…” he moved both their hands up his torso. “I could go for another polishing soon.”

The larger mech moved closer to press against him. “Hm… That could be arranged. I just got-”

Knockout’s computer pinged. His screens popped back up with the social media interface to let him know he had a notification.

It was a direct message.

“ OMG! It’s you! I thought maybe the drawing got blown away with all the wind. I hope it made you smile! “

“‘Drawing?’” Breakdown read aloud.

Knockout sighed dramatically. “Can we go back to my seamless distraction?”

The Stunticon looked between the screen and his Conjux several times. “After you show it to me. Have you been sneaking off to be a secret art model?”

“Not yet. I am playing the long game.” He wriggled out of his partner's embrace to walk over to his storage crate. It was mostly full of polishes, buffers and other beauty supplies. He picked up a small glass case. Knockout revealed it to Breakdown with a flourish. “A human left that on my window. Evidently, they were so taken by my lustrous finish that they couldn’t help themself from stopping to admire me.”

Breakdown leaned down to look at the tiny image. He squinted.

“And, they know I’m… not a car.”

He raised a brow. “You showed them your root mode?”

“Of course not. They just… know? They thanked me for letting them draw me– not that I had much choice in the matter. They didn’t ask permission.” He huffed through his vents. “They just knew.”

“And… your solution… is to stalk them?”

“It’s not stalking!” Knockout huffed. “They gave me their username with the drawing. Clearly, they wanted this.”

Breakdown took a deep vent in and out.

“I can handle it.” He placed the image back in his crate. Spinning on his wheels, he turned back to him. He reached up to pull him down to eye level.

“Be careful. For their sake, and yours.” Breakdown brought Knockout’s hand up to his eye patch. The hard gray metal contrasted his orange protoflesh. It was a stark reminder for both of them of past mistakes.

“I will, BD.” He smiled at his partner. “Trust me. This isn’t some Hollywood blockbuster. Nothing drastic is going to happen.”

…

After they started messaging online, Knockout was easily able to trace their IP address to know where they lived but he had never actually driven by their house.

Today was the day he finally got curious enough to look. Kylan lived in an old town house. It was white with brown shutters and looked like a scrap heap.He wasn’t exactly sure what he expected to find but there was no obvious sign of the human. It’s not like he could go up to ring the doorbell to ask for them.

The Aston Martin parked across the street and settled down. He must’ve slipped into power down mode because when he woke up, it was dark out.

There was another slip of paper on his dashboard. He smiled to himself.

Glancing up, he saw the lights on in the second story of the human’s house. Zooming in, he could see Kylan sitting at their desk drawing. They had headphones on, wiggling back and forth to whatever they were listening to.

Knockout never really understood human’s relationship with music. Of course, they were good at it. There were plenty of songs he liked the sounds of. It seemed to affect their species more. He could ask their resident radio wiz about it, but he didn’t want to give Bumblebee that satisfaction.

With that, he pulled out of his spot. He headed to his favorite hiding spot and slid under the gas station canopy.

Knockout pulled the slip of paper out of his plating. This time, it was in a yellow-ish envelope. The artist was upping their game. How fancy, he purred to himself as he pulled out the piece of paper inside.

His optics narrowed at the tiny image.

“A parking ticket!?”

…

Over the next month, Knockout learned that they came home at approximately the same time every Thursday. This wasn’t always because he was there. Their posts had consistency at that time as well.

The Autobots kept him busy with various tasks around their new base. Ratchet always needed an extra hand, even if he didn’t want one. Arcee was still tense around the former-Decepticon but things were easing up. She had gone from openly hostile to occasional glaring. Agent Fowler was a similar story. Whenever the other two sports cars returned from Cybertron, they’d burn rubber until someone sprained something. Then, they’d get another lecture from Ratchet.

Overall, life after the war was pleasant, though strange. There wasn’t anyone threatening him every other minute of the day. He was allowed to just be.

Integrating Breakdown into the team was more of a to-do. Bulkhead and Wheeljack were not keen on the idea. But, with time and conversation, they came to a mutual understanding.

The ex-Decepticons got their own remote warehouse. Originally, they had been staying with all the Autobots, but that lasted about 2 weeks before someone put in a noise complaint. Their little home away from home gave them some much needed space from the other bots. It was dinghy but it was theirs.

Knockout leaned against a crate as he stared at the blankest wall of their space. It was gray metal, like the landscapes of Cybertron. It was distinctly not light the bright colors of the planet he currently resided on. Over time, he had become quite attached to the rainbow of hues that made up Earth’s environment.

“Breakdown,” He called to his conjux, “I think it’s about time we got some color in here.”

[ >> NEXT CHAPTER >> ]

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #tfp #knockout #THE KNACK #transformers OC fic #transformers oc #rory magellan #canon divergent au

[mhaynoot]

AO3 Finished Fic Here

Yoo Sangah opens the car door and smiles back when Kim Dokja smiles at her. It's almost instinctive now. Happiness at his happiness. Joy at his joy. He looks at her with upturned lips and hers are already forming one.

He holds his hands out to her, a little sheepish expression on his face as if she would ever begrudge him relying on her. As if this hadn't been one of her largest joys since he's come back. And it still makes her breathless sometimes. Her new reality. The constant awe and lightning exhilaration of waking up everyday and knowing he's come back. There is a waterfall in her, it connects from her fingertips to the top of her head and flows down into her heart. A current and fall, something fierce and beautiful. She is the waterfall, she is the endless river that leads to the edge of oblivion, she is the depthless pool that gathers at the bottom of that oblivion, collecting all the river's remains. She raises her head up and tastes the force of her own happiness. Crisp. Overwhelming. A thousand torrential outpouring of every feeling she had ever and will ever feel. It pours and pours and pours, a free fall of the boundless. The sun rises, she takes a sip of coffee every morning before going to work, and there it always is: he's here.

"Thank you, Sangah-ssi," he says, as she slips her hands underneath his thin thighs and firm back. He curls his arms around her neck and she easily lifts him up, presses him against her with all the tenderness he deserves. They need to feed him more, she thinks but her smile spreads into a grin at his words. She wants to grab the strangers in her memories and point out how easy it is for this man to make her so so happy. Look, for there he is. Her happiness.

"You're welcome, Dokja-ssi," she says and takes the extra second to hold him close because time is all they have now and each second is a treasure. So she'll spend her seconds treasuring him and them and together. The waterfall in her is a stinging, raining from the sky with water so clear it mirrors endless blue skies.

Eventually, the second passes and she moves to do her duty and gently tucks him into his wheelchair. It's not one issued by the hospital but something the company had bought together instead. Not the first but one of the more memorable bonding activities they've done since Kim Dokja had returned. Even aided by the power of stories, recovery has been slow and he will be bound to it for months still. Yoo Sangah still thinks it's already wonderful progress that he's no longer bedridden. And, the kids love wheeling him everywhere.

She steps back to watch as he settles into place. It is seamless, a smooth operation of wiggling around and shuffling until he's comfortable. There is a weight to his actions nowadays that hadn't been present during the scenarios. Then, it felt like he could take off at any moment, spreading his nightly wings and flying off beyond any of their reaches. Like a star falling back to the sky he belongs to. But now, there is something grounded to his movements. Not the weight of worlds nor the bearing of life and death, the exhaustion of chains and salvation, but simply a present in his eyes and a shift of his shoulders. A gaze that looks towards the present and imagines the future. Someone who has always gazed at them with their visage in his eyes but now finally lets his be reflected in theirs.

She fixes his hair, a habit that has long since lingered since the days of hospital visits. Sun Wukong had gifted shampoo and conditioner. It makes his hair silky and soft to the touch. Maybe they needed to cut his hair, she'll bring it up later even though she quietly enjoys the way it flutters around his neck.

They start moving once he's settled.

Yoo Sangah doesn't need conversation to enjoy time with Kim Dokja but she enjoys it all the same when he starts talking about the latest web novel he's reading. A fantasy one of Han Sooyoung's students had begged her to look at but she had only hedged it off to Kim Dokja who turned out to have adored it much to the professor's endless horror (and jealousy). It's a lot different to what he was used to reading, he explains.

As Yoo Sangah listens to the intricacy of magical farming, she starts to remember a certain train ride all those lifetimes ago and the conversation two certain coworkers had.

Their talk had been transcribed in Han Sooyoung's novel. She knows, she provided the details the empty story fragments hadn't been able to tell on their own. The words had been dragged out of her story later, feeling like memories remembered wrong even if they had been perfectly recalled. Their talk had been in his library too.

「"At this rate, you'll get sucked into your smartphone."」

The HR worker said and then asked what the QA worker was reading. The QA worker has floundered and hemmed and hawed before trying to dismissively saying:

「"Lord of the Rings, it's kind of like that…"」

She knows now that it had not been like Lord of the Rings nor any of the books and authors she had listed. It was a web novel about the fall of the world. She wonders if she could find a copy of it now if she searched.

But her attention shifts back to the present as he finishes explaining the power scaling of different farming tools. She asks if you have to beat up the vegetables to get a reward and he laughs easily.

There is still a bit left to walk so she nudges him to explain more on how the protagonist had finally unlocked alchemy skill and was making sketchy fruit potions in the latest chapter.

She parked a little further away so they could take a look at the park. There are two reasons. One so he could get more fresh air and exercise according to Lee Seolhwa's instructions. And the other, well, she kept it a secret to herself. It is a simple coincidence that it is spring, the air is playful with the scent of flowers, and he always brightens at the sight of light falling through tree leaves. How beautiful. The brightness of the world.

"Sangah-ssi, do you still bike?"

She blinks at the unexpected question. "I don't think so. I use our company car to work and back and if I need exercise, well, our friends are all ready to beat each other up."

He laughs a little. Quiet laughter. Quiet smiles. Someone who is quiet in emotions. As if he went above a certain volume, he'd be taking up too much room or be caught by a shadow. Though considering his presence during the scenarios and the way he could capture attention simply from his actions, from a few smirking words, and the audacious bravado he readily fans into flames, perhaps Kim Dokja had simply learnt how to navigate the world by hiding himself as much as he could. Hidden in a cupboard and banging on the doors to scare away any who approaches.

But, she knows if they keep going, unbidden by the loud banging and open the cupboard, they'll find only the soft silence of snow. Yoo Sangah has long since learnt that Kim Dokja was someone at his truest the quieter he is. That his sincerity was quiet and his devotion mouthless.

"When I get better," he starts and blinks at the way she immediately beams.

Yes, she wants to say immediately because he said when. Because he said better. Because there was very little they wouldn't do for him. And nothing at all he wouldn't do for them. She holds it back and listens.

"Do you think we could bike together?" He glances down at his wheelchair, he spins the wheels. "Or would this already count as biking?"

Yoo Sangah pauses, stares at his beaming face, and then she starts to laugh. And laughs. She laughs so hard she's crying. She sees him through her tears. His smile falling into a panicked bewilderment sends her laughing even harder which is perhaps cruel but she can't seem to stop it even if she wanted to. She ends up crouching, reaching out to hold his hands with both of hers. Their scars rub up against each other. It stings a little but Yoo Sangah holds them. She knows this is just how a lifetime of stories say hello. It hurts but it is still so very warm after all.

"Of course," she says, gasping. She uses the back of their clasped hands to wipe her tears away. "Of- Of course we can."

Happiness was a waterfall and it washes through her, sweeps her along off the edge like a free fall. Suspended in the air between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja.

FINISHED FIC HERE

#orv #orv spoilers #hawrites #yoo sangah #kim dokja #platonicc #long post #extra detail but yjh was the one to pick the wheelchair and it is in fact a black one HAHHA #the sentence didnt fit right so i took it out but yeah

[fanartfunart]

The Well of Memories

Summary: post Tears of the Kingdom, Zelda thinks back on what happened, and what she can and can not remember. Link makes a connection with the feeling.

Happy 1 year anniversary to Totk! Here's a short drabble

(Totk Dragon Tears spoilers)

Zelda looked out at the endless sky, brows knit together. She tried to tease out her hazy recollection of swallowing the stone and everything after, but it refused her. Each droplet of memory felt like it was encased in a bubble too far to reach. Something that happened but never did all at once.

The edge of a cloak fluttered against her shoulder. A pair of legs slipped off the edge of the sky island next to her and settled there. A warm presence against her. Link. She slowly allowed herself to lean against him. He let her stay there, cozy and comfortable.

"Rupee for your thoughts?" Link whispered.

"...I had scars. Before. The battle with Ganon had been- I had wounds I never thought would heal." Zelda raised her hand, tilting it in the light. The skin was smooth and seamless. "They're gone. As if nothing had happened…. It disturbs me."

Link nodded softly. Zelda dropped her head against his shoulder. He hooked his chin over the top of her head.

"I know it would probably be far too much to comprehend, but I just wish I could at least recall my time as a dragon. It- it weighs in my mind as this untouchable pool, deep and mysterious."

She looked up and traced a mindless path in the sky "Continually, I ask myself: Did I help anyone for those thousands of years? Was I a symbol of Hope? Or was I a symbol of Desperation for my ancient friends? Did I do anything in the light of the first Calamity? I had to have been there. Did- did it rouse any part of my humanity when I saw it? And our own-" Zelda clutched the fabric of her pant leg. Link's soft presence was warm and far too light. She felt a need, a craving for pressure.

"I know for a fact I never saw such a dragon as you described. But- but is that because I was not ready to See? Could you have, then? Would we have known what would be if you hadn't-..." She threw her hand up and shook her head "No. I- doubt it would've been apparent regardless…"

Zelda sighed, heavily, "It just- it was such a monumental, terrifying, heartstopping decision. I- I felt as if I was to die." Zelda clutched at the stone at her collar. "I almost was, in many ways. And- I- I can't remember the last moment. I can't. I don't know if I ever felt relief. If I ever knew peace, even just once, for those thousand years."

Zelda took a breath.

Link said nothing.

It was a curious sort of nothing, because he had gotten at least slightly more talkative recently. He still took his time to consider words in situations such as this. But he was quick with a comforting hum or something to indicate the thought being made. Instead, it was a stark rigid silence. It reminded her too much of his knighthood.

She ducked her head, "Apologies, I didn't mean to overwhelm you with my thoughts. … I feel as if I'm a cacophony of emotion. I know it would be difficult to understand…"

Link was still quiet.

"Link?"

One more agonizing beat of silence, and he shook himself from it, "I know what you're talking about."

Zelda blinked. How could he possibly know? Then with sudden clarity, it clicked. A near death. A rebirth without memory. "Oh. Oh! I'm so sorry I didn't mean to-"

He snorted and giggled softly at her. Zelda frowned, looking at him to protest the indignity of his amusement. He soothed a thumb- his left, she noted, despite his right being the first to move- over the crease in her brow. "It's perfectly fine."

He looked to the distance of sky for a moment, the thoughtful hum settling in the breeze. "I- I think they come easier, softer, when you let yourself breathe," he said eventually, "They may never come to you. Perhaps it's a gift. To rediscover old sights as new. To live with fresh eyes and enjoy the moment." Link smiled, eyes closed, face soft with light haloed in his wind-tossed hair.

Zelda smiled, keeping her gaze to what was close. In her reach. She wrapped an arm around Link's shoulders. "We'll discover together," she said.

Link smiled softly, "Yes, together."

#tears of the kingdom #legend of zelda #fanart's fanfic #loz fanfic