#Not really mentioned in the story but it's a Buddie blog so it's a given

[theragethatisdesire]

much ado about nothing chapter 5 - plug!eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.

i have successfully kicked my writer's block to the curb and am ready to pick back up on plug!eren!!!! woohoo!! this is the part of the story where it gets really plot heavy and there's a lot of moving parts, so it's been a fun exercise to write and brainstorm. if anything is confusing or u have any theories/questions PLEASE hit my inbox i'm so down bad for plug eren i could talk about him for days.

get ready to meet a new character who is......not the best lol. this is also the first chapter written in eren's pov :o things are about to get interesting!

still haven't caught up? series masterlist HERE <3

specific cws: mentions of smut but nothing outright, alcohol use, swearing, u know the drill

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“If music be the food of love, play on. / Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, / The appetite may sicken and so die.” - Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare (Act I, Scene 1)

Eren is, admittedly, a romantic person, especially given his occupation. Not romantic in the cheesy, buying-flowers and kissing-in-the-rain sense, but he appreciates the little details of life. He loves autumn, when the leaves catch on fire with the changing of the season. He loves the little crook of a woman’s neck, that slope where it goes from tendon to shoulder to collarbone. He can appreciate a good bourbon; after years of raiding his dad’s stash, he developed a palate for it early on. Eren’s romantic nature leads him to believe in signs. When the universe tells him something, he listens.

The text still sat in his inbox unopened, marinating in its own bizarre, heartbreaking nature.

> heyyyy lover boy! i’m back from austria! missed u, let’s catch up ;)

Eren knows that Breeze knows him, knows him well enough to understand that his three-week radio silence isn’t a no, it’s a maybe. He hates himself for not immediately texting her back and telling her to fuck off, but after his conversation with you, he thinks it might be the universe telling him it’s safe this time, that he won’t end up a shell of himself. Maybe.

You had been firm in your assertion that you and Eren were better off as friends, and as much as he wanted to fight it, Eren respects women. As much as he can when he’s prone to wrenching their jaws open and spitting in their mouths while he’s balls deep inside them, at least. He’s disappointed, but he respects it, and if he’s honest, he likes you.

He likes your sharp humor, likes the way you tend to keep your hair up off of your neck, likes the way your eyes light up when someone gives you an excuse to talk about your studies. He hasn’t been “just friends” with a woman in a long time, but it’s refreshing, an excuse to go grab a coffee and shoot the shit like a normal person instead of lurking in the corner of a frat party handing out pills like a perverse ice cream truck.

The last three weeks of “friends” have been the best Eren’s had in a long time. You’re easy, that’s what he likes about you. He can drop the cold mask he wears so often, giggle over a stupid meme, listen intently as you prattle on about some long-dead 18th-century author that was “so ahead of her time!”, smirk when you chastise him for doodling little hearts and flowers all over your coursework.

Sure, he still steals a glance down your shirt when he can, and he’d never admit it, but he thinks about you late at night. He thinks about you when he’s in the shower, when he’s got himself in his hand, panting and swearing under his breath, but he manages to feel enough guilt over it to still consider you a friend. You’re caring and considerate and easy, wholesome fun, unlike someone that’s made a sudden reappearance into his life.

After that first night, just when he was starting to entertain the thought of promoting you from one night stand to official fuck buddy, the closest thing to commitment Eren allows himself to maintain these days, Breeze swept back into his life, and you hit the brakes on him. While it may not have been the sign he wanted to receive, Eren’s a romantic, and he listens to the universe, especially when it goes so far out of its way to tell him something.

He’s decided to let Breeze stew for a little while longer. Campus will be clearing out for Thanksgiving break soon, along with most of his business, and he’s going to wait until his hands are empty of work and you before answering her. Plus, she had flitted off to Europe after college like their entire relationship had been nothing more than a passing phase; Eren’s owed at least a little bit of pettiness, right?

> paradise ath 1130! see uthere ;)

Eren snorts at your text. Being as uptight as you are about grammar (you’re constantly hounding him about his texting style, and he’s been making them even more incorrect just to hear you berate him), he knows you’re not just texting quickly, you’re drunk.

“Yo, ‘min!” Eren calls into the kitchen, an excited flutter already rising in his chest beneath his hoodie.

“Yeah?” Armin’s head pops around the doorframe, a dab of ketchup on the corner of his mouth.

“Wanna go to Paradise later?”

“The club?” Armin’s nose wrinkles. Connie’s head appears right beside Armin, a wide grin splitting his face.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Connie answers for both of them before Armin has the chance to shoot the idea down, “who’s going?”

“Like you don’t know the answer to that,” Armin scoffs, ducking back into the kitchen with a roll of his eyes.

“I never took her for a ‘club’ type of girl,” Connie adds air-quotes to emphasize his confusion.

Eren mulls that over for a moment; he doesn’t really take you for a club type of girl either, but from the sound of it, Historia and Sasha have already done the job of getting you good and drunk and talking you into a night on the town. Eren’s always wanted to see what you’re like when you’re well and truly fucked up; every time you indulge him with a story from college, he ends up laughing so hard he’s clutching his stomach and gasping for breath.

Supposedly, when you go all out, you drop the mom-friend act and become a little less tame; is this Eren’s opportunity to get an eyeful for himself? He’s not waiting around to find out.

Eren shrugs. “Come help me make these runs and we’ll go. Armin, you’re driving.”

The drop-offs are uneventful, and as soon as Eren steps foot inside the club, his nose scrunches with distaste. Ironically, he’s never been into the partying scene, much preferring a quiet beer at Scout’s or a blunt on the couch to a club. The music’s horribly loud, bass thudding through the fabric of his hoodie and beating against his chest, and as he looks for you, he can barely see through the mass of bodies and the fog machines. You’re here? It’s difficult for Eren to imagine you, in your favorite flannel and those cute little Vans he likes, tucked against the bar throwing back your signature craft beer. As Connie urges him and Armin in the direction of the bar, calling for green tea shots, Eren nearly regrets his decision, until fingernails dig into his shoulder, spinning him on his heels.

“Hey, you.”

Eren blinks stupidly as you grin up at him through thick, black lashes. He’s never even dared to imagine you like you are now, piercing eyes gazing up at him through a heavy dusting of makeup and the shortest, tightest dress Eren’s ever seen hugging every inch of your curves. You look sinful in a way he’s never seen you before, not even when he was holding you tight to him and wrenching out orgasm after orgasm from your body. He gulps.

“Holy shit– hey,” he lets you pull him in for an overexcited hug, bites down on the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the bulge already swelling in his pants.

“I missed you!” You pinch his cheeks, much to Eren’s dismay.

“Just saw you yesterday– quit pinchin’ me. What are you even doing here? Didn’t think this was your scene.” Eren has to actively keep his eyes trained on your face; there’s a little bead of sweat traveling down the expanse of skin between your breasts that’s making his mouth water. Friends, he scoffs in his mind. Are you trying to kill him?

“Well, it’s not, but Sasha says I need to be more fun, and Stor says I need to find a boyfriend.” You gesture around like it’s obvious. Eren cocks an eyebrow, ignoring the inappropriate envy that twists in his stomach at the mention of the word ‘boyfriend’.

Boyfriends never like the guy friends, it’s practically a law of nature. If you’re dating around, it’s only a matter of time before some square in a button-down steals you away from your coffee dates and movie nights with Eren, but he can’t get too caught up in that now, not when you’re looking up at him all dizzy and sexy and bursting at the seams.

“Don’t know if this is the place for that.”

“That’s what I said!” Oh, you’re drunk drunk, all of your movements overexaggerated and shaky. It makes him want to laugh seeing you like this; his little book nerd, trashed and mere inches away from having her ass out at a club. Well, either laugh or drag you into the bathroom to bend you over the sink. He can’t be sure.

“Hey mama!” Connie shouts over at you, handing you a shot. Eren has half a mind to snatch it out of his hand after catching the slurring in your voice, but he’s too late; you throw it back without so much as a shudder, grinning all wide and wet and pretty when you swallow.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up,” you tell him, pulling him down by his collar so you can speak into his ear. Eren has to bite back a groan at the feel of your hot lips against his ear. Friends, he reminds himself urgently, pushing you back from him but keeping his hands firm on your hips, relishing in the way your flesh gives under his grip.

“You know the rules. You call, I come.”

“That’s what she said,” you snicker, pinching his cheek again.

“Cut that out!”

“Make me.” Oh fuck, Eren’s going to die. He’s going to die if you keep looking at him like that, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and fuck-me eyes on him.

“You’re not being very friendly,” he manages to choke out, trying his hardest to give you a suspicious look through the dizzying wave of images that flash through his brain. You with your mouth full of him. You spread out on his bed, back arched and fingers twisted in his hair. The little “o” your mouth made when you rode him for the first time. Eren wants to smack himself, jump in a cold shower, something. Get a grip, dude.

“Maybe not,” you shrug, eyes darting over to the bar. “Hurry up and grab a drink, I wanna dance.”

“Not much of a dancer,” Eren admits, taking the beer that Connie hands him.

“Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work.”

Eren isn’t sure if he likes or loves the sound of that, powerless against that stupid little dress you’ve got on as you drag him behind you to the mass of bodies he had so disdainfully eyed on his way in. He’s greeted by a loud round of shrieking, one more pinch to the cheek by Historia and a slap on the ass from Sasha. You make a show of teasing him for how pink his face gets, but luckily, your friends are instantly distracted by Armin and Connie’s arrival right behind him. You pull him back down, glossy lips pressed right against his ear.

“I really like this song.” You’re barely audible over the pounding music, but even if Eren hadn’t heard what you said, he’d get the gist from the way you grind against his thigh, slow and sensual. Maybe you are actually trying to kill him.

“Yeah?” He’s breathless, irreparably and embarrassingly caught in the little web you’ve woven.

“Yeah.” You’re moving harder against him now, throwing your arms around his neck and grinding your hips into his. Eren’s only thought is to let his hands fly back to your hips, let you use him like a stripper pole to show off.

He can feel eyes on him, not the eyes of friends, but of other men around him, wondering who the lucky asshole is that’s getting the royal treatment from a girl as hot as you. If he were to be truthful, it’s getting him off, how every eye is on you and, by proxy, him, holding you like a lifeline as you let the beat rock through your body.

So this, this is the party girl you claim to have living deep inside you. This seductive, electric creature moving tantalizing against his body, this is the source of the stories Historia tells him that make you blush? How you could ever be embarrassed of this is beyond him; you’re like a little devil, sent straight from hell just to torture him, and Eren’s mouth is watering.

Song after song goes by, and you don’t let up, don’t let him catch his breath for a moment, moving from facing him to pressing your ass into his crotch and then back again, arms above your head or wrapped around his neck. Eren wishes he was mentally sound enough at the moment to feel ashamed that you can absolutely feel how hard he is through his pants right now, but he’s drunk on you, letting you press into him so insistently he has to tug your dress down for you, letting you drive him so crazy that he’s grateful for the loud music now. He’d die if Connie or Armin could hear the way he’s grunting and groaning low under his breath, powerless underneath you.

Suddenly, as if you haven’t just been riling him up for the last half hour, you back away enough to face him, shaking your empty cup and him and mouthing something that Eren’s still too dizzy to make out.

“Huh?”

“Get me another drink!” you shout over the bass, laughing at him.

Eren nods stupidly, darting away from you before he can grab your jaw, pull your lips to his like he so desperately wants to. Finally out of the throng of bodies, he can feel his head clearing, some semblance of sanity crashing over him. What the fuck has gotten into him? It was just one night, and you’ve kept him at arm’s length ever since, only seeing each other under the guise of coffee, or a beer, or Eren insisting you need to continue your education in the wonders of horror films. You’re drunk, that’s the only explanation; drunk and teasing him like you aren’t going to wake up and throw him right back into the friendzone. He rests both elbows on the bar, shaking his head like he’ll be able to knock some sense into himself if he rattles his brain around a little.

Eren orders your vodka soda and a beer and a shot for himself, something to clear his head and keep his blood pressure manageable. Hopefully, at least.

When he turns around, drinks in hand, that plan flies out the door. There you are, center of the dance floor, hands above your head and hips moving like you’re intentionally trying to make him lose his fucking mind. He tilts his head in interest when a man approaches you, grazes his hands over your hips like he means to start grinding against you. Eren can feel his own hands tightening around the bottle and the plastic cup in his hand, but he holds himself back; he’s got no claim on you, and if you’re willing to entertain the man (who, if you ask Eren, is way below your standards), who is Eren to stop you?

You surprise him in the best way: when the man touches you lightly, you whip around, brows furrowed and a little glitter in your eyes so mean that even Eren nearly flinches. He can’t read your lips in the low light, but he snorts to himself anyway as the man puts his hands up and backs away from you, eyes wide. As if nothing had happened, you spin back on your heel, facing a cackling Sasha with a shrug.

Eren feels a wide, proud smile blooming on his face. As much as he feels an unwarranted protectiveness towards you, he likes watching you get your teeth out and stand up for yourself. Before he can make his way back over to tease you, a voice from his left makes his blood run cold.

“Rennie?!”

Two thin arms are tossed around his neck before Eren can even respond, the familiar scent of vanilla and coconut enveloping him.

“Breeze?” Eren chokes out, too shocked to keep his composure. She pulls away from him and grins, a little diamond glittering from her right canine tooth.

“You didn’t text me back, you tease,” she swats at his chest, snags the vodka soda he’d bought for you right out of his hand, taking a sip. Eren takes the opportunity to swallow hard around the lump in his throat, one last tentative glance towards you before he turns his gaze back to Breeze.

She’s cut her hair, something short and choppy that swings around her ears, and fuck, she’s still just as pretty as he remembers, little freckles on her button nose visible in the darkness of the club.

“Didn’t think you wanted to see me,” Eren shrugs, forcing his face to remain schooled into one of cold apathy. She had left him, like he was nothing to her. He hates her, he realizes, god, he hates her so much it burns in his veins. Breeze cocks her head, frowning.

“Why would you think that?”

“You fucking left me, Breeze, don’t be stupid,” Eren makes a move to steal the drink back from her, but she holds it close enough to her chest that he’d have to practically grope her to take it, and his fingers recoil at the realization.

“Are you double-fisting, or did you buy this for someone special?” She teases, brushing right over Eren’s bristly demeanor. When he doesn’t answer, she raises her eyebrows. “It’s for someone. Well, point her out! Is she cute?”

Breeze turns on her heel, standing on her tiptoes to glance through the crowd. Before he can stop himself, Eren’s grabbing her upper arm, spinning her back to face him with anger blazing in his eyes. When he meets her gaze, her baby blues are alight with mischief, and he knows that no matter which direction he moves, he’s losing whatever little game she has him trapped in. That was the thing about Breeze; Eren was always losing her games.

“Fuck, just…just stop it, Breeze. What are you even doing here?”

“I’m back in town, didn’t you see my text?” Breeze shrugs innocently, sipping your drink.

“Okay, well, welcome back,” Eren deadpans, leaving her question hanging in the air between them. He turns back to the bar to order another cocktail for you, having given up hope of getting the first one back from Breeze, but she’s relentless, has always been that way. She slides up to the bar beside him, smiling demurely up at him.

“I missed you, you know.”

“Wouldn’t have guessed,” Eren scoffs, rolling his eyes. Breeze flinches, but Eren knows her better than that. It’s all an act, it always is.

“I never realized how much I hurt you,” her fingers grazing over his cheek nearly burn with how cold they are in contrast to the heavy, thick air around them, “‘m sorry, Rennie.”

“It’s fine.” Eren hates the way he twitches and nearly leans into her touch when she swipes her fingers over him. How many times has he thought about this, seeing her again after all these years? Everything he’s planned out, everything he’s ever wanted to say is lodged in his throat, a jumble of letters and words so squished out of order that they no longer hold meaning. He doesn’t love her, not anymore, but his body reacts before his brain can stop it, a conditioned response.

“Can we talk about it soon? Maybe over coffee?” Blue eyes blinking up at him earnestly.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Breeze,” Eren rolls his eyes, swallowing thick around the knot in his throat.

“There is,” she insists, “I brought this amazing espresso blend back with me from Florence, and–”

“If I say yes, will you leave me alone for tonight?” Eren can feel the exasperation in his tone, can feel the weight of his mistake weighing on his shoulders. It’s fine, he tells himself, he’ll make up some excuse and get out of it. A long conversation with Breeze about their breakup is the last thing he needs.

“Maybe,” Breeze tucks her lip in between her teeth, a little smile playing at the corner of her mouth, “unless you change your mind.”

“We can talk or whatever another time, but I’m going back to my friends, okay? Go find yours.”

“You’re my friend,” Breeze purrs, one hand stroking over Eren’s bicep, “and I haven’ seen you int–”

“Don’t push it,” Eren nearly growls, scowling down at her. He knows half of the hatred buzzing through his veins is reserved for himself, but he’ll unpack that at home with a blunt, not in the middle of the club with you waiting for him on the dance floor and Breeze staring up at him hungrily.

“Always wound so tight,” Breeze hums, reaching a hand up to squish his cheeks, “but fine. I’ll see you soon.”

She miraculously leaves him there with nothing but a wink, taking your vodka soda with her; Eren’s shoulders slump in relief. Knowing Breeze, it was a wonder she hadn’t tackled him right there. When he turns around for the second time, two drinks in hand, you’re already staring at him. Shit.

You don’t look mad– and why would you be? You’re friends, Eren reminds himself. There’s no reason for you to know who Breeze is; he’s never told you about her, and he never planned on doing so. Eren knows Historia, though, well enough to believe that she told you everything from the godforsaken moment he walked into your apartment that day. 

He doesn’t like that look you’ve got, though; again, not mad, but he can see the gears turning behind your eyes. Eren has to practically force himself to walk towards you. Your head’s cocked in confusion, something watery and hesitant glimmering in your eyes through the low lighting. If he didn’t know better, he’d say you almost look hurt, but that wouldn’t be fair, would it? You didn’t want him, you had made that abundantly clear.

“Sorry it took me a while. Long line.” Eren hands you your drink, nearly wincing at how naturally the clearly false statement rolls off his tongue.

“Mhm,” you nod, downing nearly half of your drink in one long slurp. Your movements aren’t fluid and dynamic anymore; you’re stiff as a board, bouncing back and forth on the balls of your feet along to the beat of the song. “I…I actually have to pee, do you mind holding this?”

“Now?” Eren blinks, confused. “I just got your drink.”

You offer him a tight smile. “I wanted to wait ‘til you were back, so you could watch my drink. And so you didn’t think I ran off on you or something.”

“Oh, yeah, go ahead.”

He watches you slink away into the crowd, watches the dozens of eyes follow you, surely wondering what happened to the little firecracker in the middle of the dance floor. Eren knows you get like this sometimes, suddenly pensive and nostalgic, knows that per your own admission, you like to handle it yourself. He hadn’t done this to you, had he?

A firm pinch to his cheek distracts him, pulls him down a foot below his normal standing height. Could everyone just stop pinching his fucking face? “Shit, ow!”

“Was that Breeze?” Historia yells directly into his ear. Eren, six-foot-something of hell on wheels, blushes furiously.

“Dude, was that fucking Breeze, or am I too fucked up?” Connie echoes Historia’s sentiment from over her shoulder, eyes comically wide. Armin’s peering around him, eyes flitting back and forth between Eren, Connie, and Historia as he tries to understand what’s happened.

“Who cares?” Eren snaps at Connie. Historia’s grip on his face loosens, releases entirely. If Eren didn’t like the look that you had given him, he hates the look Historia’s shooting at him right now. All daggers and disappointment. She turns on her heel without another word, making a beeline for the bathroom and dragging Sasha along behind her. Eren doesn’t miss Armin’s eyes either; stripping him to the bone without saying a word.

“Quit looking at me like that,” Eren scoffs, waves a hand in Armin’s direction.

“When did Breeze get back into town?” Armin shouts over the music.

“A few weeks ago,” Eren admits, avoiding Armin’s eyes and looking for a spot at the bar where he can escape the heavy gazes of his friends, run away to drown this conversation in a shot of whiskey.

“Did you–”

“I don’t know, man, you know how she is. She just showed up.” Eren knows he’s being unnecessarily gruff, but in his defense, the last hour or so has been a whirlwind of memory and emotion and lust that he doesn’t have the capacity to deal with.

Armin nods simply, takes a sip of his beer. Eren’s known Armin since they were kids, and he knows Armin can read him like a book. If he had a little less pride, Eren would pull Armin to the side and ask if he can make any sense of what’s going through Eren’s head right now because Eren sure as hell can’t. There’s you, with your skimpy dress and your flirty eyes, grinding on him like you’re going to take him home and fuck him stupid again, like you hadn’t demanded an honest-to-god friendship that Eren happens to very much enjoy. On the other hand, there’s Breeze, flighty and just as much of a ghost as she is a real person, popping back into his life and batting her blue eyes at him like she’d never left.

You’re his friend, and Breeze is his terrible ex. There shouldn’t be a choice here– there isn’t, it’s just the way things are, but Eren feels stuck at a crossroads for some reason.

He finally gets fed up with the music and the bumping of bodies around him and storms off to the bar again, biting back the urge to snap at Connie and Armin who he knows are hot on his heels. Eren’s just looked up from the shot of whiskey burning its way down his throat, acknowledging the dizziness that’s come with his drinks for the night, when he spots you.

You don’t look angry, that’s a small mercy you unwittingly grant him, but you’re cowering. Historia, even being shorter than you, is practically pinning you to the wall outside of the bathroom, shouting at you with her finger in your face. Sasha doesn’t look all too pleased either, arms crossed and a deep scowl written into her features. Eren gets a glimpse of your phone in Historia’s other hand that she’s waving around erratically, and wonders what the hell happens in women’s bathrooms. He’s not exactly sure what prompts it, but he checks his own phone. Nothing.

“Are they fighting?” Connie asks, nose scrunched as he peeks around Eren’s arm.

“Looks like it,” Armin nods, wincing as you try to make a grab for your phone from Historia, resulting in Sasha saving you at the last second from face-planting as Historia holds it out of your reach.

“Should we, like, do something?”

“Absolutely not,” Armin and Eren echo each other, looking at Connie as if he’d just suggested they all walk into oncoming traffic.

Eren watches as Historia grabs you by the wrist and drags you out of the bar, your feeble protests doing nothing to stop her insistent steps. Sasha follows both of you, gently pushing you along by the small of your back and shooting a regretful glance at Connie, mouthing a sorry as you all make your exit. It’s hardly been five minutes before Eren’s phone buzzes.

> had to leave. do you mind paying our tab if i venmo you? it’s under reiss.

Eren bites the inside of his cheek again, not worrying in the slightest about covering the tab, but more so the reason for your abrupt exit.

> yeah i got u everything ok?

> thanks a ton! see u next time.

It’s purposefully avoidant, especially coming from Historia, who never misses a chance to make fun of you good-naturedly. If you had been sick in the bathroom or far too drunk to stay, she would have come out and said it. Eren throws his card down, going to pay the hefty tab you and your friends racked up, but not daring to pay his own. After all of the shit that’s just gone down, he owes himself at least one more drink.

Once he’s signed, he pulls out his phone again, thumb hovering over your text thread, then Breeze’s, then yours again. Mindful of Armin’s prying eye over his shoulder, Eren sighs heftily and shuts his phone off, leaning in to order another shot. The following morning’s approaching quickly, whether he wants it to or not, and he’ll save his fucked-up emotions for the daylight.

#enjoyyyyy #sorry about no smut again but like #we have to get through some PLOT okay #also don't drink and text/call is the lesson from this chapter #trust me it'll make sense #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger series #aot x reader #eren jaeger fanfic #much ado about nothing #much ado universe

[cleolinda]

Creepypasta: Ted the Caver (2001)

There was a season of Are You Scared? that presented some actual famous creepypasta (pasta? pastas?), and I was so giddy about it. I love creepypasta and Weird Internet Fiction, and I recognized all the famous ones right off the bat; the moment there was a season preview and a cave was mentioned, I KNEW. So the episode with "Ted the Caver" instantly became one of my favorites ("GET IN THE FUCKING CAVE, TEDDY!!"). But it also kills me that the show presents the final installment as if it's the whole story: just one spooked, caveless guy wandering around meebling about his spelunking obsession. Buddy, there is SO MUCH caving in the full version, you don't even know. There is NONE MORE CAVING:

[Note: The original Angelfire site still works, but while I was researching this, I started running into malware. As such, I'm going to also link you to an unofficial mirror of the site at a creepypasta wiki.]

But I get it: there's no way to read the entire story aloud for a half-hour show. It was originally published as an unassuming hobbyist blog in 2001, and "Ted the Caver" is partly so effective because it is genuinely just an amateur caving blog for about 10,000 words. My understanding is that the author really is a caving enthusiast—I mean, he'd have to be, because the story is filled with actual photos of him and a friend chipping their way through a hole the size of a baseball into a cave they dub "Floyd's Tomb." So this was a real expedition... that the author wrote a delightful little spoop around.

Honestly, the real horror for me isn't even the Descent-style Something that seems to be living down there; it's the genuine terror of these fools squeezing themselves through eight-inch openings into the bowels of the earth, God bless. You can tell the mundane aspects are absolutely true to life, because the squeezing and the scraping and the panic—I'll just stop there, in case anyone has any phobias, claustro or otherwise. If I didn't before, I do now.

But it also has to be noted, "real horror" is what "Ted the Caver" is all about: the horror of a story backed up by reams of accurate detail and told through a really, really basic-ass Angelfire website. (I say this lovingly, as someone who had a shitty Geocities site herself.) It truly looks like it's just someone's blog—because that's mostly what it really is. Who wrote it? Well, an actual guy named Ted:

Well, I guess it’s time I add my two cents to the topic. My name is Ted and I am the author of the story you have been discussing. I am the original author. I created the story on my own and copied no one

...he wrote, in response to a plagiarism accusation (turns out the other guy copied him, and closely at that).

Between December 30, 1999 and February 24, 2000 Brad and I worked on a passage in Freeway cave. We made numerous trips, and spent many hours of hard work, before we were finally able to get through the opening and into the new section of cave. During the course of our adventure I kept a caving journal and documented our activities surrounding our attempts to be the first people to enter the new passage. Since we were giving friends and family members updates as we worked, I thought it would be a good idea to put my entire journal on a web page, along with our pictures, then we could simply refer people to the site. The thought then occurred to me: It sure would be fun to embellish the story a little!

Ted hasn't given his full name, but he is an actual Ted, it seems. And honestly, as much as I would like him to be credited as openly as Eric Heisserer is for "The Dionaea House," it really works in the story's favor that it's so difficult to figure out who wrote it. Not to spoil you, but the story told by the blog, much to Shane and Ryan's frustration in the video above, ends in a single puff of irony:

See all of you soon, with a lot of answers! Love, Ted

Magnificent. Because, let's face it: if a cave monster really did eat trap and eat your friend, isn't this what it would look like? No silly explanation for how a video camera somehow made it back to his friends and family from, like, the center of the fucking earth through a hole the size of a cantaloupe. No, your man there is just gone. And he's given enough detail in previous entries for you to imagine that what he finally came face to face with down there is Not Good. That's enough.

#creepypasta #internet fiction #first look on patreon #claustrophobia #spooky season #halloween everyday #watcher #are you scared #video #long post

[leomonae]

What is this drama with dhampling I'm so confused but I like drama

I'm not bothering to look anything up for my summary, so no guarantees on complete accuracy. Explanation below the cut since I highly doubt anyone not directly involved is going to care about any of this.

Right, so basically @dhampling put up a post asking for BG3 fic recs the other... day? Week? Idk, I'm bad at time, it was recently, anyway. They asked for recs, various people reblogged and responded, including someone who recced a few members of this discord server I'm in - smaller creators, writers who haven't had much of an audience/exposure for their fics, and were pretty happy about the recognition. At some point, dhampling deleted their original post on the subject, leaving a message on their blog about how they didn't want to name names/get pulled into drama or some such - making a pretty vague statement that raised more questions than it answered, basically.

Some members of that discord server I mentioned were a little miffed about this, since to their minds it was removing one of the ways they might get more people finding/reading their fics. I, personally, was rolling my eyes at the incredibly vague nature of the non-explanation and questioning why they didn't just delete the thing and leave it alone after, if they didn't want it being made into some big deal somehow. Since the discord server is private/invite-only, some of us expressed said frustrations in a vent thread therein. Other people, including the person who'd reblogged and given some recs of the server's members, attempted to speak in dhampling's defense a little - they're young (which I guess they disliked being said about them once they found this out?), we don't know what prior experiences they've had in fandoms and some people can get vicious sometimes, the OP's original post may be gone but the reblogs are still out there so it's not a huge deal anyway, etc etc.

Then at some point soon afterwards, someone in the server shared screenshots of the aforementioned venting with dhampling, who apparently strongly disliked it/what was said? I know the server owner tried reaching out to talk to them without getting a response, and I gather that they blocked a few people, but as far as I was aware, this nonsense was pretty much over. Guess not, though!

Oh yeah, and around the time we were discussing the matter in the server, I went and commented on dhampling's "I deleted my post" non-explanation to say that it didn't really tell us anything at all and questioning if it was something personal or an issue with one of the stories or what, since a) I am a naturally curious/nosy person sometimes, b) a couple of my buddies were fretting that they might have done something to offend this person somehow, and c) why not?

And no, dhampling, if you were including me in the whole "I want an apology" thing you just posted, I will not, in fact, be offering one. I decided the other day upon review that I have no actual issues with anything I said at the time, and given that it was a handful of friends expressing some mild frustrations to one another in a private server, where they had every reason to expect their words would remain private rather than ever getting back to you, I don't really think anyone there owes you an apology anyway.

Sometimes people get annoyed with others. Sometimes they say so to their friends privately, rather than going and being rude to the person who annoyed them or whatever. This is normal, healthy, interpersonal behaviour. Nobody was plotting to come harass you or what the fuck ever; there would be no harm done here at all, including to your feelings, if someone from our server hadn't decided to disrespect our own members' right to have their private comments not shared with someone outside without their consent.

So let's drop this non-issue, already, huh?

#drama #fandom bullshit #what's the tag for “i really doubt most of my followers actually give a fuck but sure i'll explain from my pov”

[theresa-of-liechtenstein]

my first and only graduate school admitted students' visit was a success in that it helped me make up my mind. but maybe not in the way that people expected.

readers of this blog will know that i have a slightly complicated relationship with Institution B (the school i was visiting). but to make a long story short, four years ago, i was convinced that i would be enrolling there for undergrad. i had grown up there; for most of my life, the thought of 'what if we had never been priced out of living there' has haunted our family. we went to the area to visit old friends often when i was a kid, and four years ago, i saw going to Institution B as a sort of homecoming. however, my current, home institution unexpectedly awarded me an extremely large scholarship, and i wound up enrolling at the start of the pandemic.

it was not at all what i had wanted, and i felt a little embarrassed about it because some people i knew had considered it 'less prestigious' than Institution B. four years later, with a greater degree of awareness, i'm pretty sure i can pinpoint a bit of the underlying cause of that. my home institution is significantly more ethnically and economically diverse than Institution B. despite being older than Institution B, my home institution does fall behind because it lacks the endowed immediate surrounding area that Institution B has.

from the minute i stepped onto Institution B's campus, i felt it. Institution B's department sees itself as a 'big brother' to my home institution. many of Institution B's faculty work collaboratively with faculty from my home institution. it seemed like to them, me moving to Institution B was the obvious choice to make.

i interviewed with three professors: Professor A (who the grad students warned me was an advisor who could potentially break a student, but had many connections and could set me up), Professor B (the supervisor of the graduate student buddy i was assigned for the duration of the visit) and Professor C (contacted me in january but i never got around to reaching out)

Professor A (who i met with first) revealed that he was on the advisory board for the matsci program of my home institution. he also asked me what my research background was, and when i started enthusiastically going into it, literally put his hand up, interrupted me, and said "hold on. ✋🏻😐" which was genuinely so embarrassing. i wanted to jump out of a window. he asked me if i was considering any other options, and when i truthfully said i was considering staying, he bluntly said it was a poor idea.

Professor B revealed that not only had he recently given a seminar presentation at my home institution, he had literally gone out for dinner with my capstone mentor/PI on his visit and spoke positively of the city. he was a little awkward, but seemed very supportive and my graduate student babysitter had nothing but positive words about him.

Professor C had genuinely surprising research, and when i pointed out a few things with the projects he showed me (it had to do with phase transformations, but since i've just taken the class the concepts were fresher in my head) he was absolutely ecstatic. his enthusiasm for me asking questions about the manuscript was genuinely endearing. he also very eagerly mentioned that he intentionally made sure that half of his group were women.

speaking of which, i was the only woman in attendance among the potential incoming students. there were other women already in the phd program, but not very many. i didn't feel uncomfortable, but i did get the sense that the guys in my potential cohort didn't really know how to deal with me at first. i did feel at times that i was like the diversity hire, and my interests beyond matsci were so dissimilar to everyone else's that i just really wasn't sure how to connect. but then again, story of my life lmao.

i spent more time talking to the current grad students, who were all genuinely so hospitable and kind and looked out for me. however, something i didn't like was their constant conversation about alcohol. it wasn't that they weren't serious about their research: plenty of research stories got passed around and students had received various fellowships and grants. but many of them were drinking excessively at the social events. no one pressured me to join, but being the only totally sober person at the table was a little uncomfortable.

the second night was spent at the chair's house for a party with many of the faculty we had been interviewing that day. two things of note occurred.

one, i found myself next to one of the admits and Professor A, who asked us if we had seen the transmission electron microscopes (TEM) during our facilities tour. off our answers to the negative (we'd run out of time) he was like 'give me ten minutes and i'll drive you to campus and show you' which is where i got the picture from that one post taken. (Professor A offered.) he was very much under the influence and probably should not have been driving, and nearly made me carsick on the way back to the chair's house from his abrupt hard braking. i thought i was gonna die but tbh, it was worth seeing some of the largest microscopes i had ever seen in my whole life. so basically, a professor kidnapped me and two other guys and almost killed us with his atrocious driving. which is not the weirdest thing i've ever done with faculty but that's a post for tomorrow morning.

two, i found myself conversing with a professor who had moved to Institution B from my home institution a few years before. when i told him i was considering between the universities, at first, he said something like 'speaking as someone who's moved from [home institution] to Institution B...' and gave me a knowing look. use your words like an adult for god's sake. he then asked me my current faculty mentor and commented on his research a bit, then asked, 'who would be your PI at [home institution]?' i told him, and he said, 'oh! well, then,' sent me another knowing look, and said 'well, whatever you choose...' as if name dropping had changed something. again, man, please don't be cryptic.

i think all in all, even though Institution B was trying very hard to sell themselves to me, and posit themselves as a school of diversity and inclusion, i still felt isolated in a way i didn't feel when i was undergoing the process of interviewing faculty in my home institution in my grad school search. i felt out-of-place and terrified of making the wrong impression. some things people were saying to me went straight out of the window because i was trying so hard to monitor my facial expressions and fidgeting. i truly felt like i had a mask on and was trying not to let it slip. also, being the first in my family to go for a phd made me feel like there were so many unwritten, unspoken rules that i was just breaking irreversibly.

i can't help but compare this part of the experience to the professor in whose lab i'd be at my home institution. even though i had had her for a class, i had never interacted with her at length since the class was a little big. but i had also impressed her, and she had wanted to hear from me. i felt like i could relax around her, and our energies matched so well. she brought up me staying in orchestra even before i did, whereas i didn't feel like i could admit to any of the other professors that i wanted to also pursue music. it was nothing like the interviews i had had at Institution B.

something my grad student buddy had told me about was how he had done both his B.S. and M.S. at one institution, but decided to move for the Ph.D. i wondered why, since the program at his old home institution has been world-renowned. and he told me that if he had stayed, he would have still felt like an undergrad.

and i think that helped me to solidify how i felt into words. i don't feel like i'm undergrad anymore. it's been like that since mainly winter term of my third year. i still feel like there is work to be done and a need to be filled. i've mentally graduated already. there are days i walk across campus and i feel like a graduate student already. sometimes even a professor. it's strange, i can't explain it fully and even seeing that out feels so pretentious. but it's the best i can do to verbalize it.

i think the best image with which i can sum up this experience is of me in my little car on the highway back to my home institution, thoughts churning in my head as i drove. i watched the landscape outside change from coast to valley as i drove my way inland. and at last, i saw the mountains that tower over my school, and felt the most overwhelming sense of relief come over me.

i saw those mountains, and my first thought was: i'm home.

#the road to doctor em #if you can guess the institutions involved. you didn't see it #i tried to keep it as ambiguous as possible but i have been pretty lax about geography #so if you recognize anything i just said. no you didn't <3 #ok bye! love the airport!

[sophieswundergarten]

@nobodysdaydreams Come get your Notes!!!

(School is being. A Lot. But y'all know the drill: S.O.S., Amzing, Go read it, thank you)

Judgement Dayyyyyyyyyy

Sounds ominous

Flashback wrap up!! Yay!

MAYBE THINGS WOULD BE EASIER FOR YOU IF YOU WEREN’T CONSTANTLY SNEAKING AROUND, NATHANIEL

Ohhhhh

Milligan and Kate :( 

OH HE’S ASKING THE :LKJSD>

LITERALLY JUST STARTED FLAILING AGAINST THE KEYBOARD

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

TRYING TO CALM DOWN NOW

Oh, come on. TELL THE TRUTH. YOU CAN DO IT. PLEASE.

Come on. Come on, buddy. You can do it. Please.

NATHANIEL

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I don’t know what I was expecting. He’s still trying to make things fit into his ridiculous worldview, even though it’s a little better. Maybe someday…

Bods, I am giving myself nausea I am so invested in this story asjdfj

You are SO talented

Oh dear

Milligan’s wife

YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO MOURN THIS. ALL OF THIS. IT’S HARD. ANYONE IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD BE SAD. STOP YOUR NONSENSE.

Mr. Benedict being the best dad in the middle of all this ajdskjfd

(Him and Milligan, at least. The two of them are amazing)

They really need to tell the adults everything. It’s not exactly helping for certain details to come out at such inopportune moments

And now the secret’s out about him stealing the credit for her inventions…

Poor Garrison. Bods, I know you said she’s been “the villain all along”, but I just feel so sad for her. She’s such a special character and you’ve developed her so much I just want to give her a hug. She shouldn’t have done some of the things she did, but all of it is interlaced with such grief and melancholy I can’t ever really be mad at her.

Calling Sticky!!!

That detail makes me such warm and fuzzies. You couldn’t compromise the integrity of the plot to have him there, but they call him every chance they get and he’s genuinely caring about them and wanting to know everyone’s okay <3

Sticky’s Aunt and Uncle Mention!!!!

(They are just barely below Isaac on my list of people who are not at all major characters but I care about probably way too much)

Oh. He finally let go of some of it. That probably was hard, but felt kind of good. I’m glad he could do that.

An hour? He must have actually been pretty tired. I doubt he slept that night (Given he was experiencing a 24 chapter flashback asdhjdfj /j /silly)

SQ

OH, NICHOLAS DOESN’T KNOW, HERE IT COMES

“lovingly but forcefully preventing Mr. Benedict from jumping out of his seat and running off to find the nephew he’d just learned about, though he had no idea of his whereabouts”

Yep, that checks out ajsdfjd

Such a good line. You can always sum up the characters so well in just a single sentence

Constance’s turn!!

“The humility will help him grow”

Y’know what? Sure. That makes sense. Good plan asdfkj

SDFKJLDSDSFKJ:LDSFKJHDSFKJ:HDSFKJ:

SISTER TIME!!!!!!!!!!!

GOING INSANE

YOU DON’T KNOW HOW DESPERATELY I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS

I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS AND SDJFJHDSKJHDSJGD

Wait….

Is the sister psychic?

Ohohohohoho

Fake violets!

“You always did love drama and symbolism, so I suppose it does fit, perhaps as a pseudonym or an alias, but your legal name? Natty, I know method acting is a thing, but that really does take it a bit far.”

Is it bad that I think I like her a little bit too much?

Nessie!!!!

Afsjdkl; ads;kjasldfkj;;sdv lkj; asdf kj;lsadfkjl 

YOU NEED TO STOP IT. I CAN’T KEEP ABUSING MY POOR KEYBOARD LIKE THIS

SEYMOUR THE CAT

Bods, I am hyperventilating

Oh boy. She must have a pretty impressive memory. I’ getting a little spooked

Absolutely cackling that she’s shorter than him

Oh no, now he’s angry. I hope she doesn’t react badly…

OH NO. SHE’S REACTING BADLY. SHE DEFINITELY HAS SOME TRAUMA

Oh dear. Nathaniel…

This is starting to feel like your Christmas Carol AU, with the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come

Only worse

As much as she shouldn’t be hurting people, I’m kind of worried about Nerissa

(Also this reminds me of how fun and scary it was to play with her character blog!)

HAH. I don’t know why the adults think that politely asking the kids ot stay out of it is going to work.

Oh, Garrison

Constance is doing good at being intimidating, but she’s just a child. She shouldn’t have this kind of pressure on her, even if it mostly self-imposed

Pushing people off the roof? Are we taking cues from Cutter now? /j /silly /affectionate

Nicholas trying to be all surreptitious and spy on them adsjfjs

Ohhhhhh

They’re having a real conversation

Hugs for you, Bods

I know I haven’t really made any threats this time around, I’m just too enamoured with the story, so you and your possessions are safe for now

Nicholas makes a good point. She could easily just be a raving lunatic, but Nathaniel is usually sharp enough to catch a liar

I love how eager Nicholas is to hear Nathaniel’s nickname, it’s really sweet. And then Nathaniel is very upset and grumpy about it asjdfjs

It feels weird for me to see Nicholas speculate about whether or not their family used nicknames, because for me nicknames are an inherent part of family. You love someone, that just means you don’t always call them by their full name. My family rarely calls me my real name

Ohoh! And Nathaniel feels guilty about something, and he can finally share that. Very interesting…

AND HE IS HEALTHILY PUTTING HIS EMOTIONS INTO CONTEXT??? IS THERE HOPE FOR THIS MAN AFTER ALL???? /s /silly

I just really like that he uses the word “deduce”. It’s a good word.

OHHHHHHHH

THEY’RE HAVING A SIBLING HEART-TO-HEART!!!!!

I have so many sibling feelings right now. I could almost see this conversation happening with me and my sib. (If one of us were trying to take over the world asjdjasdk)

I really really do love redemption stories. They are so good and I love how sometimes you can “defeat the villain” with the power of friendship. I’m always on Nicholas’ side in that matter

I’m so happy to see all the callbacks to TOS. It makes me ridiculously and inordinately happy to see things starting to come together

SQ TIME

I’m so happy

Nathaniel is really deep in the guilt and self-bame hole right now…

Nicholas is always so ready to accept literally anyone into his family whereas Nathaniel has to be dragged and is so scared. Aw man, just thinking so much about them

Nicholas awkwardly asking about Curtain’s non-divorce akjdsdkjha I love it

PEDALIAN MY BELOVED

I’m really happy that Nathaniel gets to talk about them to someone now. I think he needs it

“you haven’t adopted any of your children” Yeah, maybe, but they’re still his children

I am getting more and more worried about SQ, Bods. He better be okay when we see him again…

Nicholas is having such a hard time accepting that it’s okay the Glenns made mistakes and Nathaniel having a hard time accepting his own mistakes in regard to SQ. THE PARALLELS, BODS, THE PARALLELS

ASKJLFDLKHUDF

AND VIOLET!!!

VIOLET AND JOHN!!!!!! I REALLY CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HOW YOU HANDLE THEM. I REALLY LOVE THOSE CHARACTERS

I love how you connected them with the violets. Just masterful work.

I’m really curious what happened between Nicholas and the Hopefields/John. I have so many questions

YEAH. PEDALIAN IS STILL HAUNTING THE NARRATIVE AKFDHDSFJJK

I AM TOO EMOTIONS TO GIVE YOU NOTES FOR THE ENDING

IT’S JUST TOO MUCH

WHOOOO!!!!!!!!! That was amazing, as usual. My brain is exploding. So, so many things. Most of this was a “live reaction”, save for the last scene because I got too excited and read ahead without stopping for notes. I just want you to know that I am beyond ecstatic to learn more about what you have planned. I cannot wait. You are such a wonderfully talented human, and I adore your thoughts and ideas. Thank you so, so, so much for sharing them <3

#s.o.s. #WHOOOO #I have to go to class now #But I shall be thinking about this for probably the rest of the day

[benjaminthewolf]

How The Turntables (Part 2) (Remastered)

The reason this story has "parts" is just because it has a complementary story to it where the roles of pred and prey are switched.

In this story, I'm the pred, and in the other story (which is on my other blog), I'm the prey.

Oh, and also, lore you almost certainly will have absolutely no clue the first thing about ahead, I guess. You don't need to understand it to enjoy the story, though.

WARNING: GRAPHIC DIGESTION, FATAL VORE, CRIME MENTIONS, FEARPLAY, SWEARING

****

     “GET YOUR FILTHY LITTLE GOODIE-TWO-SHOES GOVERNMENT HANDS OFF ME THIS INSTANT, YOU FAT, FUCKING DONUT-SCARFING PIGS! I AM THE I.A.C.I.’S INFAMOUS SERIAL MURDERER KAYE, AND YOU WILL-OW!”     

     Having been forced by sheer gravity, initiated by the hands of the guards, to immediately flop face-first out unto his new confines’ cold, grimy smooth floors with an echoing thud, Kanye was thus only given enough time to let a few, low, dissenting, grumbles rattle up from deep within his throat, as well as stick out his tongue at the guards whilst they fervently locked the door behind him. Then, merely half a second later, upon the audible rattling of a click, Kanye knew that the thing was fully locked. Consequently, he knew he was trapped, and, indeed, wholly helpless as a result. However, though, and of course, as expected, simply due to who Kanye was, the rather villainous, convicted killer wasn’t exactly very ready to accept that as fact quite yet.

     At this point, there wasn’t really much he could do to even try and improve his situation other than viciously and vigorously kick and throw his left foot onto the very same heavy, metal door between him and the freedom beyond, all as he baselessly, yet blaringly, threatened to rip it right out of its frame. Naturally, then, onto this rather senseless yet violent activity, Kanye immediately began with a passion; raving in undistilled fury with each and every single little strike onto that solid mass of pure door he unleashed, whilst practically ordering it to fall, so that he may finally walk through it perfectly free. 

     Eventually, however, after about a good five minutes of doing this, both of Kanye’s now rather sweaty, throbbing feet, and scratchy, sore, stinging voice box had grown pretty much thoroughly done with feverishly throwing themselves against a solid, metal object, and as a result, reluctantly stopped, Kanye’s will now physically limited by his body. Narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms in silent frustration, the rather grouchy criminal man at last resigned himself to take a thorough glance around the room, in order to gather all the useful information that he could.

     At first, there wasn’t really much to see, mainly due to the fact that there were no lights to speak of on at all. From what Kanye could still gather, however, the room appeared to be much larger than average, with a pretty high ceiling to boot. This resulted in the place being rather echoey, as well. In terms of any furniture, there were a few random plastic chairs strewn about here and there, but aside from all that, effectively nothing was locked inside the spacious volume right now besides him. Upon comprehending all this, Kanye eventually decided it was safe to go ahead and relax his demeanor for a little while, at least until the doors were opened once more.

     “Ugh…I swear, Chime better swish that ghostly caboose of his over here right fucking now, or else his knife privleges are going away for a week!” he subsequently grumbled to himself rather irritably, whilst impatiently tapping his foot.

     “Better extend that week of revoked knife privileges to an eternity there, buddy.” A voice suddenly called out from seemingly nowhere. “Your precious little ghost friend has absolutely no means of saving you now….” 

     Kanye, instinctively and instantly, without skipping a singular beat, nor letting any particular picosecond of hesitation or confusion creep forth, lept a good few inches into the air, before eventually landing back down while striking a movie-esque battle-ready pose. 

     “WHO SAID THAT? WHOEVER IT WAS WHO JUST SAID THAT, REVEAL YOURSELF RIGHT NOW! I SAID RIGHT FUCKING NOW, GODDAMIT!” he firmly cried out to the momentarily unrecognized voice that had addressed him.

     “*Sigh* Look in front of you, Kanye.” the mysterious speaker only groaned in irritated response.

     Consequently, having no choice but to simply follow the instructions he’d been given, Kaye thus proceeded to do exactly that, significantly squinting his gaze, and placing a hand horizontally over his forehead, in order to try and more effectively peer through the darkness. 

     It wouldn’t really take very long, then, before something gleaned a fiery spark back to him. Something which Kanye was only naturally able to instantly recognize. Immediately letting out a horrifically stunted and terrified gasp upon the instant rush of realization hitting his being, the practical entirety of Kanye’s nervous system shot into overdrive all at once, as he was, of course, very quick to understand that this mysterious voice did not belong to any random law enforcer sitting in an office, or patrolling their way across the streets. No. This…THIS…was perhaps the one, the singular, highest enforcer that existed in this land, if only by virtue of the fact that they, indeed, had been one of the original beings at the beginning who created all that land in the first place.

     “Why hello, Kanye.” Sbaguyos243 stated calmly yet utterly staunchly, before at last taking a step out of the shadows.

     Kanye’s blood ran cold. Towering high above his now comparatively miniscule being, with a gaze as icy and frigid as the arctic tundra their species hailed from, was the last of the I.A.C.I.’s active original creators: Sbaguyos243, the usually rather tiny Arctic Wolf. Now, however, it appeared that he had made use of his naturally godly creator powers in order to size shift to a rather impeccable, colossal, giant height. One that would easily be able to overcome Kanye’s own, if even he dared attempt to resist.

     Sbaguy’s ginormous paws took one more thundering step towards the closed-in killer, who, due to the rather obscene amount of adrenaline being constantly pumped all the way up and down through his veins, had begun rather desperately tugging and yanking upon the heavy door handle: a thing which would normally lead one out and beyond into the glorious outside that said door was naturally blocking. However, due to this particular door having been locked shut by the prison guards not too long ago, Kanye’s puny little survival attempt would of course, in the end, prove to be all but utterly futile as Sbaguy simply lowered his head down to Kanye’s still-gasping form. With the entirety just of their nose being nearly as large as Kanye himself, even if the infamous serial killer did have anything on him he could possibly use to defend himself, it wasn’t exactly going to help him to get very far in this case.

     Sbaguy’s iconic transgender pride flag bandana, with the wolf’s beloved Maxus’ mask symbol laden right within the center, gently scraped itself upon the ground, and nearly met up with Kanye’s shoes, as a low, trembling growl steadily escaped all the way up his throat.

     “You…have caused me FAR too much trouble than trying to contain you is worth.” they softly snarled. “Why, the only ones who have EVER given me more trouble than this in regards to this universe are the other original creators themselves!”

     Sbaguy took a moment to reminisce within a bittersweet bath of old memories before swiftly darting their eyes back to Kanye. “Regardless, however, now that we’re both here, the opportunity to end this…..this MADNESS, is…well, it’s just simply lying right here! Laid out! Front, and center! Just upon the midst of my lap.”

     Kaye’s being gave a full-body, visceral shudder as Sbaguy raised up his head one again, their floating, energy-composed light blue halo just barely avoiding scraping against the ceiling as he did. With the tremendous, divine, dead-focused, advancing Arctic Wolf seemingly very intent to soon pounce, the poor, prosecuted and convicted villain thus knew that he was absolutely NOT going to get any more chances to receive the answer to the currently, deep-searing, nagging question burrowing deeper and deeper and deeper into his mind with each and every single second that passed by…other than this one, right here and right now. His jaws positively quivering in terror as he desperately attempted to cry his question out, Kanye’s voice practically rattled itself around the room as Sbaguy was unexpectedly forced to a halt.

     “W-W-WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT WAIT!”

     The gargantuan wolf took one step backwards, away from the terrified villain’s form, whilst silently narrowing their eyes. A barely audible *hmph* noise proceeded to rise from his throat. 

     “If this truly is where I am to die…please…I just want to know!” Kanye breathlessly attempted to articulate. “What did you do with- what- where-is he- I- WHAT HAPPENED TO CHIME?”

     Sbaguy then slowly blinked, in a drawn-out moment of silence. “Chime?” They spoke up at last. “You mean that pathetic little ghost friend of yours? Oh, *pfffft*.” they let out with a scoff. “I have absolutely no idea what makes that puny little thing even THINK that he’s powerful enough to face me head-on, but regardless of all that, to answer your question…” Sbaguy began to snicker softly as they gave a clean, cheeky lick across their chops.

     “...ghosts taste a lot more…creamy…than I ever would’ve imagined. In any case, however, he was quite delicious…”

     Kanye’s heart practically jolted right forth, bursting straight up and out from his chest, before instantly sinking on downwards, and deep into the soles of his shoes. His eyes almost immediately began to water as he rushed to slap both hands over his mouth.

     “But…but that means, he…that means I…” he quiveringly stuttered in pure horror.

     “That’s right, Kanye. In absolutely NO shortage of time at all…” Sbaguy slowly began to open up their giant, pink, saliva-encrusted  maw as Kanye only continued to shiver and sniffle in mortal terror for his very life and hidden soul. “...you will be joining him.”

     And just like that, Sbaguy pounced.

     All Kanye was able to sense in the first few seconds after the fact was the constant, heavy breathing flowing in and out of Sbaguy’s lungs, as well as the slick, squishy wetness of the thin, canine tongue lying right beneath him, the wolf’s upper jaw seemingly less than a foot away all the while. Trembling erratically and violently in reaction to each and every one of the minute shiftings of the muscle, Kanye’s front was soon thoroughly drenched within a fine, thin layer of saliva, as the tongue began to dampen itself over with the translucent liquids.

      Upon Sbaguy’s tongue raising up and folding over but slightly, however, multiple drops of warm drool began to drip down onto Kanye’s back and hair regions as well. Ultimately, though, these, too, were destined to become deeply soaked in the wolf’s warm saliva, by a simple, swift flop of the tongue. The muscle slammed itself down nice and cleanly onto Kanye’s sporadically writhing little body, while Sbaguy slowly rose their form all the way back up towards the sky. 

     Standing high and proud upon their paws, Sbaguy steadily brought back their tongue into their maw, and cautiously sealed together their jaws, before taking a few seconds to recollect themself mentally. In this time, Kanye was able to gaze straight upon their sealed rows of sharp teeth, shuddering just at the thought of what could possibly happen if those jaws were to part once again.

      Upon long last, however, swiftly yanking the killer back to reality, Sbaguy tilted their head back just slightly, sloping down the back of their tongue as they did, until finally, it was time for the force of gravity to finish the job.

     Kanye, now only able to follow his instincts in a near split-second decision whilst he slipped his way down the muscular slide, would end up making one last, final-ditch, positively desperate attempt to save his life by reaching up into the air to grab hold of the giant, dangling, plump, pink uvula swaying freely above his little head. Just before Sbaguy was able to gulp Kanye down by means of him landing cleanly inside the wolf’s gullet region, the infamous criminal man somehow managed to secure a firm grip on the protrusion, his adrenaline enabling him to hoist himself up all the way onto it, until he was finally dangling precariously over the humongous wolf’s open upper esophageal sphincter, and making them viciously cough and sputter all the while.

     Nonetheless, even Kanye knew implicitly that this little stunt couldn’t keep him safe forever, and as Sbaguy began vigorously attempting to swallow and force Kanye to release his grip on his uvula, the utterly panicking, terror-ridden criminal could feel his body gradually slipping further and further off and away from the fleshy appendage. Kanye would have attempted to climb all the way back up onto the thing, but Sbaguy only continued to force his being downwards by constantly swallowing back-to-back. The practically unending, unwavering, powerful sucking force thus only continued to drag him further down. And down. And down. Soon, Kanye’s legs had slipped all the way off the bulbous fleshy sack, causing his arms to promptly follow suit, and leaving him hanging by merely both of his two, slickened, sweaty, killer hands soon enough.

     Finally, Kanye knew that one more gulp was all that Sbaguy needed. Just one more gulp, and then, it would be all over at last. Disheartendly squeezing shut both eyes as such, and allowing just a single tear to flow down his face soon thereafter, Kanye thus plummeted down from the form of stretched-out uvula the next second, his hands raised up high in the air, and plunged deep into the wide open gullet lying below. The bulbous flesh sack practically slingshotted back into place the next moment. One last ultimate swift swallow, and then, it was finally done.

     Instantly heaving out a gigantic satisfied sigh upon knowing that Kanye was practically as good as dead by this point, Sbaguy proceeded to casually flop back down to the floor with an exceedingly pleased bodily shudder, the force of which sent a shockwave of force through their body. This would consequently send Kanye on the inside into an even more horrified state than anyone, much less a well known serial killer, would ever have thought possible before.

     Kanye’s heart rate shot up once again as he began frantically flailing and jostling around within the tight, pulsing confines that was Sbaguy’s cushiony throat, something they were naturally able to feel on the outside. Kanye’s unending struggling, his desperate pushing and shoving against the peristaltic force of their throat muscles, could still only take him so far as the poor, terrified killer continued to be forced further down. That being, of course, nowhere at all.

     Rolling their eyes with a sigh at just how pathetic this futile display of resistance really was, Sbaguy proceed to teasingly lift up a paw, before swiftly and brutally poking at the slight, subtle bulge that Kanye was making in his throat, causing said man on the inside to become positively overloaded with sensation, practically forcing his body to lock up right there and then, ceasing, as a result his fruitless struggling for the time being.

     Kanye was, in fact, so preoccupied with what little hope there still was for survival at this point, that he was completely and utterly unable to sense the sudden deepset pounding of Sbaguy’s heartbeat that would have otherwise told him just how close he was to what was, indeed, to be his final resting place. Instead, however, just because he had missed this natural cue, Kanye was not able to realize that he had reached the lower esophageal sphincter until he began to get squeezed right through it, something which only compounded upon the current circumstances of magnifying terror…before finally…overwhelming it all.

     Now completely and utterly shut down by the realization that this was, in fact it…this was how and where he was to die...Kanye was barely even able to lift up his head above the waterline of the liquid pool once he had fully splash-landed within. He didn’t even care if a little bit of the stuff was sucked up into his nasal cavities. No, at this point, none of that mattered at all. All Kanye wished at this stage was for the sweet, sweet trickling acids to sear their way down to his heart, and relieve his poor body from all of its current suffering, forever. To indeed, get the pure inevitable done and over with just as soon as was physically possible.

     Luckily for him, however, that was exactly what started to happen a second later. The acids had now accumulated to a point where they had begun to sear through his pure white skin, melting down the layers rather swiftly, yet cruelly, and swishing and swirling them around in their waves until they were nothing but homogenous mush.

      Once the acids had pierced their way into the man’s dermis, then, Kanye’s blood, in such poetry, began to spill, flowing out freely into the deathly broth all around it, dyeing it a nice shade of dark red as a result, with more and more and more of the dying man’s consciousness continuing to slip away from his being along with it.

     As his very last wisps of living thought took their miniscule seconds of flight throughout his wavering mind, Kanye’s eyes slowly dulled in their color, draining out all the emotion alongside it. This would go on for about thirty seconds…until, at long last, Kanye’s body gave in to sweet death. Floating now calm and lifeless upon the sheening surface of cellular slush, more and more of Kanye’s skin and muscles were melted and seared off of his newfound deceased corpse. Eventually, then, his abdominal wall was breached, causing his organs to spill out into the unforgiving, acidic soup, and be dissolved away in an instant as such.

     Now, absolutely nothing, zip, nada, remained of the once formidable, infamous criminal but a skeletal array of white bones. This, too, however, was merely destined to wither away with the rest, as the hard outer layers of said bones were slowly seeped through, eventually giving way to the spongy cartilage within. And then, at long last, there was nothing else for the acids to churn into mush, aside from the meaty, nutritious bone marrow.

     Finalizing the digestion process by swishing and swirling the shifting soup around, Sbaguy’s stomach eventually mashed up the mixture into a single, homogenous goop, one that was destined to be pumped and churned through their intestines soon enough, before the nutritious chime was absorbed by their bloodstream, and built up into their cells as an ultimate part of themself.

     As Sbaguy merely continued to lie there in solemn, vigilant silence, a sudden, unexpected feeling of something rising in their throat instantly forced them to widen their eyes and lurch forwards a bit, before releasing it all at once but a second later as nothing more but a great, deep, echoing belch. Something which was obviously of zero concern to him at all, causing the wolf simply to smirk.

     Smirking just a bit longer a second time after that final display of digestion had finished gracing his ears, Sbaguy flopped to the floor.

      Now having finally ridden this world of one of its most infamous, dangerous, feared members, after so much mentally agonizing time spent deep within the focus of the chase, absolutely nothing but pure, undistilled euphoria was coursed its way through the giant wolf’s veins in that moment, as a considerable amount of mushy, cellular, nutritious chime consisting of the remnants of that very same man coursed through their intestines simultaneously.

     “It’s over…it’s over…it's over…it's over….” he began to shakily whisper to himself under his breath whilst the reality of his ultimate victory only continued its wondrous process of settling in. “Finally…my beloved Charlie will now…after so long…” A singular tear of stuttering joy proceeded to roll its way down the wolf’s cheek. “...will now have his peace, and his closure.”

#soft vore #fatal vore #vore writing #vore stories #vore story #male pred #male predador #male vore #male prey #m/m vore #furry pred #human prey #gt vore #g/t vore #unwilling vore #unwilling prey #fearplay #tw digestion #digestion #vore digestion #digestion vore #graphic digestion #v0re #v0r3 #v.ore #v/ore

[superwholockian93]

I posted 12,462 times in 2022

40 posts created (0%)

12,422 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@theydjarin

@imposterogers

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@1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt

@akasanata

I tagged 12,089 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#star wars - 626 posts

#star trek - 573 posts

#the sandman - 525 posts

#spirk - 379 posts

#our flag means death - 378 posts

#eclipse the series - 362 posts

#ofmd - 339 posts

#kinnporsche the series - 329 posts

#not me the series - 323 posts

#moon knight - 319 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#queer but only in spanish oh the drama! the english release says you're straight. the latin american dub says you're queer. which is it? sch

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Updates from The Eclipse Talk (including P'Golf, P'Yokee, P'Prapt) about Kanthua/Neolouis:

1. P'Aof directly casted Neolouis along with First Khaotung without any auditions (actually, they were already looking for scripts for them so P'Prapt wrote the novel, KT sent photos of his tattoos to P'Aof etc etc)

2. Kanlong was the most difficult character for the author to write (Akk being the easiest because the novel version is just like the author) because he was a bit cartoonish/manga/anime-like with his nature (the show doesn't really do justice to that side of it)

3. Because Neo asked for his character to be serious, the staff accommodated and the writer also wrote back stories for Kanthua in the series

4. Due to Neolouis' acting and chemistry, a lot of their romantic scenes were improvised on set (they're not in the scripts!) and therefore, increased. (Louis said this in an interview and I cannot recall if this was mentioned in today's talk?😂 Sorry 😂)

5. This is definitely mentioned in the novel but because they also asked will say - Kan means horny; his name is actually just Long so his name means "Horny Long"

6. Oh, Kan doesn't actually have internalised homophobia. He is just afraid to confess to a friend

7. Edited: They said acting for Louis was a bit of a challenge because of the difficult nature of Thua's character

(Will post about First - Khaotung in sometime)

60 notes - Posted October 10, 2022

#4

The Adam Project is about a teen Ryan Reynolds who has two sets of parents - his actual parents and Future Him & Future Him’s Wife

94 notes - Posted March 15, 2022

#3

I hope there's enough noise on Twitter that Disney notices we want Cody in season 2 and then they give us a variation of that script

101 notes - Posted July 2, 2022

#2

Part 2 of the Eclipse Talk:

1. GMMTV was already looking to cast First Khaotung as a couple; they were waiting for the right script makes sense cuz they've been shipped off screen for far longer and GMMTV usually gets pairs with good chemistry and years long friendship

2. P'Prapt (the writer) was actually commissioned to write a bl novel in a school setting with political inclinations - the rest of it is his inspiration

3. His inspiration besides 1984 was Love, Simon because of the coming off age/self discovery thing

4. P'Aof (Director of Bad Buddy/ATOTS) was given the script and directly asked the 4 main leads to be casted and asked Khaotung if he had tattoos - all the tattoos in the series are his own

5. KT has a harder time to get out of the character and leaned more into the Ayan being depressed thing unlike the novel

6. The author came up with their MBTIs on spot. I think Akk was INFP. Not sure on this one

7. The staff really wanted to make sure that the show was queer friendly and felt inclusive to people of other races too (like in the café scene)

8. Unlike other Bls, they didn't want to waste time on the characters dwelling on having feelings for people of the same gender - they're all comfortable with the sexualities but hindered by their respective problems/nature

9. The ultimate message of the show isn't just about self acceptance in terms of sexual orientation or gender but just coming into terms with who you are (for example, Wat, Sani) and being true to yourself and accepting who you are

(If I recall anything else, will add later)

142 notes - Posted October 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

When Morpheus stomps away and we have Hob waiting for him, playing songs with the lyrics "she drives me crazy", waiting for her, moving on, one after the other was sure a choice.

514 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #wow my longest tag is not even my own huh

[absolutebl]

I just want you to know I loooove lovee your blog and I wait patiently each week for your post about what's happening in every bl series.

I picked up bad buddy because of you and your posts truly make me happy.

So please suggest something I can watch and get obsessed with, because I need a distraction from the dumpster fire that is my life irl.

Stuff I've watched-

Manner of death, Theory of Love, Cherry magic, we best love, history:trapped, UWMA, he's coming to me, 2gether, still2gether, my sweet dear, to my star, wyel....

Anything that's nice, angst is good and has a satisfying ending...

Pretty please if you don't mind🥺🥺🥺

Yayayayayayay! 

So you mention mostly Thai stuff, a lot of which is on YouTube but also a couple of Korean dramas that are on Viki, so I’m gonna assume you have access to those two platforms. Also you said angst is fine but you want a satisfying ending, by which it seams you mean happy ever after. 

I gotcha. 

BLs with HEAs that Are Perfect Comfort Distractions from Real Life 

Regular consumers of this blog may now tune out because ya'll know what I am going to recommend....

JAPAN 

Seven Days (2015)

OMG please watch this. Forgive it its hair? t's just a GREAT. It is an elegant little Japanese BL that stays completely true to its yaoi roots but neatly avoids all the flaws of the genre. I promise it will be such a joy and a comfort to you. 

Popular first year Seiryo has a policy of going out with any girl who asks… for one week. On a lark, third year Yuzuru tests to see if that policy also applies to boys. Seiryo agrees that it does. Along the way they accidentally fall in love. 

Seven Days is on DramaCool in 2 parts Seven Days: Monday - Thursday, Seven Days: Friday - Sunday) it’s also on YouTube right now (it never lasts there tho) I’d link to the original subber but they seem to no longer exist online. More of me talking about how great this show is here.

Cherry Magic (2020) 

The sweetest, fluffiest, most charming bit of office-set adorable ever, given gravity by some stellar performances. The characters are utter spazzes, but so cute about it. All angst is self confidence based, nothing really distressing ever happens, but it is very low heat (practically chaste). 

Adachi discovers on the mornign of his 30th birthday that he can read minds and that the most popular guy in his office, Kurosawa, has a mad crush on him. 

Cherry Magic AKA 30 Years A Virgin Can Make You a Wizard AKA 30-sai made Dotei Da to Mahotsukai ni Nareru rashii (2020) is indie subbed. 

Restart After Come Back Home (2020)

This one is perfect if you just want a beautiful loving movie, and one that is well filmed and lyrical. The only drama is family conflict of the silent grumpy kind - will baby take over Dad’s furniture business or not? OH THE PERIL of it all. (sense my sarcasm, okay? there is NO peril)

A beautiful atmospheric movie about returning home to find yourself and finding love along the way, more romance than BL but charming.  

Restart After Come Back Home AKA Risutato wa tadaima no ato de is indie subbed. 

THAILAND 

You already mentioned a lot of the ones I would recommend, but here are a few you didn’t name. 

A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) 

All BL is romantic, but not all BL is a modern romance in the literary sense of the term, but 1k* is just that, an absolutely glorious slow burn romance that nods at BL but isn’t behooven to it. It’s got a great story and a killer cast. 

Spoiled rich kid Tien gets a heart transplant and feels compelled to give back by pursuing a rural teaching job, he meets a gruff park ranger along the way. 

1000 Stars can be found on GMMTV’s YouTube channel. 

Kiss Me Again PeteKao cut (2018) + Dark Blue Kiss (2019) 

Of all the origin BL couples, PeteKao are probably most of what you’re looking for. They start as a side couple in Kiss, and then are in a secret romance LTR by the time DBK rolls around. 

DBK is not a traditional BL, because it’s not a traditional romance, more like an escapist soap opera. It features the perils of staying in the closest, amazingly supportive friends and family, and a morality tale on the importance of good communication. But it ends super happy. 

Start with PeteKao’s 3 Part BL Cut from Kiss Me Again then move on to Dark Blue Kiss.

Great Men Academy (2019)

Gender body-swap means this isn’t technically BL but I have to suggest it because it just such a great escapist story. For body-swap it’s particularly clever and very well acted. 

Love makes a wish because she has a crush on this boy. But the wish is tricky and turns her into a boy forcing her to attend the elite Great Men Academy and win her man... as a man. Unfortunately, male Love kinda falls in love with his best friend instead. 

You’ll have to get this one off DramaCool or the like, unfortunately it never got wide distribution. 

KOREA 

Color Rush (2021)

High school set BL with a unique paranormal twist that makes this a achingly apt allegory for the queer coming out experience and one of the best BLs of all time (I will fight you on this).

Yeon Woo is a mono, born with the inability to see color until he meets his probe, his perfect match. Unfortunately once a mono find his probe he’s prone to becoming obsessed and deadly. But on his first day at a new school when that probe shows up, said probe seems a hell of a lot more obsessed with him. 

Color Rush is on Viki.

Light On Me (2021) 

Korea does a pitch perfect classic high school set BL with all tropes cleverly deployed to bolster one of the most riveting love triangles ever put on screen… and I don’t like love triangles! It’s pristine in both color pallet and execution. 

Taekyung decides after years of self imposed social isolation that he wants friends, so he joins the student council and meets two boys who both want more than friendship. 

Light On Me is on Viki.

Wish You (2020)

This i a low stakes high pining romance set in the music industry. It’s soft and subtle and achingly adorable.

It’s about a pianist who falls in love with a busker who is on his way to being the next big idol. 

Wish You AKA WISH YOU: Your Melody in My Heart is on Netflix or Viki, you want the movie version. 

A First Love Story (2021) and then Just Friends? (2009) 

This is a double bill but they are both short. Just Friends? is only 30 minutes (its YouTube uploads are padded), watch it AFTER A First Love Story (which is 2 microfilms from Strongberry). AFLS just came out but you should watch them first as they make a great prequel to Just Friends?  

Basically these deal with Korean military service and a kind of comfortable LTR relationship evolving from friends to lovers and then out of the closet. 

A First Love Story and Just Friends? are all on YouTube. 

TAIWAN 

HIStory 2: Crossing the Line (2018)

Taiwan’s best example of classic BL with a sports romance foundation using some of the most typical but least offensive yaoi tropes. You know it’s Taiwan so the kisses are great but in this case it also ends well. Only trigger is that the side couple is the stepbrothers trope and some don’t like that.

Super low stakes sweetest story of the bad boy who falls hard for the senior on the volleyball team and then works to earn his love. 

HIStory 2: Crossing the Line is on Viki. 

Be Love In House: I Do (2021)

A cute classy office set BL with a few plot raised eyebrows, but no other concerns, plus a general sweet softness that’s pretty rare from Taiwan.

It has a story but not much of one and it kinda doesn’t matter. The leads are great and carry everything off the maximum pretty. 

Be Love In House: I Do (2021) is on Viki. 

See You After Quarantine? (2021) 

Taiwan’s answer to Gameboys is just as charming and adorable yet still as quintessentially Taiwanese as one might hope. It features a Japanese love interest and the cutest most confused disaster gay. The two have almost no actual screen time together and yet manage some truly amazing chemistry. Honestly how does Taiwan do it? 

Again, story schmorey, just watch it. 

See You After Quarantine? is on Viki. 

I got a few pinoy and Vietnamese BLs I could rec too, but that’s enough for now. 

Here are my...

Absolute Top 15 Best (and Worst) BLs 

(source)

#asked an answered #recomended bl #thai bl #taiwanese bl #japanese bl #kroean bl #seven days #cherry magic #Restart After Come Back Home #A Tale of Thousand Stars #dark blue kiss #petekao #Great Men Academy #Color Rush #Light On Me #wish you your melody in my heart #A First Love Story #Just Friends? #strongberry #HIStory 2: Crossing the Line #Be Love In House: I Do #See You After Quarantine?

[prof-peach]

if fans wanted to include peach in stuff they write, would that be okay? and how would they write peach's personality? aside from "FIGHT ME" anyway, i think that much is a given lol. i only really write the anime characters 'cause that's what i know, but it sounds like it'd be kinda fun to try making a version of ash that fits into this blog's universe! nerf'd Obviously, but i think she'd probably appreciate how hands-on he gets when training his pokemon!

Ok, I get a lot of these messages, and I often hear folks wanting to throw peach into their stories and comics and writings, and I will always simply ask that if it’s published online publicly, to be linked to it so I can snoop and enjoy the content too. If someone asks about her in your work, let them know about the blog I guess? But literally I love that people take this stuff, these characters and stories, and make new stuff with it. No ones making money off my work here? So where’s the issue? Go for it buddy, knock yourself out, I’m all for it.

For you, and all the others out there who want to add peach, and other characters to your world building, I will give you a detailed rundown of the main lot, and how they behave, what they do, how they function. You can use that, use bits, or use none of it, I do not mind at all. If you’re creating something, you’re in control, not me.

So, peach doesn’t actually fight people as much as you’d think. She’s very aware most cannot and do not want to do that, and so she likes to keep to herself with regards to that aspect of her life, she doesn’t ask to spar with people, or even bring it up at all, but people ask her all the time, even if they clearly would lose or become hurt should she miscalculate during the fight. She looks at people like they usually create problems, and often has a somewhat reserved nature to other humans. You have to work quite hard to get anything more than formalities out of her. She will dead-pan handle people with blunt and very to-the-point statements, aid whenever possible, but very quickly get back to handling the Pokemon she so carefully tends. Her focus is clear, she’s all about hard work, her very small select family, and the Pokemon.

Her brutal, loud and brash personality only comes out with friends, family, difficult humans, OR any Pokemon. She will joke and laugh and play with Pokemon, but clam up around humans, maintaining tight body language and generally will be a little cold by regular standards. She does however have some weaknesses in this emotionless shield she puts up. When peach was young she was always angry, which swung so fast to sadness, back and forth. Her teenage years it just got worse and worse, it was crippling at points. She is to this day, full of fire and rage, even sadness, but now she has learnt to control it, to use it. When she sees that in others, it’s familiar, and she is pushed to drop the front, and be very real with the person. Underdogs I suppose, people who get bad reps, but deserve the same as everyone else. She can’t ignore it.

Once you start to pry open her personality, you’ll find she’s a lot more laid back and fun than originally appeared, you just have to work hard to find that side of her. She will meme reference, can’t dance to save her life, loves her coffee, and can be caught in quiet contemplation while gardening. This hobby is her calmest, and often is why she can stay so level headed when her quiet rage boils up again. Without time outside she will become grouchy, a little snippy, and lethargic. Will not go in the ocean for any reason other than life or death, is fine with ponds and rivers, or water at wading height. Likes the rain.

With regards to her training others, they usually have to tolerate her somewhat strict nature. She is a little....unforgiving, holds a grudge if you make a lot of mistakes, and has no tolerance for ignorance in the age of information that we all live in. In previous posts I’ve mentioned she’s only recently selected two students, after many years of testing kids who want to learn from her. Hundred tried out, only two have ever been approved. How she teaches is very fast paced, be prepared to get some scrapes and bruises, she will test your physical and emotional tolerances with intense tasks, carefully watching students like a hawk. Bad posture in your stance? She’ll be the first to tell you to sort it out. Not hearing your Pokemon partner? Right, now you spend the day without using words trying to communicate, let’s see how you like not being listened to.

This is a woman who has spent her life saying very little, and watching everything, she watches Pokemon and can see an issue from a mile off, and in battles, her observations are why she can react fast, and chose effective strategy to avoid damage and achieve results. Don’t let her body fool you, her strongest asset is analysing, watching, planning. Those skills have over the years transferred to people too. As a student, mistakes don’t go unnoticed with this professor.

Her methods are harsh but fair, and should you prove yourself, she will protect you with her life.

Because of her disinterest in kids and lots of noise, she does pass the training of students on to the other staff members whenever possible. Grey takes on the lions share of battle lessons, he is far calmer, more open and friendly, with patience for people, and an empathy that peach sometimes struggles to have. When you go through a lot of harsh training, and difficult events, it’s hard to change how you feel or think, with peach, well, she’s been through it. Most do not come out the other end in one piece, but she did, and it made her strong. You may think I mean strong like buff and big, and yeah sure she is, but I mean it mentally more than anything. Peach will not quit. She has learnt to destroy the boundaries that stop people getting hurt, gone is the fear that freezes you in your tracks, that feeling that you’ll pass out if you go one more step. She’s learnt to ignore it.

This means she’s a little forgetful at how it is to be normal, to be vulnerable and soft and squishy like students so usually are.

She has her issues, but for the most part, visitors get a laugh, a smile, a calm assertive confidence, and facts. She will indulge those who have genuine interest, or show a connection with nature, an understanding of the balance that needs to be struck for everyone to live well together.

Despite her many flaws, she’s fiercely protective, and will go above and beyond to defend the island, it’s staff, the Pokemon and the visitors. Injustice is her biggest gripe, along with littering, and she doesn’t stand by quietly if something happens that seems unfair.

You will not see her without Valka, her vulpix, close by. That Pokemon doesn’t like to be touched by strangers, at all, and will run the second someone comes at her with that intent. Peach will scold you for pushing yourself onto her, should you persistently try to get close to pet Val. They are in sync, if peach is sad, Val is sad, if Val is stressed, peach is stressed, and so on. They are inherently connected, it’s just been that long, the psychic bridge between them has been built, and reinforced over the years.

The only other Pokemon who follows her so endlessly is Booker, a teddiursa who’s pretty rough looking. He quietly trots behind, grouchy and stoic, they fight closely together a lot. He lost his mom a long time ago to poachers, and peach took him in, and changed her whole life for him. Not many people know, but Booker was the reason she left the rangers, changed career, and got so strong. Will tolerate people petting him but isn’t keen at all, grumbles a lot and tries to move away.

You may also need to know about the others, for the sake of writing, she here a few more bits that may be important to you, or others wanting to do this.

Grey is very tall, very burly, composed, tells bad dad jokes, is a bit of a goof if allowed to be. If he sees a pun, he’ll say it. Can’t help himself. Very nice guy to work with, good at keeping people calm and grounded. Pokemon are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, he gives off warm energy, and has inhuman amounts of patience. If you wrong his family however, he will snap back.

He grew up in the city, loves to swim and hike and cycle, can snowboard, is really sporty. A total brain box with held items, and boosting stats. He will explore many paths, to make sure visitors and students get the information they need, in a way that can be remembered and retained for later. Is a huge guy, but will get on the floor to play with a tiny Pokemon. Treats big “meaner” looking species like babies, very good with all pokemon.

His free time is spent either tinkering, swimming, or trimming his bonsai trees. This guy stares at screens a lot, so appreciates time away from them. Peach built him his own little greenhouse for his trees and tools, which he keeps clean and loves dearly.

His methods as a teacher are built around fun and games, he makes hard work easier to do by distracting trainers from the difficult bits, and focusing in on something more interesting or compelling.

His most commonly seen Pokemon would be a houndoom, Saxon, old battle veteran, retired now to herding and being a good boy. Very gentle, loves a pet.

Pari, now a fully fledged nurse, often oversees the labs front desk and pokecentre features, such as healing pokemon, and informing trainers who come to visit. Her skills with eggs and hatchlings is high, she’s great with younger Pokemon, and hands out good advice to trainers a lot. She’s not a fighter, never was, but can find any file, any study, any book, and any refrence you may need. A true bookworm, loves her romance novels, chat shows and upbeat celebrity gossip mags. Will cry at a lot of stuff, be it sad or happy.

She’s got a seriously upbeat personality, but if caught off guard or shocked, she gets a little flustered. Too much chaos will overwhelm her, but usually she’s on top of things. The years spent on the island have made her better at maintaining composure in emergencies. With lots of siblings, she’s very competent with others, and has a good ability to disarm cagey people with her jolly nature. Because of this, she can sometimes gain information from trainers that some of the more harsh professors may not have access to. Charming is a word for it.

Her partners are an eevee, and a happiny. They are quite sweet and well adjusted, the eevee gets a bit bouncy if you get it too excited.

#if you dont want to use the refs #im really cool with it #just enjoy yourself buddy #pokemon #prof.peach #peach talks #prof.grey #pari #dotaku island #dotaku staff #PLEASE #just ask me if you dont know something #or feel i missed something in what i wrote

[late-to-the-party-81]

Sweet-Cheeks

AN: Hi folks, this is a bit different to my normal fics. Firstly, it was written as a gift for a dear friend, who isn’t on Tumblr, and has already received their copy. Secondly, whilst I have written WLW fics before (and will again), in this story our reader is specifically a Trans!Woman. If this is something you don’t want to read, please walk on by now. If this is something you are against, please unfollow this blog.

Are you still here? Thanks! In this story our reader was AMAB but has only recently come to the realisation that she’s a woman, so she’s still at the relative beginning of her journey, both emotionally and physically. Every trans person’s experience is unique to them. Some are comfortable involving their birth genitalia in intimate situations, some are not, and both choices are valid. In this story our reader is comfortable, to a certain extent. That may be different at another time, but suffice to say her partner is accepting of her choices. I hope that you enjoy this story. I believe that every person has the right to representation in all forms of media.

Thank you to @midnightf and @mobbucky for beta-ing this fic, and a non Tumblr friend for performing a sensitivity check. Divider by the wonderful @firefly-graphics

Pairing: Nebula x Trans!Fem reader

Wordcount: approx 3k

Explicit content, minors DNI

CW: Mentions of dysphoria, mentions of torture (carried out on Nebula in the past), self-confidence issues, friends to lovers, breast worship cunnilingus and fingering, pussy job, one mention of the phrase ‘girl cock’, cuddles.

Find my master list here

Sweet-Cheeks

“Sonofa…piece of crappy…aaggghhhh…cheap hunk o’ junk!!!”

You smiled to yourself as you sauntered through to the engine room of the Benatar, which also doubled up as Rocket’s tinkering area.

“I am Groot?”

You heard the questioning note in the young tree being’s voice.

“Nooooo, you cannot help. What do you know about the intricacies of these sorts of things?”

“I am Groot!”

You heard Rocket sigh.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, it was nice of you to offer and I am being a grump.”

You rounded the corner and found your small furry friend crouched in the middle of a pile of machine parts and wires that, to the untrained eye, looked like a pile of rubbish. To be honest, to your trained eye, it still looked like a pile of rubbish. Groot sat to the side, on top of a crate, earbuds pressed into divots in his bark covered head, tapping a long root covered foot against the metal, in time to some music he was listening to.

Rocket sifted through the pile in front of him until he lifted up a spanner with a triumphant shout.

“Ah-ha!”

It was then that he noticed you, smiling at him

“Here’s the help I need! Lovelace, get your butt over here and hold this.”

He pointed to two pieces and when you took hold of them he started to tighten a nut and bolt.

“So, R, what you doin’?”

“Aah, you know, nuthin’ special. A small bot for Quill’s birthday that can carry stuff around for him, shift things to and fro. Was wunderin’ if you’d help with the coding? Live up to your nickname?”

Letting go of the now secured pieces, you tossed your hair over your shoulder. It was really growing out now and it made you happy, the way the lush waves framed your face. You looked down at your nails, neat and tidy, despite all of the various physical work you were involved in, and picked a small speck of dirt out from under one.

“Tell you what, R, I’ll supervise Groot doing the coding, he needs the practice.”

You turned to the sentient tree.

“How’s that sound buddy? Wanna up your coding game?”

“I am Groot!”

The reply was full of excitement, an unusual thing for him, given the depths of teenaged moody-ness he seemed to be in most of the time.

“Alright, fine…he can help you Lovelace, but I tell ya’ if it’s not ready, and working properly, there’ll be hell to pay.”

You rolled your eyes at him, and moved over to one of the side tables, rummaging through the items on it until you found your diagnostic pad, the reason for your foray down here in the first place. Turning back around you teased your friend.

“Don’t give me all that. We all know your bark is worse than your bite.”

You reached out and gave him a scratch behind his right ear, making him sag against you briefly, before you skipped out, hearing him shout from behind you.

“That’s cheating, Lovelace! Cheating!!!!”

Your chuckle echoed down the metal hallway as you made your way back to your quarters.

“Neb? Nebbbbbbb! You here?”

As you walked through the door you shouted out to your bunk mate. Whilst you got on well with all the rest of the crew, it was with Nebula you felt most comfortable. She’d accepted you exactly as you were, understanding that a person’s exterior was never a true reflection of their inner self. You both had days where you disliked how you looked, but when that happened, you buoyed each other up with encouraging words and silly jokes. You could honestly say she was your best friend, and you were glad that you had each other.

However, despite all the strides she had taken in accepting herself, she couldn’t get away from the fact that the Mad Titan had altered her, disfiguring her with mechanical parts to make her stronger, turned her into a sentient weapon, sometimes as a ‘reward’ and sometimes as a ‘punishment’. This unfortunately meant she needed regular diagnostics of those parts. Initially, it had been Rocket who’d carried them out, but after Thor and Drax had rescued you from a backwater planet, where you’d been forced into using your skills to support an intergalactic mobster, you’d taken over the job.

“I’m here, Sweet-cheeks.”

You laughed at the nickname that only she used, given to you after a disastrous attempt with make-up, that she said left you looking like you had two gumba sweets stuck to your face. She sashayed across the small space from your shared bathroom, flopped down onto her bed, pulled up her skin tight purple top and opened the access panel on her abdomen.

You perched next to her legs, connecting up the diagnostic pad and running through the programme you had designed.

“Any strange feelings in the last month?”

You were intent on watching the read-outs, so you didn’t see the strange look that briefly passed over her face.

“Erm, no. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

You nodded and disconnected the wires before you motioned her to sit up. You rose up onto your knees and shuffled closer so you could take readings from her optical implant.

“No dizziness or blurred vision?”

Nebula sucked in a breath before answering.

“No, none at all…”

“Perfect then, as usual.”

She gave you a weak smile as you stowed the pad on top of the small bedside table. You brushed a lock of her blonde hair out of her eyes (a new addition she allowed herself, as part of her route to reclaiming her autonomy), before drawing her into a hug.

“What is it, Neb? You can talk to me, you know that.”

She lay down, pulling you with her, arms around each other, with you pulled in tight to the side of her tall, slim frame. You sighed lightly into her shoulder as she absent-mindedly stroked your hair.

“We’re friends, aren’t we Sweet-cheeks?”

“Of course we are! Why would you question it?”

“It…it’s just that…I’ve never had a friend before. Every time Gamora and I got close Thanos would find some way of driving a wedge between us again. And then, just as she and I were really connecting Voromir happened. And I know I sort of still have her, but it’s not the ‘her’ that I started to feel a connection with.”

You hugged her tighter.

“Oh no, Nebs, it could still come. I’m sure you will get your sister back.”

“I hope so. But, you’re still, really, my only friend, the only person I’m close to.”

She pulled in a few deep breaths.

“…And…that’s why I’m scared…”

You moved slightly, to lie on your side and prop yourself up on your elbow, so you could look at her.

“Why are you scared? You can tell me…honestly.”

Suddenly, she pushed up from the bed, away from you, and started pacing.

“All these stupid feelings. Make me pathetic, make me weak.”

Reaching out, from where you were knelt watching her inner turmoil, you grabbed her hand as she neared you, halting her progress.

“Neb, we’ve talked about this, feelings don’t make you weak and pathetic. That’s your trauma lying to you.”

“But what if I’m wrong? What if I ruin everything?”

You were sure you had missed something, you were so confused.

“What are you going to ruin? You’ve lost me.”

She rushed you then, caging you in with her arms against the wall and her knees on the bed in front of you.

“No, I can’t lose you, but I…fuck!”

Nebula took you by surprise as she pressed her lips to yours, in a quick, and nervous, kiss. Realisation hit you. This beautiful woman, your friend, this tortured soul. You loved her.

Fuck! You loved her!

You already did your utmost to make her smile every day. Told her how beautiful, how worthy she was. You loved the way she did the same to you. There was no one else you’d rather spend your time with.

You looked back at her, searching her face, and the expression that met you was one of worry.

“Fuck… I shouldn’t have done that, I…”

You pressed your finger to her lips to quiet her.

“Shhhhh. You absolutely should have.”

Before you could overthink it, you wound your arms around her neck and pulled her back in, kissing her this time. In return, her arms wrapped around your back and bore you to the mattress, her tongue demanding entrance to your mouth, her legs straddling yours.

You were no shy and retiring virgin, by any stretch of the imagination, but this was your first time of any meaningful intimacy since you had opened up to yourself and began living your life as the true you, so you took time to just experience what was currently happening. The soft urgent-ness of her lips, the firm grip of her arms, the weight of her body atop your hips. The smell of her soap and her own unique scent, the sound of her soft moans and sighs amongst the wet smacking of your lips against each other.

Her hair tickled your cheek and you could feel her heart beating against yours where your rib cages touched. Her breasts were pressed to yours and you were thankful that she wasn’t wearing her leather top today, so you could feel them better as they brushed back and forth. The movement made your nipples peak within your own top, frissons of pleasure darting down between your legs.

More moans sounded in the relative quiet of the room, and you realised they were your own. How long had you wanted this? This yearning buried deep within yourself. You had been worried, the same as her, unwilling to make the first move in case it spoiled what you already had. But, now in this moment, if you never had anything more than kissing her like this you would be happy. The way she was making you feel was better than any fantasy you’d ever allowed yourself.

When she pulled back from your lips, you chased hers, needy and whining at the loss. She chuckled in response before kissing her way down your jaw and onto your neck, sucking lightly at your pulse point, which caused you to gasp and arch up towards her. Your arms moved of their own accord to skim down her body, slim and womanly, to settle briefly on her hips, before sliding up under her top, to press your hands to the warm skin of her back. You wanted, no needed, to feel more of her.

“Neb…..”

Your spiralling feelings pulled her name from your lips with a reedy cry.

“I’ve got you, Sweet-cheeks. I’ve got you…..”

She moved to sit up, still straddling you, and you helped each other remove your tops. She was bare under hers and the glow from the lamp highlighted the contours of her bared body; her perfectly formed breasts, her toned abs, as well as the implants forced upon her by her ‘father’. She was beautiful, and you felt ugly compared to her. You didn’t even realise you had wrapped your arms around yourself, protecting yourself from her gaze, until she tutted, took hold of your wrists and gently pulled them away.

You risked looking up at her face and had difficulty comprehending the emotions you saw there.

Hunger. Desire. Lust.

Your breath hitched, causing your chest to jerk up and drawing attention to your small breasts, encased within a black bralette.

“Don’t hide yourself, princess. Not from me. Never from me.”

She pressed a gentle kiss to your collarbone, trailing across the top of your chest until she reached the other side, before pulling at the lace over your shoulder with her teeth and letting it snap back. Her fingers skimmed up under the fabric, pushing it up and off over your head. Her warm lips made a path down the centre of your chest, over your sternum and her hands rested on the mattress either side of you.

“Please, can I kiss you? Can I make you feel good?”

Unable to speak, all you could do was nod at her, and in a flash she had captured your right nipple in her mouth and was gently rolling the left between her fingers. You arched your back into her touch and a cry of pleasure left your lips as your fingers sought her hair of their own volition, holding her to you. Your nipples were so much more sensitive now, although you had always enjoyed them being played with. You could feel her smile around your soft flesh before she pulled off with an obscene ‘pop’ and swapped her attention to the other side.

When she pulled off again you dragged her slightly up your body so you could latch on to one of her breasts. Her skin was delicious, her scent intoxicating. Your hands roamed her skin, feeling every bare inch, but it still wasn’t enough. Taking her by surprise you flipped the pair of you, pulling down her tight trousers and underwear, baring her to your gaze. She was as exotic and alluring as you’d imagined and you couldn’t hide the excitement in your eyes as you carefully pulled her apart with your thumbs and dipped in with the tip of your tongue to taste her.

The way she shuddered and whined under your touch made your own arousal that much stronger. You licked again, a broad stripe from her hole to her clit and she cried out loudly.

“Fuck, ‘so good, princess!”

Emboldened by her praise you hooked her legs over your shoulders and moved in closer. You lavished attention to her pussy, licked and sucked on every fold, before you latched onto her clit. Her hips bucked up, pushing her core against your face, so you placed your hands on her to hold her steady. You cast your eyes up, observing her reactions, the way her body, glistening with a sheen of sweat, writhed under your touch. Her hair was a messy halo on the pillow, as she palmed one of her own breasts with one hand and gripped the sheet with the other.

She was glorious, even more so when you pressed your first two fingers inside her. You twisted and turned them, learning the feel of her, which movements made her moan in pleasure. Then you found it. Your crooked fingers pressed against that spongy spot, making her wail incoherently. You doubled-down then, losing yourself in her softness, her wetness, her smell. You licked and sucked at her, stroked her insides until her thighs tightened against your head and you tasted her cum on your tongue. You slowly withdrew your fingers and lapped gently at her, as she came down from her high. As she relaxed into the mattress she tugged at you, pulling you off her pussy and dragging you up her body.

She kissed you deeply, moaning as she tasted herself on your tongue.

“I’ve got to touch you some more, Sweet-cheeks. Is that okay?”

“Very okay, Neb.”

You let her turn the pair of you back over, and she pulled down your trousers and underwear. It took all of your self-control not to try and cover yourself, to push all your insecurities to the back of your mind. You were hard and throbbing between your legs, so aroused by her that you wanted her to see. When you looked up at her face you were met with her coy smile. She brushed a thumb over your tip, smearing the sticky fluid she found there across your sensitive flesh, making you shiver.

She straddled your body again, sitting over your hips so her warm, wet core covered you, pressed down onto you. It felt so unbelievably good. She took hold of your hands and placed them onto her hips.

“So, I’m going to sit up here and rub off on your girl-cock. I’m going to make you cum and that’s going to make me cum. Okay?”

You responded with a whimper as she ground her hips down on you and began to rock back and forth. Your fingers tightened their grip as you helped to guide her, her slick mixing with yours to ease the glide. You were so on edge and she felt amazing, sat as she was on top of you. Her hands came to rest upon your chest, playing with your nipples again.

“You going to use me to get yourself off, lover?”

“Yes…” The confirmation was pulled from you, your eyes fluttering closed as you revelled in the sensations, her pussy leaking over you, the delicious friction her movements caused, all heightened by pinched pleasure darting from your chest. She was so completely wonderful. You turned yourself over to the pleasure, just letting yourself feel, just…experience.

“That’s it… that’s it! Take what you want Sweet-cheeks… such a good girl for me… making me feel so good, baby… you going to cum?...Going to make me cum?...Fuck… I’m close, so close, princess…”

She shuddered and whimpered above you as her second orgasm wracked her body, the bucking of her hips sending you over the edge and you came with a dizzying shout.

You were aware of Nebula collapsing down onto you, her weight pleasant and reassuring, her breasts pressed to yours and her head buried in your neck. Her fingers found your hair and stroked through the strands. You floated for a while in the post-orgasmic haze, just enjoying being with her like this. When she finally disentangled herself and made her way to the bathroom you shivered from both the loss of her closeness as well as the warmth her body had provided. She returned quickly though, damp washcloth in hand, wiping you down.

When she didn’t immediately get back into the bed you were concerned, but it only lasted a moment as she took hold of the edge of your bed and pulled it across the room towards hers where you lay. You laughed, jumping up to help her and moving the small side table out of the way, so she could push both your beds together. You grabbed a couple of spare towels and shoved them into the space between the two mattresses. You could both sort out something better at the next stop at a major space port, but it would do for now.

You both flopped down onto your new, combined bed and smiled at each other. She drew you into the circle of her arms, her forehead pressed to yours, gazing into your eyes.

“I love you Sweet-Cheeks.”

“Love you too, Neb.”

#late writes #nebula #nebula x reader #nebula x fem reader #nebula x trans fem reader #trans reader #amab trans #transfem #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel #wlw nsft #smut fanfic

[glowingbadger]

would you write some soft claude relationship hcs please? i'm feeling pretty sickly and feel like that sexy fictional man would know how to cheer me up lol ty in advance and i love your blog!!

Sorry it took me a while to get to you, Friend Anon! I really hope you're feeling a bit better <3 I deal with my fair share of health nonsense, so you absolutely have my sympathy.

As a side note, I've done a bunch of general spicy hcs for Claude, so hope over here to my FE3H master list if y'all wanna see those~

Claude (FE3H) x GN Reader - soft hcs (& very mild spicy)

- Listen- you know it, I know it, Claude is absolutely A+ boyfriend material. He's intelligent and charismatic, able to easily carry on a conversation with just about anyone, not to mention kind and incredibly handsome. He's also sweet and considerate as a partner, without ever making it seem overbearing, or like he doesn't trust you to look after yourself. The one issue I would see is that he takes a little while to really open up and take things seriously; even if his heart is there, his mind is always reminding him to proceed with caution when it comes to the heavy stuff.

- You never know what he'll come up with for a date night. Anything from disguising yourselves as commoners for a night of dancing at the rowdiest tavern he can find, to high-diving into the sea from wyvern-back, to buddy-reading an Almyran adventure story he loved as a young man. It's all fair game, and it's all a thrill for him if he can enjoy the privilege of your company.

- You may not expect this in the early stages of the relationship, when Claude seems carefree and weightless at just about any time, but once he's finally begun to really, truly open up to you, he does vent about work fairly frequently. He'll groan and roll his eyes as he explains how he doesn't see how it's so difficult for these stuffy, ignorant nobles to see that the benefit of the commoners is to their benefit as well (and sometimes, the more frustrating of a day it's been, the more creative he gets with his insults). But by the end of it, he'll have settled into bed to hold you close and chat about more pleasant matters, never one to let a bad mood fester. He is extremely grateful to finally have someone who understands his goals and vision, and how trying it is sometimes to be working against the grain to reach it.

- Claude is so lovely to have around when you're not feeling well. His method is generally to distract you. He owns a surprisingly robust collection of "forbidden" books he salvaged from Seteth's clutches during his monastery days, so he'll grab one that looks particularly blasphemous or raunchy, and read key passages along with you until you're both howling with laughter. He'll also teach you simple Almyran folk songs, or fairytales, anything light and fun to lift your mood and keep your mind off of what's ailing you.

- That said, his facade of comfort and confidence evaporates in a second if he sees you seriously suffering. No one in the castle has ever seen him as stern and blunt as when you're ill and in need- he'll march directly to his subordinates and direct them urgently until you've been given absolutely every comfort and medical benefit that can be provided. When you're at your worst, he's at your side without fail, clutching your hand between his and kissing the knuckles, assuring you that he won't let anything happen to you, that he'll make sure you're provided for no matter what. ((just about the only way to make Claude blush is to remind him of this behavior once you're well again))

- Listen. The moment you're well again, he finds himself eager to express his joy at your returned vitality- so you can bet he'll carry you to bed, or to soothing hot springs, or a secluded garden as soon as he's able. Wherever he can have you alone, frankly. Claude is always charming and fun in bed, but in the days after your ailment has passed, he's far more tender and romantic than usual. His kisses are slower, more thorough, and his hands cradle you, his touch betraying his desire to be gentle with you at odds with his need to hold you close and have you for his own in that moment.

#claude von reigen #claude fire emblem #claude x reader #fire emblem #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem imagines #claude headcanons

[puckinghell]

Not A Typical Christmas Story | Elias Pettersson

Summary: You’ve never loved Christmas, and there’s nothing that can change that; especially not your best friend’s grumpy Swedish friend who you don’t even like. However, when you’ve gotta be forced into the Christmas spirit to write a Christmas story for class, there’s only one person who is willing to try and help you. Words: 14k (I’m SO sorry) Note: Here it is, a Christmas story in November. Honestly I’m nervous to post this, I’ve never put so much of myself into a story, but here we go. I loved loved loved writing this and I hope you guys like reading it. Also, the cliche scenarios were stolen from a random blog post. 

--

“You’re such a fucking Grinch.” Brock takes a sip from his hot chocolate. There’s murmur in the bar around you, and he’s muttering, but you still hear him clear enough.

“Hey,” you protest, lightly hitting him on the arm. “I’m not a Grinch. Just because you put up your Christmas decorations in October and have been singing All I Want For Christmas Is You since July, doesn’t make me the Grinch for not doing that.”

Brock raises an eyebrow. “You literally just said you hate Christmas.”

“I did not.” You stubbornly cross your arms. “I said I hate Christmas stories.”

“That’s basically all there is to Christmas,” Brock brings in, and that’s probably fair enough.

Apart from the food, presents, family time, decorations…

Fine. Maybe you don’t like any of those either. But not liking Christmas is not the same as being a Grinch: you’re completely fine with letting everyone enjoy their festive December, as long as they leave you out of it.

Which is exactly why you’ve been complaining to Brock. And as your best friend, it’s literally his duty to listen to you; unfortunately it also means he’s gonna make fun of you. Just a little bit.

“I just don’t get why I have to write a Christmas story,” you mope, a little pathetically. “There’s so many Christmas stories in the world already, Boes. And they’re all the same! The foreign sports car breaks down in a blizzard and the city slicker gets stuck in a bar with a bucktoothed chicken strangler with an IQ of 7 whom he decides, through love or delirium, he cannot live without. Or the sadistic Christmas-hating miser of the pathetic backwoods town, who makes his money grinding the faces of the poor, is inspired to a change of heart by a teary-eyed child who bears a striking resemblance to his dead daughter, and donates all his money so that the ghost town can continue its wretched, grimy, poverty wracked existence.”

At that, there’s a muffled snicker from the side of the table. You’d almost forgotten that Elias was there, to be honest.

You raise your eyebrow at him. “What? You’ve got a better Christmas story?”

Elias raises an eyebrow back, but doesn’t answer. He usually doesn’t. Brock says he’s talkative enough when you’re not around, although you for the life of you do not know what you’ve done to earn his judgment.

“Don’t bite Petey’s head off,” Brock chides. He’s always trying to keep the peace between you two, and sometimes you feel bad that he has to police his two best friends.

Today is not one of those days.

“He’s laughing at me!”

“Because you’re being ridiculous.” Brock sighs. “It’s just a Christmas story, Y/N. You’ll write it, you get a grade for it, it’s done. How hard can it be?”

It’s clear that Brock has no idea how hard it can be to write a decent story. Sometimes, you wonder if he can even really write or read: maybe he’s just memorized a bunch of words and called it a day.

You let out a grumble and drop your head on the dingy, sticky table in the rundown bar that Brock and Elias are so keen to go to, probably because they never get recognized there. Not surprising, considering the fact that the age of the average customer is above 85.

Normally, you like your creative writing course. People told you to get electives you thought were actually fun, as your normal college courses are taxing enough, and you’ve always been a writer.

Or, well, been a writer… You write. You wouldn’t call yourself a writer: you’ve never published anything and you can’t be a writer before you make money from it. But you like writing. There’s at least a hundred half finished Word documents sitting on your laptop at any given moment.

But this project isn’t fun at all. All the students in your course were excited to get to write a Christmas story. It is December, after all, and most people have gotten properly into the Christmas spirit by now. However, you’ve never liked Christmas – for reasons that you will not think about with Elias’ judgy eyes on you – and you usually write scary stories, so this is not up your alley.

“Hey,” Brock’s voice sounds, and it’s gentle now. He’s probably noticed you’re actually having a mental breakdown over this. “It’s just one stupid story, and it doesn’t even have to be good. Just write about like, animals that can talk.”

Elias snorts again, and this time you can’t even blame him.

You lift your head only to shoot Brock a glare. Brock raises his hands in helpless manner, rolling his eyes as he goes.

“I’m trying to help.”

“I’m going to get beers,” Elias says suddenly. It’s the first thing he’s said all hour, you think, and the sound of his voice almost startles you. “I think you’re more helpful when you’ve got a beer, Boes.”

He’s not wrong, but you won’t tell him that. Instead, you stare at his retreating back, disappearing towards the bar.

“Why do you hate him?” Brock says, and he sounds a little accusing.

“I don’t hate Elias, just as much as I don’t hate Christmas,” you tell him, before you realize that that technically doesn’t speak of your innocence, so you try a different tactic. “He doesn’t like me either! He never talks when I’m around.”

“Cause you make him nervous!” Brock exclaims. He pushes his now empty mug towards the side. “You’re always making snappy remarks at him.” He stares at you with big blue puppy eyes, his bottom lip pouting out. “I wish you would just get along. I love you both and it’s very annoying to have to always be in the middle of you.”

In reality, it’s not like Brock really has to be in the middle of anything. If it was up to you, you would simply not ever see Elias, and you’re pretty sure that’s the only thing you and Elias would ever agree on. But Brock somehow always brings you together: like how today he’d forgotten to mention his teammate’s presence when he asked you to come out for a drink.

But you don’t blame Brock, not really. You think there’s another universe in which Elias and you could be friends. You’re very similar, in a way: you’re both not from Vancouver, both don’t have your family around, and you share a similar sharp sarcastic humor and a love for teasing Brock.

The first time you met Elias, you were hopeful. Brock was, at that point, your only friend in Vancouver, and the two of you had become best friends like you’d grown up in each other’s pockets. If Brock liked this guy so much, you figured you’d like him too.

But Elias hadn’t seemed to feel the same way. You met at one of Jake’s parties and Brock had introduced you with the statement that you were going to be beerpong buddies, because he’d already promised Troy.

Elias’ eyes had been a little too intense, as they traveled across your face. You could feel them burn into your skin like lasers, and when his eyes finally met yours it had felt like being hit by the entire universe at once.

“Oh,” he’d said, and it had been filled with… not even disdain. You could’ve handled disdain, because you could’ve called him out on that. But this had been indifference, that you’d heard in his voice, and that was something you didn’t know what to do with.

He’d not said anything else all evening. 

Ever since then, you’d put stone after stone into the wall you build between you and the quiet Swede, every single time he so much looked in your general direction. Nothing big ever happened between you: you hadn’t had any huge fights or massive blow outs.

It was just indifference, that ate at you until it became reluctance and then annoyance, and it’s that same thing you can read on Elias’ face now when he quietly sits in a corner, listening in on your conversations with Brock.

Yes, it would be easier for Brock if you and Elias could become friends, or at least friendly enough.

“Sorry, Boes,” you tell him with a sigh. “I just don’t think it’s ever gonna happen.”

--

“Is there a reason you’re not wearing a shirt?”

You raise your eyebrow at Jake, who opened the door wearing black jeans, a Santa hat, and literally nothing else.

"I lost a bet,” he says solemnly, opening his front door further. You stomp the snow off your boots on his porch, then move past him into the house.

It’s freezing cold outside and Jake’s house is lovely and warm, which makes you happy to be there if only to enjoy the heating. It’s not like you don’t have heating at your flat, but the electricity bill is high enough every month without you turning the thermostat up as high as it goes, so usually you try to keep warm with sweaters and blankets.

Brock told you to dress pretty though, so you wore a dress to Jake’s party. Which means it’s a good thing he’s got the heating going.

“You look lovely,” Jake smiles, taking your coat from your hands. Having him act like such a perfect gentleman in the outfit he’s wearing makes you laugh, and he shoos you inside when he notices.

You like Jake. In fact, you like all of Brock’s friends – except the one, of course – and that’s the only reason you said yes to coming to this party. It’s not like you’re against parties, but it’s a Christmas party: and despite the fact that it’s the first week of December, you’ve already heard enough Christmas music to last a life time.

“There she is!” Brock hoots, when he spots you. He opens his arms and you give him a quick hug, saying hi to Bo and Holly, who he’s standing with. “I have a brilliant idea,” Brock says however, before you can even ask the Horvats how they’re doing. “And you can’t say no right away.”

That definitely means you’re gonna wanna say no right away.

“I’m not promising that,” you hum. Just at that moment, Jake appears with a glass of prosecco that he hands you, and you send him a grateful smile. He disappears just as quickly, which is probably the better option considering what Brock’s about to say.

“I think you should make an actual, real effort to get into the Christmas spirit this year.”

“I don’t think so,” you immediately answer, but Brock waves away your protests with a wave of his hand.

“That’s not the part you’re gonna wanna say no to.”

“Oh dear,” Holly laughs, and you glare at Brock.

“What, then?”

“I think you and Petey should get in the Christmas spirit together.”

The sentence is bizar enough that you burst out laughing. Surely he’s kidding.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, then, turning to Bo: “Is he drunk?”

Bo shrugs. “Not yet, I don’t think. Tipsy at most.”

“Think about it,” Brock says. There’s a glint of excitement in his eyes, which promises nothing good for you. “You’re staying in Vancouver this Christmas, right?”

You don’t say anything: the answer is yes, and Brock knows that, because he’s been trying to convince you to come back to Minnesota with him for a month. However, as you’ve told him every time, there’s no way his girlfriend would appreciate that, and you don’t like being a third wheel. Or - but you haven’t told him that - a charity case.

“And so is Petey!” Brock proclaims. He motions somewhere to the left, where the Swede is probably hiding between all his teammates, trying to stay as far away from you as possible. “So both of you have to stay here in Vancouver, alone, during Christmas. And he loves Christmas, and you don’t, but you have to write that Christmas story and it would be so much easier to do that if you actually celebrated Christmas, so he can teach you how.”

Your best friend isn’t making a lot of sense, and there’s too much information to process so quickly. First of all, you didn’t know Elias would be alone for Christmas, although you suppose it makes sense that he can’t go back to Sweden just for 2 days of Christmas. Secondly, you don’t need someone to teach you how to celebrate Christmas: it’s not like you don’t know, and much more that you choose not to.

And third: fuck. You’d basically forgotten about that Christmas story.

“It’s a brilliant idea,” Brock says proudly and a little smug. “And I haven’t told Petey yet but I know he’ll be down.”

This time, you respond: you start laughing hard enough that Brock’s smile slips off his face.

“I really don’t think he will,” you giggle. You reach out, patting Brock’s arm with a smile. “Boes, you’re a sweetheart, but stop worrying about me. My life isn’t bad because I don’t like Christmas.”

It’s bad for some other reasons, like financial debt and family misfortunes, but not because of a lack of reindeer ornaments and bad mulled wine.

Brock pouts. “But…”

“No,” you cut him off. “I can write that Christmas story just fine on my own, thank you. And if you’re worried about Elias, you can ask him to Minnesota.” You take a step back, glancing at your empty prosecco glass. “I’m gonna get another one of these.”

As you’re making your way to the kitchen, you can still hear Brock’s sputtering.

Although Jake’s house is filled with people, the kitchen still seems quiet. It’s not until you’ve let the door fall closed behind you though, that you notice movement in the corner.

“Oh,” you say, a little annoyed to be caught off guard. “It’s you.”

Elias barely glances in your direction. “Just getting some water.”

Elias’ style is always a little funky, and if you didn’t dislike him so much you would’ve appreciated how daring it is. This time, though, you literally can not help but laugh at him.

“Nice sweater,” you say, and it doesn’t even come out as sarcastic.

Elias looks down at his sweater like he didn’t even notice he was wearing it. It has a reindeer stitched on, except the reindeer looks… Well. Baked.

“Quinn got it for me,” Elias says, and he sounds a little sheepish, which is not a tone you hear from him often. “He’s got the same one.”

“A little co-dependent,” you tease, and it comes out too light and easy for it to be directed at Elias. He looks a little surprised, too, at how jovial it sounds.

“You look nice,” he says, then. He’s looking at you now, and you can feel the weight of his eyes press against your skin.

There’s something about Elias’ gaze that makes it feel like your lungs are constricting, and you don’t know what it is. You could blame it on the fact that his eyes are the kind of piercing blue that authors would compare to the ocean or maybe the summer sky, but Brock has blue eyes too, and you never feel like that when he looks at you.

“Uhm, thanks,” you bring out. The awkwardness settles over the kitchen like a heavy cloud of fog, but for some reason your first instinct isn’t to just run out of the kitchen, like you usually would.

This is definitely Brock’s fault, for making you feel bad about Elias being alone in his sauve but empty apartment in Vancouver on Christmas, when he apparently loves the holiday so much.

“Brock thinks you could teach me how to love Christmas,” you blurt out, and Elias looks nothing short of utterly baffled by your statement. You sigh, and explain. “We’re both in Vancouver around Christmas and apparently you love Christmas and I don’t, so he thinks you should teach me how to love it. He thinks it would help me write my story.”

Elias seems to ponder that for a second. When he speaks, his voice is tentative. “Do you think it would help?”

Your first instinct is to, once again, call out no and laugh it off, but for some reason you don’t. Elias sips his water like he’s prepared to wait for your answer, and you give yourself some time to think.

Realistically, getting into the Christmas spirit, or at least getting an idea of what other people feel when they’re in the Christmas spirit, could really help you pull off this story. You’re good at putting yourself in other people’s shoes, which is how you manage to write characters you don’t necessarily see yourself in.

When you wrote a story about a doctor, you talked to your friend who’s in med school about it for a week. Now, you wanna write a Christmas story. It wouldn’t be an awful idea to be around someone who loves Christmas.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But you don’t have to do it, I know you’re probably busy…”

Elias shakes his head before you’ve finished your sentence.

“When hockey goes on break, and all my teammates go home for the holidays, I won’t have anything to do.” He shrugs: it looks careless but in the most forced manner, like he’s trying to hide just how much it does matter. “We could do something, I guess.”

I guess. It’s not really the most enthusiastic response you’ve ever had, but then, this is not normal for you and Elias.

“You know what the ultimate Christmas plot is?” Elias says then, a little hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “A Christmas party is in fear of flopping thanks to a lack of Christmas spirit, but is rescued by some energetic soccer mom with no life.” He grins. “I could be the soccer mom.”

To your own surprise, you burst out laughing at his description. You didn’t think he was really paying attention when you were describing cliché Christmas plots in the bar with Brock, but maybe Elias pays attention to more than he admits.

“Fine,” you hear yourself say, and you honest to God have no idea where that came from but you know Brock is gonna shit himself with excitement when he hears. “When hockey goes on break, you can be the energetic soccer mom and try to bring me into the Christmas spirit.” You smile. “It won’t be an easy task, Pettersson.”

Elias raises an eyebrow but there’s nothing judgmental about it, this time.

If anything, it’s a challenge.

He sticks something out to you: it’s your glass, now filled again with prosecco, which he somehow managed to fill up without you even noticing.

“It’s on,” he says simply, and when he raises his water glass in the air, you don’t even hesitate to clink it.

--

“Shopping is not a Christmas outing,” you say, stubbornly crossing your arms. “And I really don’t think this is gonna get me into the Christmas spirit.”

“What do you mean?” Elias deadpans, as he yanks a shopping cart free from all the others. “Middle aged housewives fighting over discounted wreaths? There’s nothing more Christmassy than that.”

You snort. “Right. It’s just gonna be spoiled crying kids who want toys that they already have and parents pretending it’s Santa who spoils them so they don’t have to take responsibility for their kids being rude drama queens.”

Elias laughs. He pushes the cart into the department store, and you reluctantly follow him.

“That’s another storyline,” he says.

“The unexplained dilemma of parents who do not believe in Santa, and yet we, the wise audience who knows better, are left to wonder where they think these toys came from? ‘Psst, honey, Santa’s not real, so from whence came these marvels?’”

“I don’t know half of what you’re saying.” Elias holds up a string of Christmas lights. “But we’re getting these, honey.”

It comes out sweet like caramel and too serious to be anything but sarcastic, so you push the cart into his heels. Elias simply laughs and continues on his way.

The department store is busy, which is exactly why you usually try to avoid going there in December. You’d think Elias, being Elias Pettersson, would also try to avoid crowds, but it’s like people don’t see anything but Rudolph; nobody recognizes him as he skillfully pushes his way through the crowds, putting stuff into the cart that you barely know what to do with.

You’re thankful for it. It would be awkward if people did recognize him, and it’s strange to notice that that would be the thing to do it; there’s no awkwardness now, with him making snarky remarks at the quality of the ornaments or the fact that Canadians apparently love what he calls the ‘tacky’ side of Christmas.

In fact, you almost find that you’re enjoying yourself. It might as well be a Christmas miracle after all.

“When was the last time you had a tree?” Elias asks.

Your brain short circuits for a full five seconds, and then when you answer Elias stares at you as if you’ve grown a second head.

“Uh, probably when I still lived with my parents and they got it?”

“We’re changing that right now.” He spins on his heels and speed walks in the direction of the trees, too fast for you to protest.

You think of the last time you got a Christmas tree and an involuntary shiver makes its way down your spine. There’s a good reason you don’t like Christmas, and the tree plays a crucial part in it.

But Elias doesn’t know that. So you can’t even blame him for looking excited when he somehow manages to find you the perfect size tree for your apartment – even without ever having been in your apartment.

“This one,” he says smugly, but when he notices your expression, his face falls. “What’s wrong?”

You swallow. You could tell him, now, tell him about the last time your dad went to get a tree and never came back.

But that’s a long time ago and there’s no reason for Elias to know that. He’s not your friend, and he’d probably not even care. If anything, he’d feel sorry for you, and that would be even worse.

“That one is fine,” you tell him, and you promise yourself you just won’t put it up.

The tree gets your mood down but Elias doesn’t seem to notice. He collects some more stuff, like a throw blanket with Christmas pattern that you actually don’t mind, because you’re always cold and a person can never have too many throw blankets.

He also puts in an ornament with the Canucks logo, which you want to use to slap the smirk off his face, and a Rudolph pluche toy with a red light up nose.

“Like you, when it’s cold,” he teases, flicking your nose, and you wonder if you could use the Christmas lights to strangle him.

Finally, when you approach the end of your trip, you realize a teeny tiny problem.

“Uhm, Elias?” you ask, “I think we may have gotten too much.”

Elias rolls his eyes. “Brock said you don’t have any decorations, so this is the perfect amount.”

And it would be – if you wanted Christmas decorations – except…

“I can’t afford this,” you snap, and you can feel your cheeks heat up, and maybe the tips of your ears as well. God, this is embarrassing.

Elias’ face softens, and that kinda just makes it worse.

“You’re not paying for it,” he says, not unkindly. “This wasn’t your idea.”

“It wasn’t yours either,” you remind him. Granted, a bill like this would hardly break the bank for Elias, but you’re not about to let him pay for you just because he feels bad. You let Brock buy you dinner sometimes but that’s it, and only because he actually likes your company and because he always wants to eat at stupid fancy restaurants.

This is Elias. He doesn’t value your company, and he’s not your friend, and you won’t let him pay for you.

Elias doesn’t say anything, eyes searching your face for something. You’re not quite sure what he finds, but finally, he speaks.

“Consider it my Christmas gift to you,” he says. “You can pay me back by making me lunch, cause I’m hungry.”

And strangely enough, the thought of spending another two hours with Elias doesn’t make you wanna hurl, or throw yourself in front of oncoming traffic. In fact, you’re surprised to note that you actually had fun on this trip, and it was mostly thanks to Elias’ dry commentary on the other shoppers, of which not one sentence failed to make you laugh.

You don’t believe in Christmas stories, like the one where some weird technical glitch in the matrix gets fixed just in time for the Christmas tree in the center of town to light up, just as the guy and girl figure out their complicated emotional differences.

But maybe you can allow yourself to not actively dislike Elias’ company, at least while you’re stuck with it.

--

There’s exhaustion settled deep inside your bones, like your feet are made of concrete as you somehow manage to drag yourself up the stairs. You don’t usually mind living in a bit of a shit hole building, considering the fact that it’s very cheap – but on nights like these you wish there was an elevator you could take.

Working out in the morning before taking a double shift at the coffee shop you work at was a bad idea.

It takes you a few seconds to find your keys in your bag. It’s late enough at night that you can’t really see much; there’s lights in the hallways but most of them don’t really work, the flickering glow of them barely enough to illuminate the ceilings.

When you open the door, you instantly notice there’s something wrong.

Or, wrong… That might not be the right word. The word that comes to mind, actually, is fuck.

You’d forgotten all about Elias.

After buying all the Christmas decorations, he kept bothering you about putting them up. You hadn’t really been planning to, and unfortunately Elias knew you well enough to somehow know that.

Nobody reads you as well as he does, like his blue eyes pierce right through your skin and stare straight into your heart. It’s one of the things you find most unsettling about him. Keeping things close to your heart has always been your way to cope, but it felt impossible to do that with Elias around.

He’d kept asking you if you were gonna put up the decorations and you kept waving him away, until he finally decided he had enough.

“I’m coming over tomorrow,” he’d said – or, threatened. “Brock gave me your spare key, so you don’t have a say in this. I’m putting up the tree.”

“Don’t you dare,” you’d answered, making a mental note to deal with Brock’s traitorous ass later. “I can put up my own tree.”

You could, you just weren’t planning to do it.

“You could, but you won’t,” Elias had said, unimpressed. “So be there or don’t be there, I’m doing it.”

You had totally meant to be there. You weren’t as much of an asshole that you would let him do all the work after he also paid for it, and he was technically doing you a favor. But then your colleague asked you to cover her shift, and, well…

You forgot. And clearly, Elias hadn’t.

In the corner of your tiny little living room is a pine tree. There’s no ornaments in it except for the Canucks one that Elias bought you, but there’s what seems to be about a thousand lights in it, and it must’ve taken him hours to put those in.

It’s not even just that. The Rudolph toy is sitting on your bookcase, there’s candles on your dining table and on the couch is the Christmas throw blanket.

Under the blanket is Elias.

His head is resting on the arm of the couch, blond hair a little messy. His eyes are closed, eyelashes fluttered against his cheekbones, and he looks strangely peaceful.

You feel something settle in your stomach.

You imagine him sitting on your couch, waiting for you to come home because he wanted to see your reaction. You can imagine his little smug grin as he took in his work, way too proud with a simple string of lights in a Christmas tree. And maybe, maybe, he even thought about you celebrating Christmas here with the place looking exactly like this, and maybe that made him smile.

And then you didn’t show up. 

You wonder if you should wake him, to kick him out of your apartment, tease him for waiting for you, or even to say thank you. But his chest is rising slowly with every steady breath, and you’ve never seen Elias look so tranquil, so at peace.

For some reason, waking him feels like a crime.

So you step closer and tug the blanket a little more over his shoulders. You tell yourself it’s because the place gets so stupidly cold at night, and you can’t have him get sick and have a miserable Christmas because Brock would kill you, but you know it’s not about that at all.

It’s about the fact that coming home to a cozy, decorated apartment after the exhausting day you’ve had was actually pretty nice. And it’s about the fact that for some reason, Elias’ sleeping figure on your couch makes the place feel more like home than it has ever before.

And maybe it’s because the night is dark, and Elias can’t hear or see you, but when you whisper: “Goodnight” into the quiet living room, it sounds a lot like thank you.

--

When you wake up, there’s the smell of pancakes in the air. It’s a smell you would recognize anywhere, and it startles you awake too quickly for it being so early in the morning. You nearly jump out of bed and follow your nose towards the kitchen.

If anyone would’ve asked, you would’ve bet money on it that Elias would’ve woken up on your couch annoyed as hell, and booked it out of there as soon as his legs could carry him. But somehow, like a mirage, he’s standing at your stove, making pancakes.

Are you dreaming?

“Am I dreaming?” you ask out loud, and Elias swirls around on his heels.

“Don’t scare me,” he snaps, annoyed, but the annoyance flows away within seconds. “I was hungry.”

“So you made pancakes?”

Elias laughs softly. “I can’t make much else with what’s in your kitchen. You need to go grocery shopping.”

You really do, but you can’t think about that right now. Not when Elias is standing in your kitchen like he owns the place, like it’s normal for him to be there.

It very much is not. So why doesn’t it feel wrong?

“Uhm.” If he’s here, you figure you should at least be polite. “Do you want coffee?”

He waves towards your coffee machine. “I already put it on.”

You stay quiet as you make the coffee, a little too aware of the way Elias moves pancake after pancake from the pan to the stack, movements relaxed and almost lazy. It’s Sunday morning and it’s not that late, but it feels like it could be one of those mornings that stretches out endlessly, dark grey clouds outside your apartment as Vancouver slowly wakes up.

Neither of you speak until you’ve sat down at the table, pancakes and coffee in front of you. It’s awfully domestic and you don’t know what to do with it: it’s become easy to snap or snark at Elias when Brock’s there as a middle man and Elias looks like he’d rather cut off both his legs than spend another minute in your presence, but it’s not like that now.

Now, Elias seems quietly content to sit in your kitchen eating pancakes that he made on your stove while you were asleep. Now, Elias seems completely comfortable scrolling through his phone while you stare at him. And this Elias, you have no idea what to do with.

“We’re gonna do something Christmassy today,” Elias says, between two bites of pancake. “I’m just trying to figure out what.”

You raise an eyebrow. It’s been only a week since Brock had the awful idea to make Elias teach you how to be in the Christmas spirit before booking it to Minnesota, and so far Elias has seemingly put way too much time and effort into it, while you haven’t even put one word in your empty word document, that you ironically titled ‘Not a typical Christmas story’.

Then you remember the night at Jake’s party, and how Elias said he wouldn’t have much to do once all the guys went home to their families.

Suddenly, you feel for him. You know what it’s like to be lonely.

“The Christmas market isn’t on today,” Elias continues, oblivious to your mental dialogue. “But we’re going there soon. And we need to watch a bunch of Christmas movies.”

You hesitate. Are you really going to do this?

“I might have an idea for today.”

Apparently you are.

Elias’ eyes finally focus on you, expression curious. He doesn’t say anything but he’s clearly waiting for you to continue, so you take a deep breath and go for it.

“I’ve never gone skating.”

An hour later you’re at the local outdoor ice rink, and it’s not until you see the crowd that you realize this might’ve not been your smartest idea. It’s Sunday, it’s December, it’s not awfully cold: you think at least 1/3rd of Vancouver is at this rink.

“Uhm, I might not have thought this through,” you state a little bashfully. You can already see a few Canucks jerseys on the ice, and although you can’t see the back that well you wouldn’t be surprised if a bunch of them carried the number 40.

Elias shrugs. He seems unbothered, but then he mostly does. You can never really read him, and it’s one of the things you find most unnerving about him.

“It’ll be fine,” he says. “I’m wearing my glasses.”

He is wearing his glasses, which he rarely does. You’re not even sure he needs them or if they’re just a fashion statement. He’s also wearing a hat, so maybe he’s thought this through more than you.

But surely just glasses and a snapback won’t stop Vancouver from recognizing the Canucks biggest star?

Apparently, it does.

Elias goes to rent the skates, because he couldn’t be bothered to go back to his apartment to get his own. He’s put them on within 20 seconds, while you’re still struggling to wiggle your foot into the first one.

He laughs and you shoot him a deathly glare.

“Don’t laugh at me! We can’t all be professional hockey players.”

“I don’t think you need to be a professional anything to lace up a skate,” Elias answers dryly. He turns to face you, then pats his leg. “Give me your foot.” 

It’s embarrassing to make Elias tie your skates, but it would be more embarrassing to ignore him and then spend 20 minutes struggling with them. So you swing your foot into his lap. 

Long fingers work swiftly around your laces, and suddenly your skate is tied, fitted closely around your ankle. Elias pats your shin, then holds out his hand for the other foot. 

You swing your second leg into his lap. 

“I don’t know how you do this so fast,” you mutter. You can feel the flush on your cheeks and you hope Elias assumes it’s because of the cold.

“I’ve got many talents,” Elias deadpans, and you can’t stop yourself from laughing. 

“Juggling, unicycle riding, and lacing skates?” 

Elias nods. There’s a smile tugging at his lips. “All very important skills.” 

Finally, you put your skates back on the floor and waggle towards the door to. the rink. Elias has jumped onto the ice before you can even think about moving. 

You stop. Is this really a good idea? You could break both your legs here.

“Don’t be scared,” Elias says, correcting guessing the root of your hesitation. He’s gliding on his skates with ease, shuffling back and forth the way hockey players always do during the anthems.

Because he’s waiting. For you. Because you’re going skating together.

This is the weirdest fucking thing that’s ever happened to you, kinda like a fever dream; and that’s enough motivation to step onto the ice.

You stumble a bit, and Elias reaches out to grab your elbow to steady you.

“Careful, it’s slippery.”

“Unsurprisingly,” you mumble beneath your breath, and Elias’ grin goes a little wicked before he promptly lets go off your elbow and slides back.

Bastard. But the ice is slippery and you’re not steady on your skates, so you scramble forward only just enough to reach Elias again, wrapping your hands tightly around his arm.

“Do not let go,” you hiss.

“Do not be a smartass,” he shoots back, but thankfully he doesn’t move away again. Instead, he carefully takes both your hands away from his arm and takes them into his own, turning so he’s skating backwards and pulling you along.

If you don’t have to move your own feet, moving is a lot more fun, and you feel yourself loosening up. Every now and then you stumble, but Elias’ grip on you is firm and he never wavers, even when you yank on his hands to pull yourself upright again.

You’ve always noticed how graceful Elias is on the ice. There’s something about him when he skates that has always caught your attention, even if you would never admit that to him. But without the hockey gear, it’s even more clear how elegant he moves.

You, not so much.

“You better not be laughing at me,” you grumble, a little annoyed that you have to cling onto Elias as a lifeline in order not to break your neck. 

Elias raises an eyebrow. “I never do that.”

It should sound sarcastic but it really doesn’t, and you wonder if he’s momentarily forgotten every single interaction you’ve had with him over the past year.

Your expression must speak volumes because he rolls his eyes. He swiftly moves, so he’s skating next to you instead of in front.

He’s still holding your hand.

“I never laugh at you,” he clarifies. “I laugh because you’re funny. It’s different.”

And, oh. That does something to your stomach, something that you probably shouldn’t be thinking about right now.

Elias doesn’t seem to want to dwell on it either, because suddenly he pulls his hand away, skating a bit to the front to where you can’t reach him.

“You can do it on your own,” he calls over his shoulder, a cheeky smile playing around his lips.

And it turns out you can: you don’t fall, you keep moving – albeit a lot slower than Elias – and it’s actually kinda fun.

You can do it on your own, but. It was more fun with Elias next to you, anyway.

--

When Elias texts you to tell you you’re going to the Christmas market that night, you haven’t seen him in three days.

But you’ve been texting. He’s been sending you stupid Christmas songs that you mostly don’t listen to, and Christmas movies you’d prefer to never see. You send him ideas for cliché Christmas stories that you can almost hear his disapproving snort for. 

Santa becomes a prima donna and holds Christmas hostage until his ego is stroked in the form of songs written in his honor by reindeer who are willing to give their very lives for the cause.

Elias’ answer comes swift.

No. That has definitely been done before and also, someone could call animal services.

When Brock asks you how you’re liking your time with Elias, when you FaceTime him during dinner, you fall into silence.

What are you gonna tell him? That you smile every time you see his name pop up on your phone? That you have no idea anymore why you didn’t like him all that time? That you now understand what he meant when he used to say “Petey just needs a little time”?

“It’s going,” you hum noncommittally, chopping another carrot.

Brock laughs. “You’re so full of bullshit. I can literally see you trying to hide a smile. You realized I’m right, didn’t you?”

“You need to shut up,” you tell him without any heat. “We’re civil. He’s bored, I’m in the middle of writer’s block crisis. We’re not getting married, Boes, it’s just better than doing nothing the whole week you’ve deserted me.”

“Sure,” Brock drawls, and it doesn’t sound like he believes you at all.

“How’s the pups?” you ask, and Brock laughs because that wasn’t even slightly subtle for a topic change. He clearly decides to let you, however, starts talking about Milo’s new habit of burying people’s gloves in the yard.

The thing is, you don’t really wanna talk about Elias with Brock when you don’t even know yourself what you think of him yet. Fine, you don’t hate him, that’s clear. You’ve realized his air of indifference is just a shield, a wall that crumples as soon as he laughs. His teasing remarks are familiar now, feel friendly the way they feel when they come from Brock, and you’ve realized he’s one of the funniest, smartest, and kindest people you know.

But Brock would just push it into something it’s not. When he comes back, you’ll probably go back to being ‘Brock’s friend’ instead Elias’, and you wouldn’t be surprised if everything goes back to the way things were. Maybe with less animosity, but when Elias has a bunch of different people to choose from, why would he choose to hang out with you?

But for now, he doesn’t have any other people to hang out with and he does choose to hang out with you, and you’re hit once again with how weird that is when you step into his car the next evening.

“Dude, it’s way too cold to be going outside,” you grumble, shutting the door of his car behind you. Inside the car it’s warm and cozy, and Elias has an amused expression on his face when he turns to you.

“Good evening,” he deadpans, “I’m good, thank you, how are you?”

“Right.” You can feel your cheeks flush and hope he thinks it’s because of the heat in the car. “Sorry.”

Elias laughs. “It’s not that cold,” he chides, pulling the car into the road. “You just didn’t dress properly.”

You look down at yourself. You thought you’d dressed quite warm, but there’s an icy chill in the air that promises a chance of snow, so maybe it’s not warm enough. You didn’t even take gloves, you realize now, or a hat.

Well.

Elias is grinning while he stares ahead at the road, and you kinda wanna smack him except for how it also makes you smile. He’s dressed a lot warmer than you, and with the scarf almost up to his chin and a beanie on his head there’s not much risk of him being recognized anywhere.

“I brought extra gloves,” Elias says, then. “You’re not gonna be able to enjoy it if your hands are cold.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Elias, not to be a downer, but we’re going to a busy market that revolves entirely around Christmas, and I don’t like Christmas or crowds. I don’t think I’m gonna enjoy myself either way.”

“We’ll see,” Elias says simply, and it sounds like a promise.

It’s easy to keep up the conversation on the way there, light teasing from you and genuine interest from him. It’s comfortable, both the warmth in the car and Elias’ laugh next to you, and when he parks the car you almost don’t wanna get out.

At least he does have gloves for you, and he gives you a scarf, so you’re not that cold when you step out into the night air.

The Christmas market is busy, hoards of happy people looking for some Christmas cheer. You stick close to Elias’ side: if you lose him in this crowd, you’ll never find him back.

At least it’s pretty. The sky is already dark but the Christmas market has been lit up with seemingly millions of lights in every color imaginable.

“I don’t think purple is very Christmassy,” you say, flicking a purple light hanging off the stall that Elias is browsing.

“I prefer the white ones,” he answers, eyes kept firmly on the handmade ornaments in the stall. “They look like stars.” He turns, holding out an ornament. It’s a glass star, and it reflects the lights like a kaleidoscope.

It’s, objectively, beautiful. You don’t have to like Christmas to love it, but when you reach out for it, Elias laughs and pulls it out of your reach.

“I thought we decided you’re not to be trusted with glass.”

He’s referencing a time long ago, when you were hanging out with Brock and he happened to be there, and you dropped a glass and Brock had made a whole spectacle of it.

To be fair, you hadn’t really put Elias in the memory you keep of that day, because he was simply there: as Brock’s friend, as someone who happens to linger in the background. He’s lingering in the background of many memories, you realize now, but you’re starting to realize you prefer the ones where he’s front and center.

You walk past more stalls, filled with either tacky Christmas stuff – you buy Brock some socks with Santa on them because you can’t not – or handmade things, which you actually like looking at. Elias buys some things for his parents – “I’ll send them to Sweden,” he says, and he looks a little too sad so you start chatting about how Rouss kinda resembles a reindeer, somehow.

You’re walking past the food stalls when Elias asks: “How’s the writing going?”

You freeze. That’s not a question you were ready for, and it leads to the inevitable urge to blurt out the truth. “I haven’t started. I just don’t think I can.”

Elias’ eyes on you are thoughtful, like he’s searching for something in your soul. If he tries hard enough, you think he’ll look right through you: nobody has ever made you feel so open, so visible, as he does.

“Brock didn’t tell you why I don’t like Christmas, did he?”

“No,” Elias admits, “but I figured it was a better reason than red is not your color.”

“Hey!” you protest, stepping to the side so you can bump your shoulder against his. “Red is totally my color!”

It’s not, but Elias doesn’t push it. Instead, he smiles warmly, and suddenly you want to tell him.

“When I was young, my parents used to fight a lot. One day, two weeks before Christmas, they got into a massive fight. I listened to them from my bedroom and then my dad came upstairs and told me he was going to find me the perfect Christmas tree. He got in his car and went to get the tree, or so I thought. I never saw him again.”

You sigh. “It’s not, like… I’m over it, mostly. I just can’t help but feel that same feeling every year around Christmas. It’s like hoping for something you know will never happen. Like you’re reading a book and the happy ending never comes. ”

“That’s why it’s hard to write the story,” Elias hazards a guess. He looks curious, but he doesn’t look like he feels bad for you, which is what you would’ve disliked the most.

He points to one of the stalls, then. “They make the best hot chocolate in town. Want one?”

You nod, following him towards the stall as you continue talking. “It is. But I do also find Christmas stories boring to write. It’s always the same concept, just in a million different ways.”

Elias smiles. “That’s the fun of it, no? You know the happy ending always comes. It makes you feel good.”

“It’s boring,” you repeat, stubbornly. “The girl from the big city with a job paying upwards of 8 figures goes back to her hometown for Christmas and somehow falls for some high school fling who still lives in a basement, but makes a mean cup of hot chocolate and says thing like ‘What can I say? I was stupid.’” You cross your arms. “You can’t tell me if we took the Christmas element away you would voluntarily read that story.”

Elias laughs. “Some people would. Isn’t that basically the story from The Notebook?”

“Have you ever watched The Notebook, Elias?” you frown, and he shrugs.

“No, but Brock said it made him cry.”

Which isn’t surprising, because a lot of movies have made Brock cry. You wonder what Elias would do if you put on The Notebook on your upcoming Christmas movie night.

Elias turns around, then, two steaming cups of hot chocolate in his hands. He smirks when he hands it to you.

“What can I say? I was stupid,” he quotes, and you can’t help but giggle as you take the cup from him.

“You didn’t make this, you just paid for it. It doesn’t count that way.”

“After this we should probably go,” he says then, glancing at his watch.

The words sink into your stomach like a heavy stone of dread; you don’t really want to go home, and the realization hits you like a ton of bricks. You’re happy, right now, and if ‘feeling Christmassy’ basically translates to feeling happy, well…

It’s not Christmas, though, that’s got you feeling this way. You could care less about the pine trees and the tacky music and the reindeer and the big man with the white beard and red hat.

You care more about the blonde man beside you, staring into the distance with the brightest blue eyes, and the way he somehow always makes you laugh.

Damn it. How much you hate it when Brock is right.

--

With Brock telling you how much Elias likes Christmas movies, and Elias having pushed you for this Christmas movie marathon for days on end, you were expecting a bit more excitement from him when it finally happens.

You can tell something is wrong from the moment you open the door. He’s standing with his hands in his pockets, and when he smiles at you it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly, moving past you into your apartment.

“I hope you’re ready to rewatch the same exact movie with only minor differences all night,” you joke, but Elias doesn’t even look up as he methodically pulls off his coat, kicks off his shoes and pitter patters into your living room.

He scoffs when he sees your tree, still empty except for the Canucks ornament that he got you.

“Really?” he asks, and for the first time in a while you can’t tell if he’s joking or actually upset with you.

This is the Elias that you knew before, the one that you didn’t like because you could never reach him, guarding his heart like a fort. But this time, you know what it’s like to have the other Elias, and you already miss having that Elias in your life.

“Sorry to disappoint,” you bring out, and it comes out a bit shaky. Elias turns around and his face softens slightly.

“I didn’t mean that.” He sighs. “I nearly canceled this.”

Your heart sinks.

“I get grumpy when I’m not feeling good and I don’t want to take it out on you.” He sinks down onto your couch, kicks his feet up on the coffee table like he’s been there a million times before. “But I didn’t wanna cancel, so. I didn’t.” He sounds almost helpless, like he’s not sure if he should be saying what he’s saying.

But your traitorous heart lifts immediately. If he didn’t want to cancel, it means he wants to be here, and that’s really all you need to know.

“Well, I’m gonna make popcorn, then,” you say, keeping your voice light. “You pick the movie. I don’t care. They’re all the same anyway.”

Elias rolls his eyes, but it’s good natured. “They’re not the same!” he calls after you as you disappear into the kitchen.

“Every Christmas movie ever was written by someone who didn’t know what to write,” you tell him, knowing he can still hear you from the kitchen – the benefits of living in a tiny apartment. “Writer’s block? No problem. The solution: a little bit of Christmas magic. ‘We can’t pay the rent’, ‘I’m sick’, ‘My boss is making me work on Christmas’. Poof, with a jingle of bells, problems solved in the form of a generous benefactor, aspirin, or a hit man.”

“If that’s the case, why can’t you write a Christmas story?” Elias calls back teasing, and you give him the finger through the wall.

He might not see it, but you’re certain he can feel it.

You take the popcorn and walk back to the couch, letting yourself drop onto it next to Elias. You misjudge the distance a bit, causing you to sit a little too close to Elias for it to be strictly friendly; but Elias doesn’t budge, so you don’t move either.

You’re pressed against Elias shoulder to thigh, and you can feel his body shake when he laughs.

“I like this cliché,” he says, nodding towards the television. “Let’s see if you can guess it.”

You watch the movie in relative silence, eating popcorn and enjoying the warmth of Elias body against yours. You have to admit you lose focus every now and then: the movie isn’t that bad, but it’s hard to focus on anything with Elias so close. Every now and then, when something funny happens, he exhales a sharp breath of laughter, and sometimes he hums as if he’s agreeing with what’s happening on screen.

He smells nice, too, and finally you get tired enough that you get a little brave: you let your head drop against his shoulder, tugging your feet under yourself.

“Figured it out, yet?” Elias asks softly.

“Yep,” you answer. The movie is nearing the end but you figured it out within the first ten minutes. “Basic physics, not to mention common sense, are thrown to the wind as Christmas repeats every day, disappears from the calendar, or is hurled into the past or future.”

Elias doesn’t respond, and suddenly you wanna know.

“Are you okay?” It’s probably a weird question, and very out of the blue, so you hurry trying to explain. “Cause you came in very sad, and like, if you don’t wanna talk about it with me that’s fine but I think it’s good to talk about things sometimes so if you wanna…”

“I’m fine,” Elias says, cutting you off, but it doesn’t sound dismissive. It sounds a little amused, and when you turn to look at him, you find him smiling. “Worried about me?”

And it’s the strangest thing, but you are. “A little.”

Elias’ face softens. “I promise I’m okay,” he says. He reaches out, then, places his hand on yours and squeezes. “I just talked to my parents before I came here, on Skype, and they were talking about Christmas and it sucks that I can’t see them for the holidays. But it is what it is.” He shrugs. “I sulk for a bit and then I move on.”

You never really go home for the holidays, but you understand how awful it must be to be stuck alone in Canada with your whole family in Sweden.

You blame the quiet, late night energy for what comes out of your mouth next.

“I think I could be convinced to make you a Christmas dinner if you ask nicely.”

Elias laughs, and his hand is warm when you turn your palm up and he laces his fingers through yours.

“If I ask nicely, will you watch another movie with me right now?”

You pull the Christmas themed throw blanket over your legs before letting your head drop against Elias’ shoulder once again.  

“You don’t even have to ask.”

--

“I have an idea,” Elias says through the phone, and you don’t quite recognize the tone in his voice at first. “Well, it was Brock’s idea, but I think it’s a good one.”

Anything that was Brock’s idea immediately fills you with doubt, and you frown. “What?”

That’s when you realize: Elias sounds excited.

“Brock knows someone with a cottage, about two hours from here. It’s in the forest and it’s supposedly very Christmassy. We should go for a night.”

He sounds quietly pleased, and you don’t have the heart to tell him no.

“Okay.”

Objectively, though, it’s an awful idea. A Christmassy cottage in the forest also sounds like it would be very romantic, and you’ve finally come to terms with the fact that what you feel for Elias is definitely not just friendly comradery at this point. Feeding this feeling would not be smart, considering the fact that it’s almost Christmas and after that you’ll most likely never spend time with Elias like this again.

Sure, he might be at parties with the other Canucks or Brock might invite him for drinks with you, but it won’t be like this. You’re not stupid enough to think this will last: that would be a real Christmas miracle, and Christmas miracles don’t exist.

“Sometimes I wish I could read your mind.” Elias’ voice startles you despite the fact that his words come out softly. It’s been quiet in the car, apart from the low murmur of the radio in the background, for a good fifteen minutes.

You’re on your way to the cottage and your thoughts are going a million miles per hour.

You look over at Elias. He’s staring ahead at the road, one hand on the wheel and the other in his lap. He looks relaxed. Comfortable.

“It’s usually nothing interesting,” you say, and you thank the universe that he can’t know what’s going on in your mind.

“Are you thinking about your story?” he asks, and you weren’t, but it’s as good an excuse as any.

“I’ve gotta email it to my professor in four days,” you admit. “And I haven’t put a single word on paper yet.”

You’ve tried, that’s for sure. You’ve spent hours on your laptop, staring at a Word document. You’ve typed sentences and deleted them, tried to outline the story or just wing it while typing. Nothing works, nothing feels right when it stares back at you from the screen.

Elias hums noncommittally. “I think you think about it too much,” he says. “Just don’t worry about it. And write what you know.”

You scoff. “I don’t think anyone wants to read a Christmas story about a father who bails on his family, Elias. Nobody likes sad Christmas stories.”

He smiles. “Any sad Christmas cliches on your list?”

“Each and every event, whether holiday related or not, is tainted through the loss of a dead relative. Example: “Can I have a glass of water?” “Your, uh, *swallow*, your grandmother used to drink water.””

Elias laughs before reaching for the radio and turning up the music. You never listen to Christmas music, as a rule, but somehow you don’t hate it now that it’s blasting through his stupid sports car, the world flying past you through the window.

The drive is filled with Elias humming along to Christmas music and you laughing whenever he pulls a face at one of the lyrics. You spend at least 30 minutes debating if ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ should still be allowed on the radio – no – and whether or not Michael Buble is the king of Christmas – in Europe, apparently yes.

By the time you reach the cottage, you feel a lot more positive.

Until you see it.

“Uhm,” you bring out, staring at the place in front of you. Elias barks out a laugh, but it sounds mostly disbelieving.

“When Brock said ‘cottage in the forest’, I pictured something different,” he says sheepishly.

“I guess this shows the power of speech?” you offer. “Like, ‘cottage in the forest’ and you think of this beautiful rustic romantic getaway. But this is more ‘cabin in the woods’: I think we’re about to get murdered.”

Elias raises an eyebrow. “Romantic?” he repeats, an amused tilt to his voice, and you nearly get back in the car.

Way to put your foot in your mouth.

Luckily for you Elias doesn’t dwell on it. Instead he wanders inside, where at the very least it looks a little better.

It’s cold, and there’s no working electricity, but there’s a fireplace and a billion candles, and it’s decorated quite cosy. Maybe even Christmassy, if you really squint: although you’re happy to notice there’s no tree.

It’s easier than you thought it would be, to spend an evening in some dodgy cabin with Elias. It’s easy to chat about everything and nothing, to cook dinner with him. How domestic it feels to tease him about how slowly he chops the mushrooms, while he somehow makes sure your wine glass is always full.

Silence doesn’t fall until long after dinner. The fireplace is on, fickle candle light giving the room an orange glow. You’ve somehow ended up with your feet in Elias’ lap, although you can’t remember how they got there: you’re painfully aware of the heavy grip of his hand around your ankle.

The wine has given your brain a nice fuzzy feeling, has softened up the edges around your thoughts. And all you can think, now, is how nice this is: to have Elias right there next to you, blue eyes fixed on the ember flames burning in front of you.

“I’m glad that Brock kept forcing us to hang out,” you say, without thinking. Elias glances over at you.

“Forcing us?” he repeats, as if he’s not sure what you mean.

You shrug. “Come on, Elias, we didn’t like each other before this. You probably didn’t want to hang out with me as much as I didn’t want to hang out with you.”

The words hang heavy in the air for a second. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you saw Elias flinch.

“Actually,” he says tightly, and your heart does a traitorous swoop. “Brock never forced me to come. I always asked. If I knew he was gonna see you, I asked to come along.”

The words hit you like a freight train. You can feel your heart beating in your chest. But surely there’s no way you’ve been wrong all this time?

Brock did say Elias didn’t hate you.

“But… I thought you didn’t like me.” Your voice sounds small in the quiet room. It feels different here, so far away from the city: when the night is so silent all your thoughts sound so loud.

Elias shrugs. He doesn’t look upset, per se, but his face is carefully closed off and you know now that’s not a good sign.

“I know you thought that,” he says, voice flat. “I know that first night I came off as rude.” His smile is wry. “I was nervous, I didn’t really speak English, and you’re very pretty. I guess it was a recipe for disaster, on my end, so it doesn’t surprise me you didn’t like me.”  

You can feel the blood rush to your cheeks, your heart pounding in your throat. You’re hearing his words but they sound almost foreign, and you can’t quite believe he’s really saying them.

“I’ve always liked you, though,” Elias adds, almost as an afterthought, carelessly like it doesn’t matter. Like he doesn’t know what that does to you, your mind going into overdrive.

You’re not an easy person to like. That’s not you being hard on yourself, you just know you judge too harshly, react too quickly. You go into downwards spirals of negative thoughts, you put opinions into people’s mouths, and most of all, you don’t believe in happily ever after.

People, in your experience, don’t stick around for people who won’t promise them happily ever after.

But Elias is here, having brought you to this cabin, having pushed and pushed to be around you: and you didn’t even notice. You thought he was just doing Brock a favor, you thought he was just bored. He’s not been very outgoing about his affections, but you can tell that they’re there; from the way he’s put up your Christmas tree to how he always listens to every word that falls from your lips. No, he’s not been very outgoing about with his affections but he’s been plentiful with them, and you just didn’t notice.

“Elias,” you start, but the sentence dies on your lips when he turns to face you, suddenly a lot closer than he was before.

“What about now?” he asks. You must look as confused as you feel, because he clarifies right away. “What do you think about me now?”

There’s nothing unsure about the question, and you think the answer is been pretty clear. You wouldn’t be here if the answer wasn’t clear. But despite that, despite that he seems to already know what you’re gonna say, you wanna say it anyway. You think you have to say it anyway.

“Now I like you,” you tell him, sitting up straighter. “I really like you, Elias.”

The last thing you register is the pleased smile tugging at the edges of Elias’ mouth, and then his lips are against yours.

The kiss is soft but not hesitant. Maybe he’s giving you time to think about it, this way, if this is what you want: but in that moment there’s nothing you want more, nothing but a fierce desire to trace your hands down his body.

As soon as your fingers touch his arm, Elias deepens the kiss. He kisses exactly how you would expect him to; giving you everything, no trace of doubt or hesitation.

There’s nothing frantic about it, nothing scary. With every second that ticks by you fall a little further into it, your mind a lovely shade of blank – with the exception of the boy in front of you, like all your nerves screaming his name.

“Hey.” Elias’ voice is soft as he pulls away. He doesn’t take his hands away from where they’re laying against the bare skin of your back. “We don’t have to go further.”

He’s giving you an out, you realize, a second to gather your thoughts. You could pull away now, you could put some space between the two of you.

You scoot forward, moving even more into his lap, and carefully curl your hand around his jaw. He leans into it slightly, and your heart screams with how much you want him.

You don’t answer. Even as a writer, you realize that words are sometimes overrated. Instead, you press your lips against his, placing your heart in his hands as you kiss him once more.  

--

It takes about two hours after you get back to your apartment for the reality of it all to comes crashing down at you.

The night at the cabin was wonderful; magical, even. If you would write the perfect Christmas story, it would be a lot like that.

Except you’re not writing a Christmas story – you should, of course, but you haven’t started and that’s because Christmas stories are unrealistic.

You and Elias, your story - no matter how wonderful – is unrealistic. What were you thinking? That Elias, being who he is, would simply… What? Become your boyfriend?

He’s Vancouver’s biggest star, everyone’s favorite person. You’re just another lonely writer who lives mostly in their own brain. You’re just someone else who is hard to love; like your parents, like your sister, like all the friends you’ve seen get their hearts broken.

You call Brock.

“Wow, calm down,” are the first words that come out of his mouth when he finally speaks. You’ve told him most of the story by then, sentences coming out in shallow breaths and tears already burning in the back of your throat. “What the hell do you mean ‘hard to love’? That’s bullshit.”

“It’s not.” You swallow. “Brock, it’s not real. What I’m feeling. People fall in love all the time and they all believe that’s it, their perfect story, but how often does that story end up a tragedy?”

“Y/N…” He sounds mostly sad. “You can’t live like that.”

But your mind was made up long ago, so long ago when you were just a child. When you saw the tragedy that was your parents love story, and then later it was only settled deeper, when you saw your friends get hurt, when your sister got cheated on.

“I can’t make myself the protagonist of my own tragedy.”

“Petey isn’t going to break your heart.” Brock’s voice is sharp, and you realize this is not a fair position to put him into: how can he be honest to you when that means breaking Elias’ trust?

“He won’t mean to,” you whisper. “But it’ll happen. It might not even be his fault. I’ll probably break my own heart somewhere along the line. But happiness doesn’t just come along this suddenly, Boes.”

“What is it does?” Brock asks, and you don’t have an answer.

What if it does is less scary what if it doesn’t, and the next few days when Elias calls, you don’t pick up the phone.

--

You shouldn’t have opened the door.

“You’re avoiding me.” Elias sounds... hurt. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound like that. You’ve learned that when he’s upset, he mostly sounds indifferent; locks his emotions behind a wall for nobody to see.

And maybe it’s a testament to how well you know him, now, that you can pick up on the change in his voice. Or maybe it means he’s decided to let you in.

God, you hope it’s not that last one. Hope he didn’t make that mistake.

You sigh. “I’m sorry, but…”

“Don’t.” Elias cuts you off by pushing past you into the apartment. He stands glaring at you in the middle of the living room, arm crossed. “You’re not doing this.”

You have to.

“It’s just not gonna work,” you try. There goes the crack in your heart, bursting open like someone squeezes it with an iron fist.

You’re doing this to yourself. But that’s better than the alternative: better than having Elias do it way further into the story, when there’s something to destroy.

There’s nothing to destroy, now. There’s only the prologue to the story, and now the epilogue. A story with no middle won’t be remembered.  

“That’s not true.” Elias isn’t backing down. “You can’t tell me nothing this past month has meant anything to you.” He frowns. “Does this have anything to do with your Christmas thing? Would it be different if this had happened in January?”

You laugh, but there’s no humor there. If only it was that simple.

“This has nothing to do with Christmas, Elias. This just isn’t real. There’s no happy ending to my storyline, and I’m not dragging you down with me.”

You let your eyes fix on him, on the way he stands there stubbornly, still fighting for something. For you. If only it made a difference.

Elias doesn’t say anything, for a while. Finally, voice timid, he says: “You’re gonna throw this away because you’re scared.”

You are scared. But that’s not why you’re doing this.

“Damn it, Y/N.” Frustration rings clear in Elias’ voice, now. “I know you feel what I feel! You can’t just ruin that because you’re not brave enough to say what you want!”

“It doesn’t make a difference, Elias!” You’re hurting too, and you can hear your own voice getting too loud.

“I wanna live in a world where people don’t get hurt, and everyone’s got enough money and nobody ever has to skip a meal!” You swallow, hot tears pricking behind your eyes. “I wanna live in a world where people don’t get in the car to get a Christmas tree and never come back, and I wanna live in a world where Santa’s real, Elias, but that’s just not reality. That’s not how life works.”  

Elias’ eyes are dark, his jaw tense. You know you’re not gonna like what he’s got to say before he’s even opened his mouth.

“Maybe not,” he says tightly, “but you live in a world where people can choose to love each other. It doesn’t have anything to do with Santa, or magic. None of those things are real, but love is real, and you can choose to believe in that.”

He grabs his jacket, is walking towards the door before you can even comprehend what he’s saying. At the door, he turns around. His eyes shine with sadness.

“I want to love you, but you have to choose to believe that, too. And if you can’t, then I guess it won’t ever be real.”

When the door closes, the last piece of your heart breaks in two.

--

“Merry Christmas!”

Brock’s voice is bright and cheery. He’s clearly only just woken up, his blond hair a mess and Milo passed out in his lap.

“It’s not even Christmas yet,” you tease. You curl your legs closer to yourself, your coffee in one hand and your phone in the other. It’s nice to see Brock, even if it’s just over FaceTime.

Getting your heart broken is even worse when you can’t really talk about it to your best friend, because you also broke your best friend’s other best friend’s heart.

It’s a complicated issue, is the thing.

“It’s Christmas Eve tonight,” Brock says, rolling his eyes. “That’s basically Christmas. Are you still moping?”

“Hey,” you protest. “I’m not moping. I’m sad. It’s different.”

You have been moping, a bit. The first two days after your final talk with Elias, you didn’t even really come out of bed. You just sat there and you wrote.

That’s the only good thing to come out of this, you think. You somehow not only wrote your story, it’s maybe the best story you’ve ever written.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Brock’s voice is gentle. “You can talk to me, you know? I won’t use anything you say against you or tell Petey or whatever. He’s been talking to me too.”

Your heart does a somersault. If Elias has been talking to Brock, Brock probably already knows everything; in a way, you can’t believe he’s still talking to you if that’s the case.

More than that, though, it brings an opportunity. To find out what you’ve been wondering since Elias stepped out of your apartment.

“Is he alright?”

“Are you?” Brock counters, like that matters.

You stare at the coffee in your cup. It’s too hot to drink still, little puffs of steam climbing through the air.

You’re not doing so well, admittedly, but that’s probably fair. You were the one to broke off the story, in the end. And you hate to admit it to yourself – and you definitely won’t admit it to Brock – but you’ve been wondering if you made the right choice.

“I wrote my Christmas story,” you say, instead of answering his question. “Handed it in yesterday.”

Brock lets you change the subject. “Cool. What did it ended up being about?”

You sigh. “It was about me.”

Brock raises his eyebrows, interest clear in his eyes. He doesn’t push you, and you’re glad for it. You need a moment to find the words.

“I wrote about a girl who hates Christmas because it reminds her of things that she’s lost. And I wrote about how scared she is of gaining something because that means she can lose it again.”

Brock’s voice is soft when he speaks. “But someone teaches her? In the story?”

He knows you too well. You laugh quietly. “Yes, someone takes her through all these Christmas cliches to make her realize why they’re cliches. It’s not because of the act itself. It’s because you spend time doing it with someone you love.”

“She loves this person, the one that teaches her,” Brock hazards a guess.

There’s no longer any doubt that he knows exactly how you feel about Elias.

“She loves him but that scares her even more. Because if she loves him, she could lose him. And Christmas has always been the time to remind her of loss and heartbreak. So she assumes it’ll just end in hurt this time too.”

“It doesn’t have to,” Brock says.

And you know. Somehow, writing the story, you realized that. Because as you wrote about this girl, that was exactly like you, you found yourself not wanting to give the story a realistic ending. You wanted to make it right, wanted her to end up with the person who taught her how to love Christmas and how to love him.

So you did. You gave your story a happy ending. And in doing that, it’s like you gave yourself permission to want a happy ending for yourself, too.

But there’s just no way. Life isn’t a fairytale, and the Christmas cliché where the girl who throws it all away gets back her perfect boy by stealing Santa’s microphone in the mall and making a grand speech about how pushing him away was the biggest mistake of her life, simply isn’t real life material.

“It’s not too late, you know.” Brock’s sitting up straighter, almost as if he wants to come through the camera and tell you in person. “If you wanted to change the ending. You could. He’d let you.”

Your heart starts beating faster and it has nothing to do with the caffeine you’re drinking.

All this time, you’ve been wondering. Wondering if it’s too late.

“How would I do that?” you ask. “Hypothetically.” 

Brock’s grin is so bright you nearly have to close your eyes. “Send him the story,” he says, without thinking about it; the jerk probably has been thinking about this since you started telling him what it’s about. “You should send him the story. Kinda like a message in a bottle.”

When you say goodbye to Brock, his eyes are fond when you tell him “Thank you” and mean it. Without him, you don’t think you would’ve had the courage, but now it feels like the only possible ending comes with you taking your Word document and putting it in an email.

--

To: [email protected]

Attachment: Not a typical Christmas story.pdf

Message:

Elias,

I’ve tried to write this letter a million times, to tell you what I should’ve said that night. I can’t say I’m not scared what you’ll think, but who am I to know what the future holds? If my heart was paper I’d fold it, throw it to the wind and hope it’d end up in your arms. So here it is, my paper heart, in the form of the most cliché Christmas story of them all. The one where everyone ends up with their perfect happily ever after.

Signed with love from me to you,

Y/N.

--

There’s three rapid knocks on the door, and then silence.

Your heartbeat speeds up like you heard gunshots instead. Within seconds you’re on your feet, almost running to the door.

There’s only one person that could be at your door on Christmas morning at 9am, right?

When you open it, something heavy dissolves in your stomach, a sense of comfort falling over you like crawling into bed after an exhausting day.

“Elias,” you breathe.

For a second, you just stare at him: he looks like he’s barely slept at all, dark circles surrounding his eyes, which somehow seem more blue than they ever have before.

“Merry Christmas,” Elias says then, thrusting something forward. You grab it in reflex.

It’s the glass star, the ornament from the Christmas market. The one that you had told Elias you found beautiful, the one that reflected all the lights like a million little stars. The one that reminded you, even, of Elias’ eyes.

It’s still beautiful. And suddenly there’s tears running down your cheeks, warm against your skin.

Elias frowns. He looks a little worried, unsure; as if he shouldn’t be here. But God, he is here, on your doorstep, and he brought you this ornament, and you know that it has to mean what you think it does.

“I’m sorry,” you bring out. “For everything, I…”

You can’t finish your sentence, because Elias steps forward, his arms outstretched, and you launch yourself at him like a missile. He catches you easily, presses you against his chest and buries his face in your shoulder.

“I read the story,” he mumbles. You can barely make out the words, but they hit you like a ton of bricks anyway. “You believe in Christmas miracles now?”

You can hear the smile in his voice as he asks, because he already knows the answer.

“I don’t know,” you admit. You pull away a little, but keep your arms firmly locked around Elias’ waist, and his hands remain on your back. “But you’re here, so. I think I might have to start.”

Elias laughs, moving closer again to press a kiss against your head. You can feel his lips move against your hair when he speaks. “What about us? You believe in us, now?”

You don’t answer him, but you think he can tell from the way you kiss him, anyway.

--

You tug the blanket tighter around your shoulders, smiling down at the opposite end of the couch. Elias is talking in Swedish and you don’t understand a word he’s saying, but you can tell that he’s happy, smile bright and eyes fixed on the laptop screen in front of him.

He’s been talking to his family for the past hour, and watching him has been a great source of entertainment for you. He blushed when his brother mentioned your name, and finally he did introduce you to them.

“This is Y/N, I’m forcing her to watch Christmas movies with me all day and then bake cookies,” he’d laughed, and you didn’t tell him that there’s nothing you’d rather do.

“Jag älskar dig, hejdå,” Elias says, and then he finally closes the laptop. “Hey,” he hums, poking your thigh with his toe, “my mom said she can’t wait to meet you, so. Be warned.”

You laugh. “I would love to go to Sweden. I read something about cakes.”

It feels natural, to crawl over to the other side of the couch and lay down between Elias’ legs, head resting on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear and it’s enough for your eyes to close on their own accord.

It’s not like you’ve had much sleep the past few nights. But now, you think you could finally sleep peacefully, knowing that Elias is here and he’s not leaving.

His hand moves down your side, sneaking under your sweater, fingertips soft against your skin.

“It’s snowing,” he says, suddenly, and you open your eyes to look out the window.

Indeed, there’s little flurries of white powder fluttering through the grey Vancouver sky.

“That’s too much,” you roll your eyes. “The great grandmother of Christmas cliches.” Elias raises a questioning eyebrow, so you explain. “As the final crisis is resolved, everyone runs out in the street on Christmas Eve to discover that it’s snowing! In Nigeria! During a drought!”

“We’re in Vancouver,” Elias deadpans, and it’s only because you know him so well that you see the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “And it’s not Christmas Eve, it’s Christmas Day.”

“Minor details,” you shrug, placing your head back on his chest and closing your eyes again.

“We’ve gotta decorate this sad excuse of a tree.” You can hear the smile in Elias’ voice as he talks. “Two ornaments does not make a Christmas tree.”

“Later,” you hum, curling your fingers into his sweater. “We’ve got all day.”

Elias laughs. “The tree is supposed to be decorated before Christmas, typically.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “We’re not a typical Christmas story, though.”

“Maybe not typical, but still pretty good.” His arms tighten around you and you can feel him press a kiss into your hair.

“Pretty fucking good,” you agree. “If you get me off this couch today it’ll be a Christmas miracle though.”

You shouldn’t have said that: no sooner than the final word leaves your lips you’re being lifted into the air, legs dangling helplessly as Elias throws you over this shoulder. Your giggles come out a little hysterically. 

“I told you miracles are real,” he grins, unceremoniously carrying you towards the bedroom.

You’ve just come from there, but you’re really not against the idea of going back.

“What about the tree?” you squeal, lightly slapping his shoulder.

“Tree can wait,” Elias decides, as he dumps you onto the bed and lets himself fall over you, leaning on his forearms so he doesn’t crush you.

“Tree can wait,” you echo in agreement, and you let your body relax into the mattress as Elias kisses you. When he tries to deepen it, you turn away just slightly, keeping your nose pressed against his cheekbone. “Hey, Lias?”

“What?” Elias mutters, sounding a little annoyed to be denied another kiss.

You smile. “Merry Christmas.”

His laughter sounds bright.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

#eeek im nervous about this one #elias pettersson #elias pettersson fic #elias pettersson one shot #nhl fic

[chernobog13]

POPEYE DELUXE SET

So I recently got the Mezco 5-Point Popeye Deluxe Set, and it has made me very happy.

The set comes with four figures and heavy cardboard panels that, when unfolded and attached to each other, become recreation of Rough House’s Cafe.

I am a fan of the original Thimble Theatre comic strip by E.C. Seegar, and the Popeye cartoons from Fleischer Studios, and these figures look like they jumped right off the comics page, or off the screen, and onto my desk.

Thimble Theatre was a newspaper comic strip that began in 1919.  It was originally a gag-a-day strip, but soon became an extended story following the exploits of Olive Oil, her extended family, and her then-boyfriend, Hamgravy.

While quite good and entertaining, Thimble Theatre did not attract a very big audience.  

That all changed in 1929 when a minor character, Popeye the Sailor, was introduced.  He had a minor supporting role in one adventure and then left the strip, never to be seen again like so many other characters that passed through the background of Thimble Theatre.

Except the audience LOVED Popeye!  So much so that he was brought back into the strip.  Thimble Theatre’s popularity soared, and Popeye’s role continually expanded until he took over the strip.

Hamgravy left the strip when Olive chose Popeye as her new boyfriend.  Likewise, most of OLive’s family were relegated to background, supporting roles.  Her brother, Castor, continued to get Popeye involved in his misadventures until he, too, became an occasional supporting character.

Bluto, Popeye’s familiar antagonist, actually only appeared once in the original comic strip.  However, he had such a great visual in contrast to Popeye that Felischer Studios, when they began making their Popeye theatrical cartoons, made Bluto the recurring bad guy.

Pluto’s inclusion in this set only makes sense because, thanks to the cartoons, he is the best known of Popeye’s antagonists.

We do not, and will not, speak of Brutus!

Likewise, the spinach can Popeye is pictured with above was infrequently used in the comic strip, and is more an element from the cartoons that most people are familiar with.

As I mentioned above, Olive Oil has pretty much been in the strip since its inception.  I’m not sure, but that might make her the longest running regular comics character at over 100 years!

Olive’s appearance has remained unchanged over the years, though how she manages to lift anything with those spaghetti strands she calls arms I don’t know.

Still, for a centenarian she’s in pretty good shape!

Rough House is the owner of the eponymously named Rough House’s Cafe, a greasy spoon diner frequented by the folks in Thimble Theatre, especially Popeye’s buddy, Wimpy.

I have to go back and watch my complete collection of the Fleischer Popeye cartoons, because I don’t remember if Rough House himself ever made an appearance.

I do know that he was in those dreadful (shudder) made-for-television Popeye cartoons from the 1950s and 60s.  I know some people like these cartoons because those were the version they grew up with, and/or because the stories used previously unseen plots and characters from Thimble Theatre.  However, after being exposed to the awesomeness that were the Fleischer cartoons, I could never really warm up to any of the other versions.  It’s like being raised on a diet of the finest sushi, and then being given an expired pouch of Bumblebee Tuna; it just ain’t the same.

The figures are only articulated at the neck, shoulders, and hips; hence the 5-Points moniker.

Those who read this blog regularly know I am generally not fond of figures with little or no articulation.  However, in the case of these characters I think it works perfectly.

In addition to the four figures, both Popeye and Bluto have an additional pair of interchangeable arms.  The accessories included are Popeye’s can of spinach, of course, and Rough House’s frying pan and spatula.

I did not assemble the cafe playset yet, as I have no space to display it yet.  The cardboard pieces all have adhesive strips to keep the pieces together, and once assembled there is no way to take it apart without damaging the individual panels.

I have one minor quibble with the set, and that’s with the paint job on the faces.  Although I did not notice it until I took photographs, it appears that the paint was applied over a layer of dust.

Or perhaps the faces could have used a little more sanding/smoothing out before applying the paint.  I’m not talking about the deliberate sculpted lines like wrinkles and such.  Check out the middle of Olive Oyl’s forehead in the photo above to see what I’m referring to.

Besides that minor point, I am extremely pleased by this set.  So much so that I want Mezco to produce more Thimble Theatre sets!  I want figures of Wimpy, and Poopdeck Pappy, and the Sea Hag, and Eugene the Jeep, and Swee’Pea, and many, many more!

Meanwhile, I’ll just pop those Fleischer cartoons into the ole BluRay player, and then bust open my Fantagraphics reprints of all the Seegar Popeye strips.

Arf!  Arf!

photos by me

#Popeye #Olive Oyl #Bluto #Rough Hose #Rough House's Cafe #Mezco #Popeye Deluxe Set #5 Point figures #action figures #toys #Thimble Theatre

[unholyplumpprincess]

Won’t Say I’m In Love

A commission for Anonymous with a trans dude and Loba!

Summary: In which reader is Loba's sugar baby/friend with benefit who she loves to shower gifts upon. When reader starts expressing interest and complimenting her, realizing she gets flustered when the attention is turned to her, it makes courting her and making it. Obvious they'd like more a little more difficult. Nothing that can't be solved with a little bump n grind, right?...Right?

Reblogs > Likes. It costs zero dollars to reblog :D

Minors and ageless blogs dni or you will be blocked!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Loba Andrade/Reader

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Loba is a trans woman and her bits are referred to as cock/dick, Reader is a trans man with top surgery and no bottom surgery and parts are referred to as cock/dick/hole, reader is penetrated, sugar mommy relationship BUT WITHOUT THE MOMMY INVOLVED, FWB to romance, talk of transitioning and the stuff that comes with it, Loba nuts in ya, aaaand fluff!

Words: 5.1k

_______________

Loba, to you, was everything.

Perhaps that’s a bit of a stretch. But in times like this, you can’t imagine her out of your life. Not when her smile is etched into your memory, dimples on her cheeks and pearly whites reminding you of a wolf’s. Or how her eyes narrow dangerously when you tease her, a smile playing on her lips as she coos to you to hand over the last treat in the kitchen before you run squealing after you shove it in your mouth. Loba, hot on your heels.

Life with her came natural after being in each other’s good graces for so long.

Well.

If you called ‘fuck buddies where she buys you things all the time’ good graces. A certified sugar mama.

~Rest under the cut~

Your meeting had been a business strict one at first. She was the girl people went to when things were stolen from them or they had specific desires. In your case, a precious family heirloom had been stolen from you by Hammond. That family member that had been working on cracking a code to work into their system had mysteriously disappeared, leaving you with a precious family ring that you cherished. Yet, somehow, it had gone missing, the only lead being of a ripped jacket by the window with an H symbol on it.

Loba was a person you’d heard of who could get anything from anyone, and when you’d found her, given her all the details and your own sob story. She’d hummed, drawing her manicured fingers across your cheeks and cooed about how pretty a gem you were yourself. When your cheeks had flared red, she’d smirked, patted your cheek and told you that it would be done within the week. Since she was going that way anyway.

When you’d received an anonymous text fit with a wolf emoji, you’d hurried quickly over to the underground area where she’d resided. The neon red lights had looked beautiful on her, made her look dangerous in the alleyway where she’d sat upon a box as if it were a throne. You thanked her a million times over, offering money, even some other jewelry that you’d been given that you had no need for. Yet you knew it was expensive.  

Loba had refused, and instead had risen from her spot where she’d been sitting. Circling you like you were prey and making a mention about how she knew you were struggling to keep your apartment going, how it would be dangerous for you to go back. Not knowing how or why she brought it up, at first you bristled, holding the ring close to your chest in fear she would take it.

But, instead, she offers you her gloved hand, a smile on her face and a tilt to her head. “As I told you when you had arrived, you are a beautiful gem yourself. I could take care of you. Would you like to be the new addition to my collection?”

At first, you’d been flustered, a little shocked, and suspicious. But now? Now it all made sense.

Loba loved to shower you in gifts and compliments. She’d always called you the prized jewel of her collection. A collection that you’d seen and wandered through numerous times by now. Of golds, silvers, diamonds, arts, priceless artifacts, all the riches in the world for the woman who had everything. And she had almost everything. Including a found family.

With Loba, you, and Jaime? You were your own family. The trio out in the world with a home base and all the riches you could have ever wanted- thanks to Loba, that is. Not that it was hard for her, one of the best thieves in the world. Her jump bracelet made that much so easy. And she always loved to gift you things from her finding that she thought you would look pretty in.

Whatever you wanted.

The first time she’d offered you something, a beautiful pearl choker, you’d kind of laughed with a flushed face. No one had ever gifted you jewelry before, let alone been delighted TO give you it. But when you reached for it, she teased you, holding it just out of reach and said she’d like to put it on you. Resulting with her manicured fingers lightly brushing your skin as she stood in front of you, hitching it behind your neck with ease and gently curling a finger underneath the front.

She’d tugged you closer that day as your face burned, head tipped up to look at her. Loba had already been tall, but when she wore heels it was even worse with you. Yet, she’d grinned, tilted her head, eyes flickering down to your lips and murmured, “Do I get a little gift in return?” With such softness, eyes twinkling with mischief.

It wasn’t as if you two hadn’t been playing essentially gay chicken this entire time. You were obviously sexually into her, as she was to you. So, with your lips quivering, you’d nodded, murmuring back, “Anything you want.”

“That’s what I like to hear, sweetheart.” She’d cooed before pressing the softest kiss upon your lips and leaving you wanting more as she pulled back and gently patted your cheek.

And you were left to watch her saunter off, eyes falling to her ass without thinking about it and your fingers touching your lips where you felt the slickness of her gloss lingering.

From there, the teasing escalated. Until your relationship developed more into a ‘friends with benefits’ situation or even a ‘sugar mommy’ situation. Sans the calling her mommy part, wasn’t really your thing. She gave you gifts, showered you in them really, and in return you two had some killer sex. You figured it was a win all around for you.

When you got pretty things to adorn your body with, and you got to hold onto a headboard with your head thrown back as her mouth made quick work of you. Where was the loss in that scenario? Well, maybe the lipstick stains on your inner thighs or...or...

Or maybe you knew exactly what it was. Because after time went on, your sexual feelings finally revealed themselves to actually be disguised romantic feelings. Cracking open like pouring light whenever she walked into the room and you had to push them down and swallow your pride.

That’s where your loss was.

It had started pretty small a few months ago. You just started to notice different ways Loba dressed, or how she had her hair some days. Some days her makeup would change and you would compliment it genuinely, only to have her black lipstick covered lips playfully smirk your way and offer for you to try it out personally.

Hey, you weren’t complaining about walking around with a kiss print on your neck or cheek.

But you were mentally complaining about how fast your heart had beat at such a simple action. How you’d touched your cheek when she wasn’t looking and smiled to yourself like you were some sort of schoolboy incapable of reeling in your crush.

You mentally groaned to yourself. You were NOT about to ruin anything for her.

Loba, you thought, deserved love and happiness. You contemplated that maybe...just maybe you could be the one to give that to her. But, you knew her, you knew her very well for that matter. If affection was genuine, she’d become flustered and nervous and try to find a way to turn it sexual or into a flirt. She could flirt her way through anything, but if you so much as tucked her hair behind her ear and told her she looked pretty that day, she’d almost choke and try to turn the situation back.

You tried to give back what she gave you, trying to adore her, only to have her try and hide her flustered appearance by trying to flirt you up. Or slamming you against a wall and cooing about how you were pushing her buttons.

She was good at hiding her emotions in a way you wouldn’t expect her to. Instead of shying off or shutting down, Loba had learned to laugh her way out of situations and compliment you. Pinching your cheek and calling you sweet. The love- the romance she’d been deprived of didn’t go unknown to you. She didn’t trust easily, and she was happy with you and Jaime being her family.

At least, that’s as far as you knew.

What you didn’t know is that her feelings matched your own. That every extra glance you stole her way, she noticed and tried not to think anything of. But sometimes, sometimes when she was fucking you, she imagined you holding on tight to her and murmuring sweet nothings. Or instead of coming to her room for a ‘nightly visit’, that you’d spend the night and let her hold you quietly in her arms and wake up to see you just the same.

Mutual feelings that neither of you knew the other had.

Eventually you figured you needed to own up to it. And that’s what you were trying to plan right now. It’s with a breath that you come to the decision that maybe you could...show her instead.

Yeah, yeah that sounded better.

So, when Loba comes home tonight, smiling brightly as she swings a beautiful diamond necklace around a finger and announcing to you and Jaime, “Mama’s home, boys! Did you miss me?” With fondness in her voice and her eyes flicking over you to hint that she had a gift for you- that is when you decide now is a good time to strike.

After dinner is had and Loba has put her necklace in a beautiful glass case to admire it, you come towards her little den area. It was a big, rounded room, wall to wall full of her jewels and findings. Ranging from pearl necklaces to priceless artifacts. Beautiful art pieces were hung on the walls all around it with lights to ensure that the jewels down below would glitter and gleam in any lighting. You rest yourself on the doorway as you watch her, admiring her from afar as she looks to the sparkling necklace with glee in her eyes.

“Ah, so beautiful. Don’t you think?” Loba sighs at her necklace, before her eyes flick up to you in the doorway. Her eyes sparkle with that same look from earlier, mischief dancing in them as she saunters up to you slowly. As if a predator with its prey. You’d lie if you said your heart didn’t skip three beats.

“Yeah, I think you are, actually.” You coyly respond, going so far as to flutter your lashes as she rests an arm beside your head. Her grin is amused, rolling her eyes and using her free hand to gently grab your chin, tilting your head this way and that. Always inspecting you.

Her prized possession.

“Ha-ha, very cute. How many times have you tried that one, love?” She teases, tapping her manicured nail on your cheek twice. You smile fondly at the nickname, pretending it didn’t make you near about squirm out of your spot. But your heart lurches in your chest when she speaks much softer, tracing along your jawline with her fingertips. “I have a gift for you.”

“I was going to tell you the same thing.”

That piques Loba’s interest, her mischievous look pausing for surprise to overtake her features. Her glossy lips part in surprise, her eyes moving from the stare on your lips to flick up to your eyes as her brows furrow briefly.

She looked adorable.  

Fuck.

“A gift? For me? Isn’t that my job?” Loba laughs a bit, taking a step back and cocking her head, her long braids following. She looked just like a puppy. You swallow down your racing heartbeat as you try to figure out how to bring it up.

“Later- in the bedroom.” You promise. A familiar phrase that makes her pupils widen, a smirk falling to her face instead, a bit more confidence to her purr as she affectionately pinches your cheek.

“I eagerly await your acquaintance tonight, then. But, for now, let me show you the ring I found you, darling!”

You’re going to die.

--

The ring she’d found you had been gorgeous- she'd yet to gift you a ring yet. Loba once had said that seemed a little too intimate of a gift. You never asked why, but now that you’ve been gifted one, looking at the gold band with a beautiful simple style with three gems in each twirl of its vine-like look.

Well, you can’t help but think either she’s gotten used to you or maybe...maybe it had a purpose.  

Either way, it helps you feel more confident about what you’re going to try tonight. Walking with a bit more confidence as you head to her bedroom. You hardly have the time to knock before she’s opening the door, yanking you inside, and pushing you against the door to kiss you.

Loba is stripped down for the night. Her twin braids traded to let her curly hair down, the ombre look towards the tips of her bright red hair reaching about mid-back and splaying around her beautifully. Her outfit has been swapped to something a bit more practical of a black lacy bralette and stretchy short shorts, revealing her long legs and the beautiful vine-like tattoos with flowers curling on her outer thighs, edging up her hips to her waist.

Your hands come up, but are immediately caught by her. Her fingers lace in yours, pulling your hands to rest beside your head against the door as you moan into her mouth. Your reward is a soft laugh, her teeth nipping your bottom lip before trailing her glossy, full lips over your chin, down your jawline to your neck.

“Wait, wait-” You manage to breathe out when her lips press to the length of your neck. Immediately Loba pauses, releasing your hands and backing up. Concern and confusion in her eyes, but you quickly let out a laugh, “No, no, I mean- I want to try something different tonight...if that’s okay?”

“What like- bondage?”  

You about choke, head thunking back against the door as feeling your cheeks warm as you try to think of how to word it. It’s kinda of hard when she’s now idly kissing at your neck, lips parting to suckle on a sensitive spot of yours that makes your hips jerk. But you manage to breathe it out, “I want to take care of you tonight.”

Then it’s Loba’s turn to choke. Pulling back away from her spot to give you a curious look, if flustered. Her own face is red, looking apprehensive about the idea, but you quickly add in. “If you don’t like it, truly don’t like it, we’ll stop immediately, okay? I promise.”

And then you have her. Just with that extra security.

“You better make it worth my while.” She huffs almost in an embarrassed tone. But her voice is playful, despite the way you notice how she swallows and her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. And you know it isn’t the fact she doesn’t want it, it’s because she’s used to being in control. And not that you don’t like her taking control of you but...

Sometimes you just wanted to treat her right. Show her how much she meant to you.

You suppose sex was better than trying to sit her down for a conversation and talk about your feelings with eye contact involved and your running mouth.

You start gentle with her, leading her to the bed and guiding her to lie down. You start with something simple as a makeout session. Straddling her hips so she can feel the heat of your body through your sweatpants and t-shirt. You lean into her, cupping her cheek and pushing her hair from her face as you kiss her so gently, stroking your thumb over her cheekbone. You make sure not to let her guide the kiss, but let her grab your hips, feeling her fingers slide under the waistband to touch your skin.

When you lick into Loba’s mouth, her breath hitches, her hips coming up to press against you and you follow the motion by pressing down to give her some pressure. Your own breath is shaky when her hands slide down to your ass under your pants, tugging you gently to get you to grind.

Control- normally you’d follow like the good boy she’d claimed you to be but...

You immediately part from the kiss, delighting quietly in how she whines. However, delighting even more when her eyes shoot open and she whines louder when you take her hands and pull them above her head. You interlock your fingers, hovering your lips just out of reach when she tries to lean up and get at you again, but realizing quickly that she can’t. Loba groans.

It’s quiet submission when her head rests back on the pillow, a shaky breath leaving her lips as her eyes fall to your mouth. She pouts her prettiest when you give her a look, huffing under you and rolling her eyes. “What? Do you want me to say ‘please’?”

“It’s a start to getting what you want, Ms. Andrade, don’t you think?” You tease in a mocking tone, causing her eyes to narrow up at you. There’s another huff from her, her fingers flexing in a nervous way in your grip. You wait patiently above her, eyes sparkling with mischief.  

“Pl-...” Loba pauses, swallowing before shakily exhaling through her nose. Her eyes flicker to the side as if flustered, rolling upwards as if trying to will herself to speak. You try to ignore the way you feel her cock jerk under your ass, but you can’t ignore the pride you feel knowing she liked this.

“Please, please do something more. Please don’t tease me? Aren’t I good to you, baby?” She begs her prettiest, ending it with a shaky noise, her cheeks flushed red and her lips pulling into a pretty pout that you can’t help but kiss to soothe away her embarrassment.

You murmur sweet nothings against her mouth that you hope she doesn’t catch as you kiss your way down her neck. You only need to scoot down her body a little, moving to fit between her legs rather than straddle her.

You let her hands go, watching with delight as they stay right where you put them as your own pull up her bralette to reveal her chest. She’s got nice breasts, rounded and about a C cup. You know from her talking about it that she’d gotten them filled in the past, all decorated with pretty silver barbells through each nipple and her underbreast tattoo curling between her chest.

You press your mouth at the freckles dotting the upper edges of her breasts, nosing your way down the path of her flesh until you can gingerly cup her breast. You relish the way her breath hitches in anticipation when you mouth at her nipple, pressing soft, fluttering, wet kisses until she whines softly under her breath.  

She really can’t blame you for drawing it out, right? For adoring every inch of her? You’d never been able to seen her like this before, how she squirms, trying to be good underneath you and not take over. It’s the best you could have asked of her. To try.

You smile against her skin before you take her nipple into your mouth and begin suckling. Letting your tongue flick back and forth over it to feel the shape of her barbell idly. Loba’s sounds are soft, gentle little sighs as her hips gently press up against you to get some pressure. You hum against her in reply when her hand rests in your hair, gently stroking and pressing to encourage you to touch her more.

A moan escapes her lips when you let your teeth gingerly scrape across the sensitive flesh, coming off of her with a wet pop. You nuzzle between her chest with a soft sigh of, “You’re so beautiful.” Your tone dripping with honesty as you kiss down her ribcage, towards her abdomen.

Normally she’s talkative during sessions like this, liking to pull your hair and show you who’s in charge. But now when you look up, all you can see is her head turned to the side, her cheeks red and her lips parted to shallowly breathe. You’ve never felt prouder of yourself.

When you reach the waistband of her short, you peer up at her under your lashes, gently tugging at the band. “Can I take these off?”

“Please.” She replies, completely unprompted with a shaky breath following and her eyes peering open to look down at you. Her gaze makes you feel hot, your chest bursting with adoration that you can only hope your eyes mimic.

You gently pull them off and toss them to the side. You move to sit up on your knees, gently rubbing at her thighs as your eyes flicker to her cock. She was about six inches long and uncut with foreskin only reaching just under the head. She’d shared with you that she was thankful that the future medical technology allowed her to decide the option on being able to get hard and remain fertile. Just as you’d shared you were thankful that getting top surgery had become less dangerous over so many years in the making.

Small things to share with her in those quiet moments you two could relate to each other.

Now, you run a hand along her inner thigh, sliding over her shaved mound as you quietly ask, “What are your feelings on penetrating me today?” To let her know in turn you wanted that. Of course, if she didn’t, you’d happily find your favorite cock and strap it in.

“Please,” She says again, practically music to your ears by now. “I want to be inside you- let me touch you, little pup, please? I’ll be on my best behavior.” Loba’s voice is near desperate as she looks down at you. Sitting up on her elbows to see you better. Your face flushes at the nickname, almost tempted to scold her for it, but the way she looks at you...

Her eyes are full of something you’ve seen before. Never taking the time to see. Adoration. Her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted and her eyes roaming across your frame before coming back to your eyes. Her brows furrow briefly, this desperate look crossing her face as she tries again, “Let me see your cock, baby, let me taste you?”  

It’s filth. Yet she sounds so fucking soft when she says it that you can’t help but swallow down a whine.

In a matter of moments, you’re stripping from your clothing. Your sweatpants get tossed with your shirt, but before you can get to your underwear Loba is already helping you out of it. Her fingers eagerly grab your hips, but she learns quickly because she doesn’t pull you. Letting you move your own body until your thighs can frame her face.

You reach down to pull on your mound, exposing your cock to her. You’re hard already, your hole drooling with slick from the excitement from seeing her so open earlier. Loba knows how you like it, hooking her arms around your thighs to hold you as her eyes go half lidded to watch your face. You swallow thickly, biting your bottom lip as her tongue runs from your hole, up to the underside of your dick in a fluid swipe.

Kitten licks like that repeat a few times, being mindful of how sensitive your engorged cock could be right off the bat. You shakily exhale through your nose when her lips part, letting the piercing on her tongue rest on the underside of your clit and her breath fanning across you hotly.

When she finally takes you into her mouth, you let out a moan and use your free hand to rest in her hair. The smile you feel against your wet flesh should make you flustered, but not as much as when she looks up at you under her lashes with such adoration. She lets you take the reins, gently humping against her mouth and taking things at your pace. It’s the most control you’ve had in a while, but your mouth starts working before you can even think, “Fuck- you’re so beautiful, babe.”

The blush that reddens her cheeks fuels both her own motions and your mouth as you moan low in your throat just to hear her moan low back at you in turn as she licks up your cock. “Good- good that feels s...so good-” You don’t expect her to react so well to your voice, let alone praise. But you feel her nails dig into your thighs, able to see the way she parts her lips, glossy now from your slick and seeing it stick to her tongue-

It’s too much.

There’s almost a rush as you squirm out of her grasp to move down to her lap to straddle her again. You’d tell her to finger you, but one look at her nails proves why that’s a hassle. Thankfully when you sink your own fingers into yourself, you find your walls are wet and pliant. But for good measure you still ask her for the lube to prep her own cock. Stroking her cock whilst you rest on her thighs, able to watch her eyes flutter and how her fingers twist into the pillow she’s got her head on.  

“Ready?” You ask, pulling yourself closer so you can slide your cock against hers, sandwiching it between your sex to grind back and forth against her. Loba quickly nods, her hands moving to grab your hips and squeezing eagerly, but you hum again. “I asked you a question.”

“Yes! Yes, yes, baby- yes, I want it, I want you, please!” Loba all but whines, her look frantic again as she gently pulls you. You follow the motion, lining her up before sliding down onto her with a gasp.

Loba’s reaction is immediate, always so sensitive when you envelop her. She’s got her nails pressing into your hips, her face contorted and her head tossed to the side with pure pleasure written across her features. It makes you feel proud that you could just do that with your body, that you’re the one making her look like that.

Your emotions are swelling up in your chest.

You push them down for the sake of resting your hands on top of hers on your body. Squeezing them and feeling your heart race when she maneuvers so her fingers can intertwine with yours. Your breath hitches, but that can easily be passed off for your hips grinding on their own, grinding your fat cock against her mound and feeling the way she shifts in you.

Her soft moan and the way her fingers squeeze yours make you dizzy.

Don’t think about it, you remind yourself.

Your breath quickens as you lean forward and begin riding her. Only pulling yourself up an inch or two and sliding yourself back down onto her cock. Your toes curl, squeezing her hands a bit tighter and about whining when she starts to pull her hands back. But you figure out why when she holds them up at about her waist level, lacing your fingers with hers to give you more leverage to fuck yourself onto her.

Don’t think about it, you again think to yourself, your brain clouded with lust and adoration.

“You’re so handsome,” Loba mumbles out, and when you finally urge yourself to flutter open your eyes, she’s looking at you. She’s panting softly, brows furrowed in a look of pleasure. You swallow the whimper in your throat so you can instead move yourself to almost lie on top of her. Letting her hands go to rest your arms on either side of her head and bringing her into a kiss.

Her hands slide over your body then, sliding down your sides to your hips, to your ass to graciously grab as you fuck yourself onto her. You moan into her mouth, feeling her follow the motion with her own soft noise in her throat.

Don’t think about it, you try so desperately to tell yourself as the knot forms in your stomach.

You have to break the kiss, tucking yourself into her neck. Loba is holding onto you now, her hands resting flat on your back and dragging her nails down your skin. You whine into her ear as your inner walls clench, your cock humping against her shaved mound and keeping your body extremely interested. It comes tumbling out before you can think of it, “Fuck- fuck, fuck, shit- Loba, Loba-”

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it-

“I love you-” Loba whines in your ear, causing your heart to near about beat out of your chest thinking you’d imagined it. But you feel her lips move against your neck next time, “I love you. Let me- ah- let me cum inside you, baby, please, please, please-”

It’s all a blur. The way your chest pounds and how hard you cum. You can hear her cumming not soon after you, her nails sinking into your back and her teeth sinking into your shoulder to quiet down her beautiful moans. You think you’re dehydrated, your brain must have lost oxygen at some point- but you felt it. You heard it.

As you two are coming down, you urge yourself to sit up in her lap. Watching as her hand slides through her hair to push the strands from her face, how her chest rises and falls with her breaths, trying to make it out in your head as you open and close your mouth like a fish.

“What?” She laughs, reaching up to gently cup your cheek. “You weren’t going to say it, I figured--”  

“You knew?!” You cry out, flustered and feeling your own face heat up in embarrassment- yet relief floods your chest.

“I had a feeling.”

“A feeling?!” You cry out again, this time more distraught. But it quickly dies down when her thumb brushes along your cheek bone, urging you to lean into her touch and settle down. Though you see the look in her eyes of almost uncertainty- worry perhaps.  

With a shaky breath, you turn and kiss her palm. “I...I love you as well, ya know?”

“I know, baby.”

“Don’t be so smug about it!”

Her melodic laugh is quickly smothered by the pillow you throw in her face, only for you to nearly get knocked off her lap when she takes it and throws it right back at you with a victorious cry.

Fuck you love her.

#Loba #Loba Andrade #Loba x Reader #Apex legends #apex lemons #trans male reader #nsft #lemon #commissions #princess writing

[scammydoesstuff]

So about that 'Blue Bloods' episode…

I recently saw something come across my dash regarding Alex Brightman’s guest appearance on the season 11 episode of 'Blue Bloods' (The Common Good) and it reignited the vehement response I had to the episode as a whole. And, since I have this blog now, I figured…fuck it. I need to rant about it.

So that's what this is.

Take what I say with a grain of salt, of course. This show is so clearly not for me and I acknowledge that, but I went to school for and got my degree in creative writing and so much of this episode pissed me off from a narrative perspective and I just really need to talk about it. Putting it under a Read More, though, so you can ignore me if you’d like while I rage to no one in particular. Apologies in advance if you choose to read on. I'm super long-winded. Luckily I don't have pictures and this is more of just a lot of text, so…it could be longer?

So, to begin, I’ll freely admit that I’d never seen an episode of 'Blue Bloods' before this and I’ve not watched it since. I mean, if the rest of the episodes are as badly written as this one, I have no interest to either, but I digress.

Overall my main problem with the episode was how desperately it avoided ‘showing’ over ‘telling’ and, as a visual medium, that’s kind’ve a big deal. We were told pretty much every detail that was presented to us. These people love to hear themselves talk, but do little to actually show things as they happen and I believe a part of that has to do with the focus of the show itself, which is definitely unique to this brand of television. By that, I just mean that it’s not the format I might’ve expected from a show like this. Most cop shows give a lot of focus to the cases, and the intrigue you get with the characters is how they apply their own skills and knowledge to solve them, with the hi-jinks they get into along the way being more of a bonus.

This is not that kind of show.

No, 'Blue Bloods' as a show is way more interested in the cops and their familial ties than it is about the actual job that they’re doing, as shown prominently with the political plot of this episode which was also very focused on the relationship between Tom Selleck’s character and his daughter and the wholly unrelated dinner scene where they talk about lent for 2 and a half minutes and acknowledge nothing else that happened in the episode. This show doesn’t care about the job of being a cop so much as it cares about the cops themselves.

Which would be fine if I gave a shit about cops, but I don’t.

You could argue that the mentor plot is the exception to that, but that entire situation had no real consequences for the cop in question, Jamie, abusing his power. It was entirely focused on how the situation affected him and how it was fine that he’d nudged this kid to get information which ultimately led to the arrest of Dion's brother, and Dion quitting the program. Hell, if Jamie had, in his final scene with Dion, owned up to his abuse of power and left the program — to then urge Dion to rejoin so that he can have that positive outlet in his life without him there — I would’ve been way more okay with it, but Jamie faces no consequences past ‘I don’t wanna see you anymore’, which I was never convinced he actually cared about in the slightest. There's nothing cathartic about it, it's just shitty and left me feeling frustrated at the lack of consequences for the cop.

But hey, you prolly don’t wanna read me going on and on about those parts. You prolly wanna know why I hate it despite Alex’s plot — which I fully expected to love because he’s perfect and gorgeous even when he’s playing a bad guy and he was just so adorable in his lil suit and they let him keep the scruff this time, and he was all handsome an— I need to stop. That could go on forever.

Anyway, to put it simply; it was bad, but I'll definitely explain why.

Now, I don’t think any of the guests in this episode necessarily did a bad job. They still acted well enough for what they were given. I just think they had a shit script that wasn’t interested in that story line. I mentioned at the top of this that this show cared more about telling than showing and that’s a huge problem when you want me to buy a character being the culprit in your murder plot. I need evidence, not anecdotes. Cuz, yeah, by the end of the episode, I didn’t buy for even a second that Ralph did it. And it’s not because he was played by Alex who is just charisma incarnate. I can believe him playing a bad guy. I also watched his 'Law & Order SVU' episode where he scared the shit outta me. He can play a creepy and violent character very well, he just wasn’t convincing to me as a bad guy in this show.

And here’s why!

First of all, he confessed at knife point. That confession would be thrown away IRL. It’s the same problem with using torture to get information. If a person’s life is threatened or they're being harmed in some way, they’ll usually say whatever it takes to get you to stop threatening them/causing them pain. Same deal here. You can’t convince me with a confession like that.

But they didn't seem to be interested in convincing anyone as far as I could tell. They just expected you to believe it because, ‘no, didn’t you hear? He said he did it, so he did it.’ They had so many opportunities to portray this character as the shitbag that we’re told he is. Hell, great way to really implicate him? Give him a female assistant that Donnie Wahlberg and his partner overhear / walk in on him berating for something small like getting him the wrong coffee or something. Then have them talk to that assistant later on and her mention some weird behavior from him on the night of Andrea’s death. It's cliché, but it's more than what we got.

Or you could have him talk to Meghan in a super condescending voice when he approaches her after her interview later on. Or, hell, have him refer to the murder victim in a condescending way even as he talks about her death. But no. The most we get out of him is that he's maybe a little snarky and smug when talking to the cops, but that’s not enough to convince me he’s a bad dude. Frankly, his producer buddy came off as more of an asshole, if I'm being honest. Just cuz (we’re told) his character did shitty things to her in the past doesn’t mean he’s still shitty. Show me he’s still shitty. I wanna see it and I know Alex is capable of a performance like that.

Second, it’s also just…obvious to make him the culprit if we're to believe everything we're told about him. He and Andrea are described as having had beef a little while before the murder with him being abusive mentally and physically. He’s known in the community to be a misogynist and an abusive person overall. He’s the obvious suspect, but if there’s anything that Scooby-Doo taught me, it’s that it’s never the most obvious person. Like, once in a blue moon, sure — but it’s rare.

So yeah, I don’t believe that Ralph did it. You wanna know who I do think did it?

Meghan.

Alright, so bear with me. This'll prolly sound a little conspiratorial, but hear me out:

She had the motive. She confirms in the beginning of the episode that she’s also a female gamer like the victim, but that she was ‘no Andrea’. Andrea was her competition. They were (supposedly) friends and stuck together as female gamers, but Andrea was still competition. With her out of the way, Meghan’s able to rise in the ranks, if even a little bit.

She had a scapegoat in Ralph — again, the obvious suspect given his tumultuous relationship with Andrea sometime prior — and an obvious grudge against men in their community in general. And, don’t get me wrong, men in gaming can and often are hella toxic — I’m not, in any way, denying that — but she got way more emotional when talking about the men in their community than when she was talking about her supposed friend lying dead in the adjoining room.

Speaking of the adjoining room, how did she not hear the murder happening? It couldn’t have been when she was down in the bar, cuz we see Ralph there too in the crappy CCTV footage that was supposed to show him being an asshole, I think (hard to really see). Was she just fucking around somewhere else when it happened? She doesn’t mention as much that I recall (correct me if I'm wrong on that, of course). And Andrea was strangled to death. I would assume that there would’ve been a struggle with that. Are you seriously telling me she wouldn’t hear that in her adjoining hotel room? Those walls aren’t that thick. I find that kinda hard to believe. And that she wouldn’t have found her till the next morning after that, also strikes me as a little odd.

Going off on some previous points, she shows very little grief over her friend’s death. Not just in the intro scene, either, but later on as well. (Side bar: that intro scene itself was very misleading. Don’t lead with a murder plot if it only takes up less than 10 minutes of the overall runtime, kay?) The show did a pretty bad job at indicating the passage of time, but it’s implied that the convention is still happening when Meghan gets the confession out of Ralph, so it would’ve had to have been the same weekend, or possibly the same week (though most conventions I’m aware of don’t last that long — it’s usually a weekend thing, at most Thursday-Sunday — but it could be similar to AGDQ, which seems to last about a week). So, if this is only a day or so later, why would someone who is supposedly grieving over their dead friend do interviews like nothing is wrong? Wouldn't you, like, reschedule or just politely decline and say you need time to process the shock? Like, when we cut to ol’ Donnie Wahlberg calling her after her interview, she doesn’t look upset — as I imagine she might if they’d likely asked her questions about Andrea / her feelings about the murder — and she seems cool as a cucumber when she asks Ralph to go somewhere private. In fact, the look on her face indicates pretty clearly that she’s planning to do something. Specifically, not that she's scared, that she's angry.

Finally, she’s the one who’s attacking Ralph when Donnie Wahlberg and company arrive on the scene. She doesn’t seem to have any marks on her indicating that he made any move to harm her (again, correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't remember seeing her with any marks / cuts), but he’s got a clear, bleeding cut on his face. She attacked him first and was going in for the kill.

Or…was she? Cuz right before Donnie Wahlberg pulls her into that bear hug to stop her from the attack, she doesn’t do a great job of actually trying to kill Ralph. She was close enough that a quick dart at him would’ve probably been enough to at least injure him pretty significantly — maybe even fatally — and would’ve surely led the cops to pull them apart to secure him, but she kinda just hops around a bit and screams before lunging for him. That’s a really weird way to attack when you actually want to kill someone.

But, then again, I don’t necessarily think she did want to kill him. I’m convinced she wanted that confession, but that she also wanted him in jail and was playing the part of the super sad and hysterical victim who was just so overcome with her grief that she wasn’t in her right mind. I think that’s what they were going for in regards to her character in general, but it came across as less sincere in the performance and more like the character was putting on an act. They then cart Ralph off while comforting her — despite the fact that she disobeyed a direct order from police, which should lead to her being detained as well! — and that plot ends.

So, she gets what she wants in the end. A person she despises is now in police custody, her competition is out of the way, and the publicity she might get for bringing that ‘murderer’ to justice might eventually lead to her own career getting a nice boost. I dunno, it just strikes me as her having a great reason to have initiated this over Ralph just being a misogynist who 'was really trying to kill Meghan and just got the wrong girl'.

So yeah, with what the show presented to us, I believe Meghan’s the real killer. Again, if they’d done more to show me that Ralph was a bad dude or that she was more affected by her supposed friend’s death, or if they'd just given that plot more room to breathe to show those things, I might’ve been more inclined to buy the narrative they were pushing but…as is, I don’t believe it.

That’s pretty much all I wanted to say on the matter. I had a lot of issues with the domestic abuse plot line too, but they barely gave that 5 minutes of the overall runtime, so does it really matter in the long run? This is just…my thought process of the only part of the episode I watched for and how disappointing it was for me. And yes, I timed each section of the episode to figure out how much time was given to each of the 4 plots, plus the dinner scene at the end, but not counting the intro theme, and the murder plot got just over 8 minutes, of which Alex was on screen for half of that time. He got less than 5 minutes of screen time. It was definitely worth it just because he’s wonderful and I just like seeing him on these shows, but from a narrative standpoint, it felt pointless.

Okay, I’m done. Thank you for coming to my TED talk. Unless y’all wanna talk about this some more, cuz I’m so down for that.

#scammy talks too much #scammy rants #blue bloods #the common good #alex brightman #long post is long #I'm long-winded as fuck #obviously I'm not an authority on what makes good tv #this is just all how I felt after watching the episode #It was just so disappointing after the INCREDIBLE performance on Law & Order SVU #if you like it that's cool #I'm not here to tell you you're wrong #or that I'm right about this #like whatcha like #sometimes I just gotta rant and get it outta my brain

[theonetheycallhannah]

The Treatment of Captain Syverson-Chapter Eight: Heat/Ice

Pairing: Captain “Sy” Syverson x OFC (Shane Benton)

Summary: Playing hooky leads to more delicious food (Sy cooks! Swoon!), some deep conversation, and new revelations about Shane’s past.

What? You’re behind? Don’t worry! CLICK ME to catch up before reading this chapter!

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings:  Language, mature themes, more food sluttiness, shameless nerd speak, unfettered and shameless sappiness.

Author’s Note: So, guys, I’m sorry. I really wanted to get this chapter to you Sunday. Life has just been a bit disheartening of late. Between being upset over some personal turmoil some friends are going through (two of my oldest friends are getting a divorce!) and coming home from work utterly exhausted on all possible levels, it’s been hard to write about lovey dovey things. As I said in my recent reblog of my masterlist, though, I’m working on some prologues, one for each character. I don’t plan on them being terribly long, but I want you guys to have some more back story.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, Henry is not mine, le sigh, and all mention of him, his characters, any characters from his films, or his precious doggy, Kal, are strictly for transformative and recreational use. I neither ask for, nor accept payment for the work I post on Tumblr or AO3. Unbeta’d because this is for fun and escapism.

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Hope I’m not forgetting anyone! If you want to be notified when I post a new chapter or work, I’ll be happy to add you to my tag list! Stricken blogs are getting personal messages from me when a new chapter is uploaded because Tumblr’s faulty tagging system will not stand in the way of me delivering what the people want!(?) lol! (Although…their lackadaisical notification system might…sorry for that. I have no control. lol!)

It was hard to feel guilty for calling out of work for the afternoon under false pretenses when she was curled up on the sectional in Sy’s “nerd lair” with his head in her lap as they watched John Wick on the massive TV he had down there.

“You mean to tell me we watched the entire Bourne franchise upstairs on that…that iPod Touch, by comparison, when we could have watched down here on this majestic monolith!? In what is essentially a theater!?” She’d asked immediately, derailing the grand tour of the museum of things she would soon find amazing.

“Hey, I haven’t been coming down here a whole lot since I hurt my knee. Stairs haven't exactly been easy or, ya know, possible. I had my gaming computer down here for weeks, too, couldn't do a damn thing about it, because I didn't trust a'one of my buddies or my neighbors to haul her up the stairs for me. Leia's a custom machine worth thousands a' dollars. If she's getting' broke, it's all gonna be on me."

"You named your gaming computer? Leia?" So many emotions were flooding her. Adoration, sympathy, lust, and just a sheer need to squeeze the bejeezus out of him.

"Yeah, it's a common thing. And…not to be that guy, but…you do know who Leia is, right?

"If by Leia, you mean Leia Organa, Princess of Alderaan, true daughter of Darth Vader, adopted by Bail Organa at birth, sister of Luke Skywalker, hero of the Rebellion against the Empire?"

"Hey, I thought you wanted to take things slow, sunshine." he pulled her close, flush with his body. "Then you go talkin' all sexy to me like that." he lingered at her cheek with light kisses.

"Well, you did the same with your baseball talk the other night." she moaned into the contact with relish.

"I can't help it if certain sports terms have made their way into everyday speech. Your…exposition there, about my boyhood crush was intentional."

"You had a crush on Leia?" he nodded, shyly. "I had a crush on Han! Heck with Cap and Widow, THERE'S our couple's costume for next Halloween!" she said, excitedly!

"Oh, I didn't know you were talking about costumes for public use." he said, a naughty smirk in his eye.

"Stop it, you. Finish your tour. I want that soup on the stove." she said, patting her tummy.

He showed her the various memorabilia he'd procured over the years. Posters from a few of her favorites, and a few others that she recognized but wasn't as excited about. Die Cast models of several famous film vessels and vehicles, and a "life size" LEGO R2-D2 which would have had her salivating even if she hadn't been hungry. Apparently it took him almost a month to assemble the droid, but he did it all by himself.

"Aww…I wish I could have helped." she lamented.

"Maybe I'll pick up the Death Star and we can do that one together."

She nodded excitedly, eyes wide, rubbing her hands together in front of her chin with greed.

"Okay, little mouse." he chuckled. "Let's fill that belly and start this movie."

They filled massive bowls with generous portions and took the crackers down stairs so they could start the marathon. If they wanted to get through all three films tonight, they'd best get started.

They were both fairly quick eaters out of habit given her often truncated lunch breaks and his typical ten minutes in the mess hall. Even savoring the delicious creamy, cheesy concoction, as she tried to do, it was hard to slow down on. It did give her something to focus on during the first, emotionally devastating part of the film though. Once she finished, she expressed a final  groan of delight and thanked Sy, kissing him on his cheek as she held the other. She felt the smile bloom across his face as she prolonged the contact.

They were about halfway through the movie, a big fight scene in a night club, when something dark and grim hit Shane in the chest. Watching Keanu Reeves pretend to beat up and kill all of these actors and stunt men, it occurred to her that the man with his head resting gently on her lap, long body taking up the rest of that side of the sectional, had fought and killed. The man letting her play her fingers through his hair and beard had shot and blown up people. He was told to do it. Ordered to do it. But even though he was doing it lawfully and by military order, as far as she knew, it was still his job…at least some of the time. She knew that was an oversimplification of the function of the armed forces, but…sometimes, it was an apt description.

She had never thought of Sy like that before. Someone other than the strong but gentle teddy bear that had come to be such a comforting presence in her life. She needed that, after all she'd been through…she tried not to think about the hurt of her last relationship. She hadn't discussed it with Sy. It was history. Ancient history. But she was, after all, a believer in the fact that those who knew nothing of the past were doomed to repeat it. She'd tell him…one day. Everything that Elliott had done to her…had put her through. But not tonight. Suddenly, she thought being on the arm of a soldier, someone who'd lived the kind of life that Captain Logan Syverson had lived, might make her feel more safe than she had in ages.

"You're awful quiet, sunshine." he said, cracking a beer open and handing it to her before doing the same for himself and sitting down with his thick arm around her.

"Just…trying to be respectful of the movie experience. You know." she smirked at him as the menu music to the second movie played.

"It ain't that. I know this is still new, what we're doin', but I've watched enough movies with ya over the last few weeks to know that you don't keep quiet for a full length feature." Shane worried the tab on her cold Miller Lite. She wasn't sure how to bring this forward. "Spill it, sweetheart. What's eatin' ya?"

"What…what do you think about when you're watching movies like this, Sy?"

"Guess, same as anybody. How awesome the fighting and driving is. Wondering when Keanu got to be a badass. And if there's really an underground society of assassins. Why, hon?"

"I, umm, I only wondered if it…it doesn't make you miss…your job?"

The smile he gave her was both bemused and amused. "Come 'ere." he prompted her to lean her head into him, and sat his beer down on the buffet behind the couch so he could better hold her. "Do we need to go over the function of a captain of the Army of These United States? Because as flattered as I am that you think so highly of me, I'm no John Wick, nor do I know anyone like John Wick. Or five guys that would make one John Wick. Ten guys. Maybe twenty."

"The fighting doesn't bring anything back?" she smoothed the creases in his shorts as she tried not to act like she was over thinking his past.

"That fightin’s…it's like dancing. It's choreographed, precise, and the outcome is predetermined. Real fights are the exact opposite. They're chaos, unpredictable, and the right guys don't always win. Trust me, I've seen a lot of them go south in a big way." they both let a moment of silence pass before Sy broke it. "What’re ya really askin’, Shane?"

She wanted to ask so many things. The questions seemed to clog the ventricles of her brain like leaves in a rain gutter. Bottlenecked traffic.

"I just…couldn't help but think…about things you must have had to do when…when you were active, and I just…if you need to talk about anything, I'm here." She imagined that taking someone's life, no matter how personal or impersonal the act itself seemed on the surface, would create some level of emotional scarring.

“Oh, sweetheart." he kissed the top of her head, making her feel as warm and cozy as the soup had…perhaps more so. "You are important to me for so many reasons. You've shown me how to smile again. Laugh. Real, genuine happiness. No sarcastic shit like I had to use on my men in my squad. But although I'd feel comfortable talkin' to ya 'bout near anything, there's a counselor on the base who's specifically trained to help guys like me. Who've seen what I've seen and been through…similar situations. He makes sure I don't feel like less of a man for what happened to me. You make me feel…like more than a man…something stronger than I thought possible."

She was straining hard to corral the tears within her waterline, but they broke free when he squeezed her tightly to him with both of his massive arms.

"So…that HEP I gave you is working?" she laughed, knowing full well that his home exercise program had no bearing on the strength he meant.

"Come on, Shane." he raised an eyebrow at her, challenging her to see herself the way he saw her. "Them handouts you give me don't mean a hill o' beans in this conversation and you know it. The way you hold yourself, speak to others. There is so much quiet strength in your kindness that comes right out of your beautiful little heart. Some days I'll see you working with kids, if I get in early, and I know they annoy you and freak you out, but you never let that show." He looked into her eyes, misty from emotion, and he wiped away the tears from her cheeks. "I'll never be able to explain it right, the way you inspire me to be a better and stronger man. And my heart just breaks to hear you put yourself down. And don't say you're just kidding, because I know you think you are, but behind every one of those jokes is a truth, at least as you see it." He'd seen her make to argue and knew her tactic before she had attempted it. "Give yourself some credit, Shane."

"I'm too busy blaming myself for the bad stuff to give myself credit for anything good." she sniffed. "You're the first guy I've…I've been involved with that's acted like I was worth anything more than a meal ticket. Someone who was only suitable for enough sex to make it an official relationship just so they could have a place to live, and do whatever quasi-job was a thing. First serious boyfriend was a freelance writer, but he never seemed to be writing. Then there was the guy with the internet start-up…but he could never tell me in a satisfactory way what the company actually did…so that was brief."

He seemed to know she was bracing for something big. Something difficult. He gave her silence and stroked her shoulder in encouragement to continue. She took one of her deepest ever breaths.

"Then came Elliott. Elliott Thomas. My last boyfriend. The worst of them all. Most useless and greatest offender. I ignored all of the signs, of course. He had a YouTube channel and an Instagram that he was trying to gain followers on and become a so-called "influencer." she rolled her eyes. "He had no life skills. He had a bit of an eye for photography and he could find humor in uncommon places, which he thought made him insta-famous and vlog-worthy."

"I hate him already." Sy growled.

"Well, maybe I shouldn't tell you the rest, then." he asked her to go on. "He always seemed to find these ways to cheat on me and lie to me that I couldn't quite prove, but I was just certain of. But I just…I didn't want to believe it. I wanted THAT one to work. Well. I came home one night after work, and he had another girl in our bedroom. I told him he had until the next day when I got home to leave. Things got a little physical, but I can hold my own." she said, proudly, "and I bolted with my purse. I stayed with Heather, our evening secretary, and we hashed it out, and got a little blitzed on moscato, and cried together."

"Wow."

"He was gone the next day. All I heard from my landlord was, 'you shouldn't be hearing from him anytime soon.' so I guess he had his cop buddies send him a message. He blocked me on all social media and I haven't heard a peep from him since. That was five years ago."

"What a scum bag." he stated, obviously.

"Yeah, I haven't been able to really think about a relationship since then…until…" she let the word hang there, knowing they both knew what the end of the sentence was. "Until I met you." Drifting unsaid in the ether of the unspoken.

"It's been a long time for me too. I mean…I haven't quite been a monk, but I haven't…I haven't cared for a girl since…actually, I've never felt this way about anyone."

"I didn't mean to unpack all of that tonight when we're only a third of the way through our marathon. I really wasn't even going to bring it up at all. It's just…been on my mind. Ya know. I once heard a very poignant parable about keeping your mouth shut if you're warm and happy. I was attempting to do that." she chuckled.

"Yeah, but we need to be able to open up to people in this life. Keeping a bottle stopped under pressure ain't no good for the bottle. Or what's inside."

"Such wisdom. You know just what to say to me." she grinned into him.

"Just seen what keeping yourself closed off can do to a person. And the people they love."

Love…there was that word in the air. Not officially said, but felt in all ways. They held each other close as the opening to the second movie played.

Up Next: Chapter Nine-Group Therapy

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