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#can’t imagine how it is for people with worse issues

cripplecharacters · 2 days

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I need some advice about how to include magic as an aid. All of my stories are set in a high fantasy type of world with (i think at least) solid worldbuilding where magic is relatively common, especially healing magic and everyday magic (????? like, not highly destructive explosions, more like convenience stuff).

I have a lot of disabled characters who I want to represent authentically & the best way I can, and I reallllllly don’t want to be that author that’s like, oh you have fibromyalgia? Poof healing magic it has no effect on you. Oh you’re an amputee? Poof magical forcefield prosthetic. Yknow

I guess, advice if you have any about how to be respectful about disabilities and magic coexisting

Thank you for your question! I would recommend treating magic like medicine, it can’t fix everything and is always working to be improved. Some issues can be cured with things like surgery or medication, or in your case magic, but sometimes those issues can only be managed and not cured. Sometimes medical help can even make issues worse or cause disability (whether or not the initial problem was solved). Big procedures such as surgeries often have lasting side effects no matter the outcome, and I would imagine so would big magical procedures.

You should also think about how the magic interacts with the world. Is it physically draining to preform? How much does it cost for professional help? Is it accessible to everyone or are there barriers (money, rank/class, education, etc)? Are certain conditions managed with potions that need to be taken over long periods of time, if not forever, and if so how do people get access to it? Is certain magic only practiced in certain places, such as big cities with certified universities/hospitals, and if so how difficult would it be for your character to get to them? What are the side effects of these cures, and how long do they last, if they go away at all?

Also much like every doctor isn’t a good doctor, every healing magician doesn’t care to actually help. There would still be people being misdiagnosed, not being believed, not getting sufficient care, not to mention snake oil salesmen who would sell fake cures for money.

Magic prosthetics also shouldn’t be a cure, they are not in the real world either. They have limited movement, and the more movement a prosthetic has the more expensive it is, the more difficult is is to learn to use, and it’s often heavier. Plus prosthetics can be uncomfortable and difficult to use so not every amputee chooses to wear one.

Just keep these in mind and don’t cure disabilities that are incurable today and you should be good!

Have a lovely day!

Mod Rot

#anonymous #mod rot #fantasy disabilities #fantasy setting #tw ableism #tw hospitals #writing resource #writing disabled characters #writing disability #magic aids

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sodamnradd · 16 hours

Text

“Give it up, Draco. You found what people spend a lifetime searching for, and you just let her leave without you.” Blaise fell back onto the leather sofa and crossed his ankles, looking pensively into the fire. “What I don’t understand is why. You keep saying that if anyone will win, it’s her. And yet here you are.”

Draco opened his mouth to deny, deny, deny. But what was the point? Blaise had seen them together in the prefects’ bath, and later, when Draco tried brushing it off as a casual hook-up, Blaise had only shaken his head and said, ‘I saw your face,’ as if that was supposed to override any lies that came out of Draco’s mouth.

His stomach had been a tangle of nerves since Granger had kissed him goodbye and disappeared with Potter and Weasley to save the world. That was the issue with Gryffindors, forever killing themselves over the next big heroic deed. He wasn’t like them.

“What would you have done?” sniped Draco. It was easy to cast judgement from afar, but Blaise wasn’t living it. “Would you just turn your back on your mother? On your friends? To hell with everyone if you’re in love?”

Blaise gave him a side-long look, grinning. “Are you in love?”

“You seem to think I am.”

“Do you see a future with her?”

“If the world wasn’t so fucked up?”

“Yeah.”

Draco didn’t really have to imagine it because it’s all he’d been thinking about since he first kissed Granger nine months ago.

It wasn’t just her physical being—the charged, tantalising pull of their bodies like opposing magnets—but a vision of what their life could look like. Granger didn’t need pure-blood persuasion to pave her way into the world. She could be self-made. And Draco would stand proudly beside her, as he did best. He could manage the accounts, pursue his hobbies, while ensuring Granger never felt alone navigating her mountainous ambitions.

Draco lived a satiated life, but with Hermione, all he knew was starvation. She was the one thing he didn’t want to barter or consume in small bites. If he had her, he was going to feast.

“It’s not that simple,” he concluded. “It’s not some playground romance anymore. She’s out there risking her life. I can’t afford to love her how I want if she’s just going to wind up dead.”

“Take this from someone who’s buried seven fathers—death is preventable.”

Draco looked up at Blaise, surprised.

His friend had an eerie look on his face, made worse by the fire casting strange shadows over him, but Draco knew the Zabinis had a complicated relationship with murder. And that’s what he meant: murder was preventable, not death.

“What makes you think I could protect her any better than Potter could?”

“The Dark Lord trusts you, you’re a sneaky fuck, and you’re in love. Nobody will fight harder to win.”

Donning a backpack full of survival gear, his wand, and the warmest clothes he owned, Draco used their matching bracelets to Port-Key to Granger the next Saturday morning.

She had woven the bracelets with colourful thread—red and gold for him, green and silver for her—and the next week, Draco had adhered matching charms to them. She didn’t know that he could sense her through it. That when she fingered the cool metal engraved with his constellation at night, he felt her presence. Or that it was a gateway to each other using the right spell.

Maybe he’d known he’d follow her all along.

The bracelet transported Draco to lush, crawling hills and enormous, craggy rocks. The sky hung bright white above him. He could sense Granger’s magic in the air, or maybe it was her perfume drifting in the breeze. He inhaled deeply, feeling closer to her already.

There was nobody around when he heard the gasp directly behind him.

He turned and saw the air wobble. The ward he hadn’t realised was there descended. Granger stood two feet away, eyes wide and lips parted. She was thin and pale and seemed afraid.

Regret washed over him. He should have come sooner.

“How do I know it’s really you?” she demanded, wand clutched tightly by her side, a combination of fear and hope flickering in her eyes.

Draco dropped his bag by his feet, taking three strong strides forward. He framed her cold cheeks in his hands, hoping she saw the look on his face and remembered how much she meant to him. He said, “Because nobody else knows how much I love you.”

He kissed her, and a second later, Granger threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back, sobbing.

“I’m here to stay,” he reassured her, holding her tightly. “I’m here to fight.”

And he thought of Blaise in the Slytherin common room, the only one who knew of Draco’s whereabouts, and their discussions of love and death. And he thought of the future he’d seen with Hermione, and he thought he could have it, maybe even a better version of it. One that didn’t involve him at home, pursuing hobbies, but being worth something, too. He could be that. He wanted to be that.

Draco wanted to feast.

(873 words, inspired by Don't Swallow The Cap by The National)

#dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #dhr #dramione drabble #dramione ficlet #sodamnrad #sodamnraddrabbles

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babygorewhore · 3 months

Text

Daddy issues

After your dad is arrested, you try and beg for his job back. But Rafe Cameron decides another way for you to help your father. And his arrangement is different than you imagine.

Warnings! Daddy kink! Talks of violence! Slight reference to abuse! Choking! Blow job! Rough unprotected sex! Breeding kink! Virginity loss! Dirty talk!

You didnt know if you were more angry or surprised when you got the call from the officer that your dad was arrested and currently in jail for assault. You were finished working your late shift at the restaurant when your phone rang.

You screamed in your car on the way to the station. Your dad was a dead beat. An asshole who didn’t know how to fucking control his temper. Daddy dearest also liked to get loud with you, throw things when he didn’t get his way and one time he slapped you in the face.

You slapped him back and threatened to slash his tires. But the threat was empty considering he needed to work, which you had no idea how he kept his job at the docks while working for Rafe Cameron. It used to be his father Ward until his suicide. You’d met him often while picking your dad up, given you had to share a car.

He was…polite you could say. But he was also scary. He glared at everyone and he was short tempered. You usually heard him snapping or yelling if something wasn’t done right. Your dad complained about how strict he was.

But his status and wealth made everyone obey him and intimidated you. His attractiveness however was on another level. His height made you feel small and his blue eyes cut through people.

You slammed the door at the station and went to the desk. After signing in, you tapped your foot impatiently as an officer came up to you.

“Are you…?”

“My dad is here. He just got arrested.” You ground out. You hated being here. She nodded and looked at paperwork in front of her.

“Are you here to post bail?”

“I’m here to see if there’s any way we can clear this up as a misunderstanding.” You tried to plead but she shook her head.

“Ma’am, he attacked a man at a stoplight. He beat him up to the point he lost one of his teeth.”

You pressed your head against your hand. Jesus Christ it was worse than you thought. “How much is bail?”

She looked again at the paperwork. “Looks like we’re at 6,000 dollars.”

“What? I thought the bail was lower than that!” You shrieked.

“Ma’am. He also had multiple charges. Public intoxication, disturbance and assault. He caused a lot of trouble. I suggest you alert his job tomorrow. But until then, he’s going to spend at least 60 days in jail.”

You started crying. You couldn’t help it. It hurt so much. You couldn’t get a break. And now you’d have to face Rafe Cameron and face the humiliation of your dad being in jail.

You cried on and off the next day as you had to switch your schedule to the evening and make the phone call to your dads manager about his current situation. It was immediate termination and you broke down even harder in your bedroom. You refused to take his phone call, afraid you’d explode on him.

As you got ready for another dreaded work shift, your phone started ringing to a number you didn’t recognize. Hesitantly, you answered.

“Hello?”

“Your dads in jail, huh?” You immediately froze. It was Rafe’s voice. How did he-well he was capable of finding anything out.

“I-um. Yes. And he can’t work for you anymore. But if you’ll please reconsider. I know he’s a piece of shit but this is the only job he’s lasted out and we desperately need the money. I’m trying to get a car and we have to share one. I know this is probably pointless but I can’t help but try. So please, please take him back.” More tears came and you felt like a total cry baby but you pushed through.

You expected him to laugh but instead silence met you.

You bit your lip hard enough it bled.

“Meet me at my house. I’ll text you the address. I have a proposition for you.”

“Why can’t you tell me over the phone?” Your stomach tightened.

“Do you want me to help you or not?”

“Yes. Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Good girl.”

You set the phone down but seconds later his address came through in a text and your breath stopped short. He wanted to see you after work.

Five minutes before closing and after you finished cleaning, the drive to Rafe’s house wasn’t that far and now you knocked on his door. When he answered, you tried not to reveal how much you found him attractive. His hair was in his face and his eyes were glazed as he looked down at you. His fingers twitched and you imagined what he was doing with that hand…

Rafe gestured with his head for you to come in and you followed him inside the massive penthouse. He had everything you imagined. Expensive furniture, floors and lights.

You followed him to the kitchen where he pointed to the bar stool. “Have a seat.” He muttered.

You obeyed and watched as he circled the island in the center of the room. “So. You wanna save your dads job?”

“Yes. I’m willing to do anything-“ You stopped short when a smirk fell on his face.

“Anything?” Rafe challenged. “It looked like you hated him whenever I saw you talk to him.”

“It’s complicated.” You replied and his smirk grew into a cruel smile.

“Looks like someone has daddy issues.” Rafe countered and you crossed your arms.

“I-well when you put it that way-“

“I’m just bringing up what you’re telling me. Your dad beats the shit out of someone. He went to jail-and now you’re doing anything you can to fix it. Tell me if I missed anything.” Rafe’s voice was low and you hated that he was right.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound pushy. I’m just in a tight spot.”

“Oh I’m sure you’re in a…tight spot.” His meaning was clear and you swallowed.

That was the exchange.

“Look at you. Being a little smart girl and figuring it out. I’m gonna get to the point. You want me to take him back? Bail him out? I get to fuck you. Anywhere. Anytime. And anyplace I want. No condoms. No hidden birth control. No. I wanna see my cum leak out of that desperate pussy.”

Your mouth opened and closed. “I can’t just fuck a stranger. And no birth control? I can’t fucking get pregnant.”

“I’m a selfish whore, baby. And I can afford one. And those are my terms. Either that. Or your dad rots.”

You bit your lip. You weren’t in a position to say no. You needed the money. And Rafe was hot. There were worse guys. Rafe got closer, his big hands reaching to cup the side of your neck.

“Yeah? You want it?”

Slowly, you nodded.

Rafe crooked a finger, signaling you to come closer. You stepped down and approached him gingerly and looked into his gaze. Rafe then latched his hand around your throat. His grip was so strong your feet almost lifted in the air and your eyes widened as he crushed his lips to yours.

His lips devoured you as he shoved his tongue into your mouth. You weren’t experienced. Sure, you’d touched yourself and made out with people.

But actual fucking? You’d never done that. And you knew that was about to change.

“You want me to take care of you, don’t you?” Rafe loosened his hold on your neck and pressed you against the island counter, “need someone to be your daddy?”

Your hands flew to his chest as you brought him impossibly closer, his lips sucked your skin with bruising force. You opened your mouth as he slipped his fingers inside.

“Suck.” He commanded and you listened. Spit gathering on your lips as he kneed your legs apart and lifted you up on the counter.

“Need daddy to help you? Fill you up with my cum?” His dirty words made your cunt twitch as he started toying the end of your skirt. Your thighs dampened as he trailed his thick fingers along your flesh, his fingers grazing the wet patch of your underwear.

You started grinding to give any friction against your arousal as he apparently changed his mind and threw you to the ground by underneath your arms. Rafe gestured to the crotch of his pants. “Consider this your first payment, baby. You ever done this before?”

You shakily remained silent as he huffed an amused laugh.

“Really? A girl who’s such a perv that she’s willing to fuck someone giving her money? Never would have guessed. I guess I’ll be nice and help you.”

Rafe undressed his lower half, his cock leaked with precum and he took your hand. “Swipe it with your thumb, get it all wet.” His massive hand compared to yours was almost comical as he grabbed the back of your head.

“Open your mouth, princess. And remember to breathe through your nose.”

After that, he silenced whatever worries you had by shoving his dick forward. You run your tongue along the thick underside, lessening some of the heavy weight by massaging with your hand. You took the tip through your mouth, shoving down any nerves as you sucked. Rafe bobbed your head up and down as he pushed you further, your head bouncing as your eyes squeezed shut.

“No, no, open your slutty eyes and look at me.” He growled. He leaned over the arch of the space between the counter and where you sank on your knees. The skin of his cock was supple as you continued aiding with your hand. It was hot to the touch.

“Good fucking girl. Maybe I’ll reward you by fucking your pussy.” He started thrusting and hitting the back of your throat. “Breathe. Breathe through your nose.” He wiped a few tears away with his thumb as you listened to him.

You knew he was getting closer as he stopped talking, his breathing heavier as he moved your head. His cum spilled inside your mouth, as he released you and you coughed.

“Not bad for your first time. We’re gonna practice some more.” Rafe smirked as his face was flushed and his fist flexed.

He moved on top of you on the floor, hiking up your skirt and ripping off your panties. He spread apart your wet cunt and dipped his middle finger inside your clenching entrance. “You’re such a whore. Never done any of this and you’re already gonna cum. Should have known you’d be daddy’s cum slut.”

Rafe yanked your legs apart, and spit on your pussy. “Not that it needed it, but I’m gonna be a little more kind to you.” You shrieked as he grabbed your jaw.

“Are you on birth control?”

“No.” You quickly answered. “Never-never needed-“

“Good. And you’re not going to. Got it?” Rafe moaned as he pushed his tip in your pussy, “fuck you’re so tight.”

You winced from discomfort but then his knuckles hit your clit, aiding to relieve your tension as he circled them. “Gonna make you mine. Take you away from all that shit.” He grunted as he pushed further.

Rafe let you wrap your arms around his neck as he thrusted.

“Tell daddy you like it.”

“I like it.” You sobbed as he moved harder. “I like it, daddy.”

It was slightly shameful how quickly you came all over him and spilled onto your legs. Rafe also came again and you felt it inside you. He was serious about no protection.

He stayed for a few seconds before getting up. And pulling his pants back on. He extended his hand and pulled you up. You knew you were a sight to be seen, fucked out eyes and messy hair. You just lost your virginity to Rafe Cameron.

You cleared your throat and watched him sweep his eyes over your face. “So. My dad?”

He shrugged. “He’s already out.”

You paled. “What?”

“I posted bail a few minutes before you got here. But as for his job, you’re gonna have to work harder than that. I have conditions.”

“But I already said-“

“More than just fucking you, baby girl. I own you now. You are mine and no one gets to even think about fucking you. I will cross any line you make to keep me away. And if you try, I will punish you.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” You whimpered as he loomed over you.

“And?” He mocked. “You already agreed. You need me. Don’t you?” He cupped your jaw. Tightly but not as harsh.

“Yeah.” You leaned in to his touch. Your defenses are completely down. You needed care. You were always working. Always cleaning up after someone’s mess. And now…he was going to take care of you.

And either make your daddy issues better.

Or worse.

@xxhellfirebunnyxx @imyourdaninow @lesservillain @take-everything-you-can @slvt4jamesmarch @ifeeltoofuckingmuch @scene-and-dandylover @emsgoodthinkin

#rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe x you #rafe obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x female reader #Rafe Cameron imagine #Rafe Cameron series #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron outer banks #outerbanks rafe #rafe fic

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luveline · 18 days

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jadeee!! how are you?? I was rereading everything asf universe and I thought, as a belated weasley twin bd treat, perhaps a drabble of r and Fred at Angelina and George’s wedding and Fred realised how much he wants that for him and r?? i wanna see them get hitched soo bad!

that whole universe is sooo special to me, endless thank yous to you and your amazing brain for writing it❤️

I love you!! It’s so special to me too!!!! And I’m so grateful to you for reading!!!!! fem, 1.2k

cw mental health issues

Fred gets you in his lap, but it takes all day, and only after the speeches.

“You were very brave,” he says.

“Don’t patronise me.”

“I’m not,” he says, his arms folded around you, your side to his front so as to keep his gaze on your face. You’ve genuinely never looked so beautiful, not ever. It’s the most gorgeous dress you’ve ever worn, and you’ve smiled all day. He can’t believe it.

“Was it an okay speech?”

Fred finds your hand to hold.

I didn’t know what it was like to have a friend before I met George and Fred, you’d said, staring hard at Molly rather than the crowd, your nerves apparent in every word. I’ve never known someone to love as hard or as generously as he does. I… wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him. And so it makes me so happy to see him loved like that in return. I know he’ll be a good husband, because he is a great friend, and I think that’s half the battle, and– and he tries so hard. I wish you both a happy marriage and… a great honeymoon.

George didn’t beg you to say something, but he’d begged Fred to convince you, and everyone could see how much it meant to him that you’d managed to do it in front of so many people. George had no trouble proclaiming that you were his best friend in the entire world and that he would kill anybody who ever crossed you, including his twin, if it were to come to that.

It will never come to that. Fred will never break your heart.

“I didn’t know you were going to say that much,” Fred says.

“Too much?” you ask, looking down at his chest.

“No, sweetheart, no. It was lovely. I just knew it was gonna be hard for you.”

“You talked for half an hour,” you say.

It’s an exaggeration, but not by much. “I had to embarrass him fully. That’s what getting married is for.”

You press your cheek to his shoulder. The lights in the hall are low, your seats at the main table shaded from the lights and the music. George and Angelina’s family mingle, dance, and sing quite drunkenly. It’s very normal, but you’ve had a long day. Fred’s not sure you’re up for dancing. He doesn’t mind.

“It was a lovely speech,” Fred affirms. He’d murmur if he weren’t worried you’d miss it with all the noise. “He knows public speaking isn’t for you, and it was probably a better gift for him than the DFS voucher.”

“Better than a new sofa?” you ask. “You’re joking.”

He laughs at your joking and presses a heap of kiss all over the side and top of your face. You melt under his touching, slouching into him, the curl of your smile palpable on his shoulder. He can feel it. “My mum’s coming. She’s trying to be subtle. Shall I send her away?”

“I like your mum,” you say.

She’s in a dress with huge draped sleeves, her hair piled away from her face, her lips a pale pink to suit her red hair. When she talks, Fred can see the happy tear tracks that mark her powder. “Hello, you two.”

You sit up to a slightly more respectable position, but it isn’t as though she hasn’t seen you and Fred touching. “Hi.”

“Hi, mum.”

“How are you both? There’s more champagne around the side, dearie, your father can get you another bottle if you like.” She beams at you both. “You look exhausted.”

“It’s a long day, mum,” Fred says, mildly apologetic.

“I know. Imagine how much worse it is when it’s your own.” She brushes a strand of hair from Fred’s face. “Well, alright, I’ll go bother someone else.”

“You’re not bothering us,” you say quickly.

“I know, sweetheart.” She gives you a motherly shoulder squeeze. “I just wanted to make sure you were both okay. I’ll make sure they play a few slow songs for you to dance to. I need good photos for my wall.”

Fred laughs against the back of your head. “Thanks, mum.”

She leaves you quickly, attention snatched by Percy where he’s calling for her to come and dance, and leaves Fred in particular with an idea he’s been trying and failing to ignore all day. He knows it’s cliche, but his brother's wedding has made him think of his own, and how it will go and when it will be. If he asked you to marry him, would you say yes?

“You really do look so pretty,” he says.

“You’ve told me a couple of times,” you say shyly.

“I can’t believe it. I’m coming to terms with it.”

“Do you think we’ll get married?” you ask.

“Of course I do,” he says immediately, startled, and wondering for the thousandth time if you can really read his mind. “I suppose you’ll have to let me ask you first, but of course I do.”

You nod distractedly. It’s not the reaction he’d hoped for.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

Loving you is learning when to manage a crisis. Not that you’re always in crisis, but it’s an essential skill he’s obtained nonetheless. He waits for you to answer his question patiently, his fingers under your chin, tilting your head up gently to his eye level.

“Do you remember the first Christmas I came to stay with you?” you ask. “Before we were together.”

“I remember.”

“I told you that I didn’t think anyone would ever marry me. That I’m not that… sort of person.”

Fred shifts his legs under your weight. You aren’t heavy, the chairs are uncomfortable, and he plans to have you here for hours upon hours if he can swing it. “Yeah.”

“But you said you’d prove me wrong. We hadn’t even kissed.”

“And you still didn’t think I had a crush on you,” he teases.

You gather your arms to wrap behind his head, sitting taller, cwtching his face to your neck. “I know it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Ghost, I know everything about you. It makes total sense to me, believe it or not. And I will prove you wrong, I promise. If that’s what you want– it’s what I want, I just haven’t figured out how to ask you yet. Can you give me a little more time?”

You suck in a strange breath. He’d like to say it was delighted, but it’s better labelled as shocked. “Okay.”

“Thank you. We’ll have much better music.”

You turn your heads to the dance floor, where Arthur has unearthed those extra bottles of champagne Molly promised, and the Weasley troupe are dancing like an especially ginger entourage of fools to something abrasive by the Weird Sisters.

“Should we go dance?” you ask.

“In a minute. After my dads discovered that champagne isn’t regular champagne, I think.”

You shed the panic you’d been fostering to kiss his warm cheek. “Idiot, what did you do?”

“It’s his wedding, Ghost, what did you expect?”

You kiss his cheek again. A third time and he’s blushing. “Love you, Fred. Do you think George will forgive me for bending the truth?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“‘Cos I was lying, you know, when I said he’s the most loving person I’ve ever met. That’s you.”

Ugh, he thinks, dipping you backwards for a kiss. What a girl.

#a special friend universe #fred weasley x reader

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gloomunson · 1 month

Text

Purely Transactional

First time really publishing anything I've written for Eddie. No stranger to smut. just to him. Go easy on me.

Eddie Munson smut. The one where you fake date. Picture the 90s. Slow build.

Word Count: 12,872

Picture this; you’re being forced to attend your sisters engagement party, it’s a weekend event a couple towns over. You’ve got a room booked for two, yourself and your boyfriend. Your family can’t wait to meet the man who’s stolen your heart at last. It’s actually the second biggest event in your family history for years. The issue: you don’t have a boyfriend. You haven’t had one since you were 16. You only said you did have a boyfriend because you thought you would have by now. You never saw life going this way at all. Now you either have to fess up to being a single mother of two beautiful little dogs or find a last minute lover to feel less alone. Yay.

You asked everyone you knew. The neighbour, the neighbour’s neighbour. His cousin from out of town, his cousin from out of town’s neighbour. Every single one of your friends and only one of them gave you something or more, someone to work with. “Why don’t you ask Eddie?” You’re slouching on his sofa, sinking into the leather as he strums away at his guitar a joint hanging dangerously from his mouth. “I don’t know him.” You say it like it’s obvious, kicking your feet up. “Which is exactly why you should.” You catch his drift, but you don’t want to. It wasn’t as ideal as he thought it was. “I’m gonna get asked questions.” You deadpan. “So, make some notecards.” You tug the joint from his mouth, bringing it to your own. “Yes you may have that.” You flick him. “Rude.” You take a drag before slotting it back gently between his lips, returning to your seat.

“He won’t do it.” Gareth doesn’t respond. “I know he won’t, he doesn’t like me.” He huffs. ‘You hadn’t given him a chance to’ is what he says in his mind. “Has he told you that?” He quit playing, giving you more of his attention. He really did want to help. “Not exactly, no.” He leaned over his guitar, placing the joint down in his hand painted ash tray on the coffee table. The one you made for him for Christmas the year before. The one that he loved and guarded with his life. “Ask him.” You shake your head. “Ask him.” He says again, the guitar now being rested carefully against the table alerting you that he meant business. “No. Way.” You continue. He moves over to you; you slot your legs across his lap, and he leans back into his seat comfortably under the weight of them. “I’m gonna ask him.” You think he’s joking. You hoped he was joking. He wasn’t joking.

“Edward, we don’t know each other that well so I thought you’d be perfect plus you’re kinda the only other single one left, so it had to be you.” There were no lies told. You were the only ones; it might have been the only thing you actually had in common in your little inner circle of friends. You weren’t close but you also weren’t complete strangers. You were a little more than acquaintances, but not really friends. He was your only shot at this, that much you did know. “I resent that.” You roll your eyes, ‘you would,’ you think. You’re running out of options, he was your last chance, you had a week to prepare, this had to be it. You considered throwing in the towel moments before he arrived at your place. Half an hour late. It should have been enough of a sign not to go through with it but then he did arrive. Meaning that somewhere deep down inside him, he was interested. You could work with interested.

“I’ll pay you.” You can’t imagine anything worse; you were desperate sure, not desperate enough to actually pay him but desperate all the same. He seemed reasonable enough though. He had more money now than he knew what to do with and he was close with Gareth. Gareth was good people; he’d turn your offer down; you were sure of it. “How much?” He perks up, stroking his chin now his attention was caught. “You weren’t actually supposed to want payment.” You panicked, feet shuffling, hands tapping your thighs relentlessly. He was smirking. “Isn’t that how this is supposed to work?” He steps in close, a couple feet between you, not enough. “Want me to act like an escort? You’re gonna have to pay me like one.” If you hadn’t ever had a conversation with him, you might have found that attractive. He was tall, dark, and handsome. His jawline so picturesque you may have thought about kissing it once or twice. You also liked his eyes, even if he was cold and callous beneath them, only out for himself. But he wasn’t that attractive, and he didn’t intimidate you like he thought he did. Much.

“Like you don’t have more money than my entire family combined.” You dig. His rock star era made a hell of a name for himself. This was never going to happen. You don’t know why he even entertained it this far. There wasn’t a single helpful bone in his body, no matter how much you wished there were. “How bad do you need a boyfriend sweetheart?” He shortens the space between you even more. Your chest feels tight, the confidence dripping from his tongue was actually working on you, you were out of your depth. The way he looked at you too. Eyes flicking down to your lips and back, head tilting slightly, almost robotically, like he was sizing you up. Seeing if he could make it work. Make you work for him. You felt a heat on the back of your neck. You felt gross.

“100 bucks if they believe it, 50 if they don’t.” You couldn’t believe you were even saying it. You’d have to make him forget you agreed to any of that. “For how long?” He quipped back. “You’re so greedy. I’m gonna have to make a note of that in our very public lovers spat.” You lace it with venom as well as humour, standing your ground. The corner of his lips begins to curl. He fights it. “How long?” He repeats again, just as steady in tone. “A weekend.” You breathe. “Like Saturday and Sunday.” He asks. “Like Friday to Monday,” you respond just as deadpan. “200.” He takes a dangerous step closer. You don’t flinch. “150 and no black eye.” His brows furrow, forehead creasing in confusion. He kind of reminded you of a neanderthal. Dumb little boy.

“Why would I have a black eye?” You raise your fist. “OKAY PUT YOUR FIST DOWN. Jesus woman, I’ll do it.” He admits defeat. “Perfect. I made some note cards, things about me you may get asked about, read them, memorise them, guard them with your life.” You tug the notes from your back pocket, pushing them into his chest abruptly. He looks down at them quizzically. “What if they ask about me?” You shrug your shoulders. “I’m sure you’re not that complex.” He doesn’t attempt to hide how insulted he is by that.

“When is it?” You point to the cards. “All the information you need is in the notes.” He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, “how are we-“ you go to open your front door, you’d had the entire conversation in the hallway, not wanting him to go any further into your home than that. “In the notes Edward.” He takes a look down at the cards in his hands, he hated reading other people’s handwriting, made him feel dumb when he couldn’t understand it as well as he’d liked. You joined your letters all curly too which didn’t help. He actually half expected you to dot the I’s with hearts, you seemed like that kind of girl. He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed that you hadn’t.

You’re ushering him out the door, waving your hand to make him move faster. He pauses in your doorframe. You were so close. You could just kick him; he’d be off your property in no time. You wouldn’t have to think about him for another week then. You could pack your bags in peace. “You spelt my name wrong.” He points to the card; you’d done it on purpose. “No, I think your parents did.” He frowns. Before he can respond again you give him that much needed shove out the door. “BYE Eddie!” You slam it behind him, leaning your back against it as if that would prevent him from getting back inside and on top of your nerves again. He found the whole ordeal just as unpleasant as you had but he still finds himself on the other side of that door with a smile on his face. He read every single card you wrote for him. You were way more annoying than he thought.

“What part are you guys having trouble understanding?” You ask the table, leaning over, reaching for your cocktail to distract your mouth before you can step your foot in it. You were being tested way harder than you ever anticipated you would. You really never imagined they’d care let alone put you on trial for the crime of getting a boyfriend without their prior knowledge or approval. It’s nice to know how friendly and welcoming they really are when push comes to shove. You’d have to keep that in mind for the real thing, whenever that might be.

You’d laugh the nerves away, but you were afraid you might never stop laughing. You’d just manically laugh until you sank under the table, down into the ground, right to centre of the earth, burning up at the core before passing away painfully. You wished you could laugh. Instead, you just took the longest sip, looking to your left and right as subtly as you could muster under the immense pressure placed upon your shoulders by your sister and her fiancé. Deep breaths, it’ll all be over soon.

“I don’t buy it.” She states matter of factly. “You go from a single dog mom to suddenly in love with the perfect guy.” You open your mouth to speak but you daren't even try, she’s not finished yet. “It’s a little conveniently timed don’t you think?” She waves her hands to illustrate her point in that annoying fashion that only she could. Waving her fresh manicure right in your face, whether accidental or on purpose, still ridiculously annoying and yet another reminder that she had her life together and you didn’t. She turned to her fiancé before glancing towards the rest of the table for back up, all nodding along with her instantly as if she were a puppet master stringing them along. Cowards.

Your gaze remains steady and ice cold, colder than the slushy cocktail in your hands. The only thing that made the weekend worth it was the free bar and the adorable outdoor beer garden. You release the straw after a long sip with an “Ahh.” You try not to enjoy the twitch of your sister’s right eye at the sound. She’d always loathed when people did that. Anyone who made a noise of satisfaction after a drink no matter how delicious or refreshing it may be, was a colossal pain in her ass. You think she just despises other people’s enjoyment. She thinks it’s an unnecessary sound that people tend to use to exaggerate how nice something is as a performance for other people rather than for themselves. She also thinks it’s incredibly unladylike, which gives you a bigger kick to try it out every single time.

“Why would I lie?” You place your drink down harder than you intend to, wincing as the glass clangs on the table so hard you thought it may shatter. “You know I love you sis, but I don’t think I’d go to the length of faking a relationship just because you’re getting engaged.” Which would be such a wonderful sentence to throw out into the universe if that weren’t exactly what you were doing. “I just met the right guy.” You try not to grimace at the cheesiness of it all, that, and the fact you still hadn’t decided if you’d even liked him more than just a piece of eye candy. Because there was no denying that he was attractive, from the start he’d had that going at least. You’d only been admitting it because of the influence of alcohol too. It was just the rest of the package that gave you a headache.

“But he’s-“ You scowl before she continues that sentence, you almost will her to continue. “He’s what?” You push. If anyone were going to come for Eddie they had better make it good because that was an area you excelled in and would absolutely love to be a part of even if you did have to defend him right now. You could always use any good material at a later date when left to your own devices though, a pen and paper would be wonderful.

“He’s not your type.” You don’t believe that’s what she planned to say, it came out far too polite to be something she’d actually thought of. “What is my type then?” You probably shouldn’t have asked her this, but your curiosity trumps all reason. She flails her hand around in her lap, trying to think of the correct way to phrase it. You had no doubt your past relationships were displaying in her mind, enough horrendous options for her to choose from right out of a hat.

“Nerds,” she begins to list on her fingers, which is quite alarming because you really didn’t think you had that much of a track record. “Gamer boys,” which basically comes under ‘nerds.’ “Skinny guys,” that was absolutely not exclusive, “Gamer boy nerds.” She throws 3 fingers up. That’s if she was classing ‘boy’ as a type which you assume she was. You had to hand it to her, she wasn’t entirely wrong about your past dating pool, but Eddie wasn’t exactly far off that. Allegedly, back in his school days, he was the biggest nerd of them all, right before his band took off, he was participating in DnD tournaments and if that wasn’t the epitome of gamer boy nerd then what was? He just happened upon a glow up in his mid-twenties, something you still desperately waited for yourself. “Eddie just, doesn’t seem much of a nerd.” You’re certain that’s not what she intended to say, and you thought she might stop herself there, but she doesn’t, why would she? “He’s, well I hate to say it,” you bet she doesn’t though, “he’s out of your league.” Ahh, there it is. That’s more like it. She even says it with an apologetic expression to make you consider it for a millisecond. If only he were here. Oh, how he’d love this.

Eddie was the lucky one in this scenario, whether it was fake or not, you were a catch. One that no one had ever caught and kept hold of but a catch, nonetheless. Your mom would agree, probably not the best argument but it’s there and it counted. You reached for your drink once again and prayed he returned soon; you were drowning out here and you weren’t even out of the shallows. “Then lucky me.” You sip as aggressively as one can with a shitty paper straw wedged between their teeth. You were so glad the sea turtles were safer at the hands of recycled paper straws, but you so missed being able to drink a cocktail without the added ingredient of paper mache sinking at the bottom of each glass.

“Why are we in luck?” His voice swings in joining the conversation as he walks back over to your table, the chain on his jeans jingling as it swayed while he walked. You’d asked him to remove it, he swore he would, he didn’t. His hearing was impeccable, you wonder what else had slipped by him on his way over. You’d honestly never felt so relieved to hear his voice either, even if his steps closer bought the smell of cheap cigarettes and your early twenties. You’d have loved him back then. Back in college, your first taste of freedom, the option to date whoever you liked, to experiment a little. You’d have eaten up that bad boy, leather jacket, fingers coated in metal, cigarette smoking musician act he had going for him. Quiet and brooding too, oh yeah, your knickers would have never left the floor. Good thing you grew up since then.

He grabbed his chair, pushing it right next to yours, as close as he could get without sitting directly on top of you and for a second you ponder about why he bothered with his chair at all. His eyes burned into the side of your face, and you plastered a smile wide enough to match his as you leant into him. “What took you so long?” You whispered while maintaining that sickeningly sweet smile that hurt your face to pull. “You miss me that much?” He licked across his bottom lip, and you mentally scold yourself for looking at it. “I’m getting eaten alive out here.” He grinned wider. “Must be because you’re so damn delicious.” Your stomach fluttered. What the fuck?

He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. You felt yourself relax into him, like his lips had sucked all of the tension from your body. You may not like him very much but you sure were glad he was here right now. Even without the facade, it was hard being in environments where you had to face your entire family alone. It’s not that you weren’t close with them, or didn’t love them, it was just difficult standing your own ground sometimes. You needed that extra shield for the invasive questions and high expectations, the anchor to keep you firmly in place, sure of yourself. It was a tough act to balance.

He couldn’t deny that he’d gained some respect for you for how well you’d handled things. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d manage a family dynamic like this alone, even if he were part of it. He was kind of developing a soft spot for you, probably more than you were anyway. Okay, definitely more than you were. He wasn’t sure when it started. He’d had the message exchanges throughout the last week. He had the detailed notes about your life from start to finish to divulge. The 3 hour car journey where you refused to play music, instead forcing him to answer questions about you in preparation for the event. It was somewhere amongst there. Maybe even when you’d shared a room the past two nights without killing each other. In seeing a vulnerable side of you that made you appear a little more human. He’d also seen a larger portion of you without clothing, that certainly helped.

Yes. Perhaps somewhere around there he’d liked you. All he knew now was that in watching your interactions with your family, it made him want to stick to you like glue and support you the best he could for however long you would let him. You had it covered, and you’d tell him that too, afraid of showing any weaknesses, but that’s exactly why he felt like he should support you, he didn’t want you to feel so alone, you didn’t have to be so alone. He’d known all too well what that was like.

He didn’t even have to force himself to kiss your cheek that time, he’d just wanted to rid your face of the frown that threatened to grace it, even if he found it adorable. His issue now was that he had trouble moving away. His lips lingering, breath tickling your cheek, until you coughed under your breath for him to shift away. For a moment he’d wished it weren’t all play pretend. That he could stay there and have it not feel so strange. He couldn’t pin point when his eyes started to soften at the sight of you. All he knew was that they had. It was getting increasingly easier to act enamoured by you, because, well, he might have been.

“So, what did I miss?” He tilts his head towards the rest of the table, it felt like such a difficult task to withdraw his attention from you. You yourself took the opportunity to catch a much needed breath. You also needed to pat your stomach to hold off the swarm of butterflies scrambling around in there. There was this dizzying, uneasiness in the pit of your tummy, like you were fighting the emotions within yourself. Those damn love bugs were wasting their time going crazy for this situation. It wasn’t real, not worth the energy. Surely you didn’t need to be convinced of that, it was clear as day. You didn’t need this unnecessary nausea. “We were just talking about what a wonderful couple you are.” Your brother in law speaks, directing his attention towards the man at your side. You really thought you’d liked that man, he betrayed you. You kept a special scowl just for him. He felt hot under the collar when he felt the intensity of it. Good, you thought. Traitor.

Eddie bravely dipped his hand down onto your thigh where he’d noticed your hand was already resting, slipping his fingers between yours, resting atop your knuckles effortlessly for all to see. You’d felt your breath hitching in your throat. The simplicity of the action shouldn’t have caused such a stir, but it was just so easy for him. He was so touchy feely like it was the most natural thing in the world. He loved to touch, and you never expected it from him. It was one of the main reasons that made it so hard to remain sure that this was all an act. Was he like this with everyone? You’d half hoped he wasn’t, even if your other half screamed at you for that naivety. It wasn’t exactly your love language, but you’d wished it were, you wanted to touch him. Too many drinks maybe.

“Why do I feel like that’s sarcasm?” He threw back with nothing but charm, sweet like honey dripping from his tongue. If he weren’t in a band you could certainly picture him as an actor with some of the crap he pulled. Sometimes he even had you believing this whole thing, lines blurring like no other. Especially when nuzzled his nose into your neck eliciting a squeal from your lips. All before deciding to stay there, sitting with his chin resting on your shoulder happily. Like the most casual position in the world.

Your heart pounded against your chest. His arm slunk around your waist. His mouth opened for you, signalling you to bring his cocktail and straw between his lips to take a sip. A ridiculously over the top public display of affection you swore you’d never partake in. Yet for some reason your hands were ignoring every judgment your mind was making, allowing you to feed him his drink like some kind of mother to a parched child. It was interesting to you how fast you’d been able to communicate with him like that without it ever needing to be said or asked for. “You owe me.” You whisper. “Not how this transaction really works.” He says between sips rather impressively. It might even be considered cute if it wasn’t such a threat. Your cheeks burned.

“It just seems so sudden.” Your sister just can’t bite back her tongue for more than two seconds huh. You’re literally sat there with giant, red, beaming heart eyes for each other. So, close your personal space would never be described as such for as long as you shall live, ever again. Literally feeding each other. Squeezing each other’s hands. Hating every second you’re apart. Feeling like you may break without the other. Whispering sweet nothings (more like threats but no one else had spotted that) into each other’s ears. You’re both so over the top, overwhelmingly infatuated (although falsely) with each other you may as well claim this engagement party as your own and YET, no one believed you for a second. Hell, even you thought you might be falling. Thank you vodka.

“When you know, you know.” You say, lifting your hand to pat his cheek after putting his drink back on the table. He squeezes your other hand instinctively. He’d almost forgotten he was holding it in the first place, it felt so nice and soft, like it belonged in his. It could belong there. “What will it take to convince you?” He offers. You squeeze his hand even harder, this time hoping to pump the breaks on this one. As much as you appreciated him sticking up for the relationship. You weren’t up for a quick fire round of questions that you weren’t prepared in the slightest. Especially since he refused to learn the answers to any potential enquiries a day prior. Deeming the impromptu quiz session in the car ‘enough learning for a lifetime.’

“Ed,” is all you warn while you beg him to shut up with your mind instead. “No, no sweetie, we can answer all the questions they have.” He grinned at you so menacingly; you wanted to wipe that smirk right off his adorably smug little face. Woah. When did he become adorable? Scratch that. Shush. You’re so pissed you don’t even fawn over the pet name, much. You may as well pack your bags now and return home though, you were done for, the hoax was over. The end.

“What’s her favourite band?” Okay, we’re actually doing this. “Or singer, if that’s easier.” Ryan, your least favourite brother in law and your only brother in law, fires out. He only knew the answer himself because he tried to impress you one Christmas by buying you a limited edition vinyl. Of all the people at this table, you thought at least he wouldn’t be sceptical of you. Unbelievable.

“There isn’t just one, its multiple, depends what mood she’s in.” You’re intrigued already on where this is going. Your sister jeered at the response, already less than impressed. Eddie turns his head, lifting his hand to silence her before she can say anything. You almost pat him on the back for it. “But, if I had to choose.” Which he did. He really did. “Queen, Black Sabbath, and I’m going to add Corroded Coffin in there because she’s our number one groupie, aint that right babe?” You allow yourself to roll your eyes at the last part, even if you were dating you doubt you’d let him describe you as a groupie, dick.

“That’s easy, they’re pretty generic choices.” You had to give them that one, it wasn’t the most cut throat list of indie artists you could only associate with your taste and yours only. You’d been a bit of a basic music lover your whole life and there was no shame in that. You liked what you liked and that was okay. You were still impressed he knew any of your list though. Maybe he actually had read your notes, lying shit. Definitely not adorable. “Favourite food?” Okay, still going. You lean back, may as well get comfortable since you’re going to be here for a while.

He snorted before answering that one and you wondered what was so insanely funny that could make him move his hand away from your thigh to explain it properly. You missed his touch the second you were without it. Gag. “Bread.” He giggled just saying it, the kind of giggle where the creases beside his eyes really stood out and his cheeks bunched up all precious and pudgy underneath them. You can’t help but smile.

“But not just plain bread right,” he looked to you before continuing as if to say ‘hey, watch this, look at me.’ He thinks he has you down. You indulge him. “So, bread in its many forms,” he lifted his fingers to start listing, “sandwiches, toast, brioche, fried bread, french toast, pizza dough, the list goes on right but at the height of it all,” he really gestured above his head to signify the detailed tier system of bread options. He added a small and useless breather to gain anticipation, it wasn’t working. “Garlic bread.”

You snorted a laugh yourself this time. Not because he was wrong either, because he was 100% correct in fact. You were mortified that, that was your own answer. He locked eyes with you in a way that he hadn’t done before, with genuine affection, maybe even a glimmer of hope that he’d done you justice. He was captivated by you, your cheeks bursting with redness, your smile tight, starting to hurt you in fighting it. You looked so pretty right now. The glow of the lamps out in this beer garden just added to the radiance he already thought you had. He couldn’t believe a girl as pretty as you considered bread your favourite food.

He also found the noise you made to be one of the cutest things he’d ever heard, and he wished he could make you do it again someday. He really didn’t consider himself that funny though. He might have to get some drinks down you for another laugh like that. “I thought your favourite were sour patch kids?” Your sister argued, using her nails again to assist her point. Eddie quickly chimed in before you could go to correct her.

“Actually, that was her hyper fixation for a little while, ate every flavour except lemon. Which are my favourite, so it works out pretty well.” Your jaw may as well have hit the floor. He’d only known that from the car ride up here. You were about to throw the packet out before he stopped you, complaining you were wasting money and food since you left all the yellow ones. You were shocked he remembered. If you were impressed by him right now, surely everyone else had to be too, right? Wrong.

“Celebrity crush?” He answered this quicker than you or he would like to admit. You also just didn’t know how he came to the conclusion he did and how he was so correct with it, suspicious. “Harrison Ford hands down, can’t even knock it, he’s a handsome man.” The next question went swimmingly too. “Favourite hobby?” He gave it a thought for a second, glancing to you and back, “painting, she’ll say she’s no good at it but actually she’s got a gift. I’ve never seen anyone use colour the way she does. Actually, considered using some of your work for album art.” He turned to you towards the end, and you struggled to decipher whether it was bullshit or not. Your heart actually ached at the thought of it being true.

“Favourite movie?” Your brother in law’s turn to ask. You threw your head back in exasperation. “What is this, the Spanish inquisition? Is this really necessary?” You looked to your sister and her future husband. “Yes!” They admitted in unison. Eddie’s hand returned to your thigh, patting it softly, his thumb rubbing soothing shapes into your bare skin. It was working. God it was working. He was like ice against your fire, the way he cooled you.

“I’ve got this.” He assured you. “Yeah, you kind of do, that’s why it’s so fucking weird.” You admitted quietly but not enough as to hide it from anyone else, deeming it safe for public consumption. He smirked. “Scared I know too much about you?” You were. You were terrified. This time you do lower your voice. “Just didn’t know you could actually read. Guess my notes were a great help after all.” You stuck your tongue out. For a second he thought about taking it in his mouth, probably some other filthier thoughts floated around his brain too. It was something about the proximity and the cocktails you’d shared, you could always blame those.

“Anything Tim Burton but her favourite would have to be the one with Winona,” he knows he has it right, but he just can’t think of the name, turning to you momentarily for help, you mouthed “Edward Scissorhands” before he nodded and repeated it. Considering it featured his own name, you’d think he would remember it. He then paused, not for dramatic effect but so he could smile to himself as he thought about why that was your favourite. “It depicts the whole Frankenstein’s monster thing just finding his way into suburbia but we as the audience” he gestured to his chest, “see a lot more heart than that, an innocent kind of love, one we all want to make us feel worthy, naive really, but ultimately sweet and sacrificing.”

You leant in, your lips close to his ear. “If we were really dating, you’d be getting your dick sucked so hard tonight.” It took every bone in his body not shut the evening down and carry you back to your hotel room with that false promise in mind. He instead tried to ignore the now throbbing sensation in his trousers. Had you always done that to him?

“Ok those are fairly standard.” In what world was his last answer not specifically catered to you? “How about a random trivia round?…” The suggestions just kept going. If this were the only worthy form of entertainment they could find, married life was going to be abysmal. “Or.” He began and this is when you really, really started to panic, like exponentially. There was nothing that could have helped him out now. Your notes only consisted of the likes, dislikes, and the fake scenario in which you first met. There was nothing else. That was the end of the script. He couldn’t be that good at improvisation. You didn’t want the opportunity to find out either. You were no casting director. He no longer had to impress you or anyone else. If they were still at odds with the situation then so be it. You couldn’t please everyone. It really shouldn’t have taken you that long to realise it. Huh. The more you know.

“I can tell you about how she makes me feel.” You really, truly would rather you didn’t know. If it’s the truth, it would hurt. If it was a lie, well that might hurt even more. You begged the universe to keep him quiet. Whatever he had to say was going to blow your cover and throw this whole shit show up in flames. Your sister seemed so keen and intrigued enough to let him continue. You however, said your final goodbyes to any future you had where you weren’t a laughing stock for the entire family. A future where Eddie Munson couldn’t reject and discard you publicly. Now it was a very real possibility, you were far more upset than you ever thought you would be. Eddie glances at you briefly, bucking up the courage to put on the biggest and most detrimental show of his entire life.

He doesn’t face your sister when the words come tumbling from his mouth. He faced you, addressing you like he needed you to hear this and fuck, maybe he did. You actually felt touched about it until he opened his mouth. “You’re kind of a fucking weirdo.” You went to shut him up as the embarrassment crept in, but he spoke louder as he often did. “You are, you’re a freak- and it’s so, it’s refreshing.” Your mouth closed but oh, so slowly. You began to listen to him, decided to trust him. “You’re fucking nuts.” You rolled your eyes. How many ways were there, to describe you as crazy? Why did he feel the need to use all of them? “But I like it. I do. I feel like I can be myself around you.” He talked with his hands a lot as he scrambled the words, rings clinking against each other. You reached for them, settling them in your lap and he silently thanked you for it. Everything got a whole lot easier when you held his hand.

“You make it feel okay to be a bit crazy. You don’t have to be so straight or basic, you can just, be.” Just as you started to smile, you saw that you weren’t the only one. It was working, his little speech was actually working. “I like who I am around you. Even if sometimes you don’t. I like that you tell me when I piss you off. I like that you act like you hate me when you don’t. I like that you’re so fucking stubborn and headstrong you’d never rely on anyone else and that pisses me off.” You felt tingling racing across your chest. “I love that no moment with you feels forced. That, that smile, right there could make flowers bloom.” He gestured to your face with both of your hands linked together. “That your glare could cause a fucking storm or something.” You tried not to get swept up in the fact he’d stopped saying ‘like.’

“I love that everything feels okay when your hand is in mine, even when you try and say you don’t like holding hands, you’re too good at it to hate it. You know exactly the right moments.” He shook his head with a disbelief. It started to feel so real. “I think I’d miss you even if I’d never met you.” His hand tightened around yours when he said his last sentence. “And I’m glad I met you. I hope one day you’ll be glad you met me too.” The rest of his speech hadn’t mattered when he uttered those words. The words that knocked the breath out of you, leaving you fighting for your life in the seat next to him. You don’t think anyone had ever referred to you so kindly in your life, even if he did call you fucking mental at least 5 times throughout.

He couldn’t even breathe. He’d said it. He’d let it all out and now he just saw the look of shock on your face and couldn’t take a single breath, not knowing how you’d react. It was news to him too though. He could play it off as a lie, say he saw it in a movie, some chick flick or something. He’d copied it because of course he had. But then again, on the off chance you weren’t horrified, he wasn’t sure if he had any more guts left to tell you it was true. He just knew that he needed to do something. He had to fill this painful silence somehow and thankfully, he didn’t have to do it alone.

You kissed him. You scraped your jaw off the floor, and you kissed him. You’d not kissed him like this before. Like your life depended on it. Like he was the very air you needed to breathe. Like he’d meant every word he’d just said, and you’d believed it. God you might have even felt the same. You were also slightly ashamed to say, it had your panties soaking between your thighs. Not to mention your heart thundering in your chest.

Eddie kissed you as if he were tattooing his words across your lips for all of eternity. Because for the first time throughout this whole charade, he was actually allowed to mean every word he had said, whether he knew this was how he was feeling at the start of the evening or not. Neither of you could have predicted a confession like this. Even after giving one, he wasn’t quite believing it himself. But fuck, there was freedom in it. There was a lovely form of permanence. Him knowing his words were out there for the universe to take and make with what it will. He felt weightless. It wasn’t the cocktails. Something just clicked in his brain, and he knew it. You were everything.

You melted into each other when his lips found yours. It was sweet and slow but confident, with purpose. Each stroke of his lips against yours carefully considered and carried out like clockwork. You’d felt a rush from this kiss. It was hungrier than any other you’d shared. Quite frankly it was starved. You’d pressed up against him so hard and he’d done just the same to you. His hands coming up to tilt your chin up towards him for more. As if you hadn’t been close enough already. Its only when you gasped at his touch did he slip his tongue into your mouth. You knew he’d had so much practice kissing women like this, but you couldn’t care. You allowed him inside, welcomed the way he licked into your mouth delicately. Blissfully enjoying the taste of his last cigarette on his breath, shocked that it’s not even a put off for you right now.

His words had gotten you drunker than the cocktails you’d been knocking back all evening. You almost whined when he dragged himself away from you. It was way too premature for your liking. Your eyes remained on him and only him as your hands fell back from their place atop his shoulders. You weren’t even sure when they’d gotten there in the first place, just swept away with nothing but him to guide you.

He smiled at you; a smile you know he hadn’t been pretending. You were about to lean back in, sealing that gap between you, before you were reminded of exactly where you were. In public. Very much in public. You sank back into your seat sheepishly, heat rising to your cheeks, burning hot like lava ready to erupt. Eddie threw his arm around you, and you seized the opportunity to hide your face in the crook of his neck out of embarrassment. He thought it might be the cutest thing you could possibly have done. He even struggled to wipe the blush off his own cheeks. He felt like a school boy again. “Okay, fine, we believe you.” Your sister threw her hands up in defeat. You’d forgotten what you were even aiming to prove, your head was so flooded with hormones. It remained that way until you were back inside the hotel.

Back in the safety of your room, deep in the darkness, the only light being from the glowing orange streetlights outside, you found yourself nervous for what would come next. You needed a moment to think. “I’m going to take a shower.” You said softly. “Do you mind?” He shook his head, unable to speak. You’d think that after he’d already lay everything down on the table, that he’d find it easier to approach you, but he resorted back to silence. “Go ahead.” He offered. You wanted to ask him to join you. You didn’t. You just thought about it while you locked the bathroom door behind you. When you wiped off your makeup. When you turned the water on and waited for it to heat up before stripping and stepping inside. You thought about it even under the water, arm stretched out to reach you shampoo. You still didn’t.

He’s already tucked away under the sheets, while you’re in there. He thought about falling asleep, willing himself into a trance before you could return, he couldn’t. His mind was swimming with thoughts. He instead insured that the wall of cushions you’d built on night one, was as high as it ever was. There to wedge a distance between you once more. Which is what you wanted, right? It was your main housekeeping rule for sharing a bed.

“Hey." He breathed, as you returned from the bathroom, steam seeping out after you. He was nervous. You ignored it. He lay flat, facing the ceiling, his arms fastened at his sides above the covers. You shouldn’t let your eyes wander but the light had given you a clear path to follow, leading you to the tattooed arachnid of his chest. You wanted to touch it, you’re not sure why. You slipped silently into bed beside him, only you turned your back on him, willing the conversation to end. But you didn’t actually want it to be over.

He rolled over without so much as a creak being made on the old bed. He barely even tugged the cover from you. It’s like a move too sudden would spook you and send you running, it might have, he couldn’t be certain. “Do you think the great wall of prevention might be ready to come down?” He nudged it into your back for emphasis. He didn’t want the night to end. You didn’t either. And yet, your stomach twisted to think of an excuse, a reason for it to stay very much where it was. Only you didn’t find one. “Okay.” You spoke softly. “Okay.” He repeats just as low, just making sure. You hardly felt him moving them. It was so unlike him to be so gentle, so light handed, treading carefully. He was so cautious and calculated, you never thought he had it in him. The cushions were gone. Now what?

“I’m gonna ask you something, you don’t have to say yes, but I really need to ask it so please just hear me out.” There were a million different things he could have asked you; you’d never have enough time to predict it or rehearse the correct answer, you could only breathe as you anticipated it. “Can I hold you?” It felt good to say it, even if his breath was shaky and his heart felt like it might just pack in. He really wanted to touch you. That was before he even saw you there, lay in the warm glow of the light, hair still a little damp, loose over your shoulder, your t-shirt clinging to your body.

The sheets weren’t covering your lower half as well as you’d thought they were, not now the barrier between you was down. Now he could see the lace band of your panties peeking bellow your sleep shorts. He was about to abandon the whole ordeal. Just a peek shouldn’t have been enough to stir him between his legs and maybe it wasn’t, not on its own. But if he’d counted every other occasion tonight where you’d looked too pretty, sounded too sweet, it all added up and he guessed it contributed to the problem.

He started to worry when you didn’t answer him. You obviously weren’t asleep. You were clearly fiddling with the sheets, your fingers tugged at the material anxiously. He’d completely overstepped, he should have expected that. You weren’t together. You wouldn’t ever be together. That was all this entire weekend was supposed to be after all. Just an opportunity to fake it. How could he be so stupid? “Come here.” He looks down to see you half turned back to him, the duvet lifted, giving him even more of a view of your shorts, but he tried not to look at you too much. To just see the invitation, which was what mattered the most.

He wasn’t sure how to approach, you couldn’t help him either. You would spoon, that was a given, you hadn’t budged your position, left him no choice but to mould his body around yours. He shuffled closer, awkwardly trying to stretch his right arm underneath your pillow without lifting your head, hurting your neck. He curled around your back, leaving inches between you, like he couldn’t quite make himself grow any closer. His left arm rested on his own hip, too afraid to reach out and touch yours. He’d asked to hold you. Why can’t he hold you?

You took matters into your own hands. You blindly reached behind you, hands finding his. Your one superpower. You interlock your fingers with his and bring his arm around your waist, the heat of his body coming with it. You could probably feel his heart pounding chest now he allowed it to press against your back. You definitely felt the goosebumps climbing his arms when you pressed a feather light kiss to his knuckle. His heart leapt in his chest.

“What was that for?” He lifted his head, you don’t know it, but he can see enough of your face from this angle to catch the blush on your cheeks and the smile that crept onto it. He’s reassured by it. “Just felt like it.” You shrugged. Only he doesn’t buy it, but he won’t push his luck. His head hit the pillow, only this time, he’s closer to you. His nose is nearly buried in your apple scented locks. You were so sweet smelling at all times, but that apple was just so incredibly you. He knew you’d only used the stuff because it came in a green bottle too. Because only you would map your product selection on the colour alone. It was one of the first facts in your note cards, that your favourite colour was green.

Fuck. He thinks. He really fucking liked you. He wouldn’t even curse himself for it. You weren’t what he expected, and he liked that. He liked that this didn’t go to plan. He liked that he couldn’t pretend any longer. He was grinning to himself, chuckling even. He boldly buried his head in the crook of your neck like he’d done a couple of times that night but more invasively now there wasn’t much space between you.

“What’s so funny?” You shook his hand in yours. “Hmm?” You fought a laugh yourself; his laughter was infectious; it was just stupid and cute and stupid. “Gareth was right.” He said. You turned your head back slightly, unable to see anything really, before giving up and leaning into the pillow again. “Bout what?” He leaned his head on your shoulder, lips nearing your ear. “Told me this wouldn’t work.” Interesting really, since he ushered you into asking him into this at the start. You’re suitably confused. He’s holding you, giggling in your ear, body warm against yours in this stupidly large bed that he’d made feel tiny, after convincing your family how in love you are, and he said it wasn’t working. That Gareth, your biggest influencer, had also predicted it. Well, you’d have said the opposite.

“This isn’t working.” You have a questioning tone. “Didn’t seem like that downstairs.” You were defensive, rightly so. “No, not like that.” He started. Your grip on his hand loosened and he panicked. ‘Just say what you mean, say what you mean,’ he tells himself. “Turn over.” He leant himself up, still firmly on his side. “Why?” He rolled his eyes. “Please turn over.” He pleaded. “Whyy?” You say again. “Fuck, would you just-“ he shook his hand free from yours, placing it firmly on your hip and he twisted you, so you were flat on your back, facing up at him with surprise. He didn’t expect that to work as well as it did.

“You’re so fucking annoying.” He huffed. “Thanks.” Your arms crossed over your stomach, you tried to avoid his gaze, but he manoeuvred himself so that he was directly above you. He decided you couldn’t be trusted to keep you gaze anywhere but on him. You had to give him a shot. Your expression had softened at the sight of him. Just like he’d hoped. His stupid round cheeks. The dumb smile. Why was he always smiling?

“I wanna kiss you.” He said. You thought he was childish. “Is holding not enough?” He shook his head. “Never enough.” He leaned in close, but he doesn’t kiss you, not yet. His forehead just pressed against yours, his lips hovered, breath tickling your own mouth. “Can I?” He begged for it. “Yes.” You breathed. He does. His lips brush yours and it’s just as nice as every other kiss he’d given you. You’re not sure why you expected it to be different all of a sudden. You just had the idea that maybe it would be. Now that you, well now that you actually liked it.

But it wasn’t different, it was exactly the same. “Eddie.” You whined. “Yeah?” He was upset that you’d interrupted such a crucial moment. “It doesn’t feel like I thought it would.” Your fingers stroked over his cheek; he arched a brow to question you. “We have kissed before; you remember that right?” He teased. You couldn’t have been that drunk. “Yes. Shut up. That’s not what I meant.” He’s still not on the same page although relieved somewhat that you were in fact sober like he thought.

In his mind that kiss was perfect, electrifying, mind blowing, the best kiss yet, you’d have known it too if you didn’t stop him so quickly. “What’s it feel like?” He tried to understand. You thought for a moment. What did it feel like? Warm, soft, sweet, he was one of the sweetest tastes. Where most men would taste of mint, Eddie didn’t. He tasted like cigarettes and the kiwi and strawberry gum he chewed to mask the scent of them on his breath. It didn’t work completely, it more meshed together into its own unique flavour.

It felt nice. “Feels normal.” You said it like it was a bad thing and he can’t understand why. “What’s so wrong with that?” You tried to shake your head. Shake some sense into yourself. You were blowing it. “Kiss me again.” You didn’t have to ask him twice. He pushed his lips against yours, harder than the first time, much harder. Barely leaving a gap between you. Suffocating you with his kiss. He feels like this time he has to try harder; he needed to give you his all. There had to be more.

His lips glided over yours, his lips rough but still careful. His tongue poking out slowly, licking gently over your bottom lip. You part it instinctively and the second his tongue slithered across your teeth, you finally felt it. You don’t know why it took you till the second try. You’re so grateful you felt it at all, but you were panicking for a second, thinking you’d made this huge mistake because how could you let yourself fall for him after all this nonsense? Then you felt it, that spark kicking you to life. That fire in your belly, burning you up inside, begging for his coolness to dampen it down. You fucking needed him.

Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails tucking into them just a little. He’s feeling the heat radiating from you, your energy pouring into him. He’s smiling against your mouth as your tongue meets his briefly. He just knows that this time, he’s got you. “You had me worried there for a second.” He panted, not wanting to pull away but needing to say something. You kissed him over and over, distracting him. Now you’d started, you couldn’t stop. “I know, I’m so cruel.” He smirked, kissing you back just as vigorously, hand coming to your throat, resting gently on it before tilting your chin up towards him.

You captured his eyes, so dark, nearing black in the dim light. If it weren’t for the golden flecks you’d be convinced they really were that dark. “Had to be sure.” He pecked your lips. “Yeah?” You did the same. “Yeah.” He’s so close that every time his eyes closed and reopened, you felt his lashes fanning your cheeks. “And now?” He asked so hopefully, heart on the line as he waited on your answer. You wanted to make him wait, torture him a little, not tonight, tonight you were kind enough to put him out of his misery. “Now I want you.” You said. He could have punched the air with excitement.

You’re kissing again. Scrambling around, his body lowered on top of you, one hand resting on your cheek, the other grazing your hip bone. His body shuddered when you whimpered under the weight of him. You let your legs widen as he slipped between them, all before he lifted your thigh, depositing it safely around his waist. You prayed that he didn’t immediately feel the dampness in your shorts but you’re not the only one struggling.

His hard on rubbed into you, your lips parting with surprise. “Fuck.” He muttered, momentarily halting your make out session, the heat between your thighs overwhelming him. You sensed his embarrassment, his cheeks burning with it. “Me too.” You breathed. Lips pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose as your hand slipped between you, coming down to cup his bulge boldly through his shorts.

The groan he released is sinful, maybe even painful. He felt big. He felt impossibly big. He wouldn’t fit in your hand, maybe not even in the two of them. He thrust into your hand when he felt you touch him. It was his first instinct; he couldn’t fight it. “Shit, sorry.” You caught his lips, tugging his bottom one between your teeth, releasing it slowly. “Gonna move my hand, want you to do it again.” If he thought he was embarrassed at his neediness before, it was about to get a whole lot more mortifying.

Your hand moved away, he was grinding his hips down into you as you’d asked, and you felt the way his cock jumped into action. “Baby.” You panted. He’s sure his heart is going to explode, maybe his cock too, probably that first. “Say it again.” He needed it. “Baby.” You kissed him. He’s rocking his hips into you, you started rotating your own, rubbing yourself over his cock, hand moving out of the way. “Baby, baby, fuck.” He’s covered your lips with his, nose mashed up against you, you can’t breathe, you don’t even want to, you wouldn’t miss the feeling. All of this felt so much more important. “Feel so good.” You whine. He never would have thought you’d be so vocal. You didn’t seem like the type. Thought you’d be a bit of a brat maybe but not this, not confident and sexy and so sure of what you wanted. He could love that; he could love you.

“More, need more.” You’re eyes rolled back when he’s lifting your hips with both hands, pulling your core over him. His cock slipping through your folds through too many barriers of clothing. “Shit Ed.” You felt the sensation of fire burning into you, setting you alight. You’re dizzy and hot and you just felt so good against him. The friction of his shorts might have been frustrating, but it was also, so rewarding. It was such a good roughness against your clothed mound. “Are you?” He can’t even say it, too busy dragging you over his cock. “I’m, fuck, Eddie.” He doesn’t stop, not for a second, not for a beat. He makes you ride it out. He’s so stupidly proud of himself. He’d barely touched you and you’d come undone. You’d actually fucking came. “Fucking unreal for me.” He slowed himself down before he followed a similar path to destruction.

He’s pushing your hips back down, letting your body sink into the mattress, pulling away from you to catch a breath. “I can’t believe that.” Your hand floats through your hair combing it back. He’s resting back on his knees, still between your legs. “You’re so fucking hot.” His eyes don’t look anywhere but your face. Your shirt is half way up your chest, bare tits poking out for him to see and yet, he doesn’t look.

You can’t say you share the same sentiment. Your eyes raced to the outline of his erection in them grey basketball shorts. You drank in the sight before you and your teeth clamped down into your lower lip. He reached down to squeeze your thigh. “My eyes are up here.” He gestured with his index and middle finger. You smirked up at him. “Kind of wish they weren’t.” You didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah?” You nodded. Eyes falling back to his very, large problem that he now palmed through his clothing. Shit, even his own hand wouldn’t cover him.

“Gonna keep looking or do you feel like helping?” His voice was awfully steady for someone ready to come apart at the mere thought of your touch. “You want me to?” You’re not sure what you’re asking. “Need you to.” He said. You sat yourself up. “Gonna take this shirt off me first?” You looked up at him, eyes wider than he’d ever seen, somehow so innocent even though you were anything but. “Of course, I am.” His hands didn’t waste any time lifting the material off over your head. You felt the bite of a chill rush over you, your nipples hardening, perking up with it. “So, very, sexy.” He can’t believe his luck. You’re amazed that you don’t feel shy, being so exposed to him. Guess that was good, it felt natural, you felt safe.

“Gonna help you.” You warned, hands slipping down into his shorts. You gasped at the immediate contact with his bare skin. “No underwear.” He smirked down at you. “Fucking slut.” Your hand cupped him just like before, yeah, definitely needs more than one hand. “You love it.” He chanted “I do.” You confirmed, squeezing him hard. The rush of air that left his mouth, oh it made this all so worth it. You tried to be bolder, you took his length in your palm for the first time. You gripped him tight and moaned in unison. He moaned at the feeling of finding home in your soft touch. You moaned; at the way your hand can’t even wrap around him fully. He’s too thick, too girthy, there wasn’t enough of you to take it all.

“Do something.” He urged, forehead leaning on yours for stability more than anything else. “Ah right, that’s what I was doing.” You play as you sprang to action, your hand lifting to the throbbing head of his cock, letting the trickles of beaded cum roll into your palm before you can cover him in it using it whilst you twist your hand up and down his length. “Ohh, fuck.” It came out gravelly. He’d never thought much of hand jobs, said no to many throughout his life, never being worth the time, never feeling as good as his own hand. This though. You. Your hand. You touched him and he swore your hand was made to hold his cock. Even if that sounded ridiculous, there had to be some way of it being true because he felt so good. His cock was slick and hot, it glided through your grip with ease and your tightened fist on him, it was incredible.

You knew to tug him hard at the base, to loosen around his tip. To constantly use his pooling arousal to your advantage. You worked his cock better than anyone else could, maybe even better than him. You weren’t rushing, you didn’t wank him hard begging for it all to be over, getting bored of the feeling. No, you just touched him. Switching your pace. Listening to his hot little sounds. Paying attention to what made him twitch, what made him rut his hips into your palm. You loved touching him, you wanted to touch him forever, every which way you could.

He started fucking your hand. He’s not sure he can stop himself and you’re so turned on by it you actually moan. “What are you doing to me?“ He’d never felt like this before. You’d made him so weak. He was desperately thrusting into your fist like a pathetic little virgin, and you were moaning. He had to be making this up, you weren’t real, none of this could have been real. “Fuck Ed.” You’re soaked at the idea of it all, you even clenched down on fucking nothing, the thought of him inside you instead of just the palm of your hand, it’s too much to bear. “Need to fuck me.” You quicken your pace, your hand tugging at him desperately. “Fuck, fuck. Stop, you gotta stop.” He doesn’t want you to, God knows he doesn’t, but if you don’t, he’s gonna fucking bust all over your perfect little hand.

He forced your hand out of his shorts and you have the audacity to pout up at him when he does. “You’re something fucking else.” He pushed you back, your head drops happily onto your pillow. “Something good I hope.” You toyed with him, and he is about to lose it. “Take these off.” He tugged at your own shorts, and you didn’t budge. “Off.” He commands, climbing off the bed, feet hitting the cold wooden floor of the hotel room.

You shifted behind him, pulling your shorts and panties down your thighs, tossing the material to the general vicinity of your shirt. Your hands are once again in your hair, combing through it with nerves just eating away at you. You ached for him. Your thighs were squeezed so tightly shut you thought he might never pry them open again. You were on edge, literally dying there waiting. He’d dropped his shorts; they’d hit the ground quietly. He stepped out of them quickly, hand lifting to touch himself, he let out a quiet hiss when he did. He was so turned on, cock so tight and hot in his hand, he’d bury himself in you and never wish to leave.

He climbed back onto the bed, settling on his knees like he had before. His hand rolled delicately across his tip, soaking himself still, using his own arousal to ready himself for you. His cock had a wet sheen in the light. You thought it looked even more delicious now with a coating like that. Perhaps your legs would part after all. “You sure?” He thinks he knows your answer, but he’d hate himself if he didn’t check. This had all been so perfect, better than he could have ever imagined because God, his imagination wasn’t half as creative enough to make you up. You were far better than anyone he’d ever known. The more he knew you, the better you got. Each and every layer, prettier or wittier or more perfect. You must have been real. Real and a gift made just for him because you had him hook line and sinker. He was dumb to credit himself for thinking he imagined you a few moments ago.

“Fuck me.” You spoke. He shook his head. Leaning over you, tip throbbing hard when it breached your walls for the first time before making a heady retreat, running through your slick, wet, lips instead. “Can’t.” He said. Running his cock up and down, eyes flickering shut, throat drying with his pure fucking thirst for you. “Why not?” You furrowed your brow. He’s right there, all he had to do was enter you. You could just lift your hips and he’d slip his fat cock inside. “Can’t call this fucking, not when you feel this good.” You think you might have passed out when pushed inside of you. “Oh, fuck.” He covered your lips to catch your moan. He didn’t think about the fact he’d be sinking in further, bottoming out, pelvis to pelvis with you when he did.

Your legs wrapped around him so tightly your heels began to dig into his tasty, round backside. You fasten him in place intentionally. You needed to feel him. Needed to feel him in his entirety, pulsing inside you. He bit down on your shoulder till he tasted a metal zing of fresh blood, he’d apologise at a later date. For now, he needed it. You were sopping wet around him, engulfing his cock in a warm, tight sleeve. With each breath you took he slipped a little bit further inside. You felt so full you’d felt him bulging in your stomach, so far inside you it even hurt you.

“I need to move, gotta let me move.” He locked eyes with you before you nodded, loosening your legs, letting him withdraw his hips, pulling right back away from you, tip nearly leaving the crevice of your wetness. Then he pushed back in, all the way, hips against hips and you fucking moaned. You moaned so loud he thought he hurt you, ready to withdraw and panic at that thought. But then you lifted your hips to meet his. You meet his next thrust and then the next, and the next. You don’t let him do a damn thing without your involvement. You needed to be in this together because what’s the fucking point if you can’t give each other your all?

“You’re so wet, soaking me.” You can only sigh, you’re not sorry, he got you so damn good he ought to be proud. “So damn hot. Gonna need to change the fucking sheets.” He rambled on. His hands dig delicious bite marks into your hips. Yours place a similar attack atop his shoulders. “Feel unreal.” You captured his lips in a needy kiss, chest pushing up as your back arched involuntarily. “Very real, so fucking real.” You muttered. As your back arched further, Eddie found a place within you, a sensitive spot he angled into unexpectedly. A place you’d only ever touched yourself. You shook, and you clenched down on him, hard.

He’d be an idiot not to notice it. You were clamping down so much he worried he’d lose circulation all together. “You want me dead don’t you?” He slammed his hips down into you. “Won’t be happy till I’m not fit for anyone else, that it?” His chest flattened against yours, his cock reaching that angle even more intrusively than before and you’re about to scream for it.

He’s got so much pressure leaning against it you’re about to crumble and he doesn’t even know it. “Eddie.” You panicked, hands snaking into his hair, tugging his brown ringlets. He couldn’t get any closer to you and yet you needed it, wanted him covering you. “Fuck, you’re, fuck are you cumming?“ He leaned his head back, looking down into your eyes, you have tears brimming in them and he can’t believe it, he was so right. “Please, please don’t stop.” Your voice came out so weak, soft, precious, and broken and he thought you sounded like a needy little princess when you begged for him like that. “Anything, anything for you.” He meant it too.

His hand wrapped around your throat loosely and tenderly as he coaxed your second orgasm from you. Your scream caught in your throat. He kissed you hard, breathing life erratically back into you. The way you tightened around his cock has his eyes roll back into his skull, his teeth biting down hard on your plump, cherry lips. He’s so close to cumming himself, but he will not let himself go until you’ve done it first. He had to make it through. He had to feel the way you came around his dick for the first time. Needed it imbedded in his brain as the religious experience it certainly felt like it would be.

“Eddie, Eddie,” you’re not even aware you’re yelling his name out there. You just do it. That’s what gets him in the end. Your pretty little voice wrapping around his name, securing the idea that he was in fact the guy who’d made you crumble into a mess in these sheets, twice. It was all him. “Where, fuck, where do you-“ he can’t even say it, can’t get the words out. “In me, need it in me, please baby.”

He did as you asked, his hips pulsing into you, cock sputtering, leaking his hot cum inside you. You felt it all. Deep inside, covering you, damning you. You were claimed from the inside out. There wasn’t a single piece of you that wasn’t marked as his now. If you hadn’t felt full before, you certainly did now. His cum filling you entirely, anything his cock couldn’t previously reach was now pressured by him cum flooding inside you and it was so unbelievably good. You sighed heavily at the thought of it. “So, fucking good.” You muttered. Him filling you was just so erotic to you. He’d felt exactly the same because of course he did, he was made for you. He loved that you’d let him take you like that. It felt heavenly pouring himself into you, coating you in his colours. Pulling out might just be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do.

His body covered yours. He’s no strength to hold himself above you, but no way of pulling away just yet. You’d not minded his weight at all. You’d actually enjoyed it, felt comforted by it. Even if your bodies were sweat soaked and desperately in need of another shower, it felt nothing but perfect lying here a little longer. Your fingers massaged into his scalp, he hummed at the relief of your touch. His breathing slowed down, softly blowing over your chest where his head lay comfortably.

You decided you loved the sound of him breathing. You can’t explain exactly why that is, but it offered you some kind of comforting stimulation that you think you’d listen to happily for hours. The mere existence of him, being enough to soothe you. “So that, uh-“ he licked his bottom lip, wetting the dryness there. “That happened.” You heart leaped and you know he felt it. “Don’t make it weird.” You nearly begged. “I’m not making it weird.” You poked his head. “You’re making it weird.” You accused, poking him again. “Would you stop?”

He lifted his head this time to avoid another attack. Well fuck. If he thought you looked beautiful before, it had nothing on the way you looked now. You were flustered and tired, your eyes wet with tears and probably sweat and yet, gorgeous. “You’re staring.” He hated you. “I can’t stop.” He’s lying. He could, he just never wanted to. “What will people think?” You gasped. “How will we tell them?” He continued, following your train of thought like he’d conjured it himself.

“Well, what do we actually have to tell? You know, to get our story straight.” He knew that was your not-so-subtle way of asking what you were, after all of this, but he doesn’t mind it because he’d also liked to know. As cliché as it was. It really did happen that fast. “Well,” he rubbed your cheek with the back of his hand, watching as your face leaned into his touch. “Your family think we’re in love so, that’s kind of handled.” You laughed. “That you’re way of confessing your love for me?” You dig with a smile. “No.” Yes. But it was way too soon to verbalise that. Sure, you’d known him for a while, but this weekend was the closest you’d ever been. And yeah, he may have felt it in his bones, but he wasn’t crazy enough to admit it to you. Jesus Christ. “So, it’s just, everyone else.” He nodded, then repeated after you. “Everyone else.” Easier said than done.

“What if I uh, slip you another 200?” He rolled his eyes. Only you would ask that. “Oh, because I haven’t whored myself out enough?” You grinned. “Well, if the shoe fits baby.” He nudged your nose with his own. “No but seriously, what would 200 get me?” You tried to deadpan but the smile refused to leave you. “I’m refunding it by the way.” You feigned shock. “My money not good enough for you Munson?” He looked at you with a ‘you really asking me that?’ look on his face. Though technically, you hadn’t actually given the money to him yet. “Only asked for it because I knew it’d piss you off sweetheart.” That hadn’t surprised you at all. “I dragged my ass to the bank for nothing.” He thought he might howl with laughter.

“You got cash out?” There he goes, those chubby fucking cheeks, the crinkling eyes. “You actually withdrew 200 bucks for me?” You wanted the bed to swallow you whole. “I DON’T EXACTLY HAVE YOUR BANK DETAILS EDWARD!” You yelled and he laughed harder, nearly rolling off you all together until he remembered he was still very much inside of you. “I’m so fucking dumb.” You face palmed with the embarrassment of it all. “You kinda are.” He agreed. He knew you’d hate his lack of support. “I like em dumb though.” He also knew he deserved the flick you gave him. “We’ll get you to the bank tomorrow, don’t you worry babe.” This time you didn’t flick him. “Not going anywhere tomorrow.” You sighed, arms wrapping around him. His stomach fluttered when you held him like that. “Why, what you got planned?“ He nuzzled his face happily into your breast, his spare hand squishing the other nicely. “Gonna get my fucking money’s worth that’s what.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things smut

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soberscientistlife · 6 months

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Robert De Niro’s statement on Donald is perfect. Please read it:

When I look at him, I don’t see a bad man. Truly. I see an evil one.

Over the years, I’ve met gangsters here and there. This guy tries to be one, but he can’t quite pull it off. There’s such a thing as “honor among thieves.”

Yes, even criminals usually have a sense of right and wrong. Whether they do the right thing or not is a different story — but — they have a moral code, however warped.

Donald Trump does not. He’s a wannabe tough guy with no morals or ethics. No sense of right or wrong. No regard for anyone but himself — not the people he was supposed to lead and protect, not the people he does business with, not the people who follow him, blindly and loyally, not even the people who consider themselves his “friends.”

He has contempt for all of them.

We New Yorkers got to know him over the years that he poisoned the atmosphere and littered our city with monuments to his ego. We knew first hand that this was someone who should never be considered for leadership.

We tried to warn the world in 2016.

The repercussions of his turbulent presidency divided America and rattled New York City beyond imagination. Remember how we were jolted by crisis in early 2020, as a virus swept the world. We lived with Donald Trump’s bombastic behavior every day on the national stage, and we suffered as we saw our neighbors piling up in body bags.

The man who was supposed to protect this country put it in peril, because of his recklessness and impulsiveness. It was like an abusive father ruling the family by fear and violent behavior. That was the consequence of New York’s warning getting ignored. Next time, we know it will be worse.

Make no mistake: the twice-impeached, 4-time indicted Donald Trump is still a fool. But we can’t let our fellow Americans write him off like one. Evil thrives in the shadow of dismissive mockery, which is why we must take the danger of Donald Trump very seriously. So today we issue another warning. From this place where Abraham Lincoln spoke — right here in the beating heart of New York — to the rest of America:

This is our last chance.

Democracy won’t survive the return of a wannabe dictator. And it won’t overcome evil if we are divided.

So what do we do about it? I know I’m preaching to the choir here. What we’re doing today is valuable, but we have to take today into tomorrow – take it outside these walls.

We have to reach out to the half of our country who have ignored the hazards of Trump and, for whatever reason, support elevating him back into the White House. They’re not stupid, and we must not condemn them for making a stupid choice. Our future doesn’t just depend on us. It depends on them.

Let’s reach out to Trump’s followers with respect.

Let’s not talk about “democracy.” “Democracy” may be our holy grail, but to others it is just a word, a concept, and in their embrace of Trump, they’ve already turned their backs on it.

Let’s talk about right and wrong. Let’s talk about humanity.

Let’s talk about kindness. Security for our world. Safety for our families. Decency.

Let’s welcome them back.

We won’t get them all, but we can get enough to end the nightmare of Trump, and fulfill the mission of this “Stop Trump Summit.””

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monacodarling · 2 months

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I think to withstand that much criticism, and that much pressure is really astounding. It takes so much mental effort, and emotional focus to get your head straight and focus on the race.

And Charles handled it well with the car issues, hence why he can’t really compare his race pace with Carlos, and just overall did what he can to bring point for the team. It’s just the first race to start off for the season, and he wants to win with Ferrari, so now at least he knows the gap and the effort he needs to make sure they are in P2 in WCC, and to bag that 2nd place in the WDC.

Imagine like the official sports commentators no matter what you do you will always get criticized. And fans, they do stuff which can impact your image negatively too, or worse turn on you. Yet when you’re out in public you don’t have that luxury of being able to wallow or reflect on how you feel because there would ALWAYS be fans hounding him for an autograph (even during an interview!!!) And to compare how he has the media criticism it’s like there are no other drivers to burn out there except for Charles!! Not to mention the team politics (well the family politics of some other drivers…out there arguing with the fans wtf like insane mentality man) Insane. Wish I had his mental strength.

He knows how to be hard on himself, but I’m also glad that when it comes to technical issues, he doesn’t really blame anyone in particular just focuses on how he managed what could’ve done better and moved on

Think this season has that added pressure due to the February happenings. Just insane about when you think about it he has so so so much pressure, and tbh its about the LH moving to ferrari, people criticizing the wrong driver was sacked, his involvement outside F1, and the fact that he’s good looking or the tifosi love him so much or even other people using dirty tactics involving his family or his friends—-things that are constantly brought up to undermine his passion and talent for driving

Would love to see him more focused and DGAF of things outside racing (like answering pointless questions during interviews). Just glad it wasn’t a DNF for him this race!!!

#thoughts #bahrain gp 2024 #cl16 #charles leclerc #f1 #scuderia ferrari #forza ferrari #this became a long post but come on now #charlos #Lewis Hamilton #lestappen #why I admire Charles so much is his mental strength like #f1 is already high pressure #being in ferrari is already extra big pressure #him leading the team adds into that #honestly he can do without the media shitstorm and the team politics

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geritsel · 2 months

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Robert De Niro Talks trump

Robert de Niro turns 81 this year. He still is everything Donald Trump is not; talented, intelligent, compassionate and – as far as I know – a man of a man of impeccable integrity.

Here’s Robert De Niro’s full statement about how Donald Trump should NEVER be president again:

“I’ve spent a lot of time studying bad men. I’ve examined their characteristics, their mannerisms, the utter banality of their cruelty.

Yet there’s something different about Donald Trump. When I look at him, I don’t see a bad man. Truly.

I see an evil one.

Over the years, I’ve met gangsters here and there. This guy tries to be one, but he can’t quite pull it off. There’s such a thing as “honor among thieves.” Yes, even criminals usually have a sense of right and wrong.

Whether they do the right thing or not is a different story — but — they have a moral code, however warped.

The repercussions of his turbulent presidency divided America and rattled New York City beyond imagination. Remember how we were jolted by crisis in early 2020, as a virus swept the world.

We lived with Donald Trump’s bombastic behavior every day on the national stage, and we suffered as we saw our neighbors piling up in body bags.

So today we issue another warning. From this place where Abraham Lincoln spoke — right here in the beating heart of New York — to the rest of America: This is our last chance.

Democracy won’t survive the return of a wannabe dictator. And it won’t overcome evil if we are divided.

So what do we do about it? I know I’m preaching to the choir here. What we’re doing today is valuable, but we have to take today into tomorrow – take it outside these walls. We have to reach out to the half of our country who have ignored the hazards of Trump and, for whatever reason, support elevating him back into the White House.

They’re not stupid, and we must not condemn them for making a stupid choice. Our future doesn’t just depend on us. It depends on them.

Let’s reach out to Trump’s followers with respect. Let’s not talk about “democracy.” “Democracy” may be our holy grail, but to others it is just a word, a concept, and in their embrace of Trump, they’ve already turned their backs on it.

Let’s talk about right and wrong. Let’s talk about humanity.

Let’s talk about kindness. Security for our world.

Safety for our families.

Decency.

Let’s welcome them back.

We won’t get them all, but we can get enough to end the nightmare of Trump, and fulfill the mission of this ��Stop Trump Summit.”

For many Robert de Niro may be far too rich and far too Hollywood, but i consider this as straight from the heart. I love this man.

BTW... I have high regards for followers on Tumblr, some I consider as friends without ever having met them, but I completely understand those who get fed up with my political in betweens. I wish you all the best!

Regards,

Geritsel (Let Donald Trump never ever become president again.)

#donald trump #maga #clear and present danger #never again #drumpf

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ad7red · 11 months

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can u do jack champion headcanons (or drabble) w/ a gf who gets elevator anxiety? literally everytime i have to use one i get so anxious it’s terrible😭

omg. i thought it was just me who did this LMAO i can’t get on a elavator without freaking out 😭😭

pairing: jack champion x fem!reader

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Jack and you were just about ready to leave the hotel room and head toward his Avatar premiere. However, there was an issue that he wasn’t aware of. You can’t take elevators.

Well, technically you could take an elevator, but the worry just eats you up from the inside out. Imagine all the possibilities of what could happen there! It could stop, you could get stuck, or worse, it could drop. And yes, maybe you were blowing this out of proportion but tell that to the 10,200 elevator accidents this year. Normally you would just take the stairs but with the heels you had on, it would be like walking through hell.

Yet by the time you were pulled out of your thoughts, the thing you dreaded most was straight ahead. The elevator. Now, you knew Jack wouldn't mind going down the stairs after all, it was just two floors, but you didn’t want to ruin the mood. Not when he was all giddy and excited for you to finally see the movie he worked years on.

Before approaching the elevator you came to a halt, Jack stopping with you. He looked at you with knitted eyebrows, silently asking you “What's up?” with his eyes. “Jack, can I ask you something?” Your tone was light, but you could hear the nervousness, you were just hoping he didn’t. “I don’t know, can you?” You rolled your eyes at his playful impertinent remark but asked your questions. “Is there any other way to get down? Like without the elevator?”. Jack's face morphed into an obviously perplexed one. “Not unless you wanna take the stairs. Or jump. We could probably jump, yeah?” He was chuckling at his own jokes when he noticed the serious look plastered onto your face.

“You really don't want to take the elevator?” you nodded your head at his question unsure of how he was going to respond. “How come?” he had asked, genuinely confused, Jack had loved elevators, he loved the feeling they gave him in his stomach. Like a rollercoaster ride almost.

You shuffled your feet, embarrassed to explain. “I'm afraid of them.” and though Jack didn't mean it, he found himself giggling at your confession. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry- Ok how do you wanna get down? Jumping is still an option,” You shook your head listlessly, and Jack got the message.

“Okay, how about we take the stairs?” he asked and his joking demeanor had faded. “Yeaaah, about that,” you dragged your vowels before resuming, “I think my ankles would be absolutely annihilated if I did”. Jack had a growing smirk on his face, he rubbed his chin pretending to be in deep thought. He snuck a quick glance at the staircase that was just across from where you both were standing and then a glance at you before talking. “I might have a solution.” He spoke, and before you even got to respond he swooped you up bridal style while running over to the stair case.

You had numerous protests while he was carrying you, they mostly consisted of “Jack put me down!” “Stop I’m gonna ruin your hair Jack!” and occasionally “People are looking!!” and Jack being Jack he didn’t stop until the of the stairs.

When you got there you shot him an injudicious look. “Why’d you do that? You could've messed up your outfit,” He shrugged evidently unbothered by his rash action, yet still grinning like the Cheshire cat. “You didn't seem too fond of the jumping option so I thought I’d help out a bit” You playfully shoved his shoulder. “Maybe I'll jump the next time we leave, okay?” He laughed while nodding his head. “Deal.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

also sorry u requested this like 2 weeks ago ahh!!

#jack champion #jack champion x fem!reader #jack champion x reader #x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #fanfic #scream #avatar #ethan landry gif #jack champion headcannons #jack champion gif #jack champion scream

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comradekatara · 1 year

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my greatest flaw is that i would lowkey ship sokka/azula if i wasn’t so convinced that azula is a lesbian. bc just think about it. they’re both these hyper logical calculating masterminds with debilitating perfectionist complexes to hide their perceived worthlessness, so they’re constantly achieving, and while they never feel any real joy in winning, they get actually suicidal the second they fail at anything. they think everyone who can’t keep up with them is some sort of idiot because they refuse to live in a world where they are in fact more intelligent than most people, including the adults around them. they love making the most insufferable puns you’ve ever heard and get offended if no one laughs. they have daddy issues and mommy issues. they share so many of the things they have wrong with them. so like. just imagine how amazingly awful they would be as a couple. they would indisputably make each other worse , but in the most disastrously entertaining way possible.

#they would be SUCH a terrible couple. they would take over the world together. it would be awesome #pretty much every water / fire ship configuration involves them making each other worse #katara & zuko also have too many flaws in common #and katara & azula doesn’t work on any level but is SO juicy #both despite and because of that #the only exception is that sokka & zuko do make each other better unfortunately #I wish it could be a perfect quadrant delivering four different flavors of Nightmare Couple #but unfortunately zukka would work. really well actually #like canonically #azulasokka is still the funniest possible one tho #and I still think their friendship has the potential to be so awesome #just constant wordplay and bitching about idiots #toph mentions in passing what a trainwreck it would be if they ever dated #and sokka laughs until he cries while azula chuckles but is secretly thinking ‘why is that so funny? i would be a perfect gf...’#azula #sokka #azula&sokka #unique kind of post for sokklas AND antisokklas #schrodingers sokkla

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beca-mitchell · 9 months

Text

the system's breaking down (i think there’s been a glitch) (1/1)

Summary: PP2, but an AU where Beca already knows Chloe has experimented plenty and Chloe is shocked by this revelation. Basically a rewrite of the retreat scene. from @bobby-lynnes-bra: i always thought it would be funny if beca responded to the experimentation comment with "chloe what are you talking about, you've slept with multiple women in college already"

Word Count: 2578

***

It’s not Chloe’s brightest idea but it’s…convenient that she and Beca are quite literally being forced to speak to each other in this cramped, confined space. And besides, Chloe is surrounded by the people she loves most (and the woman she’s most in love with) in the world. What could go wrong?

After Beca’s hasty refusal of Chloe’s generous backrub, Chloe changes tactics. She can hear Aubrey’s voice in her head already, calling her desperate, but she kind of is. She feels, simultaneously, that Beca is drifting away in more ways than one and with the end of the semester looming in a mildly horrific proximity, Chloe has run out of options.

She will make sure Beca knows, at least at a very base level, that Chloe wants to kiss her so very badly. She hasn’t thought of much else past this.

“You know Beca, we’re very close, but I think that this retreat is really gonna let us discover everything about each other.”

“Is that right?”

“You know…one of my biggest regrets is that I didn’t do enough experimenting in college.”

Beca’s nose crinkles. “You’re so weird. What are you talking about? What about all those girls you slept with in my sophomore year? And that one hookup that kept coming back last year.”

The air whooshes out of Chloe’s lungs at that revelation. “Wait, you know about all that?”

She forgets momentarily that they aren’t alone because she is absolutely tunnel-visioning on Beca. Suddenly, her chest feels tight, but not in a good way—not in the way it had felt when she had first heard that Beca and Jesse broke up a few weeks ago before he left early for Los Angeles without her.

Suddenly, Chloe feels very small. She hadn’t known Beca was aware of that. She assumed that Beca had just thought she was only into men this whole time, which was part of the reason Beca never picked up on any kind of signal Chloe sent her during that first year.

She barely hears Beca’s non-commital mumble about Chloe’s lack of subtlety.

If Beca had known all this time that Chloe liked girls, it was never an issue of thinking Chloe was too celibate or too straight to be interested in Beca.

It had been years.

“Chloe?”

Beca is in the middle of turning around to face away from her, hair ruffled from shifting around. Chloe can’t even bask in how cute Beca looks because she is distraught. She doesn’t even process at that second that Beca, despite being petulant, is still concerned about her lack of quippy comeback and lack of quippy response.

On autopilot, Chloe turns to stare up at the tent’s fabric. She imagines what the stars are doing beyond the thin barrier. Surely, they must be laughing at her misfortune.

***

When Chloe stumbles out of the tent the next morning, following closely behind Beca, she decides to put it behind her. Mostly. It proves difficult because to distract herself from Aubrey’s drill sergeant voice, she drifts and finds herself just looking at Beca, mostly with mild disbelief.

Had that been what Beca had been hiding the whole year? That she knew Chloe had a big gay crush on her? Had she told Jesse? Had they both laughed about it? Did that even matter considering Jesse was a couple thousand miles away?

Her mind whirls at a speed she previously had never been able to access. She creates a million and one scenarios, each worse than before. By the time she lands on a scenario where Beca is quite literally homophobic, she decides that she needs to calm down and tries to focus on her breathing so she can at least belt when Aubrey points to her.

Chloe notes that at least Beca is participating, though she seems less enthused than everybody else. It’s a familiar-enough sight at this point that Chloe just tries to let it go. It is frustrating that she has no idea whatsoever what Beca is thinking, or even why Beca’s mind appears to be elsewhere.

It had been easy to ignore when they were back at Barden and occupied with classes, performance prep, and just generally trying to slam the lid closed on their overfilling anxiety pots. It’s less easy now, at a remote location and surrounded by only each other. Beca’s distance is more apparent than ever and it all just hurts so much that it makes Chloe want to claw out her eyeballs with her sweaty hands.

Finally, exhausted, Chloe thinks that she gets a reprieve, but then she hears Beca’s voice cut across the group, clear as day.

“Sorry, what are we doing?”

Chloe forces herself to be patient. “We’re rediscovering our sound.” She finally makes eye contact with Beca after hours and she tries not to be hurt by the sheer annoyance she sees written across Beca’s face; she tries not to let it bother her that she has no idea why Beca is even reacting like this to something they both love.

“Really?” The derision in Beca’s voice makes Chloe want to recoil so very badly. “Because it all sounds like songs that would never go in our set.”

Chloe’s ears are ringing. She thinks Aubrey says something, so she tries to refocus, but she catches the tail end of Beca exclaiming that she has more important things to do.

“What could be more important than this?” What could be more important than me? Is what Chloe desperately wants to scream, but she can’t – she knows she can’t. Not here, in front of everybody.

She swallows her pride when Beca brushes her off. She isn’t letting this go, not this time. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Getting out of here. We all have to leave eventually, Chloe. Some of us aren’t scared of that.”

“And what’s wrong with being scared?” Chloe asks, ignoring how high her voice goes. That stops Beca in her tracks. “What’s wrong with being afraid of losing the people I care about?”

“So you’re acknowledging that there’s something that happens after graduation? After worlds?” There’s a mocking edge to Beca’s voice, but the franticness in her eyes as Chloe nears closer to her is more evident than ever before.

“Of course I am! It’s all I think about. It’s all I can think about, thinking about not being able to see you—all of you,” she adds hastily. “Not being able to see all of you every day.”

Aubrey touches Chloe’s elbow. “Chloe, maybe—”

Chloe shrugs her off. “And what about you?” she asks, finally feeling some of the blazing heat in her chest begin to power up her ability to speak. “What about how you’ve been lying to us this whole time. Keeping things from us?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Everybody’s noticed you’ve been a little checked out lately.” Chloe gestures around. “Don’t you care about any of this?”

“Of course I care! I’m just trying to think about my future. Which is more than what everybody else seems to be doing.”

“And what about me?” Chloe asks, forgetting momentarily that they’re surrounded by their friends.

“What about you?” Beca doesn’t ask the question with a hint of derision or viciousness, but it still hurts nonetheless seeing the plain confusion on Beca’s face.

“Don’t you care about me?” Chloe thumps her hand on her chest. “I have been there for you for years and you can’t even—you can’t even pick up on a few. Simple. Hints!”

“What hints?” Beca looks around at their friends for help and as Chloe glances around, everybody is pointedly looking away. Emily’s face is turning red. Jessica and Ashley are glancing at each other knowingly. And Aubrey—Aubrey has the worst expression of all of them: pity. Beca apparently still isn’t able to find an answer or assistance from any of that, so she turns back to Chloe, arms crossed.

“Are you being dense on purpose?”

“I’m not, I swear.”

“So you’re just going to act like you haven’t seen anything the past few years. Nothing at all.”

“Chloe, what the fuck are you talking about.”

“I think Chloe is just concerned you’re maybe focused on relationships right now when you should be focused on the Bellas,” Aubrey says, from out of nowhere.

It isn’t what Chloe is thinking at all, but she lets the brief silence serve as a reset. She gathers herself as Beca turns on Aubrey.

“I broke up with Jesse a while ago,” she says plainly.

“Well–”

“Aubrey, don’t.”

“—In fact, I’m not thinking of any relationships right now. I’m focused on me and moving to Los Angeles after we graduate.”

Chloe deflates. “Forget it. Forget I said anything.”

Beca faces her again. They’re standing closer than before, Chloe having closed the distance between them, but the emotional distance between them couldn’t be larger. “Chloe. Wait.”

Chloe waits, expectant eyebrow raised.

“I have an internship. That’s where I’ve been disappearing off to. I swear, that’s it. I’m not…like sneaking around or anything,” she adds in a lower tone. “Not with Jesse or anybody else. That was over months ago.”

Chloe, unfortunately, fixates on the first part only, filing her disappointment away for later. “An internship? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were just…” Beca shrugs, gesturing vaguely with her hands. “I didn’t know if you wanted to hear that I had my mind elsewhere.”

“Well, I did,” Chloe replies, stung. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re…” she inhales. “You’re my best friend, Beca. I want to know these things and of course, I’m so happy for you.”

“Oh ouch,” Amy murmurs, nudging Aubrey.

Beca stares at her for a moment longer. “That’s it then?”

Chloe nods slowly. “I—”

“I’m just going to take an hour for myself,” Beca announces. She walks away from Chloe. The sight of Beca’s back stings more than Chloe expects. She reaches out half-heartedly, her throat dry. She can’t even call out to Beca, not until Beca screams, swept up by a bear trap none of them had seen.

***

A few hours later, they sit huddled around a campfire. Chloe has hardly been able to leave Beca’s side, finding ways to touch Beca, whether it’s making sure she isn’t cold (on a warm early summer night) or making sure Beca has had her fill of snacks (Beca has consumed several smores, growing paler with each one Chloe forces into her hands).

They still haven’t really resolved anything, even as they figure out just how to save their sound. Chloe doesn’t feel particularly resolved as far as things between her and Beca stand.

Beca appears aware of it too, if the furtive glances she keeps shooting Chloe are any indication. There’s a fidgety-ness to Beca, the way she shuffles as if she isn’t sure if she wants to sit closer or further from Chloe.

“Let’s leave them to talk,” Aubrey says hastily. She snaps at the rest of the Bellas to get their things before she grabs Fat Amy’s wrist and tugs her, despite her protests of wanting to stay near the fire. Amy is eventually lured away by the promise of access to the minibar and a room for the night.

Once Beca and Chloe are finally alone, Chloe finds that her mind slows to nothing. She cannot remember a single thing that she wants to say to Beca–everything except, “I’m sorry.”

Beca prods at a rock with her toe. “What are you sorry for?” she asks quietly. “I should be apologizing.”

“I was just…mad at you. And mad at myself. Mostly myself.”

“You should be mad at me. I’m incredibly dense,” Beca offers.

Chloe huffs. “I didn’t mean that.”

“You did. It’s okay. I am and I’ve been trying to work on it.”

“I shouldn’t have just…yelled at you. Especially not in front of everybody. I’m sorry. I just…was so embarrassed about what happened in the tent and then thinking about you hiding things from me.” Chloe groans, covering her eyes with the heels of her hand. “Which you’re totally allowed to do. I just felt so…”

“Left out?” Beca suggests, her voice quiet and gentle.

Chloe peeks at her with one eye. “Yeah. Let’s start there.”

“I’m not good with that kind of stuff. You know that.” Beca’s smile is sheepish in the flickering light from the fire. It makes Chloe want to kiss her even more, but she has no idea if that’s appropriate. “And I didn’t mean to leave you out. Trust me. I want to tell you stuff, but it’s just… It’s like how I push everyone away. I just keep doing that whenever I feel scared that I’m going to lose people.”

“You quite literally can’t lose me,” Chloe says, trying to go for levity. “I’m here,” she murmurs, only slightly horrified when her voice cracks. “I’m here even if…”

“I know. I know. I’m so bad at this.”

“I promise, I’m worse.” Chloe sighs. “I haven’t been honest with you either. I thought I was being super obvious about it, but you seriously are really hard to get through to.”

Instead of a quip or sarcastic response, Beca, for her part, takes Chloe’s hand and slowly tangles their fingers together.

“I…” Chloe takes a deep breath, letting her eyes adjust and focus on their intertwined fingers. “I like you. I’ve been trying to tell you for years.”

Beca says nothing for the moment, but both of them are content to let the crackle of the fire and ambient noise from the trees around them fill the space.

“Please say something.”

Beca’s initial response is to laugh. She laughs and squeezes Chloe’s hand.

Chloe stares at her in bewilderment but waits nonetheless. She hates her traitorous heart for doing so, but it all but thuds out of her chest as she takes in how beautiful Beca looks then.

“I’m sorry,” Beca apologizes once her giggles subside. Still not letting go of Chloe’s hand, she shifts her body so their legs touch more fully. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh, but this is what I mean when I say I’m so bad at all of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that…God. Chloe. I like you too. I’m just really terrible at showing it and I was so scared you wouldn’t like me back. I broke up with Jesse because he moved, yes, but also…” Her eyes drift away, first to the ground, then back up to somewhere around the center of Chloe’s face. It takes Chloe two seconds to realize that Beca is very obviously staring at her mouth.

“Oh,” Chloe murmurs. “But you…always knew I liked girls and you never…”

“I never thought you liked me,” Beca explains.

“Why not?” Chloe asks, genuinely stunned.

Beca adopts a look of surprise at the question. “Well, I guess. I don’t know. I just—”

Neither Beca nor Chloe will ever know why Beca had been so surprised at the thought of Chloe liking her in a more-than-platonic way because Chloe decides then that what she really wants to know is what Beca’s lips feel like on hers. So she does just that, finally fulfilling years of curiosity. Beca doesn’t hesitate, lifting a hand to curl into Chloe’s hair to hold her in place.

Chloe never has to wonder again.

fin

#text #bechloe #pitch perfect #beca mitchell #chloe beale #fanfiction #wlw #pp2 #pp2 au #my fanfic #mine

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thebadgerclan · 11 months

Text

Hatred

Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Summary: A visit from the Dowager Queen...

Tatiana Lantsov had never liked you. You were too bold, too outspoken, too independent; a woman with a mind of her own, a woman who wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself. A woman who was not worthy of her precious Nikolai, you’d heard her say that yourself. But Nikolai didn’t care, he saw a beautiful, independent, fierce woman whose affection he was lucky to have earned.

The former Queen fought your marriage at every turn, going so far as to feign hysterics when Nikolai proposed. Tatiana would have objected at the wedding too if Nikolai hadn’t threatened to revoke her invitation. What made it worse was that you tried so hard to earn her approval, but to no avail. You dressed in her preferred style, you attended salons with her ladies, you were quiet, demure, only speaking when spoken to. But you might as well have done nothing, as Tatiana still despised you.

When she was sent away towards the end of the war, you were secretly giddy. It was a tumultuous time; your husband being crowned, both of you figuring out your new roles as King and Queen, stitching Ravka back together–your mother-in-law’s criticism was the last thing you needed. But all good things must come to an end.

“Darling,” Nikolai entered your study, lacking his usually buoyant attitude. “This just arrived. I wanted you to see it first.” Your husband handed you a letter which bore the Lantsov Royal Seal, and you cocked your head as you unfolded it. My darling Sobachka, it read. I must confess disappointment; I thought you would have invited me to the Palace for a visit by now. I understand the initial months of your reign were busy, but you’ve settled into the Crown now, surely you can set aside some time for your Mother?

I won’t harp on it, though. I write to tell you that I will be arriving at the Palace just after the feast of Sankta Neyar. I wanted my visit to be a surprise, but I believe Y/N could use some time to prepare. I have been keeping up with the goings on in Os Alta, Nikolai, and I must say, I am impressed. Your Y/N has done well, especially for a girl of near-common blood. But…she could benefit from my knowledge. Her summit with the wives of the Kerch merchant council? A disaster!

I miss you, my son. Two years with nothing more than letters. You would not believe the conditions here! But I digress, I won’t bore you with the lack of accommodations. If the post is swift, I shall see you a week after you receive this letter. I love you, Nikolai. -Madraya. You set down the paper, anger flickering in your eyes. “I could ‘benefit from her knowledge’?” you said, rising from your desk. “She’s impressed? Nikolai, I–” “I know, love, I know. We can’t turn her away, and she’s likely already departed.”

Your husband knew of his mother’s dislike for you, and while you were courting, he’d done everything he could to shield you from her cold words. Nikolai had spoken to her at length about the issue; how you were a wonderful girl, how in love with you he was, how she was being unnecessarily harsh. But Tatiana persisted. Her treatment of you had been part of his decision to send her away–of course he cared for his mother’s safety, and of course he loved her. But Nikolai loved you more, and if she would cause you distress, he would do whatever he could to prevent it.

You sighed, your head in your hands. “Nikolai, I know she’s your mother, and I know you love her, but she hates me! I can only imagine what she’ll find to nit-pick at when she’s here!” Your husband rounded your desk and knelt before you, taking your hands in his. “She will do no such thing, because I won’t let her. Y/N, my love, you are a perfect Queen, I don’t care what anyone else says. The people adore you, I adore you, and I will remind you every single day of how wonderfully you’re doing.”

“Was my summit with the merchers’ wives that bad?” Your husband scoffed. “No, my love, it went off without a hitch, She’s just being critical, unjustly so. Y/N, sweetheart, look at me.” You did, seeing only love and adoration in his eyes. “You are the Queen I chose, you are the woman I chose, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone make you feel less than that.” “Even your mother?” Nikolai nodded, kissing your knuckles. “Especially my mother. And when she arrives, you will be exactly who and what you are: My perfect, beautiful, beloved Queen.”

***

Nerves consumed you the morning of the Dowager Queen’s arrival, and Nikolai did his best to soothe and comfort you. “She won’t say anything,” he said, kissing your hand as the two of you entered the parlor where you’d be receiving her. “I’ll make sure of it.” You tried not to pace, but only a few minutes after you entered the parlor, an attendant opened the door. “Announcing Her Royal Highness, the Dowager Queen, Tatiana Lantsov.”

She swept in, her train of blue silk trailing behind her. “Nikolai!” she cried, hurrying to her son and embracing him. Despite your history, you couldn’t begrudge her this: she was his mother, a mother who missed her son. “And Y/N. You look…well.” Your wardrobe had been selected intentionally: purple silk and tulle, a color formerly reserved for royalty; a crown of amethyst–the second rarest gemstone in Ravka to the emerald–atop your head. White silk gloves adorned your hands, your wedding and engagement rings on your left hand, the Lantsov Emerald on your right.

The message was clear: you were the Queen, not Tatiana, your position commanded respect. “Thank you, Tatiana,” you replied coolly. “I must say, we were not expecting you to visit.” The Dowager sat, breaking a dozen protocols in the process. “Yes, well, when I didn’t receive an invitation from Nikolai, I took matters into my own hands. Oh, before I forget, Nikolai, you must have your footmen review proper titles. All day they’re been calling me ‘Your Royal Highness’!”

“Because that is your title,” you said. “You are a Dowager Queen, not the wife of the current monarch. ‘Your Most Royal Majesty’ is reserved for the monarch and their spouse.” Tatiana bristled. “Nikolai, are you going to allow her to–” “I don’t allow Y/N to do anything,” he interjected. “She does as she pleases. And she is correct.” You could feel the irritation rolling off of her, but she let the topic drop.

Conversation turned to lighter subjects: legislation being passed, the latest court gossip, Nikolai’s inventions. It was painfully obvious that Tatiana became irritated by your contributions to the conversation, and Nikolai noticed. He kept your hands in his, squeezing gently when she rolled her eyes or muttered under her breath. You could do this, you could endure her for another few hours. Or so you thought.

“...And I’ll be hosting a charity dinner next month benefitting children orphaned by the war.” “Oh, that’s wonderful, dear!” Tatiana responded, not a hint of irritation in her voice. “I’d be more than happy to come back to help you plan!” “There’s no need for that,” you said. “I assure you I have everything under control, but I appreciate your offer.” “After the fiasco with the Kerch?” she muttered, just loud enough for you to hear. “I don’t think so.”

You were just about to retort, to let your temp fly, when Nikolai stood. “That is enough!” he shouted, stunning both you and Tatiana into silence. “I will not tolerate you berating and disrespecting my wife anymore.” “Nikolai,” his mother said, her tone that of one soothing a petulant child. “Surely this is–” “No, Mother! From the very first, you have had something against Y/N. First she was too low-born, then she was too outspoken, then she was too independent, then her gowns were ‘whorishly scandalous’. You’ve never liked her, and I cannot piece together why, but I’m beyond caring. It ends now.”

Tatiana rose as well. “Nikolai, please! I have only ever wanted what’s best for you, and what’s best for the Crown! You could have had anyone! A duke’s daughter, an heiress to a ruby mine! But you chose this?” “Yes, Mother! I chose Y/N! I chose the woman I love, the woman who never made me feel like I was less than because I was a second son!” “You deserve more! Deserve better!”

Nikolai was seething with rage, and he felt the demon writhing within him. “She loves me! I love her! Why is that not enough? Why has my happiness never been enough for you?” You watched with a shocked expression: you’d never seen your husband so upset, so angry, and despite the tension of the situation, your heart fluttered to know he would go to such lengths to defend you.

“Of course your happiness is important to me!” Tatiana replied. “But when you insisted on courting her, I had to question your long term plan! I had made peace with it, you know? You marrying the daughter of a low-born baronet. You were never meant for the throne! But then your father was murdered….and Vasily, and suddenly she was Queen. The girl had no training, her manners were unfit for a Queen, she–”

“Enough!” Nikolai’s shout made Tatiana fall silent. “You forget your place.” “I forget–” “Y/N is not only my wife, but she is your Queen, and I will not stand for you disrespecting her in either capacity. I have never cared about Y/N’s status, never cared about her manners, I care about her! And for years, you have tormented her, made her feel unworthy, and I won’t stand for it any longer.

“Either change your attitude, start treating Y/N with respect, or get out.” Tatiana looked scandalized. “You would kick me out of my own home?” “This is not your home! It’s ours, mine and Y/N’s. I don’t expect you to love her, I don’t even expect you to like her. But this treatment needs to stop, and it needs to stop now.” The Dowager Queen remained silent, and Nikolai took it as an answer enough. “Guards!”

Four Palace guards entered, on edge after overhearing the argument. “Escort my mother from the grounds. She is not to return unless explicitly invited.” Tatiana blanched. “Nikolai, you can’t–” “Can’t I? No, you’re right, this shouldn’t be my decision…” Nikolai turned to you, taking your hand in his. “My love? Do you want her gone?” His voice was so gentle, a stark contrast to moments ago.

You stood, straightening the skirts of your gown. “I do.” You then addressed the guards. “As King Nikolai said, she is not to return unless invited. Which I feel may not be for quite some time.” When the guards hesitated, Nikolai snapped, “You heard your Queen!” Tatiana was dragged from the room, and as soon as the doors were shut behind her, Nikolai gathered you into his arms, holding you tightly.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, kissing your head. “I can’t…I never thought she’d….fuck, I’m sorry.” You lifted your head to look at him, to find that he was crying. “It’s not like it’s a surprise that she hates me,” you said. “But it hurt, hearing her say it.” Your husband held you tighter, sniffling softly. “I love you,” he said. “I love you so much, Y/N. I’ve never cared about all the stuff she said, I care about you. And that she hurt you….Saints, can you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Nikolai,” you said, wiping his tears away with a gloved hand. “Her hatred for me is not your fault. And I love you too, more than anything else.” He kissed you, soft and sweet, wishing he could erase all the hateful things his mother had said to him. “I don’t want you to cut ties with her,” you said when the kiss broke. “She’s your mother, and you love her. I don’t want me to come between you.”

Nikolai shook his head, guiding you to the settee where he pulled you onto his lap. “I know, darling. But right now…I can’t even think about her without wanting to break something.” You cupped his cheek, guiding him into a kiss. “Thank you for defending me,” you said, and Nikolai wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close to him. “I will always defend you. Be it on the battlefield or from my mother.”

You laughed, and he smiled. “There’s my girl,” Nikolai said, kissing you again. For several minutes, the two of you sat in silence, enjoying the other’s embrace, before you spoke. “If this drives a wedge between you two, I don’t think I could forgive myself.” “Hey, don’t think like that. If there’s a wedge, it was driven from the first time she rolled her eyes at you. She’s my mother, yes, and I love her. But you, Y/N, I love you so much more.”

#nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone fanfiction #nikolai lantsov x you #shadow and bone reader insert

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emry-stars-art · 9 months

Note

Massarati was a courting gift to andrew from abram after he realized they were courting one another

My face reading this omggggggg

(Gonna put this up top instead of at the end; find the royal au writing masterpost here 💕)

So this is the 4800 words of fluff; @jtl-fics was bouncing a LOT of ideas with me about it and everything was so sweet 😭🥰 you can read it here! :D or continue on this post for the sparknotes version from Abram's pov (minus the picnic date tho 👀), and let’s showcase my inexperience with horses ✨

THIS IS GREAT I done got myself a little by making Maserati a rescue case… like Abram’s probably right about what happened to her though I didn’t fully decide on it (I’m also making up everything about horse breeds in this universe thank youuu). He’s out one day for whatever reason and comes across this horse in no pasture that’s tall, clearly made for working, but it’s far too skinny. A little skiddish, but not enough that Abram can’t approach after a while of trying. It’s a familiar breed under the dirt and malnutrition.

He doesn’t even bother seeing where it might have come from. He fashions a makeshift lasso/bridle thing from rope and takes a few hours calming the horse enough to bring it back with him to the castle, leaving it in one of the smaller/less used stables with plenty of food and water before going to find Day or someone else that might be able to help. She doesn’t look impressive at first, obviously. But with lots of help and lots of time from Abram taken in secret to the stables, she slowly starts to get better. She gains weight, she gets readjusted to people, she lets him take care of her coat and hair.

At some point, Andrew insists once again on keeping Abram nearby when Abram is having a worse night than usual. Panicking easily, generally unwell. (Andrew is also wondering why Abram is suddenly spending so much time away, why he won’t tell Andrew where he’s been or what he’s doing. It’s completely in his right to do it, so Andrew never forces the issue, but it’s such an obvious switch from his normal behavior. Right when Andrew thought he could start leaning into the courting, it feels like Abram is pulling away and it hurts a little. He gets worried.) Abram can’t sleep, and Andrew won’t sleep until Abram does, so they lay on his bed with Andrew resting against Abram’s lap, relaxing or reading or tracing scars with his fingertips. It’s a long while before Abram asks, unprompted, “Did you ever have an ideal horse?”

Andrew gives him a look.

“I mean… a dream horse. Maybe when you were little, something you always wanted.”

Andrew makes a small noise. “I think most kids do.”

“Right. So did you?”

It takes more convincing than that, lots of Abram assuring Andrew that it’s not stupid, he’s just curious. He’ll tell Andrew his next. And finally Andrew tells Abram of when he was young, living with the Spears, and would fantasize about being anywhere else. He’d take a horse as black as night so no one would see him when he ran away, a horse that was strong and fast enough to take him wherever he wanted to go. He used to imagine it would carry two, so he could take his governess with him, but that was before she left. It was all child’s play, anyway. It didn’t matter now. (Abram’s horse wasn’t so detailed, but he said if he had to pick a coat color, he was very happy with the blue roan he was given.)

So the next time Abram goes to the stable he looks at her, sees how well she’s bulking up, sees again how much larger she is than the Friesians he’s used to from Evermore. She looks even stronger than those already capable horses. When she’s healthy she can certainly carry two riders and more besides, and her endurance is like the horse equivalent of his own. Her coat is getting shiny again, sleek like black oil.

When she’s healthy and ready, Abram trains her. He again has help, of course - there are people who’s jobs it is to take care of and train the castle’s horses and it isn’t him - but she has an undeniable soft spot for Abram. They get her used to being fully decked out in nice tack and equipment and whatever else. Abram holds her steady to get shoed. The veterinarians/au equivalent make sure she stays healthy and the stable master grows more impressed with her every day. She’s not your average horse, he tells Abram. She’s smart. There’s real intelligence in those eyes.

Abram could not be happier.

By the time the twins’ birthday comes around she is ready to go. Abram spends the morning before his work begins making sure she is as sparkling as he can get her, all ready for her favorite stable hand to take her to the main stables later while Abram attends the prince at the festivities. The stable hand is going to put her in her new tack, too, the beautiful white set Abram spent a good chunk of coin to have commissioned. The horse is perfectly well mannered around people now, though only Abram and a handful others can ride her. Abram only plans his evening because he knows she lets anyone ride alongside him - if Abram deems them worthy, the horse won’t protest. It isn’t trust he ever takes lightly. He’s pretty certain she’ll end up allowing Andrew every privilege she allows Abram. He is so excited and so, so nervous for that night. She’s as perfect as she could possibly be, but Andrew has gotten Abram so many wonderful gifts. This is the first time Abram has returned the favor with such intention. Hopefully it’s good enough. (She is.)

Oh also in case you’re wondering. Andrew only needs a new horse because his beloved GS was finally retired, GS is old and now gets to spend the rest of his days in nice pastures where Andrew feeds him lots of treats 💕 every like is one sugar cube gods bless

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inbarfink · 7 months

Text

Okay, the thing is that I’ve seen some people speculate about the Winter King’s backstory and past assuming, like, that he’s always kinda been Like That. Like, that this version of Simon Petrikov has always been an evil heartless bastard or at least just a little less caring and loving than Mainworld Simon and that’s what led him down the path of the Winter King.

But speaking personally… I think this is a less compelling story as it relates to Simon’s character arc. I think it’s a lot more interesting if the Winter King was indeed ‘once just like’ Mainverse Simon.

That he used to be that selfless, dedicated and loving man - and he still managed to stoop this low. I mean, well, Simon seems to have come to the conclusion that this version of him was just ‘messed up’

and that was mostly part of a trend of him in these last two episodes just kinda going

You know, like, I don’t think that the lesson he should’ve learned from his adventures in Winterworld is just “wow, that one specific alternative version of me sure does suck!”. Farmworld, via its version of Finn, was a reminder for Simon of just how much of a traumatic experience the Curse of the Magic Crown is. Winterworld should’ve reminded him of the torment and indignity he was trapped in and how often he was a danger to himself and others

And of the truly fucked-up and terrible things he was capable of doing due to that torment and desperation of the Curse.

The Winter King is like a Whole New Exciting Way for Simon to lose his identity due to the Magic Crown, preserving his mind and memory by destroying the love and dedication and care that the Magic Crown never quite managed to fully burn away - his actual ‘immutable essence’. And this doesn’t work if the Winter King was always just Intrinsically a significantly different and worse person than Mainworld Simon, y’know?

And remember, we know the Winter King was in full on Ice King mode when he ‘conquered the crown’ (AKA cast that terrible spell to condemn Princess Bubblegum to the same terrible fate he’s been suffering).

And Mainverse Ice King was absolutely capable of trying to perform some fucked-up mind-altering spells of his own.

The only thing is that he was never quite that successful.

The main thing I am still unsure of with my favored reading/interpretation of how Winterworld Simon became the Winter King is…. There’s like, two different mutually-exclusive readings of what happened after the Curse was cast on Peebles and Simon regained his lucidity that are both very appealing to me from a thematic perspective. And I’m really not sure which one I like best.

Because the real issue was never ‘would Ice King be willing to cast such a horrible immoral spell?’, especially as one could easily imagine that whatever lucidity would allow Ice King to understand how his Crown is harming him and devise such a complicated spell would not necessarily extend to enough lucidity to fully understand the consequences of his actions. The issue is Winterworld Simon Petrikov, having regained his clarity of mind, choosing to maintain this spell for a hundred years. There's a reason why that's the thing Mainverse Simon fixated on when he figured out what's going on.

My first thought (and that’s something I went into more detail in a previous post) was this: Ice King’s madness was never wholly separated from Simon’s personality. Like, yeah, it was the Crown’s Magic that drove him so Mad and Sad - but it was also the trauma of losing Betty and surviving through the Mushroom War and feeling forced to abandon his beloved Marceline.

And that Madness was based on Simon’s psyche. Ice King’s loneliness and romantic obsession and Princess-nappings are all based on how much he loves and misses Betty

And now, Princess Bubblegum has been forced into a mirrored recreation of them.

The Candy Queen isn’t suffering from just the Magic Crown’s madness in general - but specifically from how it was shaped by Simon’s heart. And since you can’t actually separate this manifestation of Ice King’s Madness from Simon’s love for Betty - the Winter King ridding himself of one also rid himself of the other.

And since so much of Ice King’s Madness was interwoven into Simon’s psyche and especially his love and his kindness - throwing away all of this Madness into someone else also decimated these aspects of his personality. Princess Bubblegum already paid the ultimate price for Winterworld Simon’s sanity - but in a way he also paid a grave cost as well; becoming an unrecognizably different person he would previously find morally disgusting - even morso than Ice King.

Because the lines between Simon Petrikov and Ice King are always going to be a bit blurry and messy, and because Simon can’t probably live a life totally free of his Madness and Sadness but he’s gonna have to accept it for an actual mostly happy and sane life as someone who is recognizably Simon Petrikov.

Buuuut… that still basically means that casting of that Curse just kinda irrevocably transformed him into a Heartless Bastard. And that’s maybe not as compelling as if this change from kind and dorky Simon Petrikov into Evil Brian David Gilbert was done of his own free will

Hundreds of years of the Magic Crown eating away at his sanity and memories couldn’t truly destroy Simon Petrikov’s ‘immutable essence’. He still missed Betty more than anything even as this longing was twisted into something horrible, and still loved Marceline like a daughter even if he didn’t understand it. The one thing that could truly destroy this love that is so core to Simon’s being is him choosing to become selfish and cruel and uncaring.

And since he was in Full Ice King Mode when he cast the spell… I dunno if I can actually call it a fully-conscious act of cruelty. Deeply fucked up? Yes. But it’s hard to say how much Winterworld Ice King actually understood what he was doing. And while I think it’s much more emotionally compelling if the Winter King started from the same place as our beloved Mainworld Simon. The only difference can’t just be the pure luck that Mainworld Ice King was just never lucid or focused enough to successfully cast a spell that would transform him into an equally terrible person.

For this angle to work, this decision to continue doing the bad thing has to come from a lucid Simon who is still kinda recognizably Simon and still chose to continue perpetuating the Curse Ice King cast on Princess Bubblegum.

This might seem unthinkable, especially considering how obviously disgusted Mainworld Simon was at the Winter King’s actions. But you have to consider just how much Winterworld Simon would be desperate to not be Ice King again, Mainworld Simon was once willing to die then live the rest of eternity as IK. The fact that he’s so willing to throw away his sanity again now is so worrying because it shows just how badly he’s being doing - because at first, Simon was fighting so badly to avoid diving back into this pit of madness. And that Spell must've seen like the only chance he was gonna get.

And, yes, Simon Petrikov is a character full of kindness and love and selflessness - but that never meant he was the sort of Cinnamon Roll incapable of ever hurting anymore and especially not when he’s desperate or lashing out. That’s kinda the fallacy Simon himself fell into when he had that total identity crisis in the second episode. He just couldn’t find a way to join his previous identity as the patient and fatherly man who took care of Marceline

With the fact he made a little girl cry.

But yes, both we the audience and Simon himself have to face the fact that despite possessing such strong fatherly instinct and a desire to help children - Simon can also lash out in his trauma in a very cruel manner that goes against all of his own values.

And by the end of the fourth episode, he was tempted to let himself die - even though that will also utterly destroy a whole universe of sapient beings living in his head. It was brief thanks to Fionna knocking some sense into him and obviously the Literal Suicidal Depression involved was also seriously clouding his judgement. But that is still Simon nearly dooming a whole realm of other people because he was feeling absolutely desperate.

Not to mention him kidnapping someone and forcing him into a terrible experiment for the sake of trying to summon GOLBetty.

A desperate attempt to reconnect with his lost love (and in a way, a missing part of his identity as Betty Grof’s other half). Which I mean, yeah, ‘it’s just Choose Goose’, but also last time GOLB was summoned it nearly fucked up all of Ooo and the only thing GOLBetty could do about that is get herself as far away from Simon as she can. And now Simon is gonna try and summon his Eldritch GF again in the middle of a major population center.

And of course, Winterworld Simon and Mainworld Simon are never going to be fully exactly the same person because ‘Simon Petrikov’ is not some immutable unchanging concept and we know that they’ve had different experiences. It was really so sweet to see Mainverse Simon pay forwards the kindness he’s gotten from his loved ones when he was stuck as the Ice King towards the Candy Queen

But it also reminded me that the Winter King himself never got that sort of kindness and grace in the first place. The Curse was cast one hundred years ago. Back then, Marceline was still avoiding him because she couldn’t stand to see what he had become, Finn and Jake were not his friends on account of neither of them being born yet and… they also directly or indirectly helped him get his entire rest circle of friends.

So Mainworld Simon emerged from an Ice King who was not absolutely free from misery and loneliness… but has also experienced happiness and friends both from people who just loved him for who he was at the moment

And grace and kindness from those concerned for his condition and honestly doing their best to make sure he’s doing his best in his current state and trying to bring out whatever of Simon was left in him.

While Winterworld Simon emerged from Ice King at his worst and his most miserable.

And while the Winter King’s callousness about Betty would kinda always be a worrying testament to how much Simonness he has lost - it is extra disturbing for the viewers and Mainworld Simon because they have seen Betty sacrifice her entire being for his sake. That would just reinforce his own love and dedication to her in his mind… not always in the healthiest of ways.

But the Winter King has experienced nothing of that sort. He was not freed in a self-sacrifice fueled by love that literally defied time itself. Wintdrworld Simon only regained his lucidity because of a deeply fucked up and selfish action he has taken as the Ice King. And as far as he knew, that was his only choice except death or the eternal despair of being the Ice King.

And so maybe Winterworld Simon managed to convince himself that he can stay like this for just one day. Just one day of enjoying both lucidity and Magic and then he’s going to undo it because obviously he knows that it’s terrible what the Ice King did! I mean, yeah, Princess Bubblegum and the rest of the Candy Kingdom are suffering but they’re also going to suffer when the Ice King comes back so it’s really a lateral move for them. For just one day!

And then by the next day, Winterworld Simon finds one more excuse why he can wait until tomorrow to bring everything back to normal. And day by day it becomes just a little bit easier to justify perpetuating something so terrible. Day by day he gives up a little bit more of his morals and his selflessness and his love. Until he finally finds out that he just doesn’t care anymore about being a selfish heartless bastard.

The same way the Magic Crown took his sanity and identity gradually - he’s now so desperate to cling to them that he chose to tear away at what was once the core most parts of himself

Until he became just as unrecognizable.

Both of these ideas are really compelling to me but they’re also kinda opposite. Maybe there’s a way to balance them both in a way that preserves what makes them so interesting for Simon’s character in the first place??

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queer-geordie-nerd · 5 months

Text

So, a few days ago I wrote a post about my disgust at the rise in antisemitism in leftist spaces in light of recent events. It’s garnered more attention than my little blog usually gets, with a few reblog tags thanking me for my stance.

I can’t help but feel a bit weird at being thanked for what I believe is basic levels of human decency but it really solidifies to me just how far the discourse has fallen that the basic tenets of respect and decency now seem so unusual.

I’ve always known that there was an issue with antisemitism in certain leftist spaces, but I honestly never suspected that it was quite as insidiously ubiquitous as it is - and I realise that is a hugely privileged and naive thing to say.

But when a Hamas pogrom caused the greatest loss of Jewish life in a single day since the Holocaust; when 1,400 souls were brutalised and violated and hundreds taken hostage for the “crime” of daring to live in their homeland and the response from the side of the political spectrum that is supposedly for the freedom and dignity and safety of all human beings was largely a shrug of its shoulders or even worse, cheering on the perpetrators; when antisemitic hate crime, abuse and violence have skyrocketed all over the world since this horror and the Israeli response to it; when synagogues and Jewish owned businesses are being targeted and Jewish celebrities are being sent death threats or being discussed in the most appalling, dehumanising ways for daring to express grief and solidarity with their community and/or Israel, and so much of it is coming from the left, I realise that there is something fundamentally broken and it fills me with a sense of existential dread.

If I, in the extremely safe and privileged position of none of this affecting my day to day life or anyone I know personally, feels this way, I cannot begin to understand or imagine how Jewish people must feel seeing all this shit unfold. I hope this isn’t going to sound patronising as fuck, but I’m honestly in awe of the strength you all have to just live your lives.

#antisemitism #holocaust mention

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