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megamindsecretlair · 7 months

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What's Your Favorite Scary Movie?

Pairing: Ghostface x Black!Fem!Shy!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, PWP, cursing, protected PIV, oral (male receiving), size kink, degradation kink, toxic smut, stranger smut (but implied relationship), praise kink, mocking, minor knife play, use of pet names, all consensual. Mention of drinking and tipsy sex. Implied relationship.

Summary: At a Halloween party, you lure a sexy Ghostface down to the basement for a little bit of naughty fun.

Word Count: 2,231k

A/N: I am feral. I've been feening for Ghostface smut, so I wrote some for a little Friday the 13th fun. Wish I got this out sooner, but well. Listen, a time was had writing this! I hope you enjoy. Because I definitely did! Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

You couldn’t take your eyes off of the tall man wearing a black tank, black jeans, and a Ghostface mask. The party raged on all around you, but you were only concerned with getting next to him.

He wore the mask so you weren’t sure what he looked like. He could be ugly. But there was no way that he had a body like that, tattoos covering his muscled arms, and he was ugly. But that wasn’t the point. He exuded a type of indifference that made you want to flock to him.

You weren’t that thirsty though. You adjusted the suspenders on your school girl outfit. The skirt was completely inappropriate. It stopped mid thigh and if you coughed too hard, you’d flash anyone behind you. The sweater was a size too big so that it hung down past the skirt. Your dress shirt was a size too small and half buttoned up anyway. You wore a sexy bra underneath but the sides of the shirt were just long enough to cover it. All anyone saw was your exposed chest.

It was meant to be lewd. Filthy. To conjure up all those thoughts of first crushes in high school. The type of crush that you still think about to this day, even when you’re kissing your significant other. The type of crush that burned from the inside out.

Ghostface stood still in the living room, surrounded by gyrating bodies to music. Everyone was dressed in costumes for the Friday the 13th party. There were a few Jason’s and Freddy Krueger’s walking around.

You crooked your finger. If he was looking at you behind that mask, he’d follow you. You turned and went through the exact replica of Stu’s house from the movie. You went down the stairs that led to the basement.

You looked around the dingy garage. A moment later, the door opened. Ghostface walked down the steps slowly, his heavy boots echoing off of the wooden steps. His dark skin blended with the shadows in the garage and it only turned you on more.

You were dripping already. The aura this man had was intoxicating all on its own. The mask was a stark contrast, showing the fake sympathetic visage of a ghost. You squeezed your thick thighs together, trying to get some kind of attention between your legs.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” He asked, with a voicebox from the movie. If you were dripping before, you were a sopping mess. The movie voice always strangely turned you on. He always sounded so condescending and mocking. Smug.

“Too obvious to say Scream?”

“Maybe. Why do you like that fucked up movie?” He asked. He walked closer. No, he stalked closer. His body was fluid, with a little hood lean that made you lick your lips.

Had you died and gone to heaven? If so, you definitely didn’t want to go back to Earth.

“It’s more psychological horror. The killer could be anybody,” you said.

Ghostface flexed and unflexed his gloved fingers. The leather stretched tight over big, grown man’s hands.

“Even you?” He asked.

“Even you,” you said and grinned. You backed away from him, but then his hand shot out and wrapped around your neck. You gasped at the pressure. It was just right. Not too hard and not too soft.

“You shouldn’t follow strange men down in the basement. That’s a certified way to get killed.”

Ghostface produced a knife. It was long and slightly curved. He ran it over your skin. The coldness of the knife made you gasp. It was real. You knew it was. The thought made your heart speed up. You looked up into expressionless eyes.

“You followed me. Maybe you’re the one in danger,” you said.

“I really hope so. Why don’t you pull down those panties and let me see what we got,” he said.

You followed his command. Your eyes never left the mask as you wiggled out of your panties. They were damp anyway. He pushed you backwards. Your legs connected with something solid behind you, a little too tall for you to hop onto.

He forced you down anyway, hiking your butt onto the edge of whatever it was. It felt solid and cold. The coldness seeped onto your ass, chilling you further from the frigid garage.

Ghostface dropped the knife on the object you were leaning on. He removed his hand from your throat so he could take his time removing his gloves. He ran one hand down the middle of your chest. His warm, big hands played with the edges of your bra. His other hand coasted down your outfit until he reached the end of the skirt.

“I like easy little sluts,” he said.

He lifted your skirt and ran his hands around your wet curls. “The easiest one,” you said.

“You want to be fucked, Princess?” He asked.

You nodded and bit your lip. Fuck yes, you want to be fucked. “Yes, right now,” you said. You weren’t sure what was wrong with you. You hadn’t taken anything and you weren’t drunk off your ass for once. You were a little tipsy though, the alcohol you consumed gave you a pleasant tingle. You wanted him so badly you were aching with it.

“I can’t hear you, Princess,” he said. He tilted his head, maintaining that calm and cool demeanor.

You felt like you were ready to burst at any minute. Your clit started throbbing in tune with your heartbeat. It paced at a steady tempo, building higher the longer your stood there.

“Yes, I want to be fucked. So badly,” you begged.

Ghostface laughed at you. It was cruel. It was hot as hell. “Turn around,” he said. His laughter died. The raspy sound was like its own caress over your sensitive brown skin.

You turned around and faced some type of freezer that lay horizontally. You placed your hands on the fridge and giggled at the cold top.

You could only rely on your other senses. You smelled the spiciness of his scent. His cologne passed through your nose and you inhaled deeply, committing it to memory. You heard him rustling, pulling down his jeans. His methods were concise and controlled. There was a sound of a package ripping and then more rustling.

Finally, he scooted up behind you and pushed on your lower back. Your chest hit the top of the freezer. He lifted up your skirt and slammed inside.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. You were so wet that he went in easily, slipping nearly out already. But his was thick and long and as he really started hitting it, your eyes were already rolling into the back of your head.

He leaned forward and placed one hand on top of the freeze next to yours. The other gripped your waist, slamming you up and down on his dick.

“Fuck, this pussy feel so good,” he rasped right next to your ear. You moaned loudly, letting him know that you were thoroughly enjoying this. The feel of him. The anonymous nature of it.

You started to slam back on him on his own steam. You matched his tempo so that he was hitting you harder and harder. You felt him so deep inside of you that the tip of him hit your G spot and you cried out.

Your orgasm rocked through you and you shook from the sheer force of it. Ghostface didn’t give you a moment of reprieve. He kept up his punishing strokes, shoving you into the fridge.

The wet slap of your thighs bounced off of the walls. Ghostface slapped your ass and you tensed up, breaking your concentration. “Relax Princess,” he cooed. The tinny voicebox was just hotter this up close and personal.

You took quick, shallow breaths trying to calm down from your orgasm and still take his brutal thrusts.

You slumped against the fridge and took the delicious pleasure. You were riding a unique high and it was bliss. Ecstasy. Your cheek touched the cool metal and it was just what you needed to cool your overheated skin. Sweat clung to you. You probably looked like a proper mess but you didn’t care. That was easily one of the best orgasms you ever had.

Ghostface slowed his thrusts and tapped your cheek a few times, enough to hurt.

“Aw, is my Princess tapping out?” He asked.

He slid out slowly, so slowly to make you feel every inch of him. His mushroom head stretched your pussy and you whined, ready to jump out of your skin. He pushed back in with as much carefulness as the way out.

“Fuck you,” you groaned out. You panted, needing more. Ghostface dropped his head to your shoulder and chuckled.

“Already got that part covered,” he said. To emphasize his point, he shoved in with a quick thrust and you cried out. Banging your fists on top of the fridge.

“I want to be fucked. If you can’t handle that, maybe I’ll find someone who will,” you said.

Ghostface dug his fingers into your hair and yanked, pulling you backwards with a painful tug.

“I’ll kill anyone who touches you,” he said.

You were almost tempted to test that theory. You wiggled, trying to gauge how much room you had. Ghostface had an iron grip on you. There was no room to wiggle. If you wanted to move, it was only if he let you.

You clenched around his dick and he chuckled. “What ya thinkin’ about Princess? Me murdering someone for you turn you on?”

You tried to shake your head. It wasn’t that. But your pussy betrayed you, clenching around him again.

He chuckled again and began moving. His strokes were deep and slow. “Don’t lie to me, Princess. I don’t like it,” he whispered. He moved his hand from your waist down to you pussy. His fingers moved between your folds, searching out your throbbing clit.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you said. You stood on tiptoes, leaning away from him. He kept going, rolling your dripping arousal all around your swollen nub.

“I said I’m sorry!” You cried and stomped your foot. This was too much sensation. Too much stimulation. Between him working inside of you, trying to imprint there, and his expert fingers on your pussy, you were nearing another orgasm.

“Oh, please, I’m sorry,” you said. Your orgasm crested anyway. Your legs turned to jelly as your orgasm rushed over you like an avalanche. Covering you in a blanket of bliss. He picked up his pace, bringing your hips down faster and faster.

“Act like a brat, this is what fuckin’ sluts get,” he said. He slapped your ass and each consecutive one hurt worse than the last.

He finally slammed in one final time and released a string of curses. There were a mix of platitudes and you were almost certain that he asked you to marry him. You felt him twitch and flex inside of you and you were only sorry that you couldn’t feel him leak out after.

He groaned and slapped your ass one more time for good measure. He slipped from inside you and groaned as he took off the condom.

“Come lick this shit up,” he demanded. You turned and dropped to your knees. You couldn’t support your own weight anyway.

Cum dripped slowly from this tip of his dick. He stroked himself and moved closer, slapping it against your lips. “Open up,” he said.

You opened your mouth and looked into his ghost mask. His dick slipped in and he moaned. He threw his head back and released a deep sigh.

“Need this,” he said. He began to fuck your mouth. He grabbed the sides of your head and thrust in as far as he could. You slobbered and coated his dick in saliva. He leaked into your mouth, the salty flavor of him turning you on.

His head was still thrown back. His hips stuttered every so often as if your mouth felt too good on him. It was a heady feeling. Knowing that you affected him just as much. That you turned him on this much.

That the sweet curves of your body and the sweet nectar of your body was enough to make him crazy. Possessive. Feral. Fresh arousal gushed from you and you moaned around his dick.

“Like the way I taste, Princess?” He asked. His fingers petted your cheek. You smelled your arousal on him faintly.

Spit dribbled down your chin and down his dick. You nodded and moaned again. You would never get sick of this. Of being his little toy that he constantly fucked with.

He moaned and kept pumping into your mouth. “Sweet fuck,” he moaned and released himself inside your mouth. Hot splashes of cum danced on your tongue and then you swallowed him all down.

“Such a good little slut for me, Princess,” he said.

You whimpered. You popped his dick out with a loud pop and grinned at him. He nodded for you to get up. He watched you struggle to your feet, your legs feeling like noodles.

“Don’t test me again, Princess,” he said. He pulled his pants up and zipped himself back up.

“Yes, Sir,” you said with a grin. Knowing damn well that you were on your way to do just that.

Psst. There's more! The Secret Ghostface Files

#megaminds secret files #The Secret Ghostface Files #Ghostface x Black!reader #Ghostface x Black reader #Ghostface x Fem!reader #Ghostface x Fem reader #Ghostface x reader #Ghostface x you #Ghostface smut #Ghostface fan fic #Ghostface fanfic #Ghostface fan fiction #Ghostface fanfiction

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 months

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Pluralistic is four

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in SALT LAKE CITY (Feb 21, Weller Book Works) and then SAN DIEGO (Feb 22, Mysterious Galaxy). After that, it's LA, Seattle, Portland, Phoenix and more!

Four years ago, I started pluralistic.net, my post-Boing Boing, solo blog project: an ad-free, tracker-free site that anyone can republish, commercially or noncommercially. It's been a wild four years, featuring over 1,150 editions, many consisting of multiple articles:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/02/19/pluralist-19-feb-2020/

As a project, Pluralistic has been a roaring success. I've published multiple, significant "breakout" articles that popularized obscure, important, highly technical ideas, most notably "adversarial interoperability":

http://pluralistic.net/tag/adversarial-interoperability

"End-to-end" as a remedy for multiple internet ripoffs, including as a superior alternative to link-taxes as a means of saving the news industry from Big Tech predation:

https://pluralistic.net/tag/e2e/

and, of course, "enshittification":

https://pluralistic.net/tag/enshittification/

These are emblematic of the sorts of ideas that I've spent the past 20+ years trying to popularize in tech-policy debates dominated by technologically illiterate policy ideas ("abolish Section 230!") and politically illiterate technical ideas (so many to choose from, but let's just say "cryptocurrency"). They require that the reader come along for a lot of cross-disciplinary analysis that often gets deep into the weeds. These are some of the hardest ideas to convey, but nuanced proposals and critiques that work on both political and technical axes are the best hope we have of successfully weathering the polycrisis.

Blogging has always been a part of this project. For nearly 20 years, I posted nearly every day on Boing Boing – 53,906 posts in all! – taking note of everything that seemed important. Keeping a "writer's notebook" in public imposes an unbeatable rigor, since you can't slack off and leave notes so brief and cryptic that they neither lodge in your subconscious nor form a record clear enough to refer to in future. By contrast, keeping public notes produces both a subconscious, supersaturated solution of fragmentary ideas that rattle around, periodically cohering into nucleii that crystallize into full-blown ideas for stories, novels, essays, speeches and nonfiction books. What's more, those ripened ideas are supported by a searchable database of everything I've thought about the subject, often annotated by readers and other writers who've commented on the posts. I call this "The Memex Method":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Pluralistic marks a new phase in my deployment of the Memex Method. With 50K+ notes in a database, I've gradually turned Pluralistic into a forum for far more synthetic, longer-form work that pulls on threads from decades of research into nothing in particular and everything that seemed important.

Pluralistic is also an experiment in retaining control over my destiny – but not my work. Rather than hitching my ability to reach an audience through a platform that can be enshittified at the whim of a mercurial, infantile billionaire or their venal, callous shareholders, Pluralistic is published web-first, on a site I control, and then syndicated to every platform that matters to me. It's a process called POSSE (Post Own Site, Syndicate Everywhere):

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/13/two-decades/#hfbd

I want to spread the ideas I fight for, so I post them everywhere, and license them Creative Commons Attribution-Only, encouraging others to repost them. Lots of small sites do this, but so do large ones. Notably, Wired picked up my first breakout piece on enshittification and republished it under the CC terms:

https://www.wired.com/story/tiktok-platforms-cory-doctorow/

This was a really interesting process. On the one hand, I didn't get paid for this feature, which did really well for Wired. On the other hand, nearly 30 years of writing for Wired makes me doubtful that I could have gotten this piece out in the form it emerged, without substantially toning down (or, if you prefer, neutering) the rhetoric that made that piece more persuasive. A commissioning editor from one of the largest newspapers in the world got in touch with me after it came out and said they wished they'd published it – but also that they knew they couldn't possibly have done so. By publishing the story first on my blog, proving its audience, and establishing its canonical form, I was able to get it amplified by a service with a much bigger platform than me, without having to compromise on the form.

That republication gave me the much-maligned "exposure" – but it also carried the message to places it wouldn't have reached on its own. I don't write – have never written – solely as an income source. As both an artist and an activist, connecting with audiences has always been co-equal in my mind with earning my living. That's why I don't do a lot of film-writing: it pays well, but most of it never sees the light of day. It's also why I stopped writing for ad agencies: it paid well, but it didn't matter to me or my audience. To mangle Dr Johnson: "No man but a blockhead ever wrote solely for money."

The open nature of this blog, with its many open syndication channels, creates multidirectional pathways for evaluating and refining my attempts at making my ideas understood and my art land. My posts often circle back to points I made earlier, incorporating useful feedback from readers and colleagues, sure, but also anticipating and rebutting those areas where critics have convinced others in various forums. Vanity searching is unjustly maligned: I learn a ton about how to make by work better by lurking in Reddit comments, Hacker News, Twitter, Slashdot, Metafilter and other forums. I also take a sneaky pleasure in knowing that the persistent trolls who reliably pop up to grind their weird axes about me (sometimes referencing blog posts I made decades ago) have taught me how to neutralize them in advance, and it's delightful to see them try their same old lines, only to have other commentators point out that my latest piece makes it absolutely undeniable how wrong they are. Living well is the best revenge, indeed.

Four years. I've been writing Pluralistic for four years. During that time, I've published eight books – and beyond any doubt, Pluralistic helped me get those books into readers' hands. But far more importantly, during that time, I've written nine books – and contracted for a tenth – as the Memex Method paid off again and again.

I don't know how long I'll do Pluralistic for, but I don't foresee stopping any time soon. What's more, no matter what happens to Pluralistic, I can't ever see giving up on the Memex Method, keeping notes in public and making them work for me.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

#pluralistic #blogging #anniversaries #memex method

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bonefall · 1 month

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My birthday was a couple days ago, and I got to see my bio dad for the first time in a while. He surprised me with the fact that I have a little half-sister, whom I've never met and who was adopted about two years back. So, I wondered if any situations in BB mimic this or have a theme of "secret siblings" or "secret family"? Sorry if this is a weird ask; this blog is honestly just such a cool little place and I love the way you approach the subject matter and take the flawed misogynistic foundation of the WC books and make them so much better (JUSTICE FOR BUMBLE!!!). I've also learned a lot about healthy and unhealthy relationships here and am really glad for your deep dives on Squilf and Bramble. Thanks, Bones!

Not weird at all! I really like exploring all the little nooks and crannies of complicated familial dynamics. I think one of the untapped strengths of WC (that the writers seem to be unaware of) is how their MASSIVE cast allows them to present all sorts of unique dynamics. So I like to pick up on it, since they don't.

For secret siblings...

I'm pretty heavily leaning towards Ambermoon being adopted by Wildfur, as a surrogacy. Something feels correct about it. Especially since Icecloud is getting retooled into a post-Battle of the True Eclipse birth, and a major supporting character in AVoS-era stories as a friend of Alderheart.

Thinking about it, I should zoom in and expand this. Maybe have Icecloud, somehow, acquire forbidden knowledge that would invalidate the Queen’s Rights and he (transman) struggles with if he's going to use it to expose his parents as an excuse to help Ambermoon.

(Especially since Ambermoon and Icecloud are basically nothing alike. Amber is independent, bold, and vain. Ice is jessie pinkman big-hearted, disorganized, and deceptively meek if you look past his "chill" demeanor)

But that's wip-- there's also Breezepelt and the Three, who are going to have an actual friendship. In particular I can't unsee Breeze and Lion having a deep one. I know I commit the Cardinal Sin of borderline himbo-ifying Lionblaze in BB, but I can't help it.

Hollyleaf ended up nabbing a bunch of his most violent roles to make her villainous descent smoother narratively, so BB!Lionblaze's story ends up being more focused on Ashfur's abuse, comic relief with cats in other Clans (something that the very serious Jay and Holly have a hard time providing), and the emotional fallout of the big reveal and Bramblestar's turn on them. Breezepelt slots neatly into that.

They were friends. Lionblaze's whole life came down around the reveal, everyone looking at him and his siblings differently, like they're suddenly something terrible. Why can't we find a silver lining, Breezepelt? Why can't we call ourselves brothers if the whole world is going to do it anyway? So much is changing, but THIS doesn't have to, we will take their weapon and turn it to armor, my ally, my friend, my brother.

(and when Breezepelt is lashing out at the three because of the Dark Forest's influence, Lionblaze is there, taking the blows and trying not to give in to the impulse to send him flying with a single paw)

There's also Harespring and Kestrelflight of WindClan and Owlclaw of ShadowClan. All of them are from a single litter between Whitewater and Mudclaw. She was going to raise the three of them alone as ShadowClan cats, but when the sire was smote, Whitewater felt they were cursed.

She was able to give the oldest two to their bio-uncle, Torear, but the weather was so bad that day and the runt was so sickly and small that it surely would have killed him. I don't think Owlclaw ever finds out why his mother always treated him with suspicion, but it did mess him up horribly.

Over in BB!DOTC, Thunder Storm is getting more half-siblings earlier. Clear Sky and Falling Feather had two daughters-- Pale Sky and Tiger Sky.

I want to explore the way that the various stages of Clear Sky's life acted on his kids. How any little curiosity Thunder Storm had about the life he might have had if he wasn't abandoned is crushed by seeing kittens who weren't. How Clear's favoritism of his oldest child set the trio against each other from the start. How this idea of "love" is toxic yet intoxicating.

It feels good to be the golden child. The power it gives you over his sycophants is satisfying. To know you, and you alone, have what someone else craves. Problem is, that's conditional, and it's cruel.

What Thunder Storm learns from his time with his biodad is that Clear Sky is not his father at all. He's taught him exactly what he DOESN'T want to be. There may be similarities-- in temperament, in physical prowess (though BB!Thunder is three-legged, he's still ripped), in taste and senses. But Thunder Storm's father is Shaded Flower.

(BB!Gray Wing died in the first book, rescuing Shaded Flower from being trampled by a horse. Xey're a patron of wisdom, Shaded Moss is taking the role of fatherhood to Thunder)

His sister is Rainswept Flower. His mom is Bright Storm. If there was a bond he could have had with Tiger Sky and Pale Sky, it dies simply and cruelly on the knife they used to cut each other out.

Pale might have wanted to mend it, she was the gentler one. But she dies in the First Battle along with her mother. Tiger Sky is too stubborn to accept any help, should Thunderstar offer it, and Thunderstar isn't in the business of begging for others to like him.

Naturally I'm lowkey obsessed with them lmao. I need to make a BB!DOTC overviewww

#I have a perspective on half siblings colored by a dynamic in my family #The generation above me has two siblings who had an awful biodad and an amazing stepdad (who did officially adopt them)#And there was nothing ''natural'' or good about how one of them was obsessed with their biodad.#It was influenced by his surroundings and did nothing but drag an incredibly toxic man back into his sister's life #Over and over #But anyway the son used to tell me ''theres no half in siblings''#The daughter adored her halfbrother through the mother who raised them-- but was adamant that her biodad's newer kids were nothing to her #I guess I agree with the son. But not in the way he believes it #There's no half in siblings because you either Are. Or you are Not.#You have a shared experience with having that person as a parent or you don't. And that's what's unchanging.#It's not the blood; it's the sweat and tears. But anyhoo #Personal details of my life aside #Tiger Sky and Pale Sky are Clear's Dead Angel Fetus Children in-canon. I think that was Weird.#So instead I made them. Not. Dead angel fetus children....#They're characters now lmaoo #Better bones au #I think Tiger Sky (i call her Tigs in my head a lot) is one of my favorite kit saves ever though #She's not going to be from the last litter either. I haven't picked who the mom is yet but he does have even more #At least one of those is going to make a grab at power but um. Sparrow Heart will not react Well.#BASICALLY lads I'm cooking. My revamps of the DOTC characters basically write themselves because I am very fond of them.#Clear's youngest: ''OH I JUST CANT WAIT TO BE KI-"#Sparrowstar: ''-lled.''

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blossomwritesthings · 10 months

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𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞. | 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬

𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 →

pairing: felix x fem!reader (afab) // chan x fem!reader (afab)

genre: nonidol/collegegrad!felix. waitress!reader. college au. hurt/comfort. angst. fluff. smut - MDNI, 18+ only. reader pov. friends to enemies to lovers au. slowburn romance. lots of pining. cheating. abusive boyfriend/ex. drama galore. the sexual tension is REAL in this one.

content & warnings: explicit & strong language. very thematic elements. felix is reader's estranged childhood bestie. chan is low-key an asshole in this ngl. heavy topics are mentioned such as: abusive/toxic relationships, cheating, and pathological lying. the summer vibes are real in this one. there will be humor/fluff throughout to balance everything. and ofc smut too because who am i if not a whore for filthy felix smut. 😉

word count: 4.7k

summary: ever since you were born, all you've ever known is living a simple life in the small australian coastal town of bridgeport bay. you're content with working at your parent's beachside restaurant angel waves for the rest of your life, and you're happy with your place in the world - you have good friends and an even better boyfriend. that is, until everything comes to a standstill when a familiar face from the past visits town for the summer. and in the wake of his return, lee felix upturns everything you thought you were content with here in your comforting little beach town.

a/n: ugh I'm FINALLY starting to write/post this... it feels like I've been stewing over this single idea for MONTHS lmao!! 😩😭 a big thanks to all of my amazing stay writer friends in the writer's club... ya'll are so fucking lovely and I adore you're continual support of my work!! 🥹 I have no idea how many parts this will be, but I'm anticipating for it to be at least 20.k words so... there's that haha! hope ya'll enjoy, and lmk what you think - your thoughts are always welcome! 💞

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ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏsᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ sɪᴛᴇs (ᴛʜɪs ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs ᴛʀᴀɴsʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴs). ©ʙʟᴏssᴏᴍᴡʀɪᴛᴇsᴛʜɪɴɢs ⤐ ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛs ʀᴇsᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

“Hey Y/N, can you please get the next table? I think Jordan just seated another customer.” Your best friend Yeji asked you in a light, cheery voice. She was walking past you into the kitchens, both hands full of dirty dishes, her midnight black hair blowing in the breeze that rushed into the restaurant from the open windows that lined the entire place.

“Sure thing babe!” You gave her a playful wink, offering up a faint smile before you finished helping ring up another customer’s order.

Just like every other weekend, your parent's restaurant - Angel Waves - was bustling with activity, as a solid line formed outside the doors with patrons waiting to snag a seat in the popular joint. A mix between a tropical tiki bar and a fish shack, Angel Waves - or AW for short - was located just off of the beach. With a wrap-around porch and huge bay windows that offered stunning views of the beautiful cerulean sea just a few feet away, AW had been a critically-acclaimed restaurant by the locals for decades.

Initially, it had been your father’s dream to open up a restaurant. But then he married your mother, and things took off soon after the wedding. In no time at all, she was pregnant with you while simultaneously helping your father build the restaurant from the ground up. To date, he had added three more parts to the place, making it rather expansive. With the bright neon signs and fire-burning torches that lined the perimeter of it, AW could be spotted on the shoreline from miles away. The inside was decorated rather plainly, with bright pops of tropical colors here and there and wooden chairs lined throughout the area.

But at night, the vibes of the restaurant came to life. As the patrons at the seated bar grew louder, the tropical music increased in volume and added to the overall atmosphere of laid-back tourists and locals alike.

Having grown up in Bridgeport Bay, which was a small seaside town in the East part of Australia, you were used to the leisurely way of things. But to some, it would seem like everyone around was just lazy. When in fact, people knew how to have a good time - and that was all that mattered to a lot of locals.

Including yourself.

Your parents had raised you in the small house that was just off the backside of the restaurant, so the tropical way of life had always been the only thing you had known. You didn’t mind living the same daily routine - waking up early to help with chores, then attending classes at the local university, before arriving back at the restaurant in time to help with the night shifts. Plus, it helped that one of your best friends, Yeji, had been working with you at the restaurant since she was a young teenager.

Now, at the tender age of twenty-two, you were well acquainted with your surroundings. You were set in stone about what you wanted to do with your life. And after you finished getting your degree in Environmental Science, you hoped to aid in the environmental impact of Bridgeport Bay, since environmental efforts were one of your biggest passions in life.

As you stared around the dimly lit restaurant that was busy with customers and servers alike, you felt yourself come alive under the energy of it all. And getting a hint of the salty sea breeze on your tongue, you made to help the newest customer in placing their order.

The early June sun was just beginning to set over the horizon of the ocean, painting the brilliant light blue sky in shades of violets and fuchsias. Your attention was momentarily pulled away from your task at hand, as you were completely captivated by the look of the rippling water shining underneath the fading sunlight.

But you quickly snapped yourself out of your daze, already grabbing hold of your notepad and pen as you came up to the new table you were waiting on. Without looking up, you began to write down the time and your name on the top corner of the paper, like you always did before taking an order. “Hi, welcome to Angel Waves. My name’s Y/N and I’ll be your server. What can I get started for you tonight?”

There was a pause on the customer’s end, and the noise of the restaurant overtook all of your senses for a few moments, but then everything dimmed out into a faint hum as the customer spoke.

“Hi… Y/N.”

Immediately, without even giving it a second thought, your head shot up from the piece of paper on your notepad that you had been previously staring at.

Heart hammering in your chest, throat constricting in anxiety, with the flush already clawing up your neck and pooling in either of your cheeks.

All at the sight of…

Him.

Lee Felix.

The boy that you had grown up with. The one that had moved in next door to your restaurant when you were five years old. The one who had attended preschool, middle school, and high school with you.

The boy who had been your best friend in the entire world for over a decade.

And also, the single most person whom you hadn’t talked to in over four years.

But no- he was no longer a boy.

No- as he sat there, peering up at you with that familiar face of his, you suddenly came to acknowledge the years that had passed between the two of you.

Evidently, his time away at university for four years in South Korea changed him. Drastically.

From the long, sandy bleached-blonde locks that fell across his forehead, to the milky, blemish-free skin. His eyes were darker, too. More intense. And the sharp lines of his face were almost startling - with a jaw that could cut through steel, a proud nose, and prominent cheekbones.

He was no longer the awkward and geeky boy he had grown up with. The boy who had short, cropped black hair in his senior year of high school and braces for three years, and cystic acne that lasted well into his junior year of high school.

He looked…

Like a fully grown man.

And you didn’t know how to feel about that.

It made your stomach turn in a sickening kind of way. Made your heart pound against your ribcage painfully.

He was staring up at you, watching your blatant perusal of him in silence with a ticked-up, perfectly manicured dark eyebrow.

But some things hadn’t changed, at least, as he flashed you that tiny, easy smile he always seemed to have plastered on his face.

“F-Felix- wow, hi. I-” You began, stammering over your words in your utter surprise. You felt your eyes widen from your stupid blubbering, and the panic chilled down your spine from the way that he laughed heartily at your reaction to him sitting in front of you. “It’s uh- good to see you again, holy fuck.”

“Yeah, you too…” He finally pulled his gaze from yours, offering you some respite from the intensity of his matured eyes. You took in a deep breath as his focus scanned over the restaurant all around you. “Glad to see this place hasn’t changed one bit since the last time I came around these parts.”

“What brings you back to the coast?” You asked, rocking onto the backs of your heels like you always did when you were nervous. Bridgeport Bay was a small town that was connected to a set of other ones similar to it, which all lined the same coast of Eastern Australia.

After all, soon before he left to study in South Korea, he had vowed to you that he’d never step foot in ‘this hellish beach town’ ever again.

Obviously, he had proven himself wrong.

He shrugged broad shoulders, making you realize how much his physique had changed too. He was fitted in a loose t-shirt and faded jeans, but you could just barely make out the outlines of muscles underneath the baggy fabric. His back was proud and he sat up completely straight in his chair, the opposite of how he used to be in your childhood - always slouched and with thin, frail limbs. He was still petite in stature, but now made up for his lack of height with muscle. Even so, he still outranked you in height by a good three inches.

He was acting like it was no big deal - like none of it was a big deal. Not him coming back to Bridgeport after such a long time and looking so different from how you had known him as. “I just graduated, so I decided to spend the summer back at my parent’s place before I decide what I wanna do with my life.” Felix leaned over in his seat then, leveling you with that stare he always gave whenever he was trying to get a read on your feelings. “What about you? I see you’re still working for your folks…”

His voice trailed off. And if you didn’t know him any better, you’d assume that he had a pretentious air about him. Sure, he was the scrawny boy that had shipped off to South Korea, only to come back four years later looking hot as hell with a solid education and most-likely loads of crazy stories to tell to everyone who’d listen.

You, on the other hand, were still stuck in the same position that you had always been in. Living in Bridgeport Bay, in your parent's house, and helping work the restaurant while attending school at a nearby university.

It was comforting, in a sense, to have the same daily routine. But you could also acknowledge the fact that Bridgeport Bay was a fairly quiet place - in other words, not much happened. Most people your age had already moved away as soon as they graduated from high school, either traveling to the big city of Sydney to get a degree or going overseas to bigger and better places.

And there you were… still stuck in the same turquoise-walled bedroom from your childhood, with the same group of three friends, and waking to the same view every single morning. The brilliant pinks and oranges of the sunrise against the ocean water got old in about… two days.

Folding your arms across your chest, you almost felt like you were trying to protect yourself from him. Lee Felix, who had been your childhood best friend. But who, unbeknownst to you, had turned into this ethereal, untouchable beast of a man in the absence of your friendship. It felt foreign and odd, to have him studying you so intently with those dark eyes. “Yeah, I’m still living here in Bridge… same friends, same habits, you know how it is around these parts.” You tried to laugh off the awkwardness you suddenly felt, but your tone came out all flat and warbled.

Felix was still staring up at you, but this time, his gaze melted exponentially. So much so, that it suddenly felt like you were the one staring into his soul - picking apart his emotions as he sat there in front of you, head tilted up in curiosity. And the feelings you saw dance across his eyes, for just a split second, made your heart tumble in the pit of your chest.

“Same friends, huh?” He asked, but it wasn’t a question he was seeking an answer for. After that, his focus was yanking away from you, as he looked down at the menu before him on the table. You watched his adam’s apple bob up and down, throat constricting as he took in a sharp breath.

You could feel the air shift around you as soon as you mentioned friends. Because besides Yeji and Felix, the only other person you had truly had a connection with in Bridgeport Bay was… Christopher Bang. The two of you had met during your freshman year of high school and had been quite inseparable ever since. You had a raging crush on him, and apparently, he had one on you too - since he had asked you out on your first-ever date at the start of your final year in high school.

By the time you all were graduating from Bridgeport Bay High, you and Chris were the it couple. With him being the popular soccer jock, it was only right that you started to get popular as well - since you were the ‘hot girlfriend’ who was always hanging on his arm. Chris was nice and funny and was friends with literally all of the high schoolers in the area, so you liked being around him.

But the more time you spent with him, the less you spent with Felix. And by the time graduation rolled around, your friendship had suffered big time from your new relationship with Chris. Felix didn’t approve at all of the two of you guys dating. He had always waved off your swooning throughout the years as ‘hormonal imbalances,’ but as soon as the two of you became official, his entire tune changed.

All of a sudden, he was getting angry at you. With such a short temper, he would have outbursts during most of your hangouts. And it wasn’t until the night of your graduation that all of the building tension finally broke, like a pinprick to a fragile balloon full of water.

The night had ended in a colossal blow-up on both of your ends - with Felix’s anger exploding in your face and making him out to be some ugly, dark boy. And definitely, not the kid you had grown up to love and care for. During the argument, he had finally admitted that he hated Chris' guts - that he saw right through his little scheme, and he thought the guy was a horrible match for you.

Of course, you retaliated tenfold by throwing his singleness in his face. Since, during the entirety of your high school years, he had never once dated any girl. That insult was low for even you, and soon had him storming off the scene, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat from your stubbornness. You hadn’t listened to him the whole time, only registering the fact that he didn’t approve of you and Chris being together. Like he was your fucking dad and he needed to give his consent to every man you loved and dated.��

And that turned out to be the last time the two of you ever saw or talked to each other for the next four years. Since just a week after graduation, Felix had completely vanished from Bridgeport Bay. When you went over to his house to make things up, his parents informed you that he’d already left for South Korea earlier than expected.

His absence didn’t fully register until you tried to call and text him that night, only to be left with an error message in return. Since he was moving to a different country, he needed to change his phone number. He had already informed you of such a thing weeks earlier, and the two of you had planned on setting up a special app where you could text. But the two of you had forgotten about such a detail in the business of graduation season, so there was no way to contact him.

Instead, you were faced with living in the wake of his departure - you were forced to relive the big fight between the two of you for months after that, rehashing things and stewing over all of the feelings again and again. And finally, after a year of being heartbroken over the shattered friendship with your best friend in the entire world, you decided to move on.

To bigger, and better things.

Like the friends you still had in Bridgeport Bay, going to university, and working at the restaurant.

And, Chris too.

Since your relationship had only blossomed from there, having quickly turned into a four-year ordeal of fun dates and long night chats and walks along the sandy beachside in the late afternoon sunset.

“I’ll have the salmon bowl with brown rice, please.” Felix’s deep timbre pulled you out of your daze of thought, shocking you back into the present. You were still standing there at his table, in the middle of a busy dinner rush, waiting for his order. “Oh, and a side of fried pineapple rings too.”

“Okay, and what kind of drink would you like with all of that?” You asked, mind turning off and zoning into work mode as you wrote down his order. “We have all kinds of-”

“I know what you guys serve, Y/N. I’m not a complete idiot.”

His deadpan retort came out in that unfamiliar voice of his, automatically ripping your eyes away from your notepad.

And there he was, peering up at you again.

But this time, his eyes were a lot more hooded - darker, even. Swimming with tension, his sharp jaw pulled taut in what appeared to be annoyance.

Before you could even get another word out, he was speaking again. In that raspy, deep tone, and you had no idea how you could get used to all of the changes at once. “I’ll take a coke- if that’s okay.”

You nodded, once, your tongue feeling like lead in your mouth. It was heavy and hard to move to form any more words, so you decided against talking and just flitted away from his table altogether with his order.

As you were passing by the open bar, you tossed Jordan, one of your coworkers, a pointed look. “Take care of table seven for me, will ya?” You motioned with a slight tilt of your head to where Felix was sitting across from the window.

Jordan frowned, eyes turning to slits as soon as he registered who was sitting at the table. The two of you had never been particularly friends, since he was a few years older than you. But he had been working as a waiter/bartender at AW for the past seven years and knew all of the regulars who came by. He also knew who Felix was, and what he meant to you.

“The little bastard giving you any trouble, darling?” He asked in a low voice as he slid a full glass of craft beer across the porcelain countertop to a waiting elderly man. “I can take care of him if you-”

“What? No, no,” you said frantically, waving your hands in the air to stop him from going any further. Eyes shifting back to Felix, you registered the way that he was sitting there, shoulders slightly slumped in his seat, as he stared out the large window to his left side, examining the lapping waves of the seashore. “No- I just… I can’t handle all of… that tonight.”

Jordan gave you a soft smile, flashing a wink your way before he was back mixing another cocktail for a new customer. “You know I’ll always cover for your ass, baby girl.”

You giggled quietly at his absurd pet names. You knew that he was never seriously calling you any of them, but it was more in an affectionate, brotherly kind of way. Plus, he was viscerally gay, so you never had to worry that the nicknames were ever alluding to more than just a coworker-to-coworker friendship.

By the time you left the bar where Jordan was busily working and filed into the kitchen, you were once again swept up in the chaos of it all. Servers and managers bustling about, chefs shouting orders out at each other. And in no time at all, your mind was drowned in your work and you no longer could hold any space for the thought of him.

Yeji failed to catch sight of him in her busyness, which you were thankful for. She and Felix had been friends in high school, but no one had been as close to him as you had. At least, until your colossal fight on graduation night. Then, even you weren't close to Lee Felix.

The night passed by rather quickly, as you heeded your parent's commands and helped out with the dinner rush as best as you could - taking orders, scrubbing dishes in the back of the kitchen, and cleaning up tables after customers had left their spots.

By the time closing hour was nearing at eleven o'clock, most of the customers had left for the night - save for a few couples dispersed throughout the place and a rowdy group of men who had steadily gotten drunker on their liquor as the hours passed. Jordan was somehow managing them swimmingly, playing into their flirtations and pouring them drinks that were ‘on the house,’ but really, just made a bigger cut in his tip paycheck.

You were so invested and focused on your work at the register, as you sorted through all of the orders from that night, that you failed to notice the shadow that was slinking across the wall, coming towards you steadily.

But finally, the dark figure was upon you and snaking two strong arms around your waist, pulling you away from the front counter and pressing your back against a chiseled chest.

Already sensing who it was, you giggled softly and turned your head up to look into the eyes of your boyfriend, Chris, whom you had been dating for the past five years. He had always said that he didn’t want anything ‘too serious’ and that he was happy with just dating you until the last of his days. And to be honest, you weren’t complaining all that much.

Although, you sometimes got bothered by the thought of never getting to marry the man you had loved for so long. Once in a while, you’d get into this odd annoying spell where you’d be angry that he never wanted to make a complete and solid life with you - and instead wanted to continue dating happily like the two of you were still in high school.

But in the end, you always managed to push those frustrated thoughts away, deeming everything to be alright since you could do anything if it meant living the rest of your days out with the love of your life, Chris.

“When did you get here?” You asked, as you reached up and twisted a few fingers through his midnight coils. They were curly and stood up at all different ends, something you had always loved about him. That, and his killer body.

“Just a second ago- thought I’d surprise you and take you out to dinner after your long, hard day at work…” His voice trailed off, as his hands squeezed down on your shoulders, long fingers massaging the aches and pains away.

You felt a sly smirk already starting to spread across your mouth as you leaned into him and pressed a wanting kiss to his lips. When you pulled away, you were talking in a quiet voice. “Give me a few minutes, I’m almost done with my sorting.”

Just as you tried to escape from his grasp, Chris tightened his hold over you, arms encircling your waist and pressing your ass into the front of his sweatpants. You could feel the hardness there, just through the line of the thin fabric.

Oh, so we wanted the night to result in that kind of date.

“Nah- I’m not letting you go,” he mumbled in a deep voice, mouth coming close to your ear as he whispered into it, warm breath fanning against the exposed span of your neck. “Been thinking about you all day baby, want you so bad tonight…”

He let the rest of his words trail off, forcing an ugly blush to bleed into either of your cheeks. Then he was spinning around so that he was completely facing you. The darkness of the restaurant cast a shaded glow over his broad shoulders, as he pressed into you with a sardonic smile plastered across his face.

“What’s so funny, mister?” You asked, tracing a finger over the line of his jaw as he tilted down into you and gave your nose a light peck.

“Nothing, just… I love riling you up like this when you’re at work. Feels… exhilarating.”

Then you had no time to react, as his face was moving and capturing your lips up in a lustful kiss. His mouth was plush and familiar against yours, and immediately, you were melting into his firm grasp, moaning softly at the way that one of his hands trailed down the curve of your ass, squeezing the covered skin there.

You guys were practically making out at the front counter of the restaurant, for everyone else to see. And in most normal circumstances, you’d feel embarrassed. But at the moment, you just felt overwhelmed with love and desire for your amazing, handsome boyfriend Chris.

As your fingers carded through his curly locks, bringing his face closer to yours as his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, asking for entrance, your eyes shot open. Scanning the entire room, your focus caught on the front door, and the person who was slipping out of it in silence.

And there he was, once again.

Lee Felix.

Your once-best friend,

Your once long-time neighbor,

Your once-classmate for more than ten years.

He was standing there at the front door, halfway stepping through it. But his body was turned around so that he was staring straight at… you. As you were practically getting groped by your boyfriend in the middle of Angel Waves, as your mouth was getting absolutely devoured by Chris’ lips.

And the look he gave you then, as your gazes locked in a shocking bout of tension, left you feeling both furious and confused all at the same time.

His eyes studied your form, which was so tangled up with your boyfriend’s at the moment. And even from across the room, you could see the feelings that crossed his coffee-brown irises as he watched you in silence.

There was sadness there,

And pain, too.

But also…

An irrevocable amount of… ire too.

The heat of jealousy that you found there burned like fire in the back of your throat, making your heart tumble around in your chest and the butterflies to flicker around in a frenzy just inside your stomach.

The sight of it all forced an agonizing zap of energy to course through your veins, rising your spine and causing gooseflesh to erupt across your skin.

Then, as quickly as you had registered it, it was all gone.

And he was leaving out the front door, the bell at the top of the glass jingling in the remaining trace of his departure.

There you stood, having to deal with the confusion that bled through your mind and the anxious jumbling that floated around your entire body.

And the worst part about it?

Was that the entire time, you had never stopped kissing Chris.

Never stopped yanking on his locks, allowing Chris to take parts of you in front of everyone else.

In front of… him.

You had continued to feverishly make out with your boyfriend, all the while your attention had been distracted on Lee Felix, and the way that he had stared at you so wholly and starkly.

Almost like, the two of you were playing in a silent battle of the wits.

With him, having always disapproved of your relationship with Christopher Bang.

And you, having been in love with Chris for the past eight years.

In the end, you had chosen your respective sides - what with you dating the love of your life, and Felix sitting on the sidelines, giving you an air of rebuttal as he stared on in barely masked disgust.

But you didn’t care what he thought. You weren’t living for him and you didn’t give two shits about any of his opinions. Especially after everything that had happened and from the way that you hadn’t spoken in literal years.

Yeah, you definitely didn’t care about what he thought.

So why, then, did the look he give you just before he left the restaurant, cause your heart to race so much?

Why did it cause a cold sweat to break out across your brow?

Why did it flood your mind so much, that you could no longer focus on anything else?

Like an intoxicating drug, like the most lethal of poisons, he was infecting your entire being.

With his changed physique and persona and voice and… everything.

But especially, the way that he had glanced at you so sardonically.

So darkly.

So painfully.

So…

Sinfully.

To be continued...

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annab-nana · 4 months

Note

the stoic one - somehow managing to evoke a laughing fit in the baby with Eddie he would definitely try and make the baby laugh

omg yes

warnings: not proofread, dad!eddie

❀ masterlist ❀

"come on, rosie," eddie practically begged the little girl, "giggle for me, will ya? i know you can do it."

ever since he had heard the sound come from his little girl when you were making faces at her, he had tried his hardest to get her to laugh for him, but he could not do it. it was starting to bother him.

he let out a sigh and dropped his forehead to meet hers. "you're killing me, rose. absolutely killing me, sweetheart."

he would've kept trying if it weren't for the knock at the door. he stood, rosie on his hip, as dustin opened the door to let himself in alongside lucas and mike.

"where's will?" eddie inquired after noticing the trio was down one member.

"he had a runny nose, so he decided to stay home so he didn't accidentally get rose sick," lucas explained, setting his bag by the door and walking in with his two friends.

"i knew i always liked that kid," eddie mentioned before he sat rose down on the floor to play with her blocks. "well, y/n is taking a nap, so we can't be super loud when we're playing d and d, got it?" the boys nodded at him. "good, so you guys keep an eye on rosie for a minute while i go check on the spaghetti."

as soon as eddie was out of sight, rosie noticed there were other people in the room and lost interest in her blocks. her eyes found each boy for a moment before she crawled over to mike. her tiny hand reached for his pant leg, grabbing a handful of the fabric and tugging on it with a grin on her face.

"aw, she wants you to hold her," dustin cooed at rosie's actions, but mike's nose turned up at it.

"i don't like babies." it was true. he wasn't a real big fan of holly until she was at least three and a half.

lucas rolled his eyes and scoffed. "pick up the damn baby, mike."

the boy let out a defeated sigh and reluctantly reached down to pick up rosie who already had her arms stretched up to him. the teenager and infant stared at each for a moment before the rosie erupted into a fit of laughter, dustin and lucas joining in to chuckle as well.

"oh now, she's making fun of me," mike grumbled while glaring at dustin and lucas who still snickered at the pair. rosie laughed even louder, seemingly mocking mike even more.

at the sound of the little girl's laughter, eddie bolted out of the kitchen and into the living room. he was astonished and slightly jealous.

"how did you do that?"

mike looked at eddie curiously. "do what?"

"make her laugh. i've been trying to get her to laugh for days and i can't even get her to crack a smile."

"i just looked at her and..." he trailed off while making eye contact with the baby who giggled once more.

at first, mike felt he was being picked on when the little girl laughed at him, but now knowing how rare it was to get her to laugh, a sense of pride swelled in his chest.

a small smile spread on mike's face as he bounced rosie in his arms.

"maybe babies aren't so bad."

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legionofpotatoes · 7 months

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All other criticisms of modern Star Wars aside, the thing that gets me the most is how every single story is being written to fit into some Avengers-level grand finale that just isn't laying a solid enough foundation to make it worth the wait. Regardless of whether the individual stories are good or bad, what makes them fall so short, imo, is that there's usually no real payoff within their own runtimes (unless you count cheap callbacks or loose promises of More, which you shouldn't)

Like, I already knew halfway through Ahsoka that we were in for a cliffhanger and it's just like...alright, guess we'll see how this ends in about 5 years? Even Mando, which had a great first season and was poised to stand on its own two feet and ride off on a rootin' tootin' bounty huntin' adventure, has ultimately become yet another dusty path on the road to the current Big Plot with an indeterminate due date. That's not deliciously addictive media, it's a dry-ass carrot on a spindly little stick, lol

Of course, this is a problem that many franchises are happily getting cozy with lately because everybody wants to have their own Infinity War / Endgame moment, but I guess it seems a bit more egregious with Star Wars because, ironically, it used to work best because it had less overall focus. Like, sure, we had concurrent movies, animated series, and games, but they were always happy to do their own things and tell their own stories with definitive conclusions. Now it all has to funnel into the Big New Plot and, man, I honestly just can't bring myself to care when it feels like an endless waiting game

I definitely need to get around to watching Visions at some point because, every time it pops up, it sounds like the lifeblood that Star Wars sorely needs atm

Yeah the setup-and-payoff a-to-b type dramatic clarity that seemed so entrenched into the very bones of cinematic grammar - up to around the emergence of streaming, wink wink nudge nudge - is sorely missed in star wars atm. sure maybe downsized writers rooms fidgeting with limited series formats instead of doing actual seasonal TV has something to do with it, but even that is probably such a small piece of the larger issue that spins all this longform storytelling bullshit ferry wheel around.

Another part is certainly chasing the MCU business model of it all like you said. Carrot on a stick is verbatim how I've often described these things myself, the endless promise of another promise of another promise instead of forming a complete thought with a beginning and an end. servicing the plot before story at all costs. another part still is reverence towards the aesthetic trappings of the source material instead of its themes, trying to nail the exact texture of tatooine's huts and dial in the perfect balance of lightsaber choreography and pay homage to a thousand iconic shots before articulating something true in the text.

And like it's an endless laundry list, this confluence of capital-I Issues both industry-scale and creatively-driven that seem to be flaying the skin off the bones of whatever star wars even "is" nowadays. no one can answer that in the context of billions of dollars made off toys and storylines centering around this one moment in fictional history about sons and fathers and empires and rebellions. so they just keep twisting in the wind filling in any gaps within that period. I don't know nonnie, it's all so bleak. ahsoka and obi wan and even mando tbh. as charming as season 1 was, it truly felt like it coasted on its incredible restraint to avoid muddying its aesthetic with cameos, and lucked into effective storytelling as a result of that utterly unintentional alchemy. that's obviously well and truly gone now as its true optics have reared head.

what star wars is by itself is such a pointless discussion, right? andor argues it's a perfectly functional heightened universe that can support incredibly nuanced and dramatically charged stories of grassroots rebellion and the bureaucratic strain of fascist regimes. visions argues it's a world beholden to the force, an endlessly mutable and elegant metaphor that can support infinite monomyths and fairy tales. both are equally fantastic at executing on their takes, despite being in diametrically opposite extremes of interpreting the source. so it's not really about that at all, why the other stuff sucks this bad.

they're just bad at the craft of it, that's really it. whether it's auteur worship or business decisions rotting that fish down, it still rots all the same. maybe the new writers' guild contracts can shift the winds a little, because I was so securely done with star wars and then the aforementioned 2 shows came and affected me. so, so profoundly that I'm back on the hook again. like a lil sucker!

#long post #anon #asks #boy howdy forgive me mister baby yoda for I have engaged in star wars discourse again #this will definitely not backfire on me as it never before has.

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darkerthanblack-666 · 11 days

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Ok, so the summary of today's day (it's fun, you know I'm a writer, so I can make it fun):

Before the concert+the concert

I went out. It didn't rain. I got to the city centre and it was raining like hell, but of course I didn't have an umbrella... I had my leather jacket though. Leather jackets are useful, because you can take them off and cover your hair and they don't get wet. But when I got there, it stopped raining, yay! Lucky me 😆

I got there maybe an hour before the doors? I would get an usual spot at the barrier on the side, but a girl was keeping it for her friend, so I let them have it and went to the middle. It was scary at first, because I never know what my happen and it's hard for me to stand for too long (which everyone knows, because I talk about it here a lot), but as usual the BC fandom here is very chill and most people were super nice and friendly and polite to each other, it's one of the main reasons why I love their concerts so much 💖

Most of the time I didn't see much, but Joel and Joonas got many interactions, if I find videos of those, I'll let you know! I had Joel right in front of me almost all the time, I could see his red snoot and wet upper lip, and he hit his face with the chain all the damn time... this guy 😆. Honestly, I had more fun there, in the 3rd row, than at the barrier on the side. Maybe it's because I was close to Joel, dunno 🤣. But it was probably my best BC concert so far, because I finally managed to relax and my anxiety was on a very low level. It really makes a huge difference!

Oh, and of course I lost my hairband with a big red bow. All because of Ghostkid's vocalist! I was filming Dark Side and he got near the crowd, I had no idea he was going to jump into it, because I'm small, I barely can see what's going on with everyone around being so tall. So he knocked off my hairband and I managed to catch my classes on time 😭. But I did catch him somehow, I made sure he didn't fall. Also damn, this guy is so light! Even with my health issues I feel like I could carry him myself easily. Also I'm not super sad about the hairband, if someone found it they can keep it, it's just a funny story 😂. If I lost my glasses, THEN I'd be upset. Because glasses are expensive. Btw I literally have it on video, I have proof! It's the funniest part of it 🤣

We also got another "kurwa bob" moment and Niko got a flower crown in the colors of the Polish flag! I even managed to take a quick photo (as I said, my camera is shite):

(he took it off soon after, so I was lucky to catch this moment on my camera, also hi Joel you look awful here, but so do I in most of the photos and you're still my fave edgelord 💖)

Meeting the band after the concert

I wasn't sure if it was worth to wait for them. It was still a bit rainy and the last day bus was leaving in 30min (night buses arrive only every 30min, so it's a pain in the ass). Most people have left, there weren't many of us left, maybe ~20 people waited? But I thought I don't get to see them live that often, so what the hell, I'll wait.

There were staff members and guys from the supporting bands walking around freely (everyone is always polite and we let them work in peace, it's why I love the fans here, they don't chase anyone away 💖), even Olli just walked around unbothered (I think only I noticed him at that time tbh, but I ain't a snitch hehe).

Tommi and Aleksi just went to the bus and it's understandable. Tommi is just Tommi and Aleksi was sick. All of the other guys actually stayed with us to talk and I've never had such a long interaction with them before! I feel even luckier and I'm so happy that I stayed 😍

I think everyone knows Joel is sick, so we didn't want to bug him too much. He was nice enough to let us take some photos and let us give him hugs, and he was pretty much braindead 😂. But it's understandable, he's usually braindead and he's also sick, so it's worse. I'm happy I could give him a proper hug this time, because the first time I met him I was too scared for one. The 2nd time I asked for one and patted his shoulder nervously. But this time? I just hugged him with no fear! I'm making progress here 💖

Niko is always the most friendly one, so we had a chat with him and he asked what does kurwa mean (really dude? you have no google in your phone?) and I told him it's like vittu, other people added more information, and I said he should google it, he'll find funny things. Niko, please. Just google it, dude 😂.

I also hugged him and he has a really soft coat, which other girls pointed out and he joked he's wearing nothing underneath, because he's Finnish and isn't cold (a deja vu moment, because there was exactly the same situation in Poznań before: "Niko, aren't you cold?" "No, I'm Finnish"), so I also told him it used to be much colder here in general, because we did have very cold winters before. It's always fun talking to Niko 💖

The next one was Olli, but I'm leaving Olli for the last part of the story, because it's the best. Now, I did hug Joonas and got a photo with him, but my brain is totally blank if we actually did talk to him. I think not really? Uh, dunno 😂. But it was a positive interaction as well 💖

Now, Olli. Everyone knows I just couldn't like the guy because of his crazy stans, so I was "meh" about him, but actually meeting him properly just changed my mind. He's really easy to talk to! But I really didn't think I'd manage to come up with an interesting topic, I usually have nothing to say and I'm horrible at asking questions.

My brain decided to ask him about Silent Library. It basically went like:

Me: "So I watched this show, Silent Library Suomi, and you were getting all these red cards. Was it done like that on purpose, or was it just a coincidence?

Olli (grinning): "it's called back luck"

Now, if you watched their vlogs and he had those funny moments with puns everyone loved, IT WAS LIKE ONE OF THOSE MOMENTS. But I don't have it on the camera (which is ok, I did that just for myself).

He explained it really was accidental and no one was plotting against him (I did joke that Joel maybe did 😂). I think he enjoyed talking about it, because I doubt anyone would get an idea to ask him about this show (though I might be wrong).

So here you go, it's called bad luck. That's it. I got the info from the man himself 😂

But, there's more. The girl who was taking photos of us had a malfunctioning phone and accidentally took a photo of his feet and he was wearing flip flops (she did show it to him too lmao). I'll share it as soon as I get it. Also she came up with a joke that I already told her I'm going to steal:

OlliFans

(feet pic coming soon 👌)

We all laughed really loud at it (Olli wasn't there anymore, so we=us girls), so I'm releasing it into the world, because it can't be kept in containment 😂

That's it for now, more video content coming tomorrow (cause I'm tired)

#blind channel

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hopepaigeturner · 8 months

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Eloise is definitely not ready for her season.

Apologies anon, for not answering this sooner. But I didn't just want to give a short answer like the one above. And over the weeks I've worked out another reason why Eloise shouldn't be S4.

Show Eloise, doesn't have the capacity to emotionally support Phillip and the manifestations of his trauma.

Basically I've been writing this piece about married Benophie that revolves around how Sophie’s trauma manifests itself within their married life, (in big ways and small) and how Benedict copes with this. E.g. Sophie being triggered by dropping something, or her first Christmas with the Bridgertons. For this I’m drawing on my knowledge both personal and professional and something really struck me.

To support someone with trauma you need empathy, patience, emotional intelligence and humility. You’re never going to get everything right, but having such skills will help. (yes empathy/patience etc. is a skill it is not an inherent trait).

You need patience when the one you love is being overwhelmed by their past or their emotions. You need empathy to understand the root to some of their actions, how your loved one might not be lashing out at you but at something that links to their trauma. You need emotional intelligence to work out the best way to emotionally support your loved one. You need humility to realise that you might get things wrong, or that you might be contributing to the problem and need to shift the way you do things to accommodate. And so much more, and in so many other ways.

And bless Eloise Bridgerton—she ain’t got many of these…yet.

Eloise is intelligent, yes, she is passionate and loyal and protective of her loved ones…but not when it comes to emotions. We actually see a lack of this when it comes to Eloise who is impatient, can’t empathise with other’s struggles and always likes to have the last word.

Yet Eloise, like Benedict, is going to love and support not only a traumatised man, but also two traumatised children. She ain't ready for that...But she can be.

Giving Eloise two seasons will allow her to soften, not only become a better feminist who respects all women’s dreams, but also to become someone who will be able to support Phillip. She can learn empathy by trying to put herself in Penelope’s shoes in S3. She can learn empathy from Sophie in S4. She can learn patience when she starts publishing her Whistledown column/novel. Purely having two seasons will allow the writers to quietly show Eloise maturing in general, as one does with age.

Ofcourse during her season this maturing comes to the fore when she is faced with Phillip and the twins. Here shall be the biggest learning curve for her, however, allowing S3&4 to build some groundwork for this will help ensure that viewers do not feel as if ShowEloise is being shoved into a role she does not suit.

And meanwhile…

Benedict has shown emotional intelligence and empathy on the show. Benedict is a classic caretaker-with-a-capital-C. He already has the temperament to help Sophie emotionally heal from her trauma during, and after, their season. Yes, he needs to learn to get into conflict and fight for the one he loves, but ultimately, he’s ready.

So yes, Eloise is not ready for her season because she needs to develop her feminism and to understand the full scale of her privilege. But she also needs to grow emotionally to ensure the viewer can believe Eloise is right for Phillip--and we as a viewer need to be patient for that to happen...

#hope answers #eventually #apologies for the wait!#eloise bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #phillip crane #to sir phillip with love #bless Eloise she's not quite leading lady #yet #bridgerton #is this another petition for benophie s4?#perhaps...

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inkabelledesigns · 3 months

Text

I know I'm posting a day late here, but Happy Birthday Bendy! February 10th, 2024 marks the 7 year anniversary of when Bendy and the Ink Machine came out. And boy, has it been a wild ride. Normally I would reserve this for my Bendy sideblog, @angelofthepage , but I'm posting it here because this is where I started years ago, and I want some of those people who don't see that blog to have a chance to see this. Because you guys are a part of this story.

In about three months, seven years ago, I was in finals hell, working through my process book for my packaging design class in one of the dorm lounges while my roommate had taken the room for herself again. And the only thing keeping me sane was putting Can't Be Erased and Build Our Machine on loop as I worked. BATIM only had two chapters out, and I didn't know everything about it, but I was so intrigued by what its deal was. I took one look at Sammy Lawrence and I wanted to know everything about him. Something about this barely started game, the idea of your characters coming to life to kill you, it thrilled me, intrigued me. It was something I was really afraid of, being so attached to my characters and putting so much of my identity in my art. And while the story isn't really all that much about cartoons themselves being alive, it gave me something else that ended up changing my life.

Over that summer, I would become obsessed, and for the first time in years, I let myself be a fangirl again. And maybe one day I'll pull up the timeline and tell you how it all went down. But right now, after all the celebrating of yesterday, I just wanna take a moment to appreciate the last seven years. All the people I've met, all the friends I've made. All the experiences we've had together, big and small. Some have been incredibly close, and others have been people I still smile about whenever I see them on my feed, even if we're not all doing stuff in the same fandom anymore. There's some people I've fallen out of touch with that I likely won't ever see again that I miss. There's some I'll be lucky if I never see again. There's the official voice actors for Dark Revival, which I've had the pleasure of working with on community things here in the fandom. I regularly moderate their livestreams (or Lovestreams as we call them) where they sign prints and interact with us fans (and sometimes I'm tech support, once an ink machine technician, always an ink machine technician xD). I'm honored to call a lot of them my friends, we've had some truly wonderful conversations. I've spent a lot of time in a variety of servers, trying to uplift people and make for a positive fandom experience for everyone, fans old and new. Sometimes it lands me in interesting places, like helping out over on the Inky News channel. The host, Brandon, invited me over to guest star on his anniversary stream yesterday, and in the past I've been fortunate enough to showcase my art on two of his interviews, one with Dave Rivas and one with Adrienne Kress. Sometimes it lands me on fun projects, like working on a fan game, and for the first time it's not as a voice actor! I'm a writer. I've had my work uplifted in turn too, meeting people who value me for me and also cheer me on when I try new things (sometimes entirely new mediums like doll customizing). I got my first helpful constructive critique in this fandom, and it was something I ASKED for. That is a huge personal milestone! I have a really complex and twisty set of feelings about critique, and finally, I feel better, because someone helped me start to unravel that just by being themselves and being thoughtful. It's inspired me to want to be better in how I handle critique and problem solving with others.

I spent so much of my life putting my self worth in other people's hands. I thought I would never be good enough to have friends who didn't treat me like garbage. I thought I'd never be a good artist in any sense of the word either. But I was wrong. I've grown. I'm valued, I'm wanted. I don't have to hide parts of myself to be desirable. Sometimes being the silly, goofy, fangirl that is Kat is enough. My art is enough, my ideas are enough, my flavor is tasty, and I am a goddamn treat. And after so many years of not knowing that, I'm glad I finally do. And it's all because of the people. It wasn't ever that my flavor was bad, it's that I hadn't found people with a taste for it yet. Bendy's greatest gift was giving me a fresh start, a chance to meet new people, good people, and for that, I'm forever grateful. Even though things have changed, I'm glad I met each and every one of you, you all taught me something valuable along the way, and I think about those experiences we shared often.

I won't lie to you, I've been rather frustrated with Bendy lately. And I think a lot of it has to do with the games not truly having grown with me. At some point our paths deviated, and there are elements of what's come and what's coming that are getting away from what really enticed me about the very first entry, the things I valued most in it. But in some ways, analyzing that has led me to figure out what made that first game so special. It was human. It was a character focused game, and each of the characters, while vague, gave us just enough about themselves that we could feel for them, get invested, imagine, maybe even sympathize. Everyone is a tragedy, but they're all different flavors of tragedy. And it was seeing people explore that, seeing people write these characters in ways that were so human, that really built a connection. For some people, Bendy is another indie horror experience. For others, it's something to indulge in that hits hard on a personal level. In many ways, it attracts a lot of us who feel like misfits. It's many things. But to me, the magic was in the people. The people in this universe, and the people in its real world community.

It has solidified my belief that people should play with fiction however they want, no matter how far it deviates from the canon, no matter how weird it is. Go be interpretive, go tell your story, go be free to make what speaks to you! (All I ask is that you're thoughtful about tagging it so people can make smart choices about engaging with it.) All stories are worth telling. Even if no one gets into it, having told it makes a difference.

Whether you're someone who's been there from the beginning, or someone that's new to Bendy, I hope you're all having fun. Whether you've finished exploring the world or you've just begun, I hope you've found something valuable. Thank you, for coming along for the ride. Here's to many more fun experiences and stories, be they official or be they in the fandom. Happy Bendyversary!

#long post #bendy and the ink machine #batim #bendyversary #personal thoughts #bendy

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 1 year

Text

pink tulle

A/N: i've had this idea for the longest time. feels amazing to finally tip-toe around in it

warnings: Eddie Munson x ballerina!reader, established relationship, kissing (just a tiny one), other ballerinas being mean

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist

“Oh my god,” you saw one of the other girls perk up at the door in utter repulsion as you all were clustered on the glossy floor, completely entangled as you all stretched your flexible limps, “who is that?”

Your eyes flicked up towards the big, mirrored wall to see, though your spine immediately snapped up and your tight bun whipped around as you recognised the figure that had just wandered in, “oh my god…”

“I’ve been saying it for years, they have got to tighten up the security around here, we can’t just have any freak off the street walk into the studio to gawk at us.”

Ignoring the other dancers, you rushed towards the long-haired guy, “Eddie,” your eyes were as big as saucers.

“This is cute,” he smirked, reaching out a finger to play with the baby pink, soft tulle of the dainty skirt wrapped around your tight leotard.

“What are you doing here?”

“What, is it a crime to come say hello to my girlfriend?” he grinned, bending down to steal a small peck.

“No, but what are you doing here?”

He had never been here. Sure, he was aware that you danced, but you never really talked about it, you always had the impression that it just wasn’t his thing, so you didn’t bring it up. You’d gotten so used to the two being separate, one was water and the other oil, it just didn’t make sense in your mind.

“I just wanted to finally see what all the fuss was about,” he shrugged, leaning against the doorframe and ignoring the glares he earned from the other ballerinas, “I wanted to watch you dance.”

“You did? Why? You don’t like ballet,” you questioned, completely puzzled, not wanting him to somehow feel obligated to suffer through something he that hated and then contractually perhaps start to resent you for it. He didn’t have to prove anything to get you to like him, you already did, so why did he suddenly want to see this side of you?

“But,” he smiled warmly, looking down at you as if you were the only girl in the room, “I like you.”

#lea’s writing #ballerina!reader #eddie munson x ballerina!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson hc #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fic #stranger things blurb #stranger things imagine

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megamindsecretlair · 2 months

Text

Wrong For It

Pairing: Toxic!Tyrone x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. FILTH. PWP, cursing, PIV, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, all consensual. Corruption kink if you squint. ONE SHOT.

Summary: Follower Celebration: You voted for Slice of Life with a Toxic Tyrone! While hanging out with your best friend, her big brother Tyrone comes home unexpectedly. You've had a terrible crush on him for as long as you could remember. You're both a little tipsy and feeling each other. You absolutely shouldn't....right?

Word Count: 6,014k

A/N: Happy Follower Celebration!!!!! It's because of YOU that I've enjoyed (19!!!!) Tyrone fics! Not including the multiple parts. I've written sweet, toxic, disrespectful, AU, and spooky Tyrone fics and ya'll still want more! I LOVE YA'LL FRFR!!!! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Special, special shout out to @planetblaque! I could NOT have finished this without you, ILY!!! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @dayjlovesromance @sevikasblackgf @melaninpov @amyhennessyhouse @henneseyhoe @honeyoriginalz @justheretostan @black-fairy3 @superhoeva @jarfulloftears @hereformiles @montysstuffs @westside-rot @blackerthings @blowmymbackout @euphoric05 @miyuhpapayuh @nicolexnight @judymfmoody @notapradagurl7 @soft-persephone @justabovewater20 @soapjay @heyauntieeee @theyscreamsannii @mybonafidefeelings @eggnox @honeytoffee @thadelightfulone @tranquilfandomer @kindofaintrovert @l-auteuse @browngirldominion @sunkissedebony97 @lovedlover @issahyland @longpause-awkwardsmile @insburner @slippinninque @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @babybratzmaraj @iv0rysoap @misskiki90 @harmshake @sageispunk @ciaqui

“Girl, you never want to hang at my place anymore,” your best friend, Camille, said.

You sighed and switched your phone to your other ear, grateful that she can’t see your guilty eye roll. “That’s not true, I was just over there…” You trailed off, trying to think of when you were last over there.

Fourth of July. She had a small party, which of course meant that everybody and they mama was invited. It was easy to disappear during the party. Easy to dodge Tyrone, her brother. He wasn’t a bad guy, he was just the neighborhood fuck boy and you had a terrible crush on him.

You’d known Camille and Tyrone all their lives, having grown up right next door to them. You never stood a chance when it came to what type of guy you were interested in. Camille spent many a day complaining about her annoying older brother and how women always tried to be nice to her in order to get to him.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that during puberty, when you really started to notice boys, you had the misfortune of seeing Tyrone workout with his shirt off. Your summers were spent looking out of your bedroom window and into their backyard where he often hung out with friends. The no shirt/black shorts/towel hanging out of his back pocket combo unlocked something in you.

You’d been changed. Altered. The fabric of your mind had been ripped apart and you spent the rest of your days trying to find someone who held a candle to Tyrone. None ever did.

“That’s right, yo bitch ass don’t even remember when. Please? I got the house to myself for once,” Camille said.

You sighed through your nose and looked at your phone. It was late in the afternoon and you didn’t have anything to do. Still. There was always the possibility of running into Tyrone.

“You sure you got the house to yourself?” You asked.

“Yes! Now come on! We can make fun of that new movie on Netflix,” she said.

“Let me get decent and I’ll be over,” you said. You held the phone away from your ear as Camille squealed loud enough to be heard around the corner.

“Bring snacks!” She said. She signed off and you groaned, flopping back onto your bed. You were an adult. Tyrone came home later and later and sometimes not at all. He was either lamped up with his latest conquest or he was out selling weed. He still sold premium shit compared to the shops and you had no idea where he got it from.

You got yourself together and raided your pantry for your favorite snacks. Chips, cookies, and pieces of candy. You were going to have a terrible sugar rush but fuck it, it was the weekend.

Soon, you were locking your door behind you and crossing the dry lawn towards Camille’s house. You checked her driveway. There was only her busted Toyota Camry out front. You could breathe easier. Eventually, you’d have to get over him. Eventually, you’d have to stop letting your avoidance of him get in the way of your friendship with Camille. You just needed more time.

You shivered with the roaring wind outside. You hadn’t expected to go to her place tonight and you were comfortable in the heated house with your shorts, long sleeved shirt, and fuzzy socks. Outside though, you were exposed to the elements. Once it dropped below 70 in LA, it was freezing.

Camille finally opened the door, her deep ebony skin almost a match for her brother’s. She had thick, curled hair that was tied up into a high ponytail at the moment. She wore a tie-dye graphic tee with the sleeves cut off and gray joggers.

She squealed when she saw you and threw her arms around you, pulling you into a big hug. You giggled and braced yourself from the added weight of her. “You act like I died,” you said.

“I thought you did. How you still live next door and I, like, never see you unless we go out?” She asked. She took some of the snacks from your hands and let you into the house. You followed behind her, closing and locking the door, and moved into the living room. Since no one was there, you had the chance to watch TV on the big screen.

You always loved being at their house. It wasn’t much. And it was just as grungy as your place growing up, but it was clean and full of love. Their mom was like a second mom to you, always making sure you were fed and gave you dolls on your birthdays.

Camille already had an assortment of liquor lined up on the table like you were pre-gaming back during your clubbing days. “Damn girl,” you said, noticing it.

Camille dumped the snacks onto the table and grinned at you. “Been so damn long, I forgot what you drink!”

“Stop. We talk all the time,” you said.

Camilled sat down on the brown, weathered couch with a big sigh. She avoided looking at you and picked at something on the cushion. “Don’t feel like it, is all,” she said.

Shit. Now you were feeling guilty. You sat down next to her and pulled her into a hug. “I just been busy at work, bestie. I’m sorry I’ve been MIA,” you said.

She grinned and shrugged. “I get it. Work is a bitch! Now let’s get drunk like we used to!”

You shook your head and again, something was telling you to throw caution to the wind. Before long, she was queuing up a movie on Netflix. She popped the top to the tequila and lined up two shots for you and two for her.

You both shot it back, howling at the burn of alcohol. “Gahh damn!” You said when your throat calmed down enough.

“Woo! Shall we play a game?” Camille lowered her voice and waggled her eyebrows. You laughed and shoved her away.

“The last time we played one of your drinking games, I was up till 3am puking my guts out!”

“That was on me. We probably shouldn’t have taken a shot every time that man licked his lips. Trevante is sex on a stick!” Camille said and cackled.

The sweet burn of alcohol dropped to your stomach and warmed you up from the inside out. You only shook your head and agreed.

Soon, you both were falling back into your normal routine. You laughed, made fun of the trash ass movie, and drank and ate your way through the night. You yawned for the tenth time in as many minutes. Fuck, you missed this. You missed hanging with your best friend.

Guilt wrapped an icy tentacle around your gut. It was your fault that you hadn’t had many times to unwind and catch up with your bestie. You had been so focused on work, so focused on keeping your mind busy, that you hadn’t realized just how long it’s been.

You vowed to change it. You were not going to let some man get in the way of your friendship. No matter how fine he was.

Camille’s soft snores made you turn towards her. You giggled and shook your head. She always fell asleep first. And she fell hard. It would take an earthquake to wake her up. And even then, you both were desensitized by them by now. The rough rocking was akin to being rocked as a baby at this point.

You were sleepy but not ready to fall asleep just yet. You decided to help her clean, not wanting to be a pig in someone else’s house, best friend or not. You swept up crumbs, wrappers, and carried shot glasses over to the kitchen. Fuck. Everything was still familiar to you.

The light over the stove was on so you didn’t turn on the overhead lights. An ache beat in your head and you didn’t need the extra tension. The kitchen had peeling sky blue paint, tile countertop, and there were clean cups and bills overtaking the counter top.

You hummed slightly as you cleaned up, knowing exactly where they kept everything. You set the shot glasses upside down on the drying mat. The humming was just loud enough to not hear the door open and close. Or hear someone approaching behind you.

The circle of arms around your waist made you squeal in fear and tense up, throwing your elbow behind you. You connected with something soft but solid, and there was a tiny “oomf”.

You moved away and turned around, chest on fire. You held up your hands. You couldn’t fight worth a damn but whoever it was didn’t need to know that.

“Damn girl, watch where you throwing them elbows!” Tyrone groaned, rubbing his stomach.

“Tyrone?” You asked.

Tyrone winked at you and smiled. You scoffed and rolled your eyes. It took a few, deep breaths for your body to catch up to the fact that you weren’t in danger. Not physical danger anyway. You placed your hand over your heart and the rapid thumbs began to slow down.

Tyrone leaned back against the counter and shoved his hands into his oatmeal colored hoodie. He wore a matching beanie and the hood was pulled up, hiding his beautiful hair that he lovingly took care of. You were brought back to plenty of days spent on their porch while Camille braided his hair and he talked shit.

He considered himself an expert on relationships, despite never really being in one, and he never wasted an opportunity to educate you on men. He always told you that niggas weren’t shit and you were better off getting in, getting off, and getting out.

Tyrone licked his lips and looked over your body, tilting his head. He grinned as he did so and you suddenly felt naked. Like he stripped you with his eyes and you were now exposed. Of course, it only got you thinking about being naked with him. Of being underneath him while he did all kinds of nasty shit to you.

You cleared your throat, thankful that your rich brown skin didn’t show when you were embarrassed or flustered. The tips of your ears did burn something fierce though. “What are you doing here?” You crossed your arms. You sounded a little breathy, but that was okay. You were still trying to calm down from being scared.

“Live here,” he said.

You sighed. Yes, you walked into that one. “Camille said you were gone tonight,” you said.

“Decided to come home early. Guess I just knew that yo pretty ass was in my kitchen,” he said.

No, no, that did not make your stomach flutter. That did not have an answering throb in your pussy. You shifted from one foot to the other, nails digging into your sides.

“More like you got in a fight with your latest squeeze,” you said. You huffed a laugh, trying to break the sudden tension. Their kitchen wasn’t that big and Tyrone had a habit of making it seem like he was the only person in the room. He approached you, getting into your personal space. You tried to lean back, but your back was already against the counter.

Tyrone’s eyes were at half mast, likely high. He shifted closer until you were nearly chest to chest. He leaned down. Your lips parted. What was happening right now? Was he going to kiss you? Right now? Right here? With Camille in the next room?

He reached out his hand and you did your best to prepare. You pinched your side. Were you really going to let this man kiss you?

He reached next to you and grabbed one of the shot glasses you just cleaned off. He grinned. “Jealous?” He asked. He moved away, opening a small pantry next to the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of Hennessy.

“No,” you scoffed, injecting enough venom in your voice to fell an elephant. Your chest hurt for entirely different reasons now, a type of burning working its way through your lungs. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to slap that smug grin off of his face.

“Who still says ‘squeeze’? When did you turn into an old lady?” He asked. He poured himself a shot and knocked it back. You were a fool but you watched the way his throat worked down the liquid. You wanted to lick him. Wanted to plant your nose right at the hollow of his throat and kiss him.

You rubbed your head and moved away from the sink. “I’ve always been an old soul,” you tossed over to him as you passed him. He tugged on your long-sleeved navy shirt, pulling you back into the kitchen.

“Hol’ up, where you going? Shit, I ain’t seen you in a cool minute,” he said.

You shrugged out of his embrace and refolded your arms. As long as you had a barrier against Tyrone, he couldn’t see how fast you were breathing. You were thankful for the low light as well. That he couldn’t see the way you followed his every move. That your eyes darted to his lips whenever he spoke.

“I been around,” you said and shrugged.

“Naw, you were, like, always over here. Then you up and dipped, what’s that about?” He asked. He poured himself another shot and knocked it back, eyeing you over the rim. You held eye contact for a beat, perhaps two, before grinning and shrugging once more.

“Been busy. Why you giving me the third degree?” You asked.

“Damn, can’t a nigga make conversation?” He asked.

The giggle left you before you had a chance to snatch it back and hold it inside. Giggling would lead to flirting, which would lead to dangerous thoughts. You were a bit tipsy, feeling loose and unencumbered. It was a dangerous position to be in. Especially around Tyrone.

“I better go wake your sister up before she go looking for me,” you said. You smiled and moved past him once more. Again, he grabbed the back of your shirt and pulled you back in front of him.

He invaded your space, moving closer. Close enough to smell the Henny on his breath. “Why you keep trynna escape?”

“I’m not,” you said.

“You look too damn good in them shorts,” he said. He tilted his whole body to the side, exaggerating his movements to look at your legs. You laughed and shoved at his shoulder.

“You need to stop!” You said. Any minute now, Camille was going to wake up. The last thing she needed to see was you flirting with her damn brother in her kitchen. You came over here to hang out with her, not make googly eyes at Tyrone.

That color looked damn good on him though. It stood stark against his dark skin, but it suited him. It was rare that you saw him in bright colors, and the muted oatmeal color just worked on him. Everything worked on him. He was one of those annoying men that never had a bad day.

“Why I need to stop?” He asked. He straightened up and tugged on the front of your shirt, pulling you closer. You were trying to resist, trying to tug yourself backwards. But he was stronger. He pulled you forward and you braced yourself by grabbing his upper arms. You were chest to chest now, staring up into his dark eyes.

“You’re Camille’s brother,” you whispered.

“You’re Camille’s best friend. Fuck that mean?” He asked.

You grinned but immediately squashed it, poking the sides of your cheek with your tongue. You mentally slapped yourself, knowing full well you should not be enjoying this. Should not enjoy the way he grinned slowly, hand still clutching your shirt to keep you in front of him. Like he wanted you there.

“Tyrone…”

“Shhh,” he said. He licked his lips and leaned forward, rubbing his cheek against yours. You sighed. He had a bit of prickly stubble there and it felt good against your smooth skin. He kissed your cheek. “Let me kiss you.”

You shook your head, looking down at his hand on your shirt. “We shouldn’t…”

“You say ‘should or shouldn’t’ one more time and I’ma kiss you anyway,” he said.

You shook your head, looking back up at him. “Tyrone, Camille will kill us,” you whispered.

“All you gotta say is that you don’t wanna kiss me. You just keep giving me bullshit excuses,” he said.

“Fine, I don’t wanna kiss you,” you said.

“Bullshit,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed you anyway. You squealed and gripped his arms harder, intent on pushing him away. But his lips were warm and wet. Sexy. He kissed like he walked; lazy, smooth, in control.

The kiss made your pussy flutter, growing wetter by the second. He moved his hands to your waist, pulling you closer. It was like you weren’t close enough or something because he pushed you against the countertop. He ground his hips into yours and you moaned quietly, feeling something hard press into your belly. He grabbed two handfuls of your ass and squeezed.

His tongue explored your mouth, licking along your bottom lip. You hissed and ended on a sigh. When there was a natural break, you took the opportunity to pull back. Tyrone opened his eyes and grinned.

“Tyrone! You know we shouldn’t–”

Tyrone’s lips found yours once more, hands gripping your hips and digging in like he was looking for lost treasure. You moaned, gripping onto him just as hard. You finally got to taste him, that subtle hit of Henny on his breath, and it was everything you pictured it to be. Only better. It was real. It was magical.

He pulled away and tilted his head at you with a grin. You bit your lip to keep from saying what you should or shouldn’t do. You were torn between two places. On the one hand, you felt so guilty kissing Camille’s brother. Everybody grown, but it still felt taboo. Like you were breaking a sacred girl code. On the other hand, you were selfish and greedy for more.

Tyrone grabbed your hand and began to tug you into the other room. You dug your heels into the hardwood floor, stopping him in his tracks. “What are you doing?” You asked.

“‘Bout to get into some fun with you,” he said. He winked at you and you rolled your eyes, refusing to let him see how much he was affecting you.

“Oh, no, no, no. A kiss is one thing. I’m not going to your room,” you said. You had to draw the line somewhere. No amount of good dick was going to mess up your friendship.

Everyone’s had a spin on Tyrone’s dick. And it was just your luck to fall for the resident fuck boy who handed out orgasms like Halloween candy. There had been plenty of times that you and Camille were minding your sweet business when a group of girls would suddenly break out into an argument about who hopped on Tyrone’s dick last. You were not going to add yourself to that long list.

Tyrone sighed and hung his head, grabbing your hips and pushing you deeper into the kitchen. You were out of sight of the living room by now, but he didn’t stop until you were at the farthest possible point, leaning against the door that led to the side porch. You yelped, not used to being manhandled quite like this.

Tyrone dropped another kiss to your lips, hands roaming under your shirt and fiddling with the swell of your breasts. You just wanted to point out once more than you were expecting to hang out with your best friend, so no bra was required.

Tyrone kissed your neck, warm lips pressed to your pulse point. You sighed, gripping the sleeves of his hoodie. He moved one hand lower, reaching under your shorts slowly and giving you enough time to stop him. You didn’t.

He slipped beneath your panties and he ran his fingers through your wet slit. He hummed in the back of his throat. He kissed his way up to your ear. “I just want a little taste. There’s no harm in that right?”

You tried to form words to tell him that there was harm. There so was. But then he planted the visual of him tasting you there. You leaned up on your tiptoes the further he explored your damp curls, dipping a long finger into you. You bit your lip to keep from moaning too loud. You were so damn afraid of getting caught that it was a weird mix of fear and arousal that kept you rooted to the spot.

You wanted to resist him. You wanted to be strong enough to move his hand and keep him wanting more. Instead, all you could do was enjoy his fingers playing with you. “Please? Just a little taste?” He asked.

He lifted your leg to give him better access and your head thunked against the door. He had the perfect mix of pressure and rhythm that it was driving you crazy. Making your knees wobble.

You sighed choppy, breathy sounds and nodded. One little taste wouldn’t hurt that much. He grinned, kissed your ear, and then removed his fingers. He licked them while he looked you in the eye and he moaned around his fingers.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the kitchen. You tried to tiptoe around a sleeping Camille but Tyrone stomped his way through the living room. Camille snored and jerked in her sleep but made no indication that she was close to waking.

Inside Tyrone’s room, you smelled a subtle weed scent. He closed the door behind you and turned on the light. It only turned on his ceiling fan, so he worked with muted lighting. He tossed off his hoodie and beanie, revealing a plain white shirt underneath. He took that off as well and he wore a white tank underneath.

Fuck, he was so hot. You watched as his arms moved and muscles bunched beneath his skin. He moved a blanket off of his bed and then grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the edge. Before you could sit, Tyrone pulled down the sides of your shorts and revealed your racy underwear. You had plans to wash today and these were all you had in the meantime.

Tyrone grinned. “I like these,” he said.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you groaned. You covered your face, burning cheeks scalding your hands.

“Why not? Been checking you out for a while,” he said.

He ran his fingers along the gusset of your panties and you bit back a moan as his knuckles ran up against your pussy. “Liar,” you sighed.

He grabbed your hand from your face and pulled you forward so that you could cup him through his sweatpants. “This feel like I’m lyin’?”

Your eyes widened and you lightly shook your head. No, no it did not feel like he was lying. There was still that needling thought though. “Fuck boys aren’t usually picky ‘bout who they get with,” you said.

Tyrone chuckled and shook his head. He got to his knees and released your hand. He moved in between your legs, pushing them wider around his broad shoulders. He flipped his hand and started playing with your pussy in earnest.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he whispered. “You must not be that picky neither then.”

“Maybe I’m just horny,” you said.

Tyrone chuckled and bit your thigh. You whined, loving the bite of pain. “We gon’ see ‘bout that,” he said.

He moved your panties to the side and kept eye contact with you for as long as he could. You watched his tongue flick out and push past your pussy lips. You moaned, grabbing onto the back of his head.

“Mm, don’t you taste so good,” he whispered against your pussy. This was wrong. On so many levels. But you couldn’t resist as he continued to tease you, flattening his tongue against your clit but not moving it.

Your thighs twitched and tingled, needing him to move or do something besides be evil. You moved your hips, silently pleading with him to get a move on. You whined more, moving your hips. Tyrone chuckled, and sucked on your clit.

“Oh shit!” You said.

“Impatient ass,” he said.

He continued to tease, suckle, and please you until you were a whimpering, sopping mess. You’d definitely have to wash these panties immediately. They were soaked with your juices. While making out with your pussy, he pulled your panties in between your pussy lips and pulled. Your pussy lips were wedged on the outside of your panties and you leaned up in time to see a feral look cross Tyrone’s face.

In all of your fantasies, you never quite imagined him looking so enamored with your body. “Anybody tell you that you got a fat ass pussy?” He asked.

He licked your pussy through the fabric. All you felt was his hot tongue and your back bent off of the bed with a ragged moan. The edges of his tongue hit your lower lips and you cried out. You were ready to burst. You felt like your bones would melt.

He moved your panties once more and swirled his tongue in the mess you were making. You licked your lips and looked at him. He was focused on some type of demon time you weren’t privy to.

Right when you were feeling the beginnings of your orgasm, Tyrone pulled away. You huffed and got to your elbows to glare at him. He only grinned. “You said I could have a taste right?”

You coughed and sputtered as a hundred sentences tried to leave your mouth at once. “You better not leave me like this,” you said.

“If I did?” Tyrone asked. He tilted his head and looked at you, all hint of playfulness gone. He…wasn’t serious, was he? You stared at him and he stared at you. You were sure that if this were a meme, you’d be laughing your ass off but this was far from funny. You were unbearably wet and uncomfortable, and you needed relief now.

“I’ll finish myself off, then,” you said. Your hands moved to your pussy so that you could get yourself off. Not like you hadn’t had plenty of practice getting yourself there. Fuck him. Sex god, pft. What a joke. You finally got a chance to hop on community dick and all he was interested in was fucking with you.

This, you would take to your grave. You’d never fess up to this embarrassing shit. Your fingers barely grabbed your panties to move them when he grabbed your wrist painfully. You cried out and looked up at him.

“Don’t you ever try to get yourself off when I’m standing right here,” he said in a near growl, voice low and his lip curling in absolute disgust at the thought.

“But–”

“I asked you a question. I ain’t say you can play with yourself,” he said.

You gulped and sank back onto the bed. He released your wrist, tossing it away from him. It flopped onto the bed. You stared wild eyed at Tyrone, not understanding what the fuck was going on. Mark you down as scared and turned on.

He pulled roughly at your panties, tearing them down your legs with an excited rush. Your body twisted as you wiggled your thick legs out of them. Next went your shirt and his eyes widened seeing your titties.

He palmed them briefly, testing the weight between his hands and grinning. Then he tugged down his own sweats, freeing his dick. Shit. He was so big. Huge. He lowered his pants just enough to be able to move and then he was leaning forward, running his dick through your folds to get him nice and wet.

“Ty-”

“Shh, I’m gon’ fit, don’t worry,” he said.

You turned your head to the side, not able to stand him. “Look at me,” he said.

You shook your head. If you looked at him, you’d lose your damn mind. “Look at me,” he commanded, voice deeper.

You whined and looked at him. He ain’t even do nothing yet! You only hoped that it wasn’t so obvious that you’d been in love with him forever. That he couldn’t read it all over your face. Surely, you could have this one night. This one night to torture yourself with for the next fifty years as you tried to find a suitable replacement for him.

“I finally get in this pussy and I want you to see me do it,” he said.

You nodded. “I see you,” you whispered.

He placed one hand near your head to steady himself and then slowly pushed inside you. You cried out, back twisting, and he cooed at you. “You can take me,” he said. It was a matter of fact for him. Not up for debate. He said you can take him and so your body welcomed him eagerly.

He worked his tip in and you pushed against his chest. He was too much. “I ain’t even in yet, gorgeous,” he said.

“Too much…” you cried.

“No, it’s not,” he said. He slowly worked himself inside, pushing deeper and deeper until you were full of his dick. He adjusted himself before moving his hand to push down on your stomach.

Air whooshed out of you. You felt him from both sides. How did that feel so damn good? He worked his hips, giving you deep and long strokes that made you see the heavens and the earth.

“That’s right, open up this pussy for me,” he groaned.

He leaned down over you and suckled a nipple into his mouth. Your knees pressed against his waist, pushed back by the sheer size of him. You gasped and sighed in tandem with his strokes. It was like he was feeding you the air you needed and taking it away.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” you moaned.

“Shh, we ain’t wanna wake Camille,” he said. He pulled on your nipple with his lips and you whined, slapping at his shoulders.

“That hurts!” You cried.

He only licked away the sting and did the same to your other nipple. “Shit, shit,” you said and slapped at his shoulders again. He licked all around your areola and sighed, fanning his warm breath across your wet nipple.

“Next time, I’ma tie yo ass up,” he said.

“Next time!” You squealed.

He thrusted and hit a sweet spot deep inside. You croaked, eyes rolling into the back of your head. It was like he hit a reset button. He hit it again and again until you were screaming and crying, twitching on his dick with the force of your orgasm.

“I’m stretching this pussy out, huh?” He asked.

Your mouth worked but you couldn’t make any kind of coherent word come out. You could only hiss and moan with every deep stroke. “Sh–, sh–.”

“Got this dick all up in yo stomach,” he said.

You jerked and twisted on your way down from an intense orgasm. Tyrone grinned. “Oue, give me another one.”

You hiccuped and shook your head. You couldn’t give him another one. You were only allowed one reset per day, right?

Tyrone grabbed your ankles and straightened your legs out. He stood up and placed your legs on his shoulders. He kissed your ankle, rubbing the arch in your foot. Your back arched and your mouth dropped open.

“Ohh, I hit a good spot,” he moaned. He increased his pace. At this angle, he felt bigger. He felt close. Like he truly was digging your stomach out. He adjusted his hips, pushing your thighs against your stomach.

Your hand flew to his arms, trying to push him away. “Why you trynna escape? Huh?”

“Too. Much,” you said.

“Aw, my dick too much?” He asked.

You looked at him and nodded. Yes, it was too much. You weren’t used to accommodating someone of his size.

“This dick too much? You sure? ‘Cause I feel pretty good fuckin’ you,” he said, continuing to pound into you. He was relentless, taking pleasure from your body any way he could get it.

Tyrone licked his thumb and rubbed circles around your clit. Your eyes rolled back, seeing the depth of the universe behind your lids as you came once more.

“There it is, don’t that feel so good? Ain’t you needed that?” Tyrone pulled your legs apart so that he could look at you more clearly. He rutted into you a few more times before he pulled out and fisted his dick, stroking furiously and cumming with the most beautiful, pained expression on his face.

The moan that escaped him was low, guttural. The hot splashes of his cum painted a pretty picture on your stomach. You looked down to stare at that particular artwork.

Tyrone dropped your legs around his hips and panted. He dug his phone out of his pocket and took a quick picture.

“What the fuck, Tyrone!” You yelled.

Tyrone grinned and put his phone away. “Don’t worry, I won’t show nobody,” he said. “Need something to get off to until I get in this pussy again.”

Your mind went blank trying to comprehend what the fuck he just said. He moved away and cleaned himself off with a red towel that was draped over his chair. He left the room and returned with a wash rag, cleaning his cum from your skin. You were still trying to compute that he wanted to do this again.

“We can’t do this again, Ty,” you said. You got up and found your shirt, pulling it over your head. You fished around his room for your panties. The floor was clean so where…?

Tyrone cleared his throat and held your panties and tiny shorts in his hand. He held it out to you and you reached to snatch it from him. He lifted it above you, way out of reach, and leaned down.

“Give me a kiss before you escape,” he said.

“Ty, no! Give me my panties!” You wanted to shout, but you were ever cautious about waking Camille. Oh god. You weren’t exactly quiet here. Did she hear? Was she outside his door fuming?

Tyrone turned his cheek towards you and waited. You rolled your eyes and pecked him on the cheek. “Now the other side,” he said. He turned his other cheek towards you. A laugh escaped you and you huffed with the effort of trying to pull his arm down. He wouldn’t budge. So you sighed and kissed his other cheek.

He slowly brought your clothes back down. You looked up so he was able to swoop in and steal a kiss. He grinned as he pulled back. “Don’t be a stranger,” he said.

You snatched your clothes and hurriedly put them on while Tyrone stared at you. He was so annoying! And you just had sex with him. Amazing, mind-blowing sex but still.

Dressed, you pushed away from a laughing Tyrone and back into the living room. You sat on the couch and accidentally bumped into Camille. She yawned and stretched out on the couch. “Damn, how long we been asleep?”

“I don’t know. I think Netflix was watching us for a minute,” you said. You chewed on your nail. You were so sure that she’d read it all over you.

“You cool to stay over like always. I’m taking my ass to my bed,” she said. She yawned again and got up from the couch, tapping your shoulder and headed towards her room. You stared at the light under Tyrone’s door and let your mind wander.

Ultimately, you followed Camille to crash in her bed like old times.

Lordy! Yes, I said 19! You can find them all here! The Secret Tyrone Files

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