#insert the 'its got everything' meme here
Text
I was on Reddit and saw a post asking
Is Hadestown meant to be political?
and I was just . flabbergasted bc Hadestown is about:
capitalism, corrupting nature of greed, border policies, Shit Life Syndrome, fate, how love is not enough to sustain you but it's everything anyways, arts as enduring hope and inspiration, climate change, the power of a union, failed marriages, fear leading to isolation, jealousy, unfair contracts, workplace power dynamics, mental illness, self doubt, suicide, seasonal affective disorder, bad coping mechanisms and escapism, the cyclical nature of life and of stories, telling the tales anyways, poverty, appreciating the underclass of invisible workers who keep society running, the enduring hope for change, and seeing the world as it is AND how it could become
and WHATEVER THE FUCK ELSE YOU BRING TO IT
because it's A R T
of course it's political! it's about everything
#hadestown#musicals#hadestown the musical#hades#art#mythology#and thats literally just from listening to it a few times!! redditors are Wild#insert the 'its got everything' meme here
325 notes
·
View notes
Text
#im a little late lol but my banditi in russia got to enjoy the barbie movie even if it wasn't 'approved' media lol#guys its literally a movie about barbie#older generations making everything about the east or the west or capitalism vs communism (and insert any other duality here) is so tiring#leave that shitty mindset behind in the past where it belongs#barbie movie#barbie#barbie meme#idk what else to tag this#i'm high asf
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
contact high // leon s. kennedy
Leon x Reader
Pointless Fluff
wc: ~1.5k
this fic was just an excuse to practice dialogue.
[insert kermit 'its not fucking weed you piece of shit stoner' meme here] i think getting obliterated and falling asleep on leon could fix me.
summary: You're gone. No text, no voicemail - disappeared off the face of the earth.
or
Leon forgets you're at a party and finally has an excuse to practice those breathing exercises his therapist recommended.
content: drugs, leon's POV, gender neutral reader. intended as post-vendetta, pre-death island leon. bro's in therapy and he hates that it's working.
The door's unlocked.
Leon's brow furrows. He stands in the doorway a moment, turning the key again just to be sure he's not falling asleep on his feet. No such luck.
He steps into the apartment and calls your name, a hint of scolding sharpening the edges. How many times has he got to remind you? "Babe, you can't leave the door unlocked. Seriously, I could be anyone."
His own voice mocks him, bouncing back off the empty halls of the apartment. He pauses, shutting the door quietly behind him. He listens for the telltale sound of your presence - your voice drifting from the back room, loud and raucous laughter on a call with your friends, the drone of your latest period drama on TV - anything.
Worry overpowers exhaustion. He doesn't think to check his phone, gets right to snooping instead. Minds like his jump to the worst case scenario first, first responder born and bred.
Start from the top. Leon lets the evidence guide him around the room. Your shoes are in disarray by the shoe rack - not as if they had been disturbed in an altercation, but in your usual, messy way. Indecision, not foul play. The blanket on the back of the couch is wadded up and left in a heap on your side. A half-empty water glass drowns in its condensation, leaves a ring that won't come out later. You’d been in a hurry, but was it forced or absent-minded?
Leon’s hand curls over his sidearm. He's not taking any chances. He's already blown his cover by calling out. Stupid, he thinks. Getting slow in his old age. He spins into the kitchen, checking corners before he checks countertops.
Your keys lay in a heap on top of the mail.
It doesn't mean anything, he tells himself. Not yet, anyway. He scans the rest of the room, looking for other traces of you. Your bag, your phone, anything. Dinner hasn't been left out. The dishes have been put up. There's no sign of a struggle anywhere. It's entirely possible you just stepped out. But at this time of night? It’s almost two in the morning. No - it must have been someone that you had trusted. He flips through every friend you’ve ever introduced him to. Every ex, every bad date –
His therapist's voice nags at the back of his mind, babbling about jumping to conclusions, about assuming the worst case scenario and turning every uncomfortable moment into an operation, clinging to control through procedure, through swift, decisive action.
Deep breath. Look for alternative, easier answers. Not everything is life or death. Taking a hammer to every problem will only break things.
He fishes his personal phone out from his jacket, flips through messages. No new texts or missed calls from you. Not encouraging. Breathe in for four, hold for seven. Breathe out for eight.
Can’t believe these stupid breathing exercises work.
He should just call you. What the hell is he thinking? If he calls and you don't answer, then he can give himself permission to panic.
The phone rings. Once. Twice. By the third time, he's already pacing back to the front door, ready to take his investigation from top to bottom again. He’s already crouched by the shoe rack, searching for anything he could have missed, when you answer.
"Hey!" Thank fucking god. It sounds like you're in the middle of a warzone, but at least you picked up.
Not a warzone, he reminds himself. That’s laughter, not the wail of the dead and dying. He tries to speak past the lump in his throat, but the words get stuck. Breathe, he reminds himself. He tries again.
“Hey.”
The noise of the crowd dims, the latch of a door shut a little too hard - where the hell are you?
"What's up? How was work?"
Are you serious? It’s nearly two in the morning and all you can say for yourself is how was work?
"Fine," he says, trying his best not to be curt. He presses his fingers to his temples, massages the headache away. "Where are you?"
"Jen's birthday."
Shit. That was right. You had that party. Leon marches back into the kitchen, stares at the whiteboard you had plastered to the fridge. You insisted on writing your schedule out for him. He'd thought it was stupid, at the time. He didn't need help remembering.
There it is. Your spidery handwriting haphazardly circled, confetti and noisemakers poorly drawn around it - B-DAY PARTY, 8PM
He drops his head against the fridge door, tries not to sigh into the phone.
“We talked about it last week.”
“I know.”
"I left you a note."
"Yeah, I know."
"Sorry, baby. I would have invited you but there's, like, so much weed here," you laugh. It lights his chest up with warmth - or maybe that’s relief. “In good conscience, I couldn’t invite a fed.”
In good conscience, you say. He snorts, bonks his head against the fridge again. Yeah. You’re high, all right.
“You forgot your keys.”
“Fuck!” You’re pouting. He can hear it over the phone. “Sorry. Can you leave the door unlocked for me? I’ll get an Uber. Party’s kinda over anyway.”
Like hell you will. He doesn’t trust those things. A cute little thing like you, getting into a stranger’s car in the middle of the night, high off your ass?
“No, no.” He slips his shoes back on, fishes his keys from his pocket. “Send me the address. I’ll come get you.”
It’s the same roulette wheel of questions you ask him every time he offers to do something for you. Are you sure? Yes, of course he is. I don’t want to bother you. He was literally made to be bothered by you, that’s what he signed up for. Can we watch a movie? Sure, why not. He’ll probably fall asleep, but he knows you’ll beat him to it. Probably won’t even make it past the first scene.
You’re waiting for him on the curb, hands tucked into your armpits to keep warm. Your face splits into a grin when he pulls up to you. There’s that damn warmth again, spreading down his limbs. He leans over to pop the door for you. You’re a little wobbly on your feet, got him worried for a moment that you might have the spins, but you plop into the seat and kiss him in lieu of hello, and his worries evaporate.
“Goddamn,” he murmurs against your lips. Before you can give him your smug little reply, he straightens up, puts the car in gear. “You’re gonna give me a contact high. Gonna fail my drug test. Lose my job.”
“Yeah, right. You could be on, like, mega-coke and they’d keep you around.”
“Mega-coke, huh? That the big new thing with kids?”
“You didn’t hear it from me.”
You babble at him the whole ride home, catching him up on the latest drama, pausing for him to interject with no, she didn’t and what a bitch at the appropriate moments. He has to fend off your encroaching hands at stop lights, knowing damn well you want more than just to rest your hand on his thigh. You laugh every time he moves your hand back to your side, your nose scrunching and the corner of your eyes creasing, and he knows there’s no staying mad at a face he’s mapped out countless times before bed, whether he was right next to you or half a world away.
By the time he pulls into the parking lot, your head has knocked against the car window, your babbling slowed. He nudges you gently, big palm splayed against the point of your shoulder.
“Want me to carry you in?” He asks, his voice low. He meant it to sound teasing, but his heart’s not in it.
You stir, fumbling with your seatbelt. “Neighbor’s are gonna see.”
“It’s almost three in the morning.” He reaches across the console and unbuckles your seatbelt for you. You pop the door open and stumble out on your own two feet before he can round the car. He settles for looping his arm around your waist, keeping you close to him.
He guides you inside, makes a teasing joke about locking the door – now, this is called a ‘lock’, you put your key in and turn it so no one can get in. That way your stuff doesn’t get stolen and your boyfriend doesn’t freak out - just to hear you grouse at him and smack his shoulder.
After making a show of locking the door, he drops you off on the couch. He presses a kiss to your hair and trots off to get you a glass of water. He can’t have been gone more than a handful of minutes, but when he returns, you’re crashed out against the arm of the couch, mouth open, snoring softly.
“Didn’t even make it to the movie,” Leon muses. He pulls you to lean against his chest and unfurls the wadded up blanket, draping it over the both of you.
The arm of the couch jams into his back at an awkward angle. He tries to shift down, but you whine and cling to him tighter. It feels like kicking a puppy. He’s going to regret this tomorrow, but he lets you rest. You’re home. That’s all that matters.
#leon kennedy x reader#leon kennedy fluff#resident evil imagine#leon kennedy x you#resident evil x reader#x reader#there's a fuckin splatfest on baby you know i had to post#resident evil fluff
283 notes
·
View notes
Note
i have a really cool prompt
hope you like my idea,
could you perhaps write a story about the current logan situation with loganxy/n ??
i love your blog soooo muchhhh
Logie and the Australian car incident
pairing: AstonMartin!y/n x Logan Sargeant (can be read platonically or romantically)
author's note: I haven't written any fanfic stuff in literal years (middle school me is quacking) but I tried my best with that one. Looking forward to any suggestions or critiques you may have :) (insert obligatory English is not my native language here) (please send promts!!!!)
The day starts off as any other day on a busy race weekend would and you are busy running around the Aston Martin garage making sure everything is in order before you return to your place at the back of the garage. You let your gaze sweep over the garage one last time before getting out your work phone and texting your boss, Lawrence, that everything is in order. The cars seem good, the mechanics had no complaints and Lance and Fernando were reasonably happy with everything. A satisfied smile washes over your face, your job was busy but reasonably easy, as the team caretaker your sole mission was to make sure the team was happy, the drivers taken care of, and the PR supervisors were not losing their minds running after their drivers while also texting Lawrence even the most minute details about his son and the other driver.
It seems quite redundant to you, but Lawrence Stroll pays well and who are you to turn down a job as a glorified team nanny.
You take a seat at the back and watch the first practice session absentmindedly, letting your gaze wander down to your phone occasionally, and scrolling through Twitter, scoffing at all the hate towards the current grid. It never ceases to amaze you how people can be so hateful, but then again, some people are just unhappy about their own lives. Looking up at the screen you watch a Williams car hit the wall on the right before sliding across the track and grinding its way to a stop on the left barrier. You gasp as you jump up, the rest of the garage wincing in sympathy as the car finally stops. You quickly turn to a mechanic nearby. “Who was that?”, you ask a little panicked as you watch the red flag fly and a driver in a Williams race suit climb out of the cockpit. “Albon, I think”, the mechanic replies helpfully as you try and suppress a relieved sigh. You still feel sorry for Alex but simultaneously thanking your lucky stars that Logan was not the one in an accident this time.
When Logan first got signed by Williams you both were ecstatic, you had met years ago when your parents had taken you on a vacation to Florida where you met Logan and you’ve kept in touch ever since. You had already been working for Aston Martin when Logan started in F1 and the fact that you could spend a lot more time together now served as further motivation to both of you to give it your best. You quickly shoot him a text, knowing he won’t be responding until later, before sending your boss a quick update and making sure the crash had not affected your team.
You honestly had forgotten you texted Logan in the first place as you watch the cars head out for the second practice session, Alex staying back in the pits, watching his teammate drive. You smile as you send Logan some memes you had found on twitter, knowing he would have a laugh once he got back to his room after the strenuous practice sessions of the day. Aston Martin, for once, had no major issues you had attend to and you could lean back and relax, as much as one in a Formula 1 garage can relax, in your seat while harassing the Aston Martin Instagram Admin with Memes you think they should be posting asap.
As the second practice session ends you help the team pack up and prepare for the next day as the drivers attend to their media duties and you stretch in relief as the first day of the Australian Grand Prix comes to an end. After having everything sorted you get out your work phone and sign off for the day before taking out your personal phone and responding to some texts before checking your chat with Logan, seeing that he had read your messages but not responded. ‘You ok?’, you send him before shrugging off any worry you might have. Surely, he was just busy, after all, he was the only Williams driver that would be starting on Sunday. You really wouldn’t want to be in his shoes, the weight of the entire team and all the fans’ expectations resting on your shoulders. You might have a lot of responsibility but at least you were free of the expectations fans place on the drivers, mechanics and team principals.
You quickly slip into the shower of your private hotel room, a perk you were eternally grateful for, and put on some pajamas before order room service. You had earned it after all and looking after your figure was thankfully not a concern you had. ‘Ignoring your bestie? That’s not how I know you Loggie!’ you text Logan as you open the door for the food you had ordered and sit down before digging into the pepperoni pizza you had been craving for a week.
You startle as you hear a knock from your hotel room door. You shoot a quick glance at your phone, 11pm. You quietly approach the door and look through the peephole cautiously. Who would disturb you that late on a race weekend? Looking through the hole you see Logan at the door, his face unusually pale and his expression unnervingly neutral. Quickly you reach for the doorhandle, pulling the door open. “Logie? What got you a-knocking that late?”, you ask jokingly but the lighthearted smile on your face quickly fades as he stands on the swell of your door like a man lost, his eyes suspiciously watery. “Oh dear”, you mumble as you quickly pull him into your room and heard him towards your bed, letting him sit down before standing before him and looking at him with a stern expression. “What’s wrong?”, you ask, concern written all over your face.
He sighs, falling back onto the bed. “They’re taking my car.”, his voice sounds wobbly as he explains. “Who is taking your car?”, you ask, your voice confused.
“James. He said Alex has a higher chance of scoring and I get it, but I tried so hard, you know? They said they trusted me, and I was ready to proof how much I have improved and now I can’t drive at all. I didn’t crash the car! It’s not my fault! I didn’t do anything…”, he rambles, his voice flowing between sadness, anger and betrayal before ending in defeat. You look at him, he still has his upper body lying on your bed, his feet dangling off the side as he continues explaining what had happened. Quietly you sit down next to him on the bed and gently stroke through his hair as you let him talk out his frustrations. “y/n? What do I do now?”, Logan asks as he looks up at you, his eyes still wet but trying his hardest to not shed a tear.
“I will put the fear of God into that good-for-nothing son of a bitch.”, you explain very matter of factly. “I’m gonna walk down to the Williams hospitality and I’m gonna scream at your team principal!”, you declare with a huff as you get off of your bed and towards where you kicked off your shoes when you came back from the paddock earlier that night.
“Y/N, do NOT do that.”, Logan warns as he gets up and grabs your hand. “That is just going to make it worse.” “Okay but it’s also gonna make me feel a lot better ‘cause who does he think he is? Taking your car and giving it away. I’m gonna make him regret this entire week” you say angrily as you look up at him with determination and the wrath of someone who’s best friend was just wronged in your eyes.
“Please don’t”, Logan asks with sad eyes, gripping your hand even tighter. ���Please just stay with me tonight, I feel sick. I just want to cry.”, he admits to you as you feel your resolve break. “But- “, you trail off as you watch him stand before you, his hand still tightly gripping yours. You sigh in defeat before squeezing his hand. “Right but only ‘cause you asked me to, if it was up to me…”, you stop, leaving the threat hang in the air of your hotel room as you head towards the small desk. “Pizza”, you declare as you shove the leftovers of your pizza into Logans hands. “My TV has Netflix, what do you want to watch?”, you ask as you throw yourself into the hotel room bed and turn on the flatscreen TV hanging opposite it.
Logan lets out a surprised laugh and sits down next to you, the pizza carton still tightly in his hands as he gets out a slice and lets you choose whatever show you find on the homepage. The evening continues in relative silence as Logan finishes the pizza and you sit in the bed, leaning onto each other. “I’m still sending him negative vibes, like spiritually”, you grumble as he giggles before slipping off to sleep for the night.
#logan sargeant#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#x reader#logan sargeant x reader#f1 x you#f1 x y/n#f1 x oc#first fic in a long time#ls2 x reader#ls2
175 notes
·
View notes
Text
okay so. i've always thought it was obvious that yoshiwara in flames arc's main relevance to gintama's overall narrative is as the prelude to rakuyou. like it's not thematically very interesting on its own, right? but it exists mainly for kagura and kamui's sake, establishing the sort of parallelism that gintama lives off of. it isn't really that connected to the red spider arc even though at first it might seem to be.
but i had no idea about the meaning of the name "rakuyou" until i saw @suchira 's post about it earlier today. and before that i also hadn't thought about utsuro's connection to the sun, which they've also talked about.
given everything that happens in rakuyou, this has expanded my thoughts quite a bit! i'm going be thinking through this as i go, so this is going to be me rambling.
housen is one of the few big arc villains who don't feel related to gintoki. jirocho, jiraia, oboro, takasugi--these kinds are obviously meant to be foils to gintoki. isaburo functions differently as a character, but even he gets directly compared to gintoki by nobume. but housen isn't really there for gintoki--he's there for kamui. he isn't a particularly interesting character, nor is his death very satisfying because of the wishywashy writing about hinowa showing kindness to him at the end. previously i'd thought that his thing with the sun was just a weaker example of craving something that would destroy you, and/or running away from one's weaknesses and vulnerabilities to the point that you become a sort of husk.
that's probably still a thing, but the introduction of the sun motif on the much more meaning-dense end of gintama adds so much more. because now the pre-existing thematic framework of gintama can do the heavy lifting for housen (who is, again, a pretty uninteresting character), hinowa (who is cool, but suffers from both Woman and Mom in shounen), and tsukuyo (who is very cool, but suffers egregiously from Woman in shounen).
so what is housen, really? he's the guy kamui chose to go with when making his very bad life decisions, the end result of the path he decided to pursue. for simplicity let's call him kamui bad end, though they aren't very comparable in canon itself because housen doesn't come across as nearly self-destructive enough. but the basic logic is that housen is one of those characters who gave up everything in single-minded pursuit of power--he's a flat character because he already "emptied himself out", as kamui says, before the series started. (but then he got scared and lonely, and all that.)
what's funny is that if housen is a bad end, then the guy who he considers his rival automatically comes to mind as an opposed route. i think it would be a serious stretch to call umibouzu the "good end" for kamui, and that's definitely part of the point in how the yato are written. but in any case, kamui clearly looked both ways (insert roads leading to two castles meme) and saw housen stereotypical villain bad end on one side, and his dad on the other. so obviously he chose housen.
rakuyou is a planet where it's always overcast. you could say that kamui chose to leave that "safety" in order to pursue something that shone much brighter to him, even if it would disintegrate him in the end. or, since rakuyou's name invokes the sun, you could say that he chose to flee the place of his weakness and pain, where his family was, like housen deciding to flee the sun and build an underground paradise.
when i go over my gintama cast tarot assignments, i always hesitate over hinowa. is she the Sun? or the Empress? how can i choose? and i think this is essentially the same conundrum. and i think the fact that she's both (thankfully, actual gintama storytelling isn't restricted to 1 character = 1 arcana) also provides us with the best answer here. hinowa is the object of yearning of both housen (as the sun) and of seita (as a mother). obviously, as i said before, the whole seita-hinowa thing is meant to lay the groundwork for kamui's motivations, and is also why he's introduced in this arc in the particular way that he is. but kamui is both seita and housen. he's the child yearning for his mother, but also the warlord who fears the sun so much he'll lock not only himself but countless others into the dark forever. but housen also desperately longed for the sun. kamui looks down on seita for being weak, and he looks down on housen for choosing to drown himself in vices at the end of his life. in the end, he doesn't kill either one of them.
if the sun is what kamui yearns for, he wants to leave rainy "rakuyou" behind--and/or he misses his home, his childhood, his family, even if these things feel like they will destroy him. or, if the sun is what kamui seeks to avoid, he wants to turn away from "rakuyou", all the things that hold him down so that he can throw himself into single-minded pursuit of self-destruction--and/or he's afraid of the weakness and pain that the sun inflicts on him, and desires to be strong enough that he won't feel them. see, a whole lot of words to say the same thing over and over.
i've always assigned housen the Emperor arcana. and i've often wondered, should it be umibouzu instead? should it be utsuro? and that, i think, is another illumination. thank you tarot for being an icon. it's so effective here because gintama is predictably built on parallels, and overlapping arcana assignments are bound to make you think: why?
in the end, housen builds a city underground in order to avoid the sun, but he also severs hinowa's ankles so that he can hold her, the sun proxy, captive in his grasp. he can't bear to feel sunlight, but he can't bear to let it go either. kamui is much the same, but he's young--he thinks he can let it go, his fears and regrets haven't caught up to him yet, because he still has so much to reach for. housen attained the peak of his strength and notoriety, and then there was little left for him.
what else happens in rakuyou? well, oboro and takasugi fight. oboro is sort of a seita figure in his own right, if seita had burned down yoshiwara in hopes that it would drive hinowa running to him. of course, seita didn't know that hinowa couldn't run; and oboro didn't know that shouyou couldn't, either.
but aside from seita and housen, there's another character in yoshiwara who yearns for the sun--not to possess it, but to protect it, to serve it. tsukuyo is an interesting character heavily let down by the realities of living in shounen jump. from my own understanding of sorachi's character, i don't think the following was intentional on his part. but i do think there are real reasons why these parallels are textually present (mainly through gintoki).
tsukuyo is the closest oboro has in this series to someone similar to him. not in the sense of a reflection in the mirror or hole-sided adjacency, but as in someone who sort of has a similar job and background to him. or had, anyway. as i implied earlier, the few, specific, clearly intentional similarities she has with gintoki (hello red spider) bleed over into her similarities with oboro, of course, because gintoki and oboro are... you know. just look at them.
tsukuyo swore herself to hinowa, but technically she was working under housen. she led housen's paramilitary force--fortunately, the hyakka loved her a lot more than the naraku were probably ever able to have an opinion about oboro. i don't think tsukuyo and oboro would ever get along--but they did have the same job. oboro did it in the heavens, tsukuyo did it underground. anyway, hinowa "saved" tsukuyo by teaching her about fighting from inside one's cage, and so tsukuyo gladly walked into the cage, just like oboro returning to the naraku without shouyou. because they thought it would be worth it. and also because tsukuyo had been groomed from a young age for the Hole (apologies to those who haven't read my ouroboros essay), to give up on her selfhood, and also to kill her sensei (hello gintoki). but hinowa remained around, unlike shouyou. tsukuyo never thought she could really free her--but protecting her, being able to see her, was enough.
oboro's life problem is a bit like if hinowa and housen were the same person. but kamui would see in that pairing only a reflection of his parents. and also, kouka is a bit like if hinowa and utsuro were the same person. but utsuro is already like if shouyou and utsuro were the same person--because oboro's actual life problem is that shouyou and utsuro are the same person.
i've spoken a lot about tarot, but the moon in gintama has little to do with the Moon arcana. in gintama it's the backdrop, the symbol of promises--promises made, promises fulfilled, promises held on to dearly whether they can be fulfilled or not. i don't truly think that the sun as represented by hinowa interacts directly with this. but tsukuyo and oboro share moon-related names, and their promises (or rather, their vows of devotion) towards hinowa/shouyou are one-sided. one-sided promises aren't a problem in gintama--our silver-haired protagonist wouldn't be alive if it weren't for them.
if the naraku, if utsuro, if oboro under utsuro is associated with the sun through the yatagarasu, perhaps it's because of the evaporation of the promise through the eclipsing of the moon. shouka sonjuku, after all, burned down, and utsuro emerged from a pyre. and though i think that the sun is overall a motif much more strongly associated with the yato--that which they avoid, are weak to, and secretly long for--i don't think that's incompatible with the crow-meaning.
rabbits can die of loneliness, you know--or they can die from overheating in the sun. i think the question here is, is this a trick question? are those two the same thing?
#i love starting a post with no idea of what my conclusions will be. thoughts can only be sharpened through writing#gintama#kamui#tsukuyo#oboro
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
three's company
pairing: dieter bravo x ex-wife!reader x dustin mulray
rating: e (explicit)
tags/warnings: smut, pinv, protected sex, oral (female receiving) *inserts good for her meme*, oral (male receiving), dirty talk, light voyeurism, talk and use of drugs and alcohol (weed & wine), the weirdest situationship you ever did see, a bit of angst, jealousy, fingering, dubious consent (but like, only a tiny bit dubious. the tiniest bit)
word count: 16.k+ (don't ask me what happened there)
summary: The world is slowly descending into madness all around you, so you decide to give in and go with Dieter to his latest poor decision: a franchise movie filming in England. One night while there, you both sweep another into this odd half-hearted, life-long tryst you've got.
a/n: i don't know how i got here but i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it. i could dedicate this to a lot of things but mostly i'm going to dedicate it the red shoe diaries. thanks to david and the horny '90s. also to maria (@sweetly-yours-and-mine) who has spent countless nights working through this with me. you are a gem
“I don’t like the idea of you being alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
“Facetime isn’t the same as real people.”
“Those are bad movies, Bravo. I’m not sure I want to be around those who make them for that long.”
“I know.”
“Actors have never been my favorite company.”
“I know.”
“And I just don’t want to go.”
“I know.”
“I’ll learn to stop answering your calls one day, you know? And then you’ll do everything alone, even a global disaster.”
“I knew you’d give in. That's my girl.”
——
The hotel is a converted English Manor - the very stuff of childhood fairytales and honeymoon daydreams with its Italianate architecture and technicolor green grass. It is warm, inviting, with high ceilings and the soft, consistent hum of human activity as workers scurry around to greet the incoming guests. They filter you in through white plastic tents and stick cotton swabs up your nose before giving you the WIFI password and a room with a stunning view of their expansive, manicured grounds. You don’t have any grounds to look in America, and your studio apartment has been eerily quiet as of late. The pulse of life has stopped in Los Angeles, but here it comes back with an unvarying rhythm.
You don’t like to admit it, but Dieter was right: you are not above loneliness.
The room they give you feels anachronistic, too modern and beige, but cozy in the way all four star hotels aim to be. You’ve got a television, a pristine bathroom that hosts a bathtub and a shower, and enough floor space to move around without stubbing any toes. There’s ample furniture too: a reading chair by the large window, the queen bed, and another chair by the door, which looks like it’s meant only for bags and the stray suit jacket. They’ve given you decorative pillows and instructions not to leave for two weeks - not for any reason.
You lay out on the queen bed and Facetime Dieter. The irony of the situation is too good not to tease him for.
“I know,” he gruffs, picking up your call immediately.
You can’t help but laugh at the misery that drips from his voice. “I’ve always been better at being alone. I think it was you who didn’t want to be alone.”
He runs a hand through his unruly hair and frowns. Even if you won’t take it, you like the idea that he’s only a long walk away now. You give in and shuck off your winner’s ego. “It’s only two weeks,” you assure kindly.
“If I’m good, do you think I can earn a sleepover?” There’s mischief in his eyes, flirtation thick on his tongue. You look askance at him and the dimple in his cheek deepens. “I’m only kidding of course.”
“Ha ha,” you deadpan.
“It’ll be nice after two weeks,” he promises. You know that tone, far off and introspective. It’s not good.
“Just Facetime me when you’re losing your mind.”
“You don’t want that. I’ll be on the phone with you all the time.”
You stare down at the phone, frowning. He smiles, coming back to his body. “I’ll be alright, kid. I always am.”
“Two weeks is not so long.”
“No,” he agrees quietly.
——
Two weeks is a prison sentence.
The room they put you in, while spacious, is merely a cell block now, reduced down to its most basic elements: the bathroom with the shower and the tub, which you’ve used so much it's a miracle your skin hasn’t fallen right off; the bedroom area, with the reading chair by the window; the queen bed, which you stopped making after day four and try your damndest not to fall in before 3pm. You’ve paced the floor so many times, feeling the angry itch of loneliness coupled with a newfound, perpetually lurking anxiety.
“One more day,” he reminds you over the telephone, trying to allay your fears. You hear the sound of his tub running in the background, over the static of his voice, and you wonder what he looks like right now. You picture two week’s more worth of beard growth, the slouch of his back as he sits on the edge of the tub, the pudge of his stomach, and the inciting trail of hair below his belly button. And his naked self. At home he was perpetually nude, and you imagine it’s no different now.
You find your own reflection in the mirror over the sink: sunken eyes, with bags underneath and your flesh taking on a slightly gray cast, the color of isolation.The window sun doesn’t seem to be helping much. You frown self consciously, but try to remind yourself he must be in a state himself; he stopped Facetiming you a week ago, opting for the good ol’ telephone call at least once or twice a day since.
“I’m going out of my mind,” you say as you continue to look at yourself. You lower your voice, vulnerability shared in a hushed, confessional tone. You imagine Dieter again: with that soft concentrated look that pulls his eyebrows together, the one that enhances the lines between them. They called him a curious child and now he’s got the lines to show for it. He told you that. The thought makes you smile at yourself, but you still look so tired.
“Just one day,” he supplies again. He sounds vaguely apologetic.
“I know,” you tell him simply.
“What have you been up to today?” he asks. You hear water come to a stop and a gentle splash follows it. He’s gotten in. “Anything fun?”
“I read, watched a movie. You?”
“I got high and jerked off. So, you know, nothing different than the past thirteen days that you’ve called.”
You scan your reflection in the mirror, contemplating your next words. It isn’t a good idea, but nothing is. “What did you think about?” you ask.
“Lots of things.”
He tells you this as casually as if you’ve asked him his name. You are so achingly lonely and this is so embarrassing, but you can’t help it. You know he’ll let you. Hell, he’s probably been waiting weeks for this. Years.
“Do you ever think about me?”
There’s a short, considerate pause. “Do you want the truth or a lie?”
“A lie.” You worry your lip between your teeth.
“Oh, never.”
You laugh, relieved. “I thought you were going to say something different.”
“Hm,” he hums, “I don’t think that’s the truth. I think you worried about what the real truth would be. We’ve got something here and it’s worrisome.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Mine too. She thinks inviting you was a terrible idea but she wants you to know she’s thinking of you.”
“Mine hates you.”
He grunts. “Suppose I deserve that, don't I?”
“I think this is the first time in history that you diverted phone sex with talk like that.”
“I’m getting older, wiser,” he jokes. Then, “Do you think of me?”
“Do you want a lie or the truth?”
He considers it for a moment. “The truth. Hit me with it hard, baby.”
“Oh, a lot more than I should.”
——
The rapt sound of knuckles against your door incites an excitement in you that you haven’t felt since childhood. You jump from the bed, uncaring of the state of yourself, hungry for the news that awaits on the other side.
A kindly British man tells you that the quarantine has been lifted and that there will be a party and dinner for the cast and crew in a couple of hours. Formal wear is encouraged but not required.mYou spend the next few hours undoing what’s been done by isolation: the bags under your eyes; the unkempt room, with the fetid smell of loneliness wafting over everything; the living out of your suitcase and the wrinkles on your best clothes. You find an iron in the closet and shave your entire body.
Dieter stops by your room while you’re in the middle of getting ready. He sits quietly at the edge of your bed, watching you in the mirror with that dazed look in his eyes. He wears the ugliest goddamn housecoat you’ve ever seen, but he’d smiled so wide at the door that you’ve forgiven him for it.
“You’re excited,” he observes. His fingers fiddle with the sunglasses in his hands. “I thought you hate actors.”
You try to steady your hand as you bring the eyeliner up to your eyelid. “I don’t care what they are, as long as they can hold a conversation,” you mumble.
“I can hold a conversation. Maybe we ought to stay here and celebrate with each other.”
You look at him in the mirror, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. You can’t tell. “You’re kidding.”
He shrugs. There’s a distant look in his eyes, as if he’s thinking too hard about something.
“Are you high?” you ask him.
“No, but I’m thinking maybe I should be.”
“Cheer up, boy scout. You’re the one who wanted to do this goddamn movie.”
He lets out a defeated sigh and falls back into the mattress with a groan. “I’m going to kill myself.”
———
He doesn’t kill himself, but he looks like he’s still weighing the prospect of it as you take your drink from the bartender.
Dieter suffers no one lightly, and you have a feeling the personable strawberry blonde in front of him isn’t exactly his crowd. You smile over the rim of your drink, enjoying seeing him squirm for once. Everything seems to come easy to him–except this. He’s never been very good at socializing when he doesn’t want to.
“That your boyfriend?”
You turn your head and find Dustin Mulray. You feel a hint of your teenage self come back to you as you look at him, struck wordless. It’s nothing as strong as the love that had you tacking up posters with his face on it to bedroom walls, but something vaguely akin to it. You’re happy to find it manifests itself as a friendly smile instead of love confessions. Perhaps it’s helped by his appearance: In his infinity scarf and beige knitted sweater, he reminds you more of a homely professor than a Hollywood movie star. You think: Movie stars! They’re just like us! while shaking your head in answer.
“No,” you tell him, “He’s my ex-husband.”
“Ah. That’s my ex-wife with him. Marriage is tricky, isn’t it?”
He takes a seat next to you and orders a drink. The bartender sits it on a napkin for him and he turns to you, his blue-green eyes awaiting an answer. You hadn’t thought he would want to talk to you, not really. You’re used to being invisible at events.
“I guess you could say that,” you reply.
“Are you working on the movie?”
You remember what Dieter told you to say if anyone asked: “For legal purposes, yes. Art coordinator #3.”
This amuses him, drawing out a smile. “That title come with pay or would you say it's just an internship?”
“I guess you could call it an internship.” You smile back at him. “Why? You think you could pull some strings and get me a paycheck?”
“I think I’d do you one better and get you a better place of employment. Have you read the script?” This makes you let out a genuine laugh. He brightens, smiling a little wider. “What? It’s the truth! Everyone thinks us Hollywood actors just commit to this shit knowing it’s shit but we don’t! I mean—“ He looks over the crowd, lowering his head closer to yours conspiratorially. “—Not those of us who started at the beginning. We thought it’d be good. Like Jurassic Park, but yanno, we didn’t get Steven Spielberg. We keep getting arthouse fucks. And I like arthouse fucks–don’t get me wrong–but what’s a man with an IPhone know about blockbusters?”
“Ah, I feel you but I can’t quite reach you from here.”
“No, I bet not.”
There’s something simmering in that line. If you didn’t know better, you’d figure it was a light flirtation. Surely not.
“I liked your early stuff better,” you confess.
“Me too. But those were the glory days and now I have alimony and child support to pay. How about him?” he nods in the direction of Dieter. “You get half his ass in court?”
You shake your head. His candor, although surprising, is refreshing. “No, no big payout. We’re amicable.”
He clicks his tongue in awe. “I envy the bastard but I can’t say I didn’t deserve my lot.”
“You haven’t even finished your first drink and you’re already gonna confess your sins?” You raise a curious, teasing eyebrow. He hangs his head and laughs.
“You married an actor. Don’t we all wear our hearts on our sleeves?”
“Mm, not mine,” you shake your head. “It seems he saved his emotions for the silver screen.”
It’s Dustin’s turn to raise his own curious eyebrow.
“How cozy.” You look over your shoulder to see Dieter standing in front of your chair, his fingers reaching out to the back of your chair. He looks…jealous.
“Dustin, this is Dieter,” you introduce them. Dustin sticks his hand out and Dieter plays nice, shaking it with a passing grin.
“Nice to meet you,” Dustin mutters. Dieter nods his head. “Yeah, you too. I was actually coming over here to steal her away for a moment. If she doesn’t mind.” He looks over at you, expectant. There’s a bite to his words you don’t like at all. How fucking rich, you think bitterly, remembering all the times you had to sit by while he shamelessly flirted with half the fucking world.
“She does mind,” you respond. The sharp finality of it makes even Dustin cough awkwardly.
Dieter looks taken aback. “Okay,” he mutters, looking between the two of you. He nods again, as though he’s drawn some conclusion. “Alright.”
You watch as he walks away to the other side of the room. Looking back at Dustin, you give him a rueful grin. “Sorry. And here I was, talking about how amicable we are. Exes of the year.”
He raises his glass. “To us pitiful people and our pitiful crash and burn marriages.”
You clink your glass against his, fighting the urge to cry or kill Dieter. “To us.”
—
The dinner table arrangement is unforgiving for Dieter. He’s sat next to Dustin at the far end of the table, with yet another red headed actress to his left. Unlike the talkative one, this one is in a state of brooding and continually huffing at everything he says. You’re slightly more lucky, sat at the other end, sandwiched between Dustin's ex-wife and the director.
He watches woefully as you chat with the ex-wife, nodding your head along politely. You were always such a good listener, even with the worst people. He frowns. He had changed his outfit between the party and the dinner, opting for a classier open dress shirt. He had seen the look in your eye when you had opened the door for him earlier, and figured he could use all the help he could get now that he’s undoubtedly pissed you off. He had hoped that they would’ve sat him next to you so you could talk. He’s even wearing that cologne you like. Or used to like. He doesn’t know anymore.
“So, like what—you usually get along with her or…?” Dustin asks him, following his eyeline right to you. Dustin brings the cool champagne they’ve served to his lips, his eyes too burningly curious as he gazes at you.
Dieter tries not to be possessive. He saw it in your eyes, heard it in your tone: that sharp, angry disappointment that you’re so used to delivering him. You don’t like when he gets like that. Not that he has much. This is a relatively new side effect he’s required since the divorce. He shrugs lazily, pushing the sunglasses up his nose. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
This earns him an even laugh. He looks over at the older man, frowning. “What?”
“I see magazines with your face all over it, man. C’mon, we all kiss and tell, even if we don’t want to.”
Dieter bites at the side of his cheek and considers him for a moment. “Look you and your wife-“
“Ex-wife-“
Dieter nods, uncaring. “Sure, your ex wife — you both like to talk a lot.”
“I’m just trying to figure out if I can make a pass at her or not. Make it easy for me. I don’t want to have to suffer this entire shoot because you’ve got some weird shitty thing going on between you. I don’t step on kept grounds….Well, not anymore,” he adds.
“How noble,” Dieter says wryly, “She’s not mine to answer for. Besides, it seems like you were already doing a good job at making a pass earlier.”
He fights down the petulant child inside of him, biting at his lip instead of wearing an all out pout. Through the concealed tint of his sunglasses, his eyes soften at the sight of you across the room. He can almost feel the crack in his heart as he considers the fact that you might have actually liked talking to this man.
Dieter knows one day it’ll come, the moment when you find yourself in a serious relationship with someone else. Most of the time he thinks he’ll be okay — that it will affect him like it must but it won’t ruin him entirely — but sometimes, like right now, he worries he’ll get on his knees and beg you not to do it. You don’t deserve that. He hates himself for the greed he feels, how he can’t ever just let you be happy. He doesn’t want to be like this dick, taking and taking from his ex-wife, all while he noses around and wets his dick in anything that will let him. He never wants to embarrass you like that. Not again. Never again.
Chugging the last bits of his drink, Dieter looks over at the man. Dustin looks back at him, nonplussed. It takes herculean strength to say the next words.
“She doesn’t like men who are crude or too direct, but to be frank, I think you can’t really fuck up with her. She likes you and always has.” Dieter casts a glance in your direction again, feeling mischievous. He smirks, letting himself have this one. “Well, since you were last relevant, that is.”
Dustin laughs the burn off, shaking his head. He touches Dieter’s shoulder in a show of faux friendliness. “We’re in the same shitty franchise now, bud, so welcome to the club,” he whispers, just low enough for him to hear.
Dieter raises his empty glass to Dustin with a forced grin. Feeling defeated but comforted by the fact that he’s now got something to separate him from that asshole, he raises his hand to the pretty waitress for another drink. To celebrate.
But he truthfully doubts there will be much to celebrate.
He fucking hates Hollywood.
—-
Truth be told, Dieter didn’t plan on doing this tonight. Getting high. He planned, if he was being honest with himself - and he is trying, at his most introspective more now than ever - to be doing you. Had he invited you on the vacation just to fuck you? No, but ignobility inevitably follows in the tracks of his nobility. It was written between the lines, something you both had hinted at over the past two weeks. But now you’re somewhere else. There's a lot of rooms in this hotel. Maybe you’re in your own. Maybe not. Dustin had looked like he was going to devour you at the bar earlier tonight, so probably, you’re doing him in his room.
Or do you bring men back to your own place now? He doesn’t know.
Dieter would blanch if he wasn’t so high. He sits in the middle of the decorative couch, staring at the ceiling with glazed eyes, and he tries to imagine a different version of your last phone conversation.
When you asked if he ever thought of you when he touched himself, he’d tell you the truth. Because you like the truth. He’d say: all the time. More than he should. Really a sickening, depressing amount because he misses you, especially lately. New York is a terrible place to be these days; death permeates everything and nothing seems as right as it used to. Even loneliness feels worse, no longer poetic or artistic but just lonely. It's less like Al Pacino on the set of the Godfather and more like Michael Corleone, sitting alone at the empty dining room table. Days stretch on and on, and he’s hungry for life that has halted so he paints terribly, insecure of even hobbies. What else is he supposed to do but play with himself and remember poignantly that he had once been married to a lovely sort of woman who would’ve made it all better, if only he hadn’t fucked it up?
Well, he doesn’t think about that last part so much. It doesn’t really make for good masturbating material.
He wasn’t sure he was going to survive the pandemic before they asked him to do this movie. And of course he asked you along when they had. It’s the only way in the world he could ask for your help: through omission of truths and beating around the bush. He wonders if you might take pity on his soul again and let him crash with you for a while, just to wait the rest of this out together after the movie wraps. If you really are fucking Dustin, it might make things tense but not impossible. He’ll learn to live with it. He’ll have to. What else is he going to do? Go back to this moment in time and stop you?
Perversely he wonders if Dustin is not the first man you’ve fucked since the divorce. You’re not his last but he wishes you were a lot. It’s been nearly two years and he’s forgotten what you feel like, what you taste like. It’s miserable. When he touches himself and thinks of you, you’re like an apparition, some Franksteinian woman built of fragmented, hazy memories. All he remembers was that the last time wasn’t nice and that you didn’t cum. He couldn’t make you, something about you being too sad or too angry. It was a shame, because he’d always imagined the two of you would’ve gone out with a bang.
This thought makes him smile, but it doesn’t last for long. There's nothing funny about your divorce, not really. He broke your heart tediously, and now you’ve got to tell people that it wasn’t just one thing but many things. He knows that. An unanswered phone call. That waitress in Vegas who he flirted with so unabashedly your mother thought he was cheating on you - along with half the internet and for a brief moment, yourself too. The apartment in New York he bought and moved into without asking you. That art house opening he missed, the one you’d asked him continually throughout the week to set time aside for. So many things—the seven sins and just a few more to top it off.
He wasn’t really surprised when you had asked him for a divorce over lunch one day. You didn’t even live together at the time - the New York apartment became more permanent than he had originally planned for - and you looked so tired, like you were drained of life, overwrought and quiet. What surprised him was the fact that you hadn’t done it sooner. The knowing that you had tried against hope was not an easy one for him to reconcile with for a long time after that. Even in that moment you had developed a sort of halting lisp as you pushed the statement out, as though your own body protested it. He remembers that better than the sex.
You had waited for him to get better and he never did, so you both took your chicken salads with a side of failed marriage that day, and now here you are. Dieter sighs, feeling the familiar pangs of remorse.
“Whatever drugs you’re on must not be very good because you look miserable.”
Dieter lifts his head off the back of the loveseat, straining his eyes to make out the shape that’s hovering in his doorway. His brain catches up with him before his eyes do, and the distinct mumbling voice of the figure comes to him. Dustin.
Shaking his head, Dieter laughs, relieved. “I was thinking.”
Dustin takes this as an invitation to cross the corridor. As he comes closer, Dieter finds he’s in more casual clothes - perhaps even sleepwear - clutching a bottle of wine in his hand. If this is a peace offering, Dieter will take the olive branch. He’s so goddamn pleased you’re not fucking this guy, he might even kiss him.
“You want a joint?” he asks him, straightening on the couch. Suddenly it’s not so hard to be magnanimous, not with the sheer euphoria of you not having betrayed him (is he allowed to call it that? Probably not, but there’s no word quite so apt). He feels he might even be smiling, but he can’t be sure. He hopes so.
“God, please,” Dustin groans. He sits the bottle of wine on the table and rubs his hands together eagerly as Dieter lights the one he’s been puffing away at.
“I figured you were the one with the goods,” Dustin says around a cloud of smoke. He looks over at the open door, nodding at it. “We should close that, huh?”
Dieter shrugs. He thought he had closed the door, truthfully. “Probably should. I think I saw a kid here,” he says. Neither of them get up.
Dustin passes the joint to Dieter. He takes another hit when he gets it because fuck it, this is a celebration. “What, she didn’t want you?” he can’t help but ask.
Dustin laughs mutedly. “I don’t know. I figured by the way you reacted at dinner that I better not try. And there's that thing with my wife.” He shrugs. “I’m always fucking that one up. I thought I should just wander around and see where the night takes me.”
Dieter rests his head back against the couch again, nodding sympathetically. “Mm, I understand. Me too.”
“What’d you do?”
“The better question would be what didn’t I do.”
“Did you cheat?”
Dieter turns his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t fuck anyone else while we were together but she said I might as well as have. And I guess she’s whose opinion really matters, isn’t it?”
Dustin mumbles an agreement. “I fucked a lot of people,” he confesses. “Even the divorce lawyer.”
“And she still talks to you?” Dieter asks.
“We’ve got a kid.”
“That’s right. She told me that, because she likes to talk.”
“Hey don’t be a dick. Yours does too, you know? That’s what women like to do—talk. And they like to be listened to.”
Dieter narrows his eyes. “Is that what you were doing at the bar? Talking?”
Dustin nods. “Yeah. Listening, too.”
“I listened.”
“But you didn’t like what you heard.”
Dustin says this more as a statement than a question. Dieter looks back to the ceiling and pinches his eyes closed, too high. “Mm,” he mumbles. “I’m just so happy she isn’t fucking you right now. I really thought she would be there for a second and it was making me sick.”
Dustin huffs out a laugh. “I take it you never shared?”
“What do you mean ‘shared’?” Dieter asks. “Like wife swapping? No. We seemed to have left the practice in the sixties.”
“Not necessarily. Threesomes?”
“Have you done that?”
Dustin shrugs, smiling unashamedly. “Before we got married, of course,” he tells Dieter. Then, “And a little after too.”
Even with the high, Dieter can’t help but feel curious about the arrangement. “With men?”
“Sure. It wouldn’t have been fair with just women. That was the rules, anyway. Why? You’ve never been with a man?”
“A few. That’s not what strikes me as odd. You just didn’t strike me as the type.”
“I wouldn’t say I was, but fair is fair. And it can be nice. Interesting.”
Dieter rolls his eyes. “Gay sex is gay sex, no matter how you cut it. If you’re about to tell me it doesn’t count, I’m gonna laugh.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just like there to be a girl there too.”
The information weighs heavily on Dieter’s drug induced state of mind. He finds himself beginning to laugh. “Wait a minute, are you trying to talk me into a threesome? Is that what this is? Are you trying to seduce me, Mrs. Robinson? That’s what the wine is about, isn’t it?” He points to the bottle in question, and everything suddenly seems much too funny.
Dustin begins laughing too. “No! The wine was for something. I just couldn’t figure out what”
Dieter ignores him. “Your…your wife hates me,” he manages to hiccup out, “And mine? She—“ She hates me too. This thought makes the laughing come to a slow halt. That’s right. She hates him too.
“I bet she’d do it,” Dustin supplies, soft chuckles still emitting from him. “They can surprise you like that sometimes.”
Dieter shakes his head, his smile more soft, almost sad. “Not with me. I pissed her off. I was thinking I’d try with that waitress downstairs but she’s young and I’ll for sure hate myself for that later.”
“Don’t do that. Your wife really will hate you for that,” Dustin advises. “Take it from an expert. Just call her. Apologize.”
Dieter shakes his head. “That won’t work. It’ll just make her more mad when she realizes I’m high.”
Dustin considers this. “Maybe. I don’t know. Let’s go to her room. Do it in person.”
“You can’t go,” Dieter tells him evenly. It’s not often he’s the voice of reason — even less so when he’s high — and this dynamic is beginning to make him feel out of sorts. He wants to shut his eyes and sleep this off, but naturally — because he is who he is — he will follow this train of thought through with Dustin.
“Why not?” Dustin smiles widely, catching his stride in the conversation. He speaks more animatedly, bringing his hands into the mix for emphasis. “She doesn’t want to fight with you in front of me! And she can see we’ve made friends. That’s progress! She’ll like that.”
Dieter considers this. He does want to show you he’s sorry — really.
“You just want to fuck her,” he says to Dustin. He’s too high to be angry, even if he really wanted to be, but he is suspicious.
When Dustin doesn’t respond to that, Dieter narrows his eyes. “You do!” he accuses, acutely horrified by the idea.
Dustin looks at him, a smile playing across his lips. “C’mon, aren’t you a little curious to see what it’d be like?”
“No. And besides, even if I was, I don’t think she would. She’s not…I don’t know, I don't know how to explain it.” Dieter pinches up his face, stuck for the right words. “She’s not a prude by any means, but I don’t think she would.”
“Would you? If she did?”
Dieter doesn’t consider the question, only beats around it. “She wouldn’t. I know her.”
He watches as Dustin rises from the couch. “Let’s just go ask her.”
Dieter jumps up, feeling sobriety sneak up on him. “No!” he says, horrified.
But Dustin has snatched up his bottle of wine and began to make his way out into the corridor before Dieter can stop him.
So crumbles the olive branch.
—-
When you see Dustin standing at your door, holding up a bottle of wine with a goofy grin, you think it's a sign from the Heavens above. No more Dieter, that’s what it tells you. He’s ruined your life for a decade now and it’s a cause you’ve got to accept is a lost one. A new man is here and you’re lonely, and you didn’t even have to go search this one out. You smile, open the door a little wider.
But then you see Dieter shuffling down the corridor, brown eyes blown wide. Dustin looks over at him with a grin and you realize with a sinking feeling that this wasn’t what you imagined it was. You don’t know what it is, to be exact, but you’re sure it’s not right.
They look up to no good, with glazed eyes and Dustin’s too wide grin. You close your door just a smidge when Dieter shoulders to the front. He smiles apologetically, and you instinctively hold out a hand to keep him steady. But he’s steady, in no risk of tumbling forward. He puts his hands over yours before you quickly take it away. He looks stung but you don’t care.
“Hey kid,” he says sheepishly. His eyes seem to be asking you something - saying something - but you’ve long lost that way of communicating. You frown, slumping against the doorway.
“Make friends?” you ask, nodding back to Dustin.
Dustin nods his head, unaware or — more likely — too high to be aware. “He’s being a good boy,” he vouches.
“I’ve been good,” Dieter echoes. He tries another grin and that easy charm of his, but none of it works. You fold your arms over your chest.
“Listen, I’m a little tired and—“
“I’m sorry. I know what I did earlier was shitty. I don’t know why I do things like that. Don’t shut me out. Please.” Dieter pouts. The sincerity of his words punches you in the gut, and makes you angrier somehow. Like it’s mocking, even though you know it’s not. He seems to sense this and he continues talking. “I know I don’t own you like that. I had no right. None at all. And I’ve been meaning to say it to you all night. And I know you’re thinking ‘this prick is high.’ I am. I’m really high, and I can’t deny it, but I’m sorry too. I was sorry even before I got high. That’s why I got high.”
Dustin giggles behind Dieter. You look over, feeling pangs of annoyance for him too. Now that he’s not your knight in shining armor he’s just some asshole in kahoots with this asshole. “That’s terrible,” he huffs out. Dieter glares at him over his shoulder before you’ve got the chance.
“I’m sorry,” Dieter tells you again, pleadingly. You shake your head.
“You’re always sorry. That was always the problem.”
“I know! God, I know.”
“Ask her if she wants some weed,” Dustin whispers.
“And I suppose you smuggled that in?” you ask, straightening yourself up. You feel motherly, glowering at him like this. You want to wring his neck. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed fuck you, make you feel eternal and sexy. But no. Now you’re so matronly, standing there in your PJs, frowning so hard wrinkles are mapping their permanent home in the places your face creases.
He nods guiltily. “But you knew that! I’ve talked about it all week.”
“Yeah but—“ you wave your hands in the air. “It all adds up with you. It’s..”
“The little things,” he finishes sadly. “I know.”
“Why do you know so little if you know so much?”
Dustin coughs suggestively behind Dieter and Dieter turns around swiftly. “No,” he tells him sharply.
You furrow your eyebrows. “No, what?”
Dieter shakes his head dismissively and Dustin shrugs, looking around aimlessly. He’s trying hard to contain a laugh or a grin, you can tell. You hate that Dieter is making you a bitch in front of him. You could be fucking him for God’s sake, but you’re just annoyed.
“Go to bed,” you tell them.
“Well that’s the idea,” Dustin counters, his lips drawing upwards. Dieter looks pallid.
“It wasn’t,” he tells you. “I swear. I came here to stop him from asking!”
“Asking what?” you say, exasperated.
“For a threesome,” Dustin says simply, like it’s nothing at all. “Though I can see now that’s probably not in the cards. And it wasn’t really asking for one, just a hypothetical.”
You look over to Dieter. He looks down at the floor, like a kid in trouble. “Dieter,” you scold.
He shakes his head. “I didn’t want him to ask. I told him—I said you wouldn’t. I didn’t even want to suggest it,” he mumbles helplessly. “That’s not what this was supposed to be at all, kid. I swear. I just wanted to say sorry and…I don’t know.”
You don’t know whether to believe him or not. “But you talked about it?”
“Hm?” Dieter raises an eyebrow.
“The threesome? You were talking about having one?”
“Yeah, but not like—it wasn’t locker room talk. Not really. He just started talking about it and asked if you would and I said no—“
“How do you know I would say no?” you huff. “You don’t know. You don’t know me.”
Dieter frowns. “That’s not true.”
“Yeah it is,” you nod. “I’m different now. I’m not the woman you dragged around all those years.”
“I never thought of you like that.”
“Well, still, yes,” you say, feeling angry and stung and in a desperate need to prove him wrong and spite him all in one go. It’s such an ugly feeling and it’s not right, but you can tell the words take him by surprise.
“Yes?…” he asks. “Listen, I get that you’re angry, but you don’t have to do this.”
“No I want to,” you say. “If that’s what you want, what he wants, I want it too. If that’s what you’ve come for, then you’ll get it.”
He shakes his head. “You’re angry and you’re not thinking straight. You’re…being mean. And you’re only going to piss yourself off more, I think, and then you’re going to be mad at me because I drove you to it.”
You shake your head. “No. I think I’m being quite nice. I’m standing here telling you I want you to fuck me. I want him to watch. I want him to fuck me and you to watch. Whatever perverse things you cooked up together, let’s do them. If you’re going to make me mad, then I’m asking that you have the decency to fuck me too.”
Dieter struggles to compute the information. You do too. You hate him. You love him. You are so high strung and pissed and you’d do anything to be touched. Let him prove himself, goddamnit, or let him be damned jealous. Either way, you get fucked. Everyone's a winner or only you are. You don’t give a shit.
Dustin seems altogether pleased by this, clapping a hand onto Dieter’s shoulder. “I told him you might surprise him.”
“Mm hm,” you hum. You do not break eye contact with Dieter. He nods his head, resolving to trust you—or to go along with it. It doesn’t matter, just so long as he doesn’t question it.
When he steps forward, you put your hand up, blocking him. “First the weed.”
He lets out a soft sigh and stays put for a second, looking as though he wants to say something more. He’s wise enough not to in the end.
As he rounds the corner, heading back to his room, you finally glance back up at Dustin. He smiles softly. “You don’t have to do this,” he tells you. “I really was just to get some fire under his ass. I mean, I’m not against it, but if you’re just doing it because you’re pissed—“
You cut him off with a hard look. “I want to,” you say resolutely. “And I am pissed. So be it. Men start wars for less.” You shrug. He looks amused and you feel something arise in you, up alongside the anger — arousal. Desire. Something. He smiles handsomely. The grayish scruff on his cheeks bodes well with his aged features.
You do want to fuck him. That’s freeing information. Propping the door open wider with the kick of your foot, you nod him in. “C’mon. Get in here before I change my mind.”
The dichotomy between his laughter and the intensity of the fight you just had with Dieter makes you smile despite yourself.
“Wouldn’t want that,” he responds with a wink.
He brushes past you with his body and you fight the urge to suck in a shallow breath at the sudden casual contact. As he moves into the room, he pulls you away from the door with him, gripping at your shoulders. He doesn’t let you stay back and wait for Dieter like some lost puppy.
You look at him, eyes wide, and he hands you the wine in his hand. He is so unserious that it’d be plain endearing if it hadn’t been a source of annoyance a moment before. You watch as he wets his lips and looks down at yours. There seems to be a pregnant pause, eyes searching yours for an answer to an invisible question. You think of Dieter, of all the sex you’ve not had since the divorce, and how hurt he seemed when you pulled back from his touch. You love him so much. It isn’t fair. You will love him your whole life if you don’t stop this. You heed your mother’s warning too late and you kiss Dustin hard on the mouth. He takes some of your grief with a practiced tongue, kissing you deeply until you’re interrupted by a cough in the corner a few blurry moments later.
Dustin smiles, holding your face between his hands. “The weed,” he remarks. Dieter nods. He looks a little hurt, a little angry, a little betrayed—looks like he’s always made you feel, and you are not surprised it doesn’t make you feel any better.
You love him. You fool.
You shake Dustin off and Dieter hands you the joint with a forced grin. “It’s strong,” he warns softly as he lights the end. As you inhale, Dustin comes to stand behind you. Dieter’s eyes watch as his arms snake around you. He plants wet kisses alongside your neck and Dieter worries his bottom lip between his teeth.
Dieter reaches out to you, touches the wrist you’ve risen to put the joint in your mouth. His calloused fingers try to reach across burned bridges and you aid him, handing the joint back and reaching out to him too. His baggy sleep shirt is easy to take between your fingers. He takes a hit and then comes closer to you, pressing into you.
When he kisses you for the first time, you think of an ouroboros. Whole and eternal, destruction and rebirth. Your mother hates him when she once loved him. He knows your birthday and the way you like your coffee in the morning. You don’t know what he did yesterday. He doesn’t know your friend’s old cat died and that you’d been to two weddings before COVID hit. He tastes familiar and feels strange against you, unreal and vivid. You open your mouth and he slides in his tongue. The kiss isn’t like the one with Dustin; he does not explore you as much as he remembers you.
Dustin and Dieter pass the joint between them. When you feel the loss of warmth behind you, you turn curiously, detaching from Dieter’s lips. Dustin goes to abandon the joint on the table by the bed and Dieter’s hot mouth presses kisses alongside your neck. You wrap your fingers in his hair and you can't help but moan when he tongues alongside your jaw. Dustin’s eyes spark with delight at the sound.
You look down at the wine bottle still in your hand and hold it up. Dustin takes it from you, grinning. “I forgot to tell you it was my gift. I’ll open it. It’s good, aged to perfection,” he comments.
He searches your bedside for a glass and finds a crystal one beside the water vase that they gave you earlier that week. He looks down at the bottle in his hand and frowns. “Fuck, I forgot the wine opener.”
“Call the desk,” Dieter says against your skin.
You turn your head back and begin kissing him again, humming an agreement against his lips. Dustin shuffles behind you as you return completely to Dieter, your lips ghosting over his. He licks into your mouth and grasps at the back of your neck, keeping you attached to him as you begin the dance backwards to the bed.
The weed gives you a cloudy feeling, enhancing the warmth of his fingers and lips on your skin, but erasing any inhibition that would make you embarrassed to be doing it in front of another man. You like the idea of it, actually, that there’s some stranger - albeit a familiar one - standing somewhere in the room as Dieter’s fingers lift up your sleep shirt and dip beneath the hem of your underwear. Your ass presses against the edge of the bed and you feel his erection against your thigh. You moan carelessly, tugging at his hair, and he exhales into you, the line between pleasure and pain thin and delicate as he rushes to do what he’s afraid Dustin will get to first if he doesn’t.
Dustin hangs up the phone and looks at the two of you on the bed, a surge of desire filling him as he watches. You’ve got your legs open and Dieter’s got his hands down your underwear and he can see it all from this angle. You’re making delicious, breathy moans and Dieter’s arm muscles flex as he works them out of you. There’s a wet spot on your underwear and he wants nothing more than for Dieter to take them off so he can see more of you.
He watches a while longer, captivated by what makes you tick and what kind of a lover Dieter is. It's kinda like hotel porn that he’s had on repeat the past few days, but live. Before he can get out the request for Dieter to take your underwear off, or wait for the inevitability of it, there’s a knock on the door. He rushes to answer it, holding the door open only enough to take the glasses and the bottle opener. He mumbles a quick thanks before shutting the door on the confused worker.
Dieter enters you with a thick finger and you let out a loud uninhibited moan around his kiss. As Dustin attempts to open the wine he smiles, thinking of the young man who was just outside the door. He likes that you aren’t afraid; he’s always found that attractive in women.
“Here,” he says, pouring the pinkish liquid into three separate glasses. Neither of you look at him, so he repeats it again, this time with more command in his tone. You look so thoroughly kissed when you look up, red lipped and swollen, that it makes him ache, and Dieter’s wild haired annoyance is charming in its own way. He hands you both a glass and you take it with a shy smile. Dieter is less pleased, but takes it anyway with a soft ‘Thanks.’
Dustin watches as Dieter wipes your slick from his fingers with a pang of envy, swallowing down the wine. This isn’t something he’s made a habit of doing often— watching people fuck, threesomes — but he had felt that it wouldn’t have been right to do without Dieter. Truthfully, he had had every intention of going to your room by himself before he had peered into Dieter’s open door. The sight of him sitting there, staring up at the ceiling like he had been doing, inspired sympathy. He hadn’t been entirely truthful about that with Dieter, but what he’s learned over the years about sex is that some little white lies must be told sometimes.
A part of him feels guilty, knowing his own ex-wife lies somewhere in this hotel, probably brewing in her own anger. But he’s leaving her alone. That’s what she asked of him, isn’t it?
“So, any rules?” he asks, abandoning this train of thought before it crashes.
Dieter unwraps himself from you, sitting on the edge of the bed like you are, and shrugs his shoulders. You both look at each other. Dustin feels like an outsider, intruding on something too big and personal, but he doesn’t mind. A bit of self-flagellation mixed in with pleasure was always how he did his sex best, and there’s nothing quite like sleeping with two people very much in love during a pandemic.
“Dieter said you’ve never done this before,” he says, looking at you. “Is that true?”
You nod your head. “What do you mean by ‘rules?’”
“Well, I guess it’s a bit different because no one is with anyone here, but sometimes there will be requests people make to ensure no one gets their feelings hurt. For instance, you might not want me to cum inside of you or enter you at all. They’re for safety too—consent, boundaries.”
“I see.” You look down at your glass of wine, thinking. “I don’t really have any rules. Maybe just use condoms.”
“Are you sure?” Dieter whispers, tugging at your shirt sleeve. He leans in closer, says something Dustin can’t hear. You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t care if you do that,” you tell him. He seems surprised by your answer.
Dustin can’t help himself. “What’d you ask?”
Dieter shrugs his shoulders. “Just about how she feels about us.”
“Do you have any rules?” he asks.
“Don’t cum in her first.”
You look at Dieter quizzically and all he provides is a shrug that says nothing. Dustin nods his head. “That seems easy enough: condoms, don’t cum first.” He swallows down the rest of his wine and sets the glass aside.
You twirl the liquid around in your own glass, smiling faintly. “I can’t believe I’m gonna do this,” you say.
“Me either,” Dieter replies. He sits his glass, half finished, on the nightstand.
“I’m feeling high,” is your next sentence. Dieter seems to grimace.
“You’re in the wrong state of mind,” he tells you.
You shake your head. “No. I made up my mind before I got high. I want to be fucked,” you tell him, voice plain and even. “If you don’t want to fuck me, I’m sure I’ll be okay with just him.”
Dieter shakes his head adamantly, cheeks beginning to red. “I—I do want to. I always want to. I just want to make sure you’re not doing something you’re going to regret later.”
With a smile, you tell him teasingly, “I won’t regret it later. Not if you do it right.” You offer him a teasing wink that draws out his dimple. He leans forward and presses a chaste kiss on your lips, too romantic and sweet to be good for your soul.
You decide then that this will have to be less Dieter focused if you want to last. “Lay on the bed,” you say to him. He nods his head, prying off his house shoes. You look over to Dustin, who stands awkwardly at the head of the bed. He smiles again with that charming Hollywood grin that age hasn’t dimmed in the slightest, and you grin back. “I want to kiss you again,” you tell him directly.
“That can be arranged,” he says, dipping onto the bed.
Dieter lies back against the heap of pillows at the headboard, his knees spread apart to make a spot for you. Dustin guides you there slowly, his body pressing into yours until there’s nowhere left to go but into Dieter. He kisses you deeply, hands strong and warm and unfamiliar in an entirely exciting way as they bunch up the fabric of your sleep shirt and expand over your skin.
Dieter doesn’t touch you, even though he badly wants to. Part of it is heartbreak and disbelief, and the other part is erotic fascination—watching you come apart like this, at another angle, is undeniably doing something to him. You are so pliable under Dustin, so easy for him, like you’ve waited your entire life to be like this. Maybe you have. Maybe he never paid enough attention—maybe in all your thousand little, subtle ways you had once alluded that you’d like to be this way. Maybe if he hadn’t been such a prick, he could’ve made more rules, one like ‘Don’t enter her at all’ and ‘Don’t kiss him like that because I know once upon a time you kissed me like that and I screwed it up, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better husband. I’ll be a better friend, just don’t kiss him like that.’
But then again maybe not. That’s a mouthful and you’re high and he’s high. Maybe it would be just like this. It’s just that he loves you. It’s an odd kind of love, but it’s real. Dustin has his tongue down your throat, his exploratory fingers beneath the fabric of a sleep shirt, but Dieter loves you. The fool.
Blissfully you are unaware of the pity party Dieter throws for himself behind you. He is a body, a springboard for desire and heat, as you surrender yourself to lust the way you never really have before. You do draw up some comparisons, unable to help yourself.
Dustin is grittier, all command and surrender. He is an electric taste of the illicit, some faraway fantasy made palpable. Dieter is your ground zero, vivid and stormy. He is what yesterday was. You read somewhere once that when you have a child with a man, their genes have the ability to change your own. Though you and Dieter have no children, you feel like something irrevocable like that happened — that you carry a part of him in your genetic makeup. It doesn’t make Dustin worse for it. In fact, it makes him better, an exotic vaccine into your very tired bloodstream. You deserve it. You deserve it so much, and you practically beg for it, mewling as Dustin kisses his way down.
“I bet you taste like heaven,” he mumbles warmly into your skin, licking a teasing strip over your midriff. You watch, mouth agape, heart beating wildly in your chest. Dieter tilts your chin up, directing your attention towards him, feeling impossibly greedy now. He kisses you languidly, tonguing lolling gently against yours, making it lasts forever. Your mind is in a haze, the slow, sensual turn of your tongues lighting a fire in your belly as Dustin uses his own on you. He trails lower and lower, warm and wet, fingers drawing down your underwear and then—
“Fuck,” you say, gasping out the word. You surprise yourself. Dieter captures the word in his mouth and groans in soft appreciation. You glance down your body, your knees hanging loosely over Dustin’s shoulders, watching his warm tongue pressing against your clit. It’s a sight to behold, the way his pink tongue flattens over you. His large hands grip onto your legs, holding you apart as your back presses into Dieter’s front. You feel his semi-erection nudge into your back.
Dustin spends his time with you, teasing you lightly with his tongue at first, learning the careful intricacies of your body. As you run your hands through his unruly bed hair, the tip of his tongue dips into your opening experimentally. He looks up to you, blue-green eyes searching for approval. You buck against his face, desperate, full of want and drugs and something indescribable but undeniably exciting. Ambition. Want. Joy. You used to masturbate to this man. His nose grazes against your clit and he laughs as you struggle. It is warm and bubbly, and you feel it all the way down to your bones.
You tug his hair so hard that he sends another noise vibrating through you: a low, half pained, half aroused groan.
Dustin brings his mouth back to your clit, grazes it gently with his teeth. “Oh,” you say, your head drawing backward, falling into Dieter’s shoulder. He watches you, his dark eyes fixed. He presses his lips onto yours like time hasn’t changed anything. You bask in it, give yourself over to the fantasy with the ease he’s offering it—you kiss like lovers, familiar and intimate, an unformidable duo in sex where you weren’t in marriage.
Dieter doesn’t leave your lips as he says, “I never got to see this sort of thing from this point of view. You’re so goddamn pretty.”
His hands tease up your sides, fingers drawing closer to your chest. “Is he making you soaked? Just like I used to?” he asks, his voice a low drawl. You arch up, bringing your lips up to his. He slots his mouth over yours, pressing into you roughly as his fingers find a pebbled nipple through the cloth of your night shirt. As he scraps over the top of it with the pad of his thumb, you draw your eyes closed. The heady scent of Dieter surrounding you mixed with the intoxicating feel of Dustin pressed against your cunt is almost too much to bear. Almost. You moan against Dieter’s lips again as Dustin’s tongue works you, and Dieter smiles, nodding. “Oh baby, he’s gonna be like me. A pitiful, helpless fool for you. Aren’t you?” he says, looking down the valley of your body to the other man.
Dustin grunts wordlessly against you and your hips fail you again, pressing up into the vibration. Sensing this isn’t the end of lack of control, Dustin presses a hand against them, pinning you down. As he licks you open, spreads your folds with the warmth of his eager tongue, you feel on fire, the sensation reaching every part of your body. He’s good at that. He’s lapping and lapping, his strong nose meeting your clit at just the right time each time he comes up.
“He’s so fucking good,” you say helplessly, uncaring of who hears. The drugs make you uninhibited, looser. You meet Dustin’s eyes as he takes your clit into his mouth again. He is sucking lightly and you try to roll your hips into him, but he presses down, a silent no. “Fuck, you’re so—good at that. Oh my god.”
Dieter pinches your nipple between his fingers, humming softly at the sight before him. “You’re gonna make me jealous, baby.”
Dustin’s mouth grows more focused, intent. You feel your orgasm drawing up, coming closer and closer. You open your eyes, blown wide with desire, and focus on Dieter. He kisses you softly again, bringing his hand up to your other breast. Dustin sucks your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, and your hardened nipple scraps against the warmth of Dieter’s palm. It's all so right. You cum then, toes curling into the sheets, body going rigid beneath the touch of them both. Dustin doesn’t stop; he laps up your want greedily and Dieter draws up his head to watch. His eyes darken, full of desire and what you assume is a begrudging respect.
After you’ve ridden out your orgasm on Dustin, Dieter huffs out a soft laugh. “He wants to fuck you,” he tells you, thumb swiping affectionately across your cheek. Dustin, unable to let that one go, presses a kiss to your inner thigh and muffles a laugh against your skin.
“Bravo, you’re so jealous it’s making you stupid. She knows that,” he says, nuzzling his face against your inner thigh. “Of course she knows that.”
“M’not jealous,” Dieter denies evenly. When he looks down at you, brown eyes too kind, you half believe him.
You break the eye contact and smile appreciatively down at the man between your legs. A finger you’d locked in his hair now swipes across the bottom of his shiny lips. He takes it into his mouth, wetting the pad, and you say, “You aren’t a very good team. I think it’s important to be a good team.”
Dieter places a hand on your arm, more of a phantom touch than a grip, but you know it’s a stroke of possessiveness. You glance back up at him, cupping his cheek in your palm. “Dieter likes men,” you tell Dustin, not looking away from Dieter. “He’s not playing nice now and I think it’s a shame because I bet you taste just like me right now. And I know—“ your gaze drops down to Dustin, your voice velvet “—how much this dearest ex-husband of mine likes the taste of me. Have you ever kissed another man, Dustin?”
Dustin bites at your bait, smirk growing wide as his body stalking up yours. “Of course. I looked like a God in the ‘90s. Everyone wanted me and I wanted everyone,” he jokes, his warm hands flattening against your torso. His legs rest behind your thighs as he sits upwards, and you can see the tent of his erection against his sleep shorts. The black of them does little to conceal the full outline, and you thrill at the idea that he’s probably not wearing any underwear beneath the fabric.
You’re not one for getting starstruck - not anymore, anyway, a Los Angeles resident for years and the ex-wife of a star - but the fact that you used to masturbate to this man in front of you is something you still can’t shake. It occupies your mind, the way you had rewinded scenes from his raunchy, made for tv erotica over and over. Even now, many years later, you can still picture it: his younger frame pressed behind a blond woman, fucking into her in haste, his hands all over her and his thrusts rough. It was incredible to you back then, placed in some seedy location like an alley. Public and animalistic—the stuff of paperback romance novels. You remember the way he tugged her shirt upwards, how in the heat of the moment he grasped at any part of her he could get. A black bra and a long skirt, the bra pushed askew, going higher and higher with each thrust, and the skirt gripped onto, used for leverage as he pushed into her from behind. The VHS that hosted the scene had been passed from friend to friend in your college days, until someone’s VCR had eaten it. You feel a bit excited to know you’ve got the real thing right here. You think about telling him.
But it’s not about you, not now; it’s about Dieter. You widen your legs, make room for the ‘90s heart throb to slip between your body and come closer to the man you’ve dedicated your life to. In this moment you can admit as much. Dieter’s got his cock pressed against your back, and you know he would do anything - anything - for you if you’d just ask. His love burns like a million suns and you’ll be Icarus in every lifetime. You fool. Kiss another man hard and seek penance in his presence behind you.
Dieter stiffens as Dustin presses closer and closer to him. You shift to accommodate them, moving your body up, guiding Dieter along. He holds you close like a shield but doesn’t protest when Dustin’s lips press into his.
Dustin tastes of earthy vineyards and you—like sweetened strawberry wine and the familiar palette of tangy and acidic that’s blessed Dieter’s tongue many times over. That’s it, he thinks with a smile against Dustin’s generous lips. That’s how you taste. He savors it like a wine connoisseur does his wine, running it over his tongue and thinking too long about how to describe it. It is so utterly you, it makes him yearn for another life.
He plunges his tongue so deeply into Dustin’s mouth, it threatens to gag them both. But it doesn’t. They’ve both got their party tricks, after all. Dieter’s kiss grows hungry and suddenly there’s no space between any of you. You are a perfectly molded puzzle, fingers on skin, in hair, tongues swiping against lips and chests, and there are deep guttural moans exposing what the erections do well to show.
You know Dieter wants this, can feel his evident excitement press into your back. You happily welcome the warmth of Dustin’s firm body pressing impossibly close to yours. Dieter wets his bottom lip and squeezes you reassuringly, a habit from other life slipping into this new one.
You alternate kissing one another, creating a new taste on your warm, eager tongues. It is perfect. Dustin’s hands gingerly fumble over your chest, not focused or intent but curious, and Dieter’s allow it. The possessiveness has translated into something entirely more agreeable, and these men work together like lovers.
Your fingers grip at Dustin’s muscular shoulders, trail lower and lower over the slope of his chest down to the dip above his shorts. The path is slow and arduous to your lust riddled brain. He grunts against your collarbone, his hot breath fanning over you, and you go lower still, taking the shorts with you.
Dieter’s eyes trail the same place yours do, his chin tucked into your neck; you share the same view of Dustin: the red weeping head of his cock as it bops against his toned stomach, eager to be touched and licked and surrounded. Dustin sighs hotly against you as you press against him - against it - and Dieter swipes his tongue behind your ear. It is heaven, the way Dieter and Dustin feel against you, combined like this. You want them both. You need them.
You wrap your hands in Dieter’s curls, let him support your body as it rubs frantically over Dustin’s. Dieter peppers kisses alongside your neck and whispers, “God, you’re so fucking hot. God, I was so fucking lucky—“
The rest of it is lost against the shell of your earlobe. Some things - even the kindest, most genuine things - are better left unsaid.
Dustin emits soft, urgent moans as his cock catches between your bodies. The tempo of your shared thrusts grows quick, more focused, and he is close, on the very brink of letting go. You knit your brows, watch curiously and excitedly as he draws closer. You think of it: A hot spurt, just for you. Dieter holds up your sleep shirt, seeming to expect the same.
But then Dustin stops, his thick fingers rough and tight against your skin as he stills your movements. In the morning you’ll be bruised, a thought that thrills you. “Not yet,” is what he says in explanation, leaning his forehead against yours.
Dieter laughs softly, some terrible joke about bad endurance dying before it rises to be heard. He’s on his best behavior. Dustin tastes of you, of him, and you’re all naked and you’re so happy, so pliant. You lean against him like he’s someone you can lean on, and he swallows the serenity of that thought silently. Dieter is a half guilt, a perpetual bleeding heart, and you are his salvation. He knows it doesn’t work like that, can’t, but sex is not about what is real and logical. That’s why you were always so fucking good at it; it was beyond the both of you, and somehow a language you spoke best together.
He should feel worse about Dustin. Perhaps it’s because you want it so bad, or maybe it’s because he’s so horny, but the inclusion of him feels less intrusive than before. This is not your marriage bed - it’s been lost to the cruel seas of time - but it feels like a union, and Dustin plays a curious part. Not the voyeuristic onlooker, but the active participant, his glistening cock hot and heavy against your beautiful stomach. It should make Dieter sick. It did, thirty minutes ago. But now it makes him hard, wets his mouth. The bastard is good looking.
What can he say - you have always had good taste.
You turn your head and lick into Dieter’s mouth, redirecting your attention. He turns you between their bodies, pressing you into him as he kisses you feverishly. Dustin assists him, holding you against his body like Dieter had been doing before, only upwards. Dieter draws back and lifts the cotton sleep shirt over your head. He takes advantage like Dustin hadn’t been smart enough to, wetting your nipple with his warm mouth and tweaking the other between his fingers. You squirm, pressing your hot cunt against his stomach. He feels too clothed suddenly, having been denied contact because layers. You help him take off his shirt and Dustin helps you take off his pants. You waste no time wrapping your hot hand around him and tugging loosely.
His mouth finds your nipple again and you wrap your fingers into his unruly hair, jerking him off slowly as he kisses and sucks at your bare chest. He knows you’re already dripping, seen it on Dustin’s glossy lips when he got done with you, but this is his body remembering you and he can't stop. He remembers the way you got when he licked at you like you were the last scraps of his final meal on earth. How desperate and needy you became, just as desperate and needy as him. His hand travels down your stomach, straight down to your cunt, and he palms the wet heat of you into his hand. Dieter relishes the way you gasp into his mouth as the heel of his hand finds your clit, a smirk on his lips and a sentence like, “That’s it, baby,” coming out against you.
He fingers your entrance teasingly and finds you devastatingly wet. This is heaven, he thinks, the wet stickiness of you on the pad of his finger and your hot breath on his lips. You dig your nails into his shoulder, shut your eyes against the sensation of one of his fingers entering you. Dieter is ground zero. In your Garden of Eden, Dieter was there, at once Adam and the serpent. This is the apple. How delicious it is to be fucked, how perfectly human. Of course they’d turn on God for this. Cover up with leaves and be terrified of the whole earth later. Bleed and cry. Divorce. Whatever. This is worth turning back on perfection for. Poor Eve. Poor you.
You rub yourself against his hand and Dustin takes one of your breasts into his hand, watching. Dieter is so focused on the squelch of your juices and the way his finger - fingers now, two, and you stretch so perfectly for him - enters you that he doesn’t even mind. You’re no pissing contest, he sees that now—you're the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He swallows your moans and tries his best not to cum. Your grasp on his cock is so loose and it’d be so embarrassing to cum on your stomach when the tugs are nothing, and besides this is about you. So he focuses on trying not to.
“Condom,” you mutter, your lips landing on the side of Dieter’s mouth. Dieter nods his head but doesn’t pull back from you. He watches, enchanted, as your hips move against his hand. He can feel your orgasm build in the way you clench around his fingers, the penultimate pressure too much to bear. When you come, its with a shudder, your body tight and rigid above his as you ride it out. Dieter is so high and so in love with you, and he’s so sick about it that all he can do is laugh earnestly, even though what he wants is to ask you to marry him again.
Dustin is touching you all over with his hands, palming your perfect breasts, and you’re arching farther and farther back. Dieter can hardly bear the sight—not because of the jealousy—but because he’s deathly afraid this is it for him. You’re the best thing he’s ever had, and he knows he can’t think that way. You had a good run—you’re great friends now—but God, you married him in Vegas and you used to sketch his nose with careful affection onto canvases you kept for yourself. Who’s gonna sit in your studio now? Who’s gonna take up space in your heart, make you smile over the canvas as you work? He would weep if you didn’t look so pretty and sated, leaning into Dustin the way you are.
He kisses you hard on the mouth just to get rid of the thoughts, and then he kisses Dustin too, grabbing roughly at the back of his hair the way he hasn’t ever with you. It’s not kind, but Dustin doesn’t seem to mind; he moans gruffly, absorbing nothing but the desire behind it.
Your hands explore Dieter’s exposed skin as they kiss, warm and gentle, unconsciously fingering the scar he got as a child. You know the map of this body. When his hard cock bops against his stomach you take it in your hand again. Before he has time to think, you put him in your mouth.
“Fuck,” he mumbles against Dustin’s lips. They stop kissing, looking between them at the sight of you. Dustin is so considerate, so much better than Dieter has ever been. He moves aside your hair, kisses against the curve of your spine. All Dieter can do is think about not cumming. He feels bad about this, wishes he could gather enough strength to think about your hair and things like that. But your mouth is warm and you take him in with expertise, bobbing in a rhythm he wouldn't dare break. Up, down, the tip of your tongue running alongside a vein, back up again. He’ll cum like this. You look up at him through your eyelashes and he touches the top of your head with unspeakable tenderness. Cum, you beckon, but he won’t. Can’t.
Where is that goddamn condom? How can he make this last forever?
He pulls back from your lips smiling an apologetic grin when you at him, surprised. You seem to understand, a devilish little smirk playing across your glossy lips. He wants to kiss you, but even that feels dangerous right now. He thumbs your lips instead.
“Condoms,” he tells you softly. You nod your head.
“In my bag.” You point over to the corner of the room. Dieter pads off to get them.
Dustin’s hands sneak between your thighs and you sigh when he finds your entrance, the tip of a finger rubbing the spot Dieter abandoned. You’re so wet and you want it so badly. He presses his lips against your shoulder and you feel the heat of his breath against your goose pimpled flesh. As you loll your head against him, he slides a finger in. You scratch the back of his head and nod frantically.
“You’re so tight.” He nips your skin and then licks at you with a desperation you’ve only experienced in Dieter. You like being wanted this badly. You lift your hips and ride his finger, squeezing around him. So tight, right. He laughs and you feel that too. “You like being talked dirty to, don’t you? You’re being so good, riding my finger like this. I can’t wait to fuck you. To feel you around my cock like this. And I bet he’s thinking that too.”
You both look over to Dieter as he unwraps a found foil and takes out the condom. You sigh; Dustin’s thumb finds your swollen clit. “We’ve got to make him cum in you, but I don’t think you’ll find that hard. He wants you so bad. Look—“ You feel Dustin’s grin already across your back. “He’s so fucking hard for you. Just as hard as me.”
Dieter strokes himself through the protective sleeve as he watches the two of you. You feel the familiar sensation of heat spreading low in your belly. When Dustin dares to enter another finger into you, you gasp, feeling full and stretched and yet not full enough. He spreads his fingers inside you, preparing you. You tug at his hair and make eye contact with Dieter.
He smiles lopsidedly, suddenly boyish and more handsome than he’s ever been. You think he looks happy for you—so pleased that you’re pleased, with a glint in his eye. Maybe it’s the drugs. You don’t know. Maybe he is happy that you’re happy. He was always better at saying he loved you than he was at showing it, but you suspect that this is his showing you. Love. Maybe it spills over in divorce, just another cruel thing you’ve got to cope with.
When Dieter comes back, he presses a condom into Dustin’s thigh. You are at the edge of another orgasm, everything perfectly in place — the sensation of Dustin’s thumb, the way his breath hits your skin, the idea that Dieter is watching you—but he denies you it, interrupting. You go to protest, whine, but he doesn’t give you a chance.
Dustin’s fingers are still in you, on you, when Dieter leans down and presses his tongue flat against your clit, greedy with lust. He licks at you around Dustin’s fingers and it feels like too much. They seem to make an agreement, working you at the same time. You cum quickly and this one seems to go on for eternity. You squeeze Dieter’s shoulder. The other condom package falls loosely onto the bed as Dustin uses his hand to keep you steady, your knees weak from the pleasure.
You tug at Dieter’s hair to make him stop. Dustin seems to know instinctively, leaving you feeling empty when he takes his fingers away. His slick covered fingers rest on your hips as you tell them both, breathlessly, “I can’t do another one. It’s too much.”
Dieter shakes his head in protest but Dustin takes the information in stride. He’s too good at this, moves through the motions with ease, improvising quickly. He extends his slicked fingers to Dieter. Dieter, who has been so focused on you, looks at them quizzically, unsure of what they mean. Then he seems to get it, hard features smoothing out in realization.
He looks at Dustin, and it’s not like with you. He's focused, not icy or angry but so intent. It’s not a loveless gaze, per se, but it is devoid of love; filled not with something warm but something hot.
Dustin’s cock presses into the small of your back. As Dieter’s mouth wraps around his fingers, you feel a warm bead of pre-cum drip onto your skin. You bite at your lip. You’ve never seen Dieter with men before, and this new side of him excites you—like unlocking a new door in a house you’ve had for ages. He puts on a show for you, bobbing like you did on him. Dustin’s fingers seem to be an extension of yourself. You shudder as Dieter tongues along them, and Dustin rubs himself helplessly against your backside.
“I want to see what you’re like with men,” you say to Dieter, your voice barely a whisper. But Dieter hears you and his eyebrows perk in interest. This is a long unanswered question to something you’ve never been brave enough to ask. You’ve always known that he’s been interested in men — that he’s had sex with them — but you’ve never really questioned outright about what it was like. It felt equal parts too personal and hurtful; you didn’t want to know what it was like with other people before you. But everything seems different tonight. You want to know badly, like he’s got secrets that could be your salvation hidden in him.
You slip from between them, lying against the pillows. Before filling the space, Dieter looks over at you. His brown eyes implore you for a sign and you nod your head.
He’d asked you earlier, when Dustin asked about rules, if you’d be alright with them touching each other, maybe even entering one another. You hadn’t expected it to get to that, so it had been easy to say you didn’t mind. In fact, you had figured Dieter only said it as a means to scare you away from the idea. And now that the notion is not only on the horizon, but a reality, it comes just as easy to say yes—maybe even more so.
He stalls, hesitating, so you nod again, laughing. He smiles. Your ex-husband is a startlingly beautiful man like this, looking so openly vulnerable. He’s physically and emotionally naked and you’ve waited decades for it.
Dieter and Dustin kiss each other like men do, aggressive and dominating, neither willing to lose the good fight just yet. You feel your interest piqued, watching the way their fingers touch each other. How they tug and grip, search for purchase all over. Dieter is much rougher with Dustin than he’s ever chanced to be with you, with bruising kisses and bruising touches. When he grabs the man’s cock, it is with an ugly dedication, fast dry and quick tugs. Dustin hisses the first time but doesn’t protest. In fact, he thrusts his hips unashamedly into Dieter’s closed fist, licking into his mouth with a degree of delight. They tug at the back of each other’s heads of hair and eventually Dieter gives way, falling back to allow Dustin to mount him.
Dustin searches for the condom on the bed, his chest rising and falling heavily in an attempt to grasp at long denied air. You watch through heavy lids as he slides the latex onto himself. He’s circumcised, pink and swollen at the tip. Drips of pre-cum have made him all glossy and you bite your lip watching him struggle to line himself up. When he gets the latex down to his base, he smiles a satisfied smirk. He doesn’t look at you. If he notices you staring, he doesn’t mind at all. This is his favorite play, and he’s an actor after all.
Dieter’s knees knock apart to accommodate his frame—a body you’ve begun to notice with quiet admiration in your desire. He’s broad, much broader than he’d been in his youth, and he’s got muscle all over now, whereas before he’d been lean and lanky. He’s hard and tight and as he begins to rub himself against Dieter, you’re taken with the way his skin stretches over the plains of his back, his arms, his stomach. Dustin is in impeccable shape, perhaps one of the only men who can claim he’s doing better now than he was in his youth. Gone is the boyishness, replaced with a heady, sure masculinity.
Dieter seems to relinquish his fight happily now, soft growls emitting from his lips. Dustin presses down into him, and while most of what they’re doing is obscured by Dieter’s legs, you can imagine it well enough: the steady, erratic thrusts of Dustin’s cock rubbing against Dieter’s. There’s a sheen of sweat on them both and Dustin buries his head in Dieter’s neck. He licks at the places you had once, and it is nothing but erotic little huffs from them both.
“You’re…” Dustin begins, but falters off. He lifts himself up, repositions, bracketing Dieter’s head between his strong arms. Dieter’s eyes are pressed closed, his dark features etched with pleasure. All they do for a while is rub against each other. You feel like an intruder, like something stopping them from getting where they need to be. Maybe you are.
You dare to speak: “Aren’t you going to touch each other?”
Dieter looks startled. He’s red in the cheeks, the exertion of their movements and the heat of his desire making him flush. He taps Dustin on the arm, making the steady roll of his hips slow until suddenly it’s nothing. It’s all quiet for the first time in minutes.
They both look at you with intent eyes. But Dieter is the first to take charge. “You should fuck her,” he tells Dustin. Dieter looks at you, questioning.
“But—“ you protest. Dieter shakes his head.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Later.”
Dustin has no qualms about the interchanging of you and Dieter. You notice that he's notably gentler with you than he was with him, though. He crawls to you, kisses you chastely—as if testing the waters. There’s nothing necessarily erratic or rough about what he does to you. He looks between your spread legs and fingers at your entrance once more, circling the area teasingly. You groan in anticipation and his head falls to your chest. He takes a taut nipple into his mouth as he plunges his fingers inside of you, pushing them against your front wall. As you sigh heavily, he moves his wet mouth to the other nipple.
You turn your head, catch Dieter’s fixed gaze. He reaches out his hand and you lace your fingers together. He’s touching himself through his condom, stroking softly. You want to devour him.
Dustin takes his fingers from you, and you look back at him. Before you can plead for more he says, “I’m gonna enter you now.” You nod, wordless.
He gathers the slick from his fingers and coats his latex covered cock with it. As you squeeze Dieter’s hand, Dustin lines himself to your entrance. His kiss is soft, barely a kiss at all, and he enters you, inch by careful inch. He feels so overwhelmingly right, snug, puncturing something decidedly primal inside of you when he bottoms out.
“Oh, fuck,” you groan hotly against his shoulder. He manages a small laugh, running his lips against your cheek. “Go hard,” you ask. He hasn’t moved yet, stays still inside of you. You think of the way he was with Dieter.
“I don’t know if I can. I think I’ll…” He swallows. “I know I’ll cum.”
“Please,” you beg. You dig crescent shaped nail marks into ass and he smiles teasingly, running his warm tongue against your sensitive skin. He presses so intimately into you, your nipples scrap against his chest. It feels so good. Everything does.
“He said no,” he answers, looking up to meet your eyes.
“He’ll give me anything I want,” you say. Dieter’s fingers leave yours then, and you look over. You think you’ve made him mad but he’s only repositioning himself, coming closer to your bodies. He doesn’t say anything.
Some things are so true they don’t need to be confirmed. They just are. The sky is blue and people die, and Dieter is a man who will give you everything because he was once a man who gave you nothing.
“Oh, I’m sure,” Dustin mumbles, finally drawing back. You nod your head, encouraging, but he doesn’t go harder. He moves in the same way he did before, experimental and slow. When you look at him, imploring silently, he shakes his head. “But a rule is a rule, baby. ‘Sides, I think he’s making me get you ready. Your husband is a bit of a pervert. He’s touching himself, watching me stretch you open with my cock.” Dustin presses his lips into yours. Against you, he mumbles, “Did ya know he likes to watch? Bet he likes to hear too. You—“ Dustin pushes back into you, stopping himself, and the squelch of your juices adds to the effect. He smirks. “—You’ll get fucked. Just not by me. Not yet. Maybe I’ll fuck him while he fucks you. Maybe we’ll do it..” he grunts, bottoming out again, “We’ll do you together. You’re tight as hell, but I know we can get you wide. Couldn’t we?”
You feel Dieter’s fingers but can’t move your eyes away from Dustin’s. They’re greener like this, up close. Dieter trails a line over your body, and then up to Dustin’s, with a lone finger. Dustin turns to look at him and he smiles, nodding. They seem to work without words.
Dustin reaches down to grip the condom as he pulls out of you. You look over at Dieter, half angry and half amused that he could interrupt. You realize what they’re doing almost immediately. Dieter holds open your legs by pressing his palm against one of your knees, and Dustin shuffles, moving back to let Dieter take his place.
His cock probes against your entrance and he smiles down at you like a fool. “Hey,” he tells you evenly, half sober. You ache for him. You clench around nothing as he licks into your mouth.
“Hey,” you respond, overcome. Your fingers wrap around his arms and you notice that he’s got more muscle than before too.
“You want to be fucked?” Although he attempts to make this a question, it is more of a statement. You nod along anyway. He kisses you hard, rough like with Dustin, and he nearly enters you as he rubs himself greedily against your naked warmth, wetting himself with your slick.
“Yes. Hard, like you do with him,” you tell him. He smiles against your lips. You take his cock in your hand, so much more sure with him than anyone, and he slides into you. It feels like homecoming, wet and warm and familiar, your fingers digging into his skin and the smell of sex in the air. He does what you ask, his thrusts sharp, his hips snapping against your hips.
“Dieter,” you pant out, nodding your head. He kisses the side of your mouth sloppily and you smile the best you can. Where Dustin felt right, Dieter feels perfect. You feel like you touch the hem of eternity as he plunges into you with the intensity you requested, uninhibited and giving in the roughness.
He repositions you both in one expert movement, moving to his knees, pushing your hips farther up. This makes you let out a startled gasp; he hits you far deeper like this, his thumbs digging into the flesh on your hips with bruising intensity. You can’t kiss from this position, but it doesn’t matter. He fucks you. Really fucks you.
You see Dustin in the hazy peripheral. Lolling your head to the side, you focus on him. He stands at the side of the bed, smiles at you when you catch his eyes. With his cock standing out in front of him like that, he looks a bit unserious. If you weren’t so full of Dieter, perhaps you’d be amused by this. He doesn’t even touch himself. This makes you frown.
“D—Dieter,” you stammer out.
“Huh?” he grunts.
“Dustin.”
“Mm, what—what about him?”
“Let him fuck me too. Please.”
Dieter shakes his head. “No, you’re mine right now. You’re—“ he snaps into you roughly, the bed creaking. “I’ll suck him off. Or maybe—“ Dieter grunts again, “Maybe he’ll be smart and he’ll get behind me. And maybe he’ll—“ his head drops to your neck, and your head the next part through mumbles. “Maybe he’ll rub against me like he was doing before. But it doesn’t matter right now. Just think about you. It’s all for you.”
You close your eyes, nodding. That sounds fine. Great. Dieter’s finger gazes at your clit and you nod, your hand reaching out to hold his wrist. You always liked to feel the way his forearm moved as he did this to you.
“Cum for me and I’ll cum for you,” he says, and you feel it begin, the stirrings of another orgasm. You think of him, of the way he punctures his thrusts with grunts, how good he feels inside of you, bottoming out like this with measured fury. You like how rough he’s being, like never before. You like this side of Dieter. You like that there is more of Dieter to know.
When you cum, you call out his name. He swallows it, pressing his lips to yours. “Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me. You’ve always been.” He fucks faster into you, his own release on the horizon. You squeeze around him once, twice, and that’s it; he’s filling the condom up and he’s gasping earnestly, amazed and so goddamn in love. He kisses you on the mouth and it’s so genuine. You kiss him back, smiling like a newlywed.
“Dustin,” you say against Dieter’s lips, after a moment. Your chests are both heaving and you're drenched in a thin layer of sweat. He presses his forehead against yours and you smile. “Let me take care of him,” you tell him.
Dieter rolls off of you, collapsing into bed with a soft groan and saying nothing. You take a moment to recuperate, breathing in and out, letting the bliss of this moment wash over you.
“Come here,” you say to Dustin, patting the open space of the bed beside you. He listens, the bed dipping beneath his weight. It takes a lot of effort on your part, but you rise to your knees. You guide him onto his back and he helps you straddle him. For a moment, you just sit there on top of him, looking at him.
“I used to masturbate to you,” you finally admit. This makes him grin. Beneath your cunt, his erection jumps a little.
“Thanks,” he says. His hand palms one of your breasts again. “You don’t have to do anything to me. I can finish myself off if you want.”
You shake your head, grinning. “Didn’t you hear me? I used to masturbate to you. This is a dream.”
Another hand comes up to cup your other breasts. “Are you sure you don't feel too sore? He fucked you pretty good.” You begin to glide your cunt alongside his prominent erection. He sucks in a swallow breath. “Guess that’s a no.”
“That’s a no,” you confirm.
“Just let her fuck you,” Dieter tells him quietly. You smile over at him but he doesn’t see it; he’s too busy watching the way you move your hips over Dustin. Even with a flaccid penis and in a state of post-coital peace, you manage to get to him.
You ride Dustin quickly, grabbing onto his strong shoulders as he tongues your alongside chest, finding your nipples. He groans, the sensation vibrating throughout your body as you follow the motion his hands set for you. A fast up and down, your back arching, taking him in completely and then pushing back so far he nearly falls out.
Admittedly he does most of the work, your legs wobbly and your body tired. But it feels good. God, does it feel good. You like this, being with two men back to back, each of them taking turns. Dustin generously tries to get you to cum again, his fingers sliding between your bodies, but you stop him.
“It’s too much. Just this,” you tell him. You grind down on him to make him feel better about it, and he hums sympathetically around a mouthful of your breast.
You ride him less enthusiastically the closer he gets, both of you too tired and worn. He stops aiding you so much, kissing anywhere he can access: your jaw, your neck, the side of your mouth. He lets your body fall forward into his. It’s a sort of lazy fucking that you do, meeting halfway to create the sharp thrusts that push him closer to climax.
“Cum in me,” you tell him, voice silky against his ear. He knows how tired you are, feels it too. He gathers up the last of both of your strengths, rutting up into you with intent. As he cums, you ride him, curious, taking all he can give. Dieter is too sensitive, can’t stand to move when he cums, but Dustin nods, moaning against you. When it’s over, you collapse into him, hugging his sweaty body. He laughs against your warm skin.
“Thank you,” he tells you softly, so only you can hear. You nod. You lie on him like that for a moment, listening to the beat of his heart. Dieter watches you, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t look faraway.
You reach out to him with your fingers and he smiles, coming to.
Dustin helps you off of him and you fall between them, sated and spent. He slides off his condom and reaches across your body. “You want me to take yours?” he asks Dieter. Dieter, no longer feeling jealous but merely tired, nods. He hands the man his condom and Dustin pads off to the bathroom. Dieter and you watch this, amused.
“I kinda understand what you see in him now,” he confesses, smiling. He interlocks your fingers and you let him.
“Thank you,” you say, ignoring his comment. You look over at him.
He nods, sincere. “Of course. I assume I did it right?”
“You did it right.”
“And you don’t regret it?”
You shake your head. “I don’t seem to regret you. Even though sometimes it’d be better if I did.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“I love you.”
You kiss him chastely, even though you know you shouldn’t. “I know,” you tell him softly. “I love you too.”
“Like a friend?”
“No.”
“Like a husband?” he asks, testing the waters. You laugh. Dustin comes back from the bathroom.
“No. Something more than all of that.”
“I can handle that.”
You nod your head. “Me too,” you tell him.
The bed dips from the weight of Dustin once more, and you roll over to your side, cuddling into him. He passes a warm rag to Dieter and he accepts it, cleaning himself. He goes to hand it to you, but you shake your head.
“I’ll take a shower in a little. When I can walk.”
This earns a laugh from them both. Dustin reaches an arm around you, drawing you closer to his body. Dieter, surprisingly, doesn’t mind this; he curls up behind you, too, wrapping an arm around your waist. You’re all so close, and it’s nice. He thinks maybe they might be something to this sharing after all.
“I liked that,” you say to no one in particular.
Dustin hums, fingering trailing over your arm. “Enough to do it again?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. I think the opportunity for this kind of thing only happens once in a lifetime, doesn’t it?”
“I don’t know about that. This is Hollywood, and they love sequels,” Dieter adds, smiling.
“Yeah,” Dustin nods, “That’s true.”
You close your eyes, smiling faintly. “A sequel, then, maybe,” you say tiredly.
In the morning, you do not regret any of it.
—-
A YEAR LATER.
SUBJECT: THREE’S COMPANY, BUT ONLY SOMETIMES
from: [email protected]
I was at an art show the other day and I saw a painting with your name on it. The guy in it looked a little familiar (they told me it was an old painting, from nearly a decade ago, before you were both famous. Cute). I bought it, of course. Not that I’m in the habit of buying paintings from people I’ve slept with, but it was for charity and it looked good and I’ve got a new apartment that I’ve got to fill, so I thought why not? It cost a lot (good for you!) and because of that they let me wrangle an email address from them to tell you what a brilliant job you did. You did great. Very Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton of you.
Anyway, to the point: You weren’t at the premiere of the documentary with Dieter last month. He told me that it's because you don’t like that scene, and I don’t blame you. Neither do I. But I was wondering how you feel about commissioned paintings? And do you think that Dieter would like to come with you to deliver it if your opinion is positive? (He told me I had to ask you that myself, so I think he’d be happy to accompany you if the canvas is too big to carry by yourself).
P.S. I’m asking you for sex–a sequel, as it were–but I really would like a painting, too. I’ll spend a lot (not for the sex, but the art. I guess for the sex too, if you’re into that).
Love,
D. Mulray.
—-
SUBJECT: HOPEFULLY NOT ROSEMARY’S BABY SITUATION
to: [email protected], [email protected]
Sometimes I commission art work for people I like and sometimes I make an exception for those I don’t if they pay enough. I’m sure you fall somewhere in those categories, Dustin. But I must warn you: I won’t do dick drawings. I might do a vagina one if the inspiration strikes.
I must admit I’ve never had a man ask me for sex over email. Kind of thrilling, like a retro sext but without any of the sexy parts. I’ve attached Dieter to this email for obvious transparency reasons. He says he’d gladly help me carry your canvas (figuratively and literally).
P.S. It will cost you. For tax purposes, I hope you’ll let ‘it’ be the art.
—
from: [email protected]
to: you, [email protected]
Who said divorce couldn’t be sexy?
#pedro pascal#dieter bravo#the bubble#dustin mulray#david duchovny#the bubble fanfic#pedro pascal fanfic#dieter bravo x you#dieter bravo x reader#dieter bravo x reader x dustin mulray#dustin mulray x reader#dustin mulray x you
89 notes
·
View notes
Text
i just had the realization that the shinigami, and the captains specifically, would have no idea of the more delicate human things. like memes. or anything a teenage boy circa early 2000’s would know.
i can so easily imagine ichigo dropping some reference near one of them and being asked “what’s that?” and him coming to the same realization and the pure joy any 15 y/o would get at memeing an old person that follows.
theres so much good shit that spawned from 2000-2009. tell me ichigo wouldn’t “ah shit, here we go again” at LEAST once. “one does not simply [insert the most asinine shit here]”. scatman. the ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny. success kid. 4 approximately 15 y/o teenagers together in a stressful situation would absolutely meme their way out. 2000’s movie reference anything that moves.
and the captains would be so confused. they don’t know this shit, they don’t need to know this shit. they would ask questions and be left with more questions bc i dont know if you’ve ever asked a teenager what something means and got meme’d for it, but that’s what happens.
tell me “it’s time to d-d-d-d-duel!” isn’t heard right before ichigo beats the fuck out of byakuya. ishida when he’s facing mayuri. orihime when ishida faces the wind guy before mayuri. chad vs kyoraku. any major battle ever. rukia and renji start saying it at some point. byakuya asks about it at some point and is told its a formal way to announce a fight. he starts saying it. (really, he says “it is time to duel”, but the spirit and meaning is there).
truly, along with the invasion to get rukia they invade the seireitei with memes. anything and everything that can be spoken, is. when the Gang goes to the human world when the arrancars are discovered, they are subsequently taught how to be meme lords and take it back with them. yachiru starts memeing, meaning kenpachi starts memeing (his favorite is “it’s over 9000!”) rangiku teaches shuuhei. ikkaku teaches iba. it spreads. the entire seireitei is memeing.
the rest of the captains start memeing last. mayuri figures out how to rickroll. kyoraku and “thanks, obama.” (he does not know who obama is). those are just the ones that immediately come to mind, but please brainstorm some more because i can’t stop thinking about this.
this post was inspired by the delighting thought of mayuri being updogged.
#bleach#mayuri kurotsuchi#bleach anime#shunsui kyoraku#bleach captains#bleach mayuri#bleach kyoraku#kenpachi#kenpachi zaraki#bleach kenpachi#byakuya kuchiki#rukia kuchiki#renji abarai#renji#rukia#ichigo#bleach ichigo#ichigo kurosaki#inoue orihime#ishida uryuu#yasutora chad#bleach chad
722 notes
·
View notes
Text
ES21 x ROTTMNT AU Masterpost:
Teenage Mutant Mystic DEMONS
a.k.a: TMMDemons AU
Trigger Warnings: death, child trafficking, demonic rituals, ghosts, dehumanization, human experimentation, child abuse, demons, mentions of cults
Characters: Sena, Hiruma, Kurita, Musashi, Doburoku
SUMMARY:
Child trafficking is the one thing that brings Sena, Hiruma, Kurita, and Musashi together.
Sena and the Maou Trio (who i will now be referring to as "the four kids") are four of the hundreds of children who were kidnapped by traffickers, and sold to an organization led by a cult.
The facility, known as "Deimon," is located in a forest within the countryside. This organization buys trafficked kids, and uses them for human experiments. And of their dozens of experiments, only two bear fruit: "Project Maou," and "Project Ghost."
Project Maou is the organization's main experiment. The cult leading the organization has one main goal: to summon the king of demons, should it truly exist. And to do that, the experiment's aim is to use mystic energy to insert the soul of the demon king into a child, to make the child easy to control and influence.
And of the kids, Hiruma, Kurita, and Musashi are the three most promising subjects of Project Maou.
Sena, meanwhile, is the sole survivor of the succesful Project Ghost. This experiment was far simpler than Project Maou. Its aim was simple: to give a human child the abilities of ghosts. This experiment was a pioneer project, which paved the way for Project Maou.
The last stage of Project Maou is a ritual; an attempt to summon the king of demons unto this human plane. Kurita, Hiruma, and Musashi are dragged into the middle of a summoning circle.
An hour into the ritual, something goes wrong. Due to miscalculations in the amount of mystic energy, the demon king's soul splinters into pieces, and some fragments of his soul embed themselves onto the three screaming children.
The ritual fails. The whole area explodes, and decimates all life within a one-mile radius.
Everything is gone. The the scientists and staff are all reduced to ash. The buildings, trees, plant life, and animal life have all become nothing but dust. And all that remains is scorched earth.
Nothing is left. Nothing—except for four genetically enhanced children, who crawl out of the rubble after regaining consciousness.
The Maou Trio now find themselves with newly-mutated bodies. Bat wings, clawed hands and feet, markings, tails, and horns.
Sena looks different from the other three. He does not have those physical traits, which sometimes makes him feel like he's not one of them.
The kids venture out of the forest, and meet Doburoku, a yokai hermit who lives on the outskirts of a town.
Eventually, Doburoku adopts the little rascals. And after years of companionship, they come to see each other as a family.
As a yokai, Doburoku has mystic powers. Upon learning that the kids actually possess mystic energy, he starts teaching the four kids how to use their mystic powers.
CHARACTER SHEETS:
SENA • HIRUMA • KURITA • MUSASHI • DOBUROKU SAKAKI (coming soon)
Maou Trio
MEMES:
• Every Found Family's got...
• Snitches get stitches
NOTE: In this AU, the Sena & the Maou trio are raised together under one roof, like siblings. As a result, the kids are more playful, and they sometimes have rivalries with one another. They trust each other, and they are physically affectionate with one another. As such, it's common to see Hiruma hugging Sena, or even Musashi sleeping on Kurita's back. This AU is just a lotta Maou Trio + Sena puppy-piling on each other to cope with trauma.
Browse this AU's Tags HERE
Please feel free to write or make art of this AU. But please credit me, and send me the link to what you've made! I'd love to see it!!!
To my fellow TCEST fans, please feel free to ship the characters! (I gave the Maou trio cloacas for this very reason eyyyy!) In this context, I'd call it Mutant-cest or MCEST.
This AU was based on Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (ROTTMNT), and further inspired by RWBY, The Locked Tomb, Honkai Impact 3, Fullmetal Alchemist, Solo Levelling, and Genshin Impact.
#tmmdemons#teenage mutant mystic demons#tmmdemons au#eyeshield 21#eyeshield21#yoichi hiruma#hiruma yoichi#hiruma#es21#hiruma youichi#youichi hiruma#kobayakawa sena#sena kobayakawa#ryoukan kurita#ryokan kurita#kurita ryokan#gen takekura#takekura gen#musashi#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#au#es21 au#eyeshield 21 prompt#eyeshield 21 prompts#eyeshield 21 au#es21 prompt#es21 prompts#maou trio
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
rating thawne's deaths on a 10 point scale
snapped neck: 6/10. ok. not good, not bad, well-deserved, timeless, impactful. i love the way thawne is still complaining about that one though.
flashpoint: 9/10. imagine becoming a living paradox and proceeding to rant about how your speedster nemesis cant hurt you now (very normal way to put it btw.) only to be pierced by a fucking sword. dumb and classic, all good here.
the button: 100/10 THE DUMBEST DEATH OF THEM ALL AND MY ALL TIME FAVORITE. also a classic, imagine being told multiple times that youre going to die and fucking carry on like youre the Smartest here and nothing could ever happen to you and actually ima adopt you barry. thawne's character at its finest.
running scared: 8/10. not bad. ironic last words and 'on my life i swear' about the promise he intended to break all along. once again, dead because he couldnt shut the fuck up and look around him. iris, my beautiful tired of thawne's shit queen, I STAN.
the flash cw season 1: 5/10. dont remember it much asides from being totally pointless as it has 0 effect on thawne's existence further and our beloved Genius of Time Travel, who can Calculate Every Single Timeline Consequence To His Actions revealing his fucking name to his ancestor and bullying him into murder by suicide.
legends of tomorrow season 2: 10/10. love this one. top 10 reverse-flash moments. my dude got together like 15 other versions of himself for each to do practically fucking nothing other than to group pose and die. an honorable mention: poor black flash who got called a monster just for trying to do his timeline protection job and who endured all of thawne's shit only for it to turn out completely pointless as well. then again if you think about it, everything that happens in cw is pointless.
the flash cw season 6: 2/10. does that even count as a death. makes zero fucking sense. 2 points only for thawne being a total loser and resembling negaduck's 'crisis on infinite darkwings' death.
suicude squad: hell to pay: 10/10. i gave this 10 points already just for his last words 'fuck my life'. again, DOESNT KNOW HOW TO SHUT THE FUCK UP WHICH GETS HIM KILLED. thawne believing in the afterlife in the first place feels out of character to me though.
finish line: 0/10. it was very hard to waste a character like that without even realising it AFTER WRITING HIM WITH SUCH A DEEP UNDERSTANDING BEFORE but you've done it, williamson ⭐
legends of tomorrow season 7: 7/10. very balanced death, little bit of thawne having zero fucking braincells, little bit of meaning. not even complaining about the concept, silly little domesticated rat doing his silly little job of preserving the timeline. i approve.
jurassic league: 10/10. first i suggest we just stop and think for a moment about the fact that we got a DINOSAUR THAWNE in a list of deaths. second THIS PREHISTORIC DUMPLING GOT FUCKING EATEN. third insert an extinction pun. perfect understanding of thawne being a fucking joke of a character and meme potential.
flashpoint beyond: 12/10. did NOTHING in the plot. meant NOTHING for the plot. just spawned as a corpse and looked pretty in the morgue (10 points already purely for The Page) and i respect that. 1 more point for the button encore and another to martha wayne. thank you for your service queen, we'll never forget your impact on this one.
knight terrors: the flash: 8/10. this mf lasted exactly 3 pages. neat but a bit sad if you think about it. not only got killed unprovokedly but his prescious museum he just tried to protect got damaged as well. didnt even get to finish neither the tour or his point about barry not being able to wake up (again, only tried to help in a way by that?). also i like the way he's once again a creation of barry's subconsciousness acting suspiciously fruity.
#feel free to make this into a challenge lmao#its a full list of his deaths btw with the little exception of fp paradox and whatever might have happened in cw after straightwashing#if its not. please let me know bc i Have To review them all#eobard thawne#reverse flash#professor zoom#the flash#the flash cw#legends of tomorrow
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
I’ll be honest with you - in season 1 of WOT:
I didn’t exactly love what I’m calling the Main Character Squad (Rand, Egwene, Perrin, Mat, Nynaeve). Like don’t get me wrong - I didn’t hate them. I just thought they were … idk … boring? And this may warrant a rewatch, I’ll admit I was not in the best place emotionally while watching the season. But I just felt like they were kind of flat with maybe the exception being Mat and Nynaeve who I was kinda like 👀 what’s going on. Mat had that whole corrupted by darkness thing going on with him and Nynaeve was just a fucking badass and seemed highly motivated to protect her friends from the get go. But idk Rand felt like he was just kinda …… there? Same with Egwene and Perrin.
(This is ending up turning into an essay so I’m gonna put shit below a cut)
They were cool characters and I obviously was rooting for them to get reunited and stuff but I was like “eh???” Until maybe the very end when things started falling in place and the plot became a lot more sticky (as my friend describes plots that suddenly have a lot of competing motivations all coming together)
So I think my main issue was with their writing rather then the characters themselves. I’m coming at this as a complete outsider to WoT - never read the books and even if I did, I believe an adaptation must be able to stand on its own. And what I think happened was that season 1 like *had* to catch everyone up on the lore of the world, why Moiraine was so hellbent on finding the Dragon, what the hell the Aes Sedai were, etc. etc.
And it may have somewhat put characterization on the backburner until the end when they were like “we caught you up to speed now here’s the plot”. I guess they felt passive, like the plot was just happening to them instead of them driving the plot. Like we got hints of stuff - I was confused about what was going on with Perrin, then really intrigued towards the end when the wolves attacked the White Cloaks camp. And then of course the whole Eye of the World thing and Ishamael being released and him cutting Moiraine off from the One Power.
But idk, most of that season just fell flat to me.
The second season however, whooooo boy did I get fucking invested in those crazy kids. I was like “why can’t Nynaeve deliberately channel? [Insert Spiderverse “can’t do it on command” meme here]”, “oh fuck how is Egwene going to get out of this and also fuck you Renna”, “Rand please don’t go crazy”, “Perrin is like spiritually connected to wolves??? I need to know more about how that is a thing”, “Mat I swear to god you better not be evil because I’m like rooting for you”.
And of course I was really invested in the supporting characters - like Moiraine’s journey, Liandrin’s betrayal, Lanfear’s … everything (god I love her).
And oh god was it almost empowering to see their arcs play out.
- Rand struggling with the fact that he is indeed the Dragon Reborn and that male channelers tend to go batshit and kill everyone they love.
- Perrin becoming more familiar with his wolf-powers (I forgot what they were called or if they even had a name I’m sorry) … and being caught between his humanity and his wolf side. RIP Hopper, I’m glad you were avenged almost immediately.
- Egwene first off like: struggling with the fact that Nynaeve was kind of distant (because Nynaeve was obviously dealing with her own issues) but sticking with her friend. And then getting fucking captured and enslaved and like thrown into one of the most disempowering positions one can get into… and she fucking still held her own and never gave in. God I think her arc is like my favorite one this season. Fuck you Renna I’m glad you fucking got what you deserved.
- Mat dealing with the aftermath of the dagger and just having this darkness inside of him. He had been pushed down and kicked all his life, people viewed him as a loser, and he had that attitude towards himself as well. I felt like a connection to him because yeah, that boy is just a touch depressed, and as someone who’s dealt with their own mental health issues and ADHD absolutely making me feel like I’m constantly failing everyone including myself …….. good lord did his arc make me feel some feelings. Like he took that darkness - namely the dagger - and he used it to fight his way out. And then he’s a fucking hero of the horn. That is unironically super fucking inspiring to me.
- Nynaeve not being able to channel on command, being almost afraid of the power she can wield (I think that’s the angle they’re going for at least - though it also does seem to be very attached to her emotions). Out of all the main character squad: I liked her the most in the first season. She was very much motivated to protect her friends. Like I do see her kind of as the mother figure of the group (and not in a derisive way - like she will absolutely fuck a person up if they hurt her friends as we saw in season 2 with that sul’dam), the “heart” in the five man band. Like *almost* like Katara in a way and I really loved Katara so there you go.
- honorable mention to Moiraine because she thought that she had to handle this shit on her own. She had to figure out what Ishamael and the Dark One were planning while protecting Rand and also dealing with the aftershocks of her being cut off from the One Power. Something that Verin very much analogized to being assaulted or raped. And Moiraine just kept trucking, carrying the burden of what she felt like her own responsibilities like she carried those fucking buckets up the hill. The season was her realizing she could rely on others and she didn’t have to be as closed off as she was being. And oh my god once she got the One Power back she (a woman who was already plenty fucking badass during this entire season) like went to fucking S-tier levels of badass. God I fucking love her.
Basically: I’m saying that I loved season 2 very very much and I’m now rooting for these crazy kids to fuck shit up and save the world.
Also I love every single woman in this show who’s not Renna or the Seanchan because fuck those slavery loving assholes.
#I could say a shit ton more but I have like errands to run today#so anyway … yeah#Wheel of Time on Prime#wot season 2#wot season 2 spoilers#character analysis??? I guess???#anyway rooting for these crazy kids now#rand al'thor#nynaeve al'meara#egwene al'vere#Perrin#mat cauthon#moiraine damodred
38 notes
·
View notes
Note
OK NOW YOUR TURN
pls pls ramble abt any niche interest you have
HELLO THANK YOU
*invokes inner history nerd* so. listen here colonizer and listen good. i will subject you to my random knowledge cuz due to youtube, undiagnosed neurodivergency and most importantly- bad jokes. i have a vari-tea of niche interests but the first thing that came to my mind was my knowledge of the history of how Indians became one of The Top Consumers of Tea.
how did this wonder-drug make its way into our masala covered hearts? what led to the fact that everyday at 4pm the word at the tip of most indians' tongues is "chai"?this is my thesis as a pro desi tea obsessed freak.
This story, like most in our history, starts with the arrival of the British. i would like to insert this picture i found in a video that i laughed at for a solid five minutes:
anyway
technically tea was invented in china, and for a very long time it was exclusively grown there. it was a very high class commodi-tea. it was considered so precious that in 1662 when king charles the second married the Portuguese princess catherine of braganza: her dowry was a chest of tea and THE ENTIRE ISLAND OF MUMBAI (then, bombay) for an annual lease of 10 pounds. let me make that clearer. THE PLACE WHERE A 1BHK HOUSE IS SO EXPENSIVE MOST PPL CANT AFFORD WAS EQUIVALENT TO THIS:
needless to say the brits was so freaking addicted man. they wanted this. so bad.
By the 18th centuary there was a war between the english and the dutch and the brit resources were down the toilet so they couldnt afford to spend all that silver on the trade of tea leaves with china. and china was uninterested in anything the white boys were offering.
UNTIL they discovered something china wanted.
✨Drugs✨
the white boys wanted that tea. and they would do anything. so they started growing opium in india (by that time they had colonized us bruh. they came into our backyard and were like "bro we're such good friends pretty please let me use ur backyard" "ok what do you want to do w it?" "i wanna grow drugs bro" "....ok" "you'll work for me no bro?" "why would i do that" "bro its ur backyard bro" "what-" *england pulls out slavery* "SHUT UP AND DO IT") (dont come at me lmao this is a very rough simplification of what happened)(imma get blocked for this?)
anyway, brits grew opium and smuggled it to china in return for TEA. FOR TEA. 40.
now after the charter act of 1833 (idk what that is exactly but basically brits lost its trade monopoly with china and so now china said we should see other people and it was an open relationship and britian got very pissed but they signed the act anyway i think)
to deal with this they established the Tea Committee (this isnt the first government board specifically for tea. there were plen-tea of others like the Tea Board Of India) which dealt w the extraction of techniques, tea seads and resources from the chinese. this was highly unsuccessful and china was not impressed. this is an example of british desperation they'll do anything at this point. (took everything in me to not insert pictures of how they treated indian farmers. it was *inhales, lets go of anger for my ancestors treatment* bad)
but in the end this qoute i found (undoubtedly by a white man) "fortune favours the white men" came tru and they got their way.
oh you thought i was done? haha babygurl i am not
in 1843 robert fortune, who was a scottish horticulturist, went on a solo trip to china to study (read as: steal) tea plantations. no actually apparently he did study cuz he published a book(i forgot the name).(yes. HIS NAME WAS ROB. FORTUNE. talk about being born for a job)
lemme insert a quick meme here:
(they actually hired him on the spot and gave the amazed man 500 pounds per annum and sent him off to china)
he was to perform what we call The Great British Tea Heist
the brits had found their vigilan-tea
my guy was committed to his role and shaved his head and pretended to be a monk and after 3 months wrote a letter to his company saying "bro i got the goodssss"
lmao no this it what the letter said- "l have much pleasure in informing you," he wrote, "that I have procured a large supply of seeds and young plants which l trust will get safely to India."
NOW they finally had the greens and started planting it in india. over the years indian tea topped the market in britian as the best tea. mostly cuz the white boyz HYPED it up. they even started doing diss tracks for chinese tea. this is something read right out of an advertisment- "indian teas are more wholesome, purer, cheaper and better than chinese teas in every single way". white boyz started saying stuff like they got out of a toxic realtionship with china and a healthy one with india (but they were the toxic ones)
now brits tried to globalize indian tea to get the moneyyy~ from indians.
their first experiment with (another) government body for tea- Indian Tea Association began on the indian railways. these railways were the ancestor of the IRC-tea-C. basically they started making tea on the railway platforms. this started the trend of tea being the signature experience on every indian train journey, from the first class to economy, everyone was having it (cuz trains were introduced and quickly became popular in use). train tea was said to be better than the quality of tea in 5 star hotels. and this converted us from a nation of tea-totalers to teach addcits.
now i just have one thing to say in the end. HOW did the quality decline so badly my desi brothers and sisters? nowadays the tea on trains is basically water but brown. milk is a lie.
anyway. on the end we got it right. we took tea from the chinese and brits and we added milk and we added sugar and we got:
✨chai✨
you have reached the end. congrats.
#siri goes insane#asks#history#of tea#tea#chai#desiblr#most of these jokes were made by other people#pls dont come at me if you have heard them b4#it is not my responsibili-tea#great britian#what were you doing#what goes on#lmao
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
rewatching transformers age of extinction here’s how it went:
-pretending Optimus was 100% taking the best and longest nap of his life when some guy started fucking around with him
-they’re keeping tradition of blonde skinny girl 100% underage and yet all shots including her are overtly sexual
-A SLAVE JOKE IN 2014 “i don’t think you can own someone, that ended a while ago, even in texas”
-wowie optimus ‘insert fuckboi meme here’ green ooze for blood not looking too hot there babes
-lmao fuck the government <3
-“my face is my warrant” thats so fucking corny omfg
-i forgot how ruthless transformers used to be <3
-god we should go back to when movies had some real weight, where are my character deaths, my ultimatums with consequences, we don’t get both, something has to be sacrificed <3
-WE JUST GONNA MOVE PAST THIS? HELLO?! Shes 17, Hes 20. PLEASE THEY BROUGHT UP THE ROMEO AND JULLIET LAW!!
-God i wish theyd bring back the whole scanning a vehicle to, um, pick how they want to look cause its sick as fuck
-Please i do miss the time when Bees puppy dog eyes were a disguise <3
-the governments keeping secrets who would’ve guessed <3
-i love lil hostage dude but he’s definitely a caricature
-BEES GOT HIS SIGNATURE LOOK BACK <3
-THE CGI IS SO BAD <3
-“the trouble with loyalty to a cause, is that the cause will always betray you”
-dog/wolf transformers are sick as fuck
-please not the tongue ew ew ew ew
-bitchboy of a bf js
-Tess for the love of God
-BEE RRRRAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!!
-“To lay some hate” amen
-PUNCH HOLD SLIDE REPEAT
-the repeated racism and sexism is a bit much…
-haha megatron been playing their ass..called it (ive seen this movie three times)
-lmao Cade x Joshua
-NOT THE SLOMO RUNNING
-awww Joshua’s having a change of heart (not really hes a narcissist)
-okay metaphors
-“Go find my seed” —pause
-aw here we go the whole “don’t give up on us humans, sure your kind have died due to our selfishness but that was an itty bitty mistake and mistakes make us human so don’t stop protecting us giant robot man 🥺🥺”
-NOT FUCKING RAINBOW DASH
-Mama deserves a raise
-a fucking battle right now in the middle of everything
-prime be so fucking fr
-they’re so real “im staying the fuck outta this” me to babes
THE DINOBOTS RAHHHHHHHH
-the “no thats optimus prime” line was timed nicely but the way he delivered the line fucked it all up
-anyway uhhh 4/10 movie racist/sexist/pervy jokes are simply unfunny and the lead human characters were stupid and the big bads were all stupid, im only here for the giant fighting robots that turn into vehicles xoxo <3
#transformers age of extinction#transformers#optimus#bumblebee#crosshair#transformers drift#transformers hound#transformers rotb#rachet#vauge posting#if you know you know
32 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hehehe YouTuber au headcanons?
More Youtuber AU!
-So Carrie is clearly huge in the fashion and beauty and lifestyle spheres. She does brutally honest product reviews with stuff she buys herself (because fuck sponsorships that require you say nice things), makeovers for herself and Reggie into different styles, make-up tips and routines, and every now and then she goes all Rich Youtuber and surprises her subscribers with like, a shopping spree or buying poor kids their prom outfits or whatever.
-Reggie's favourite was the one where she got them both a full historically accurate Renaissance Faire get-up.
-Also of course Dirty Candi has its own channel and they do stuff for that too.
-Very few people link Carrie's cute hype-man and boyfriend Reggie to that video essay channel that goes really, really in depth into Star Wars lore and background details, mostly because he doesn't show his face on that one.
-Some people are like: hey isn't he that tiktok guy who films himself giving dogs at the park the most unhinged compliments. (Insert clip of Reggie telling a Pomeranian she could lead armies and help them win the skeleton war, while she wags and lets him pet her)
-Alex has a reaction channel where he does both shows and movies he's never seen/was never allowed to watch as a child, as well as like tiktok stories and memes. People like his snarky sense of humour. They also love whenever he does something horror, because he insists on watching it with his cute boyfriend, who is 100% not phased by anything and will be like: it's okay babe the werewolf is just tearing that guy apart. Remember, he deserved it, he was rude to that gas station attendant trying to warn them not to go into Werewolf Woods.
-Willie doesn't have a youtube but he does post sick skateboard tricks on tiktok.... sometimes in locations he Should Not Be.
-Flynn has a channel where she makes parody songs and raps. Julie and the guys are sometimes featured.
-They all live together in a big mansion and people are like: OMG IT'S ANOTHER YOUTUBE HYPE HOUSE and Carrie is like: um no, this is my fucking house and the others just live here because else it gets boring and also Reggie is like a sad puppy if he doesn't get to hang out with his friends at least an hour every day.
-Julie as a Sims Youtuber. She started playing a lot after her mom died because you can turn on the Sims and forget about everything and suddenly it's four hours later, and she needed that at the start to just get through the days. She's got a few long-running series that are very popular.
-Julie is the only one going to school because her Tía would murder her if she dropped out of college to become a youtuber. Ray promises her he'll be proud no matter what she does but also he doesn't really understand Youtube and how you can make a living with it. He's very happy to help film on bigger projects or give camera advice to everyone, though.
-Everyone has guest starred on Carlos' ghost hunter show and people keep wondering how the hell he knows all these famous youtubers because he's such a small channel.
-Luke is the guy who is like: COME ON GUYS YOUTUBE ISN'T A VALID CAREER WE NEED TO BE DISCOVERED AS A BAND THE OLD FASHIONED WAY. He's like a cryptid that pops up in the background of everyone's videos. There's special Youtube Compilations of him from across the different channels, and he HATES IT.
#youtuber au#julie and the phantoms#carriexreggie#willex#the only time Luke had fun was when Flynn did a rock parody and he got to actually play#one time carrie did a sportswear review and reggie tried on the leggings and top as well#and let's just say he Broke a Specific Part Of Tumblr with that
19 notes
·
View notes
Text
Chaotic Tokyorev Headcanons
A/N: This is very chaotic so be warned. Who said woman can’t be funny? Kiss my ass :3
(Bonus: Random memes i found)
Tokyo 卍 Revengers (東京卍リベンジャーズ)
Mikey
Manz has severe like severeee indigestion problems. Like all this guy does is eat and sleep?? So he burps so loud. Imagine being in a meeting, complete silence, lots of focus and this midget just goes BURRRPPP.
He is so hecking annoying like bro stop sending Beluga videos at 3AM, poor Draken is trying to sleep.
He once changed Draken’s ringtone to CPR by Cuppcake. They were in a meeting and Draken recieved a call,oh boy, entire of Toman saw Draken’s dArK ImPulSes while the background music kept playing. “I am here to serve you customer service~~”
Draken
Man is too tall to be in Japan lmao, that one time he was walking with Mikey, he miscalculated how much he would need to bend to enter the door way. Ended up bonking his face straight into the wall.
He is barely ever sleep at night, reasons: overthinking, living in a brothel and most importantly, Baji and Mikey who send him random videos that he has to pretend to not find funny. Like that one time Baji sent him a video of Spongebob saying ‘YOAIMO’ on loop.
He is so quiet sometimes you would think there is something wrong. What actually goes in his mind is: ‘What if Baji suddenly shat in his pants again in the middle of a fight?’ or ‘if the earth is round, is it Mikey’s fault?’
Draken:
Me: 🦗🦟🦗🦟🦗
Baji
is the kind of person who’s only response to any kind of insult is “YoUr MoM.”
Like Mf its not my mom who cried because I had to repeat a school year.
You : “Baji you look like shit.”
Baji: “jOe MAmA” *insert windshield wiper laugh* My guy, you aint funny 😐😑
He once went to Ken saying, “Oi do you know Draken?”
Draken is like: 😐 brother wut
Baji: DRAKEN DEEZ NUTS-
(He ended up face flat on ground that day)
Chifuyu
Best boy 😤
I just knowww he reads soo much smut and weirdass wattpad books. Like the books he reads are so Satire.
the shit is like: marked by the alpha, sold to the mafia boss by my parents, kidnapped by One direction, BTS are my bullies and I fall in love with them and the vampire is my mate.
I don’t even need to be told twice. He is a twice stan, no questions asked. e was home alone and was playing some songs while bathing. After he came out a particular song: TT by Twice started playing and boi he couldn’t resist dancing. He wasn’t aware that baji had come home and the door was a little open, Baji saw him dancing with exaggerated steps with only a towel .
In case you wanna see the steps: https://youtube.com/clip/UgkxG_GPqC87wi8QjUpoI4IbwcPmo3flsJpS
Kazutora
He gets anxious so easilyy (he is me, I am him).
Once he was with Chifuyu helping in the ship, stalking one of the crates he by mistake dropped an item on Chifuyu’s leg.
He got confused between saying: ‘Are you okay?’ and ‘I am sorry’
He ended up yelling at his face, “ARE YOU SORRY?”
And Chifuyu is just like: 🙂 tf you high on dood?
He has some...interesting choice of words when it comes to certain things. Like one time Chifuyu and him were watching a movie and he randomly went, “damn, her Tatas are so big.”
Chifuyu ended up spilling the cold drink on his tatas due to laughing so much instead.
If bad things happen in your life, don’t blame yourself-
Mitsuya
Okay so we know he is an amazing brother you takes good care of his sisters. But for some reason the rest of toman also expects him to take care of them?
Like that one time when Baji set fire to car when people were still inside and he was forced to apologize to a veryy naked couple in the middle of the road at that time.
Or when when a girl was fixated upon Hakkai and he had to pretend to be his boyfriend to drive her off.
And also at the time when a very sleepy Mikey showed up in the middle of the night asking him for some snacks and everything was finished so he made him have half-cooked rice with peanut butter.
Hakkai
Pretty Boyyy🥺❤❤ And also fruity icon. Mf have you seen his wallpaper? “Takaa channn”
The Tiktok kid who puts TW on the weirdest of things. Like: TW! : bunny-hats, dirty shoes and sometimes even TW! Asian ppl. My love, you ARE Asian.
He forgets about how huge he is sometimes, so he ends up breaking so many things.
Like that one time Mitsuya dared him to hold a girl’s hand. He did so, she felt comfortable and they started walking, he suddenly lifted his arm up and that poor girl was dangling like a keychain: 🧍♀️ 🙋♂️. Thank fully her arm didn’t break, but he never held hands with anyone again.
hands and doors aren’t the only things this boy can break
HMMM... lets take a moment and think about Hakkai’s wallpaper :))
Sanzu
All we accept in this house is Sanzu slander :))
Sanzu stans be jumping red flags like its olympics all year
Mf got so high once, he started humping a tree...in a kids park.
A parent came upto him and asked, “sir what are you, doing, this is a kids park, please keep that in mind.”
He looked dead in their eye, blinked and said, “Oh, I am sorry, I’ll turn on my kiddie mode.” (2 minutes later)
Sanzu: “WHAT DOES A FOX SAY?”
Kids: Ring-ding-ding-ding-dingeringeding!!
Also once he said to Bonten Mikey that his hair looks like that of a karen. Ran and Rindou feared for his life that day.
Unironically says YEET when he throws something.
Has a group chat with Ran and Rindou called The Boyz 🥶🔥⛓
JOJO NO KIMYO NA BOKEN AIZU OIFU HEABWEN
Smiley ( Kawata Nahoya)
This boy right here is a menace to society.
This guy has so much lice in his hair. He never washes it. Souya was once looking at him picking something from his hair and chewing it. Mf was picking out lice and eating it like a hecking monkey. (Bro how did you not get Aids by now?)
He sleep-talks. A lot. Him and Souya were sleeping one day and baby boy started whimpering. Poor Angry thought he was having a bad dream and tried to wake him up. He ended up getting kicked in the face while him yelling “WHAT DA DOG DOIN?”
He once thought that him and Souya should name their attacks like those in MHA and Naruto.
The neighbours were just looking at them yelling while standing 4 feet away from each other like: 🧍♂️ and yelling like Naruto and Sasuke
“SOUYAAA”
“NAHOYAA”
“SOUYAAA”
“NAHOYAA”
“ROUNDO HOUSEO KICKKEU!!”
”ONE PUNCHO IN YOUR FACEUU!!”
and all this while standing like a statue.
“DIE, YAY, MURDER, YAY” : Master Oogway
Angry (Kawata Souya)
This little gremlin, he is so pretty:(((
He is so respectful that its funny.
So once he had a s/o. They were all dressed up for him, *wink wonk*. So they are just lying there like draw me like one of your french girls. And bro he opened the door. Stood there staring into their soul for a few seconds, turned around and slammed the door in their face while yelling, “I am sorry I should have knocked!” Ruined the whole mood.
His brother knows everything that happens in his life. Your crush on Mitsuya? Smileys knows. You skipping a class? Smiley knows. The time when Chifuyu tried to subtly fart? Smiley knows. Baji’s crappy “Deez” jokes? Smiley KNOWS.
He just such a cute little and fragile dandelion UwU who can turn Ran into Ranabelle UwU.
Shuji Hanma
As much as I hate this bitch...he is hot in the timeskip only)
You think Hakkai was bad? He makes wholeass overdramatic TikTok povs. Shit is like: “I am your boyfriend and the police is arresting me.” Mf goes making such weird faces.
He gets sooo mad when you compare him to Nishinoya from Haikyuu.
He also says “SHEESH’ and lip-bites obnoxiously
Oh did I forget to mention about how he tried to make that one video of doing the ‘bapsae’ hip thrust? I am talking about this thing. Yeah...dude lost his balance due to bending too much, mf was so AGRESSIVE when I tell you. It wasn’t even hot anymore, looked like he was having an itch. smh
The clip: https://youtube.com/shorts/dX6RTlhW2ZY?feature=share
Tokyo 卍 Revengers (東京卍リベンジャーズ)
·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Taglist: @denkis111, @jazzylove, @kristaline2dmensimp, @lordmypantsaresocool, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @rintaroubby, @nanaseishiro, @maybeleftoverjourneys, @idowritingandstuff, @astrofai, @loverboy--pdf, @akumicchi
〜 ➤Be added to my tag list: TAGLIST (If the link doesn’t work message me under this fic or personally to add you)
Love <3 @white-poppie™ on Tumblr
#tokyo revengers#trv#tokyorev#tokyorev headcanons#tokyorevengers headcanons#mikey headcanon#mikey hcs#draken headcanons#draken hcs#baji headcanons#baji hcs#mitsuya headcanons#mitsuya hcs#kazutora headcanons#kazutora hcs#chifuyu headcanons#chifuyu hc#kisaki headcanons#kisaki hcs#hanma headcanons#hanma hcs#sanzu headcanons#sanzu hcs#angry headcanons#angry hcs#souya headcanons#souya hcs#nahoya headcanons#smiley headcanons#smiley hcs
176 notes
·
View notes
Text
Alright... finally got to Meg... but the chapter might come out this weekend instead thanks to being busy. Grrr.
So maybe I'll spit out more ideas, since Tumblr is my new note wall. Not everything is final, but some might make it into the final draft hehe enjoy my brainstorming will happen again
-IMMA ABUSE LESTER. HE GETS WHUMP IN TDP HAHAHA, IM EXCITED FOR THAT oh and in WoNH too?? :0
-i really want to put in a scene somewhere where Lester just breaks down from stress and Apollo/Meg comforts him like FUCK this kid dude!!! he needs a break!!! He's scared, he doesn't quite get what's going on, raaaa!!
-Lester fights Commodus all I can post without more spoilers,,, but HOW do I MAKE that STUPID FIGHT IN THE STADIUM BETTER the idea for it rn is crummy... oh and how to make Leander here have that bi awakening and when bc I NEED THE BOY TO BE BI
-I actually really should be taking this a book at a time but forget it lmao. I also need to educate myself on stealth sequences for TLT... and for Shatterverse now that I think about it. Not an idea just me yelling at me as usual
-Lester punches every single emperor in the face and I am making this happen no matter what (insert markiplier punch meme here but it's lester)
-hey what if Apollo taught Lester ancient greek and latin??? can I do that??? just to be wholesome???
-angst angst w his family too bc I feel like it. Don't know how ill do it but I'll try
-One idea from the snippets I found showed that Lester actually knew both Piper and Percy, but due to his character being changed its just Percy now... tho I still want him to know one of other Seven if possible, maybe just Annabeth? Obviously it would barely be like acquaintances but still a neat idea
-An idea I adored from said snippets will also be returning. Can't say much except this: I got the idea originally from when I read my copy of the Illiad for the first time- Apollo of the Golden Sword. Trust me, it's not quite what you think. :>
-I've noticed a few errors in ToN, so I'll try to correct or explain them in TLT. One bugs me super badly. Oh, and that meeting with a cat and a severed head, Bast and Mimir? That will build into Mortal Hero, Lesterverse's second installment and the first actual story instead of a "rewrite." Of course, that's quite far down the line, but there's a LOT that happens in there.
-and finally, make Jason's death worse because protective boi. Again, no spoilerssss hehe
Just a reminder that my ask box is open! Feel free to make requests, ask about the AU (and Shatterverse! I'll be sharing about it eventually!) and whatever you please!
#trials of apollo#toa#toa au#double lester au#alternate universe#fan au#my au#lesterverse#lester papadopoulos#meg mccaffrey
7 notes
·
View notes
Note
So for pittedpeaches three stories what would you say is your favorite scene from each of the three stories (and also would you be willing to draw them as a request or com? *Insert the "take my money" meme here*)
(ppssstt honey, if you'd like a comm their not technically 'officially' open but if u want one dm me on my main and we can talk ;) . ofc if its a request just Kofi's fine but yesyes i would be willing to draw a scene from one of those fics)
hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
SPOILERS FOR THESE FICS UNDER THE CUT PLEAS EPLEASE LISTN TO ME WHEN I SAY IF YOU LIKE SPICYNOODLES YOU NEED TO READ THESE FICS AND EXPERIENCE THEM WITHOUT PRIOR KNOWLEDGE OHMYGOD
god pittecpeaches has such good fics i cant-AAAA I CANT CHOOSE ONE.
so i just checked thier profile and i havent read a garden across our collarbone yet-
but out of the two i have read (genus daturam and from three thirty to four) i'd say....
Every part of Red Son which MK touched seemed to burn. The conversations they had that evening played over and over in his head. Red Son wished he could have stayed there forever, eating meals, washing dishes, kissing between intimate talks about parents and inside jokes about metal peaches–
Wait a minute.
Wait a fucking minute-
MK had nearly closed the window shut when Red Son ripped it open. “I didn’t know about the peaches.”
MK stumbled back from the window, clearly not expecting Red Son to come back and say that of all things. “Uhh, what-”
THIS WHOLE SCENE HERE ITS BOTH HILAROUS AND SUCH AN AMAZING CLIMAX TO EVERYTHING THATS HAPPENED IN THE FIC LISTEN-LISTEN- NO GET UR ASS OVER HERE UR GNNA LISTEN TO ME AND LISTEN GOOD OKAY OKAY I NEED TO RANT-YOUVE GOT ME RANTING NOW MOTHERFUCKER/POS
theyve been secretly pining over each other for ages and then redson finnaly realises he's in love with mk and he knows mk doesnt know hes redson (WHICH IS HILAROUS OHMYGOD) and and and he LEAVES
FUCKER TRIES TO LEAVE BC "he loves red, not redson" BOOOIIIIIII
B O I
AND HE GOES OVER EVERYTHING THEY DID TOGETHOR AND ITS ALL BUILDING UP THE EMOPTIONS ARE ALREADY HIGHTEEND IN THE CHARACTERS AND READERS BECAUSE ALL THIS LOVEY DOVETY EXITEMNTY WEVE BEEN WAITING FOR IS FINNALLY HAPPENING ONLY FOR RED TO CUT IT OFF AND NOW HE'S GOING THROUGH EVERY THING IN THE DAY EBECAUSE HE WANTS TO TREASURE THE MEMORY EVERYONE CHATRACTERS AN DREADERS ARE FEELING THINGS AND THEN
O
OH
OH SHIT
THE METAL MOTHERFUCKING PEACHES
THE INSIDE JOKE THAT ONLY MK COULD MOTHERFUCKIN KNOW
i am so normal about this fic * froths at the mouth *
“When I asked you to cut the peaches, you made a joke asking whether they were real or metal.” Red Son climbed back into the house. “But I wouldn’t know about that, would I? So why did you make the joke?”
MK’s eyes were wide and for a moment, Red Son saw it–the glimmer of realization. As quickly as it came it left, hidden by MK squeezing his eyes shut and laughing. “OH! Well, a long while back there was this race around the city, and the winner got what I thought were the real Peaches of Immortality but was actually–”
“But you didn’t say you made that mistake.” Red Son jabbed a finger into MK’s chest. “You said we did. The only people in that race were you, the Dragon Horse girl, and the Demon Bull Family. So how did we make that mistake?!”
MK stumbled on the floor, falling flat onto his ass. He stared up at Red Son, chuckling awkwardly. “Uh, well, I just-I guess I just-uhh-I don’t know, I’m tired, and it probably slipped out, there’s nothing to it, you don’t have to worry about it Red S-RED! Red, Red, it’s no big deal–”
MK was panicking, stumbling on his words, unable to look Red Son in the eye. It only confirmed what Red Son had begun to realize.
“You know who I am, don’t you?” He looked down at MK.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHEN I SAY I FREAKED OUT DURING THIS SCENE I WAS FUCKING SCREAMING
I WAS CHEERING I WAS CRYING ALL THE FUCKING EMOTIONS CRASHING INTO ME AT O N C E
(rereads ur ask....oh you said pick a scene from each of them mkay mkay-
THE HAIR-WASHING SCENE IN GENUS DATURA
First off this is funny af definitly the kinda shit i would write
“Alright. I know you just told me you hate water,” MK turned Red Son, clasping his hands together with a strained smile. “But, I’m going to need you to get into the tub.”
Red Son’s eyes went wider than noodle bowls. He turned his head to look at the tub, now nearly filled with water. MK could see Red Son’s mouth hang ajar as he turned back to face him.
No, not face him. Red Son was looking behind MK, but why would he do that? All that was behind MK was the door-
Red Son scrambled for the exit on all fours.
It took several minutes of shouting and chasing the surprisingly slippery Red Son around the bathroom before MK finally grabbed him. MK latched his arms around Red Son’s waist and pulled him from the ground. Red Son screeched, trying to pry MK’s arms off him. His skin was so hot it hurt to hold him, but at this point MK didn’t care. With a mighty heave, MK tossed Red Son into the bath.
The water splashed out the tub, covering the tiles in a thin sheen. Red Son floundered for a bit, thrashing his arms and legs beneath the water’s surface before emerging with a loud gasp. His ponytail had lost all its gravity-defying heat, now clinging to the back of Red Son’s neck. Red Son shuddered, aggressively trying to wipe the water off his steaming arms.
HE SCRAMBLED ON ALL FOURS LMAO I CANT I COULDNT BREATHE WHEN I FIRST READ IT
The moment MK’s fingers touched his scalp, Red Son flinched. MK moved his hands away, worried that he hurt Red Son, only for him to let out a whine. “Why’d you stop?!”
“Sorry, sorry, I’m not stopping!” MK laughed. “But, really, you gotta let me know if this is too much for you.” He ran his hands through Red Son’s roots. He could see Red Son’s face scrunch up in surprise, but he didn’t seem uncomfortable. In fact, as MK continued to work the shampoo into Red Son’s hair, he seemed to lean into the touch, his breaths becoming slow, heavy, and relaxed.
As MK leaned Red Son’s head back to get a better angle, Red Son stared up at him with sleepy eyes, blinking slowly. There was a small, content smile on his face. MK didn’t think he’d ever seen that expression on Red Son’s face before. Red Son’s smiles usually ranged from a maniacal grin to a hidden curl of his lip, but this felt softer, like Red Son’s inhibitions were being uncoiled with each knot MK untangled from his hair.
It occurred to MK, suddenly, how intimate this moment was. A blush ran up his cheeks at the realization, but Red Son didn't seem to care. He just grinned, dreamily at MK as he washed Red Son's hair.
This…was nice.
It was a bit overwhelming, sure. Red Son couldn’t remember the last time another person’s hands were running through his hair like this. Maybe when he was a toddler? Before he learned to wash himself?
But, it was nice.
MK’s fingers worked themselves into Red Son’s roots. Every now and then, his nails would scratch at his scalp and it’d send a shock down his nervous system. Red Son didn’t mind it though. He leaned into the touch, a lazy smile stretched on his face.
Red Son looked up at MK as he worked. His vision had blurred considerably from the crimson jimsonweed smoke, but he could recognize the Noodle Boy anywhere. He still had that ridiculous hair style, and that traffic-cone colored coat, and a grin that haunted Red Son’s lonely evenings. He was unmistakable.
What was MK doing here? He shouldn’t be here. He was supposed to be kart-racing with Mei right now. If MK was actually here, his parents would probably have found out by now, wouldn’t they? Or at the very least, one of the bull clones would have alerted the other staff. Not to mention, MK was supposed to our kart racing with Mei right now. There was no way he could possible be here.
But Red Son could feel MK’s hands working into his hair, couldn’t he? And MK had carried him up here, had cleaned his face, had thrown him into this atrocious tub full of water. MK was taking care of Red Son. When was the last time someone had taken care of Red Son? Since he was a child? Before he had to learn to care for himself?
It was so nice. Red Son could live in the feeling of MK’s care forever. It was certainly a good distraction from his burning skin, his foggy brain, the doom which whispered to him in stanzas of half-remembered puffy poetry about death from the crimson jimsonweed, about the images which haunted you into Diyu.
MK began to wash the shampoo out of Red Son’s hair, using one hand to pour water out of the basin and the other to block the soap from slipping down into his eyes. It was a small act, but one that showed a careful attention to detail that MK rarely showed to anything at all. It was the sort of sweet gesture that told Red Son he was cared for by MK, that he was loved.
And wasn’t that what had been haunting him for weeks now? Love?
Images that haunt you/Will carry your soul down/And pass you to ten kings
“Oh.” He whispered. “I see.”
MK smiled down at him. “What’s up?”
The candles that hung on the bathroom wall seem to fan MK's face with warmth and light. It almost looked like the light was bursting out from him, like MK's body could only barely contain all the lights in the heavens. But, maybe that was just Red Son's delirious, slowly-dying brain seeing what he always thought of MK.
“I’m hallucinating.” Red Son murmured.
all of this man
all of this
for one, i love intimate moments like this in fics. and the way this author writes this its just OHMYHEART-
and something about hands running through hair man *CLUTCHES HEART*
AND THEN
AND THEN THE
"im hallucinating"
*flatlines*
GOD ITS SO GOOD I LOVE IT SO MUCH
anways yeah ill get to reading the third on soon but these are my fave scenes :DDD
23 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
hanadewantyy
nugget bihun
sublimechopshopluminary-blog
Untitled
praise-madamspellman
”Women should be in charge of everything”
itsjuillet
itsjuillet