#Focussed: A Story and A Song

[sarahfeezy]

Turn full your soul's vision to Jesus, and look and look at Him, and a strange dimness will come over all that is apart from Him, and the Divine "attrait" by which God's saints are made, even in this 20th century, will lay hold of you. For "He is worthy" to have all there is to be had in the heart that He has died to win.

Lilias Trotter, “Focussed: A Story & a Song” (via source)

[autism-corner]

dude i keep saying this but this is so fucking good.....

[ghelgheli]

sorry if you've already answered this but i just read your post about whipping girl and found it so so so insightful!! i was wondering if you have any other recommendations for books/articles/etc. about transmisogyny and the lives of tma people. thank you in advance!!

I'm glad it was helpful! this is the second ask on the subject I've let pile up, because I want to do my best with it but I'm also far from an expert. I think half the work of answering "transmisogyny syllabus" questions is explaining why it's so hard to do so in the first place.

one of the tools of hegemony is the epistemic violence it works against its subjects; this is essential to transmisogyny, thru which we have historically been rendered unable to so much as record our existence, let alone theorize from it. it is incredibly difficult for a tma person to access the institutional devices of knowledge-making, most of all the university. even when we do it is typically for the institutions we work under to shoehorn our work into the hegemonic model, stymieing actual progress. so theories and histories of transmisogyny have had to progress in a patchwork, often informal fashion, upstream and at personal risk. I am not going to be able to give you books that I would recommend without criticism, because the epistemic violence of transmisogyny has made it virtually impossible to write such a book. but with that said, here are some recommendations:

- this post multiplied my understanding of transmisogyny manifold, and was one of the most clarifying things I've read on the subject

- hands off our lives, our stories, and our bodies, is imo essential to anyone interested in a theory of transmisogyny that actually engages with its manifestations in the global south

- I enjoyed My Words to Victor Frankenstein above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage by Susan Stryker for the vibes

- two historical excavations of transmisogyny: Trans Misogyny in the Colonial Archive: Re-Membering Trans Feminine Life and Death in New Spain, 1604–1821 by Jamey Jesperson and ‘Selective Historians’: The Construction of Cisness in Byzantine and Byzantinist Texts by Ilya Maude

- Romancing the Transgender Native is good for learning the trappings of ahistorical and idealist "third gender" attributions

- especially (but not exclusively) if you are yourself a trans woman/transfem/tma, consider reading fiction by trans women/tma people, like Serious Weakness by Porpentine Charity Heartscape (check tws) or LOTE by Shola von Reinhold

- Jules Gill-Peterson's A Short History of Trans Misogyny is great for some case studies in global transmisogyny, and a decent materialist approach. but I think she makes the same mistake serano made re: equivocation of transmisogyny with the oppression of femininity, and she would have done well to read the second article on this list. her histories of the transgender child is also good, though not especially focussed on transmisogyny

- follow @ bloomfilters on twitter

if this looks like a hodgepodge that's because it is on account of what I said in the first two paragraphs. I am really not an expert and I am sure there are others who could give you much more. but to echo a friend, you may be just as likely to get something out of a game or a song written by a tma person as you are an essay. every medium can be an opportunity to plunge the roots of our theorizing deeper.

[godidontevenknowwhat]

Lessons of life

Tonowari x Metkayina!Reader (Sequel to Missed Lessons)

A/N: Listen I know I said Missed Lessons was my Magnum Opus but I'm starting to think that writing for Tonowari in general might be my Magnum Opus, also if you saw me accidentally post this unfinished then no you didn't. Also not that anyone asked but Obstacles by Syd Matters and Look at you by Screaming Trees are Tonowari and Reader's songs in my head. Also also the smut is very little of this fic so if you're here for smut without plot this is not for you. And in case you haven't noticed my fics are never beta read so just act like any mistakes aren't there.

Synopsis: 35 cycles, almost 36, of being Tonowari's closest friend was enough to ensure a familiarity with everything in his life. The walls of his Marui, weaved by hand by his grandfather's father contained intricate patterns that you could trace in the sand from memory. The permanent markings covering his body, each with a story you knew from start to finish although it was rare the story didn't involve you in some capacity. The way people looked at him since becoming Olo'eyktan. Before your heat came, before Tonowari laid you in the sand and made you his.. you never would have believed that familiarity would ever fade. The walls of his Marui are now the walls of yours as well, the pattern's swirls seemingly different to how they were in your childhood. His newest marking, familiar? Yes, a marking to show your mating with a matching one adorning your own body but still, it looked out of place in its freshness amongst the faded and settled ones you had seen for many cycles. The way people looked at him, at Tonowari, your Tonowari.. they now looked at you the same way. His mate, the woman carrying his child.

Fic includes: NSFW so MDNI, pregnancy, mentions of childbirth (mostly talk of pushing, contractions etc and then mentions of the baby coming into the world but nothing graphic), pregnant sex, fingering, squirting because I can't write smut without it, p in v, reader on top because she is quite far along, themes of insecurity from Tonowari and Reader (Tonowari's insecurity of being leader that I totally made up and Reader's insecurity of her relationship with Tonowari), hints of a strained relationship between Ao'nung and Reader, hints of Jake and Reader being besties because it felt right in my heart, a little surprise at the end 🤭, 3.6k overall

Tagging: @torukmaktoskxawng @itchaboi-itchyboy @xylianasblog @pandoraslxna @eywaite @neteyamsyawntu @shadowmoonlight0604 @name-saken @anxious7sami @oakbuggy

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Sweat beads on your forehead and covers your body in a thin sheen. The morning sun beats down on you and despite your position in the cool rippling water you are burning from exertion. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Every noise around you seems muffled, as if you have your hands over your ears to block them out. You don’t hear the Tsahik finishing her blessings from Eywa, you don’t hear the encouraging words of your clan from the water’s edge or the rumbling echoes of clicks and bellows from the Tulkun in the deep water. Even your own cries are dampened in your ears as your blood pounds.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Hands land on your shoulders and you jolt out of the daze of your own mind. Your eyes lift from where they were focussed on the lapping waves against your round belly. Meeting Tonowari's eyes you can’t hold back the sob that rips from your throat, the pain was unlike any you had ever experienced. It was a consuming pain, running through every nerve of your body. You try to distract yourself with the way the morning sun hits his eyes, their beautiful blue hue sparkling with specks of turquoise and deep cerulean. 

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Tonowari moves his hands to your face, cupping your tear-dampened cheeks in the palms of his large hands. You see his lips moving as he asks you about making the bond with him and despite the pain running through you, you shake your head at the suggestion not wanting your mate to be forced to experience the same pain you are. A conscious part of your brain, not consumed by the pain, is overly aware of the eyes on you both and it aches at the thought of making your mate experience pain so openly in front of the clan.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

Keeping a hold of your face, Tonowari reaches for his kuru and presents it to you, accepting your choice but giving you the option to change your mind if you need to. You stare into the eyes of your mate, his action washing away any negative thoughts your nagging insecurity might have washed to the front of your brain and you nod numbly, accepting his offer.

Tonowari presses his forehead to your own as he connects your kuru with his, the little pink swirling tendrils tying together and connecting you both through mind, body and soul. Eyes clenching shut he embraces your pain as if it's his own, sharing the pain of bringing your beautiful baby into the world. 

Images pass behind your eyes in a way that you imagine is similar to what Tsyeyk Suli had called a ‘moo-vee’ one day while discussing his life before his consciousness transfer through Eywa. Memories and feelings so deeply embedded that they can only be brought forward through such a profound connection. Tonowari’s eyes water, whether from your pain now being shared with him or from the onslaught of memories detailing your life together through every twist and turn, you can’t be sure.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

🌿

“Tonowari” 

He remembers the low baritone of his father’s voice vibrating in his ears which lowered in shame at his tone. He’d been caught daydreaming instead of paying attention to his father's words once again. Words of his future, how his father was aging and Tonowari would soon have to lead the clan. 

Pressure, pressure was what it was. A pressure filled promise of a future set in stone that he would never be able to shake, even if it’s all that his adolescent brain wanted.

A deep sigh made him turn to his father, the look on his face making his stomach turn, a look of disappointment that he would one day be just as masterful at dealing out to his own children albeit not without a simmer of shame.

“You may go, your little friend is waiting for you”

Ears shooting up with surprise, his wide eyes looked at his father. He didn’t understand the position he was in back then, not like he does now. If he could go back he always said he would take it easier on his dad, let up on him a bit for being so uptight. 

He remembers running from his Marui, running to you where you were waiting for him in the afternoon sun. Your hair was loose that day, unbraided and unstyled with a rogueness that was uniquely yours. You smiled at him, bright and beautiful as you told him about a place you wanted to take him.

An outcrop, one you had to swim to from the other side of the island where Awa’latlu rested. A place that would hold significance in your lives throughout cycles and cycles. The place where you would create new life to add to yours.

🌿

“Skxawng!”

You remember the offended look that Tonowari shoots at you, your hands weaving a delicate shining shell into his songcord with practiced perfection. 

The dark ink of his newest permanent marking is shocking against his skin, covered in a layer of healing salve from the Tsahik. 

He was banned from the water, not allowed to get the marking wet or soak it for the next few days so he’s stuck making up his excess time by attending duties with you, annoying you through your daily tasks.

You didn’t realise at the time that Tonowari was happier by your side, watching you work on various duties, than he was in the water with the weight of being the Eykyu (Leader) of the tarpongu (hunting party). 

You didn’t realise at the time that Tonowari was a different person with you.

🌿

“Tonowari”

He remembers the shake in your voice, the quiver of your bottom lip as you stared up at him and the tears gathering on your lash line that threatened to spill over. 

You were standing off to the side of him and his group of friends who were sitting around a fire. They were talking about something stupid, laughing and smiling. He was relaxed, as much as he could be while knowing he was about to become the Olo’eyktan. 

These friends would soon grow to look at him differently, look at him as their leader and not the boy they grew up with but you.. you never looked at him as anything other than himself.

Laughter roused from the group as Tonowari practically sprinted to your side to check on you. He can’t recall why you were crying, why you needed him but he remembers the panic that spread through him when he saw your tears finally spill over and dampen your cheeks.

He didn’t realise at the time that your tears finally spilled not from what had actually gotten you so worked up but from the guilt of pulling him away from his other friends, from making them laugh at him because of you.

🌿

“Skxawng” 

You remember calling Tonowari that as he shifted once more from the feeling of your hands on his body. At the time you were annoyed. Your hands were aching from grinding up iridescent shells to make the unique paint in front of you and no part of your mind would have thought that your best friend of 21 cycles was being so inconsiderately mobile because the feeling of your hands on his body was meaningful to him in any other way than just painting him for his ceremony. 

The swirls you painted were purposefully reminiscent of the weaving swirls throughout his Marui, a place you had spent a majority of your childhood together in, and the paint you had made for this momentous occasion was dazzling. Fit for the Olo’eyktan to be that was sitting before you. 

Fit for your best friend.

🌿

“Tonowari!”

He remembers the cheers of excitement from the clan around him, a grin spreading across his own face to match the ones he could see in the crowd as the Tsahik announced him the new Olo’eyktan in the presence and blessing of the Great Mother.

The weight of the ceremonial cape on his shoulders was a fitting physical representation of the metaphorical weight he had worn for cycles before becoming clan leader and that he would continue to wear cycles on from now.

He remembers pressing his forehead to the Tsahik’s in a respectful display before doing the same with his father, who for the first time in his lifetime seemed to be just that. Not Olo’eyktan now, not a leader or a role model but his father.

He turned to face the crowd, eyes meeting yours from a distance and he allowed himself to look at you, really looking at you.

He remembers a shock going through him at how beautiful you were, light shining on you as if Eywa herself had parted the clouds to let it highlight you amongst the rest of the clan.

He wondered at the time when you’d become so beautiful, when he’d become immune to noticing it. Wondered when your hair had grown from the choppy little cut you ran around with as a teenager to the carefully braided and styled way you were now wearing it. Wondered when you had grown into your body, when you’d developed into a woman with enticing softness and eye catching curves.

He was whisked away before he could speak to you, taken to the side by his mother and father. Shown off to the parents of the Tsakarem, Ronal, someone who he'd always known as Tonowari but was now having to get to know all over again as Olo’eyktan.

🌿

“Thank the Great Mother he doesn’t look like you, Skxawng..”

You remember the embarrassing shake of your voice as you held Ao’nung in your arms, Tonowari’s first born, so small and sweet. Looking so much like his mother Ronal. You wondered in that moment if he’d grow up to possess the same fierceness as his mother, the same bite in his words and bone chilling scowl that she shot at those who angered her.

You didn’t realise at the time looking down at his small, content face that he'd one day turn his mother's fierceness towards you. Throwing out sharp words just to hurt you, questioning you and accusing you of trying to replace his mother when he found out about the life you and his father had created.

🌿

“Tonowari”

He remembers the whisper of your voice behind him as he looked over the Suli family from the Omatikaya. The way your eyes met his own sent a shiver down his spine. It had been cycles at that point since you had called him by his name, a friendship once as strong as the waves of the ocean beyond the reef now settled like gentle ripples.

Your eyes sent him back to his childhood, to a time where you could speak without saying anything, to a time where he was closest to you.

He didn’t realise at that moment how much he really loved you, how much he had loved you his whole life. How the love he had for you was strong enough to cripple him, make him drop to his knees in front of the clan and scream it until his voice was rendered hoarse. 

He remembers your eyes flicking to Tsyeyk and how he looked at you, pleading. Your eyes took in the children surrounding Neytiri and Tsyeyk, full of warmth and kindness you had gained over many cycles before they shot to his own once again. Without words he knew what you were saying to him and he agreed.

Despite facing away from you to address the clan he could hear the grin in your voice as you spoke to the Suli family and it took the strength of a leader that he had become more used to possessing to hide his own grin at the sound.

🌿

“Ma’Yawntu”

He remembers calling you that for the first time not even a full cycle ago. His hands were on your shoulders as he begged you to look at him and calm down.

You had both returned from your outcrop, your mixed scents and day long disappearance a dead giveaway to what had taken place. 

The Tsahik had approached you both to confirm that you had mated before Eywa and before you had time to truly grasp what this all meant there was an announcement to the Metkayina of their Olo’eyktan taking a new mate. Your mind had finally cleared from your heat only to be bombarded by the reaction of your clan.

He remembers you nodding through the words of the clan, accepting offers from the finest performers of Tā moko (permanent marking/tattooing) to design your Moko Kauae (tattoo on lips and chin of women) to represent your new status amongst the Metkayina. Remembers the Tsahik announcing that there would be a handfasting ceremony in the village wharenui (village meeting hall). 

He remembers your breathing starting to pick up, your eyes shifting amongst the many smiling faces before you as you excused yourself and practically ran to your Marui. Practically ran from him.

He approached you a while later, only delayed by having to speak with the Tsahik, finding your curled up form shaking on your bed roll. He remembers gripping onto you and begging you to listen to him. 

He remembers the look of relief that flashed across your face as he called you his love and he vowed in that moment, privately and to himself, that he’d never let you go for another moment without knowing well and true how much he loved you.

🌿

“Ma’Tonowari”

You remember the first time it slipped it, the first time you called him yours in front of someone else. 

Your hand was clenched around his own large, rough hand and looking back you’re surprised at the lack of reaction he had to your bone-breaking grip. 

You’d received Tā moko before, different permanent markings covering your body in different positions and locations but your Moko Kauae was giving you more trouble than you had hoped. The Tsahik had warned you before-hand that your pregnancy might make your body more sensitive to stimulation, painful or pleasurable.

You had no time to be embarrassed, no time to overthink about what the others in the Tā moko whare (Permanent Marking/Tattoo building) may think of your exclamation because, before any of that could happen, Tonowari pressed a kiss against the back of the hand that was squeezing the life out of his own. Grounding you instantly and keeping your brain with him rather than with anyone else. 

His eyes trailed the marking being placed onto your skin, a matching Tā moko throbbing on his chest directly above his heart to show his dedication and love for you that he’d experienced for years, finally immortalised on his body.

🌿

“Ma’Tsmuke!”

He remembers the squeal of excitement in your voice as you did your best to make your way to the water quickly, your heavy stomach making your pace more underwhelming than it was in your head. 

You’d joined him on a Tsurak as he guided you both to where the Metkayina’s spirit brother’s and sister's were gathered.

He remembers speaking with his Tulkun, his brother. Telling him the tale of your mating and the baby in your belly that was his for you to bear. Remembers watching you swim with your sister, the water taking your weight and making your movements smoother once more. 

You had waved him over, presented him in front of your spirit sister in a way that made him flush. He had attributed your gushing words about his strength and how much you loved him to your pregnancy making you more emotional than usual.

He didn’t know at the time that your spirit sister was the only one you felt truly comfortable expressing your pure emotions to other than him. Didn’t know that through the polite smiles and nods at the members of the Metkayina that congratulated you both was a crippling insecurity that used its ugly voice to drag you down. 

🌿

“Ma’Yawntu..”

You remember the tired edge to his voice as he entered your Marui for the night. The puffiness of the bags under his eyes almost brought tears to your own as he sat beside you on your shared bed roll. 

The day had been long, the tarpongu (hunting party) returning almost empty-handed due to an unexpected Akula in the hunting area and Tonowari blamed himself for every lost fish from the catch and every injury that dotted the bodies of the hunters.

Your own day had been strenuous but nothing could compare to the strength of Tonowari’s ability to blame himself for clan matters. 

You remember offering him your kuru, silently telling him you wanted to share his worries and pain while sharing your love and reassurance.

You didn’t realise at that moment Tonowari was convinced you were the most incredibly beautiful thing he had ever seen. Hand outstretched presenting your kuru to him like a gift, large concerned eyes gazing at him with a sea full of love swimming inside them and belly swollen with his child.

🌿

“M-Ma’Wari..”

He remembers the desperate whimper trembling from your lips as he rolled your overly sensitive clit between his fingers, bullying another orgasm out of you that made your eyes roll back in your head and your legs shake.

It had started when you had complained about your appearance, something stupid about the swell of your pregnant stomach and full breasts that Tonowari had taken personal offense to.

Two of his thick fingers collect the slick drooling from your puffy cunt and teasingly circle your entrance before sinking inside you deep enough to brush against your g-spot on their first thrust. 

He remembers your hands desperately searching for something to grip on to, one settling in his hair where it gripped hard enough to sting his scalp and the other clenching your bed roll into a fist. His lips trailed from your sweat slick neck, heavily marked by his nips and sucks to your full breasts, latching you your tender nipple and twirling his tongue around it in a practiced motion that made your voice weak every time.

Your pussy clenched around his fingers as you begged for a break before you released a heavy squirt, your orgasm dragged out by his insistent press against your clit. 

He had given you room to breathe while he admired the wet spot you left on the bed roll because of him, your swollen cunt twitching with overstimulation and your body trembling from his actions.

Your pregnancy had subdued you slightly, made you a little more pliable and submissive just like the heat that got you pregnant in the first place had but it didn’t subdue you enough to stop you from sending Tonowari back with a shove until his back met the bed roll.

“Skxawng”

You both remembered the roll of his eyes, the smiles on your faces as you sank down on him, holding yourself up with whatever effort you could muster as you took his cock. The stretch was still a pleasurable burn despite the amount of times he had split you open on him during your pregnancy.

Tonowari stared up at you like you were Eywa herself above him, the evening sun lighting you from behind and creating a beautiful image, one he’d remember forever. 

“N-nga yawne lu oer”

You had beaten him to saying it again.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Contraction. Deep breath. Hold. Push.

A relieved sob rips out of your throat at your final push and you very nearly collapse into the arms of your mate who stands before you, eyes no longer focussing solely on you but also on the beautiful baby that your body had made for you both.

One of his large hands stays supporting you at the waist while the other reaches into the water, helping the sweet little life reach the surface for their first breath. Tears of happiness form in his eyes at the sight of his beautiful baby taking their first big gulp of air.

The Tsahik works quickly to remove the shawl placed around you from your shoulders, a shawl that all of the members of the clan had a form of contribution to, whether through harvesting materials or weaving. Wrapping the baby into the shawl, a metaphorical hug from the clan embracing them as your own arms embrace them in the loving hold of their mother. 

Meeting Tonowari's eyes you pass him your precious baby, the life you made together and you can’t hold back your grin at the way his arms make the baby look even smaller than they feel in your own. 

Looking to the edge of the water, your clan surrounds you and for the first time since mating with Tonowari you don’t question your position. 

Eyes meeting Ao’nung’s you can see the apology and pride for you in his own before he can even consider saying anything out loud. You send him a relaxed smile in understanding, the exchange going unnoticed by everyone except the two of you.

“Have you prepared a name to announce to the clan?” 

The Tsahik’s words send your brain on the search once more and when your eyes land upon Tsyeyk Suli standing amongst your clan, your brother's and sister’s, his mate and children by his side but missing a member, you know that your decision is made.

Tonowari raises his arms above his head, cradling your brand new baby in his hands as gently as he’s ever held anything before. The sound of excitement runs through the members of the clan who can see their Olo’eyktan’s new baby.

The low baritone of Tonowari's voice rings out, loud enough for the clan, the Tulkun and even Eywa herself to hear as he announces the name of your son.

“Neteyam!”

[devilishchaos]

your writing is amazing <3 if your requests are still open, could you write fluff fic and smut (if you like), where rúben is really gentle, taking care of you while you’re drunk. perhaps you both went to a party together and we all know that he can’t drink alcohol so he basically takes care of you from the bar/club to your shared house and you were so needy asking him to have sex with you while your drunk.

The one where you get drunk and he looks after you | Rúben Dias imagine

Rating / genre: fluff

Pairings: Reader x Rúben Dias

Warnings: mentions of drinking, explicit talk, begging

AN: Thank you for requesting <3 I hope you like it! :)

Word Count: 1 743 words

This is a work of fiction. The story, names, characters and incidents either are product or the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A group evening together with the whole Man City squad and their families usually spelled disaster for all of you, especially when celebrating. 

“Another one!” Jack announces as he hands you another shot. With a click, the two of you are throwing them back. You’re already feeling tipsy and the encouragement is enough to keep you going. 

Rúben is not as nearly far gone as everyone else, telling you to let loose. He holds your hand as you two walk around to the kitchen to find a snack. He giggles at your slight stumble, holding you up successfully. 

“You’re so strong.” you say with a hiccup and Rúben shakes his head with a grin as he forces you to sip on some water in between your next drink. 

John screams as his favorite song comes on, begging you to come join them. You pull Rúben along with you, his hands become steady on your hips as he presses kisses to your neck as the two of you sway in sync. 

You are far gone. Rúben’s hands haven’t left your body, not that you’d complain - you are more than grateful for the way he’s holding you up. 

“Here, let’s get some water in you, amor.” he picks you up and sits you on the counter, finding home between your legs as you sip on a cup of water. 

“Good girl.” he says, pushing your hair from your face. 

“You can not say that to me right now, Dias.” you say, wiggling your eyebrows “Nuh uh, no mister. Not when you look like this.” you give him a pout, only causing him to smile. 

*

The whole journey home was filled with conversation, from only one of you in the car. Light giggles were the only thing that came from Rúben, as you spoke about anything that came to mind, slurring most of your words.

“This place looks familiar..” you whispered as you pulled up outside your shared apartment. 

“There’s a reason for that.” Rúben sighed, getting himself out of the car before giving you a helping hand.

As soon as you stepped foot into the apartment, you threw yourself down onto the sofa, lifting your feet up for Rúben to untie the laces of your strappy heels and strip your jacket off of you. You could feel his eyes studying you closely with every little thing you did, bringing a light red blush to your face.

“What are you looking at?” you giggled as he lifted your legs up, sitting himself down on the sofa before moving your legs across to rest in his lap “Why do you keep looking at me like that? Have I got something on my face or on my jeans? Oh, man..not my jeans.”

Rúben rolled his eyes “Your jeans are fine, and so is your face. I’m just admiring how you look when you’re drunk.” 

“Is that because you looooooove me?” you cheekily asked, holding your hand out for him to take a hold of “Because I love you, I love you a lot. Have I told you that I love you?” 

“I think you might have mentioned it a couple of times Y/N, don’t worry about that.” Rúben assured you. 

As the room darkened and finally silence began to descend upon you, the dizzy state you had found yourself in for most of the night began to subside. It didn’t stop your eyes from staring across at Rúben though, focussing on the feeling of his hands running against the bare skin of your ankles. 

“Rúben..” you whispered, breaking up the silence in the room “..come lay with me for a bit?” you questioned, tapping the space beside you on the sofa. 

Without a second thought, Rúben lifted your legs up so that he could swing his frame around to rest against the back of the sofa. The stench of alcohol hit him as soon as he got close enough to your face, as he pressed a kiss against your cheek. 

“You smell nice.” your voice was muffled against the collar of his shirt. Breaths of warm air brushed against his neck and Rúben clenched his jaw in a half-ditched effort to seize the pounding in his chest. Surely you could hear it. 

“Let’s get you to bed, amor.” Rúben said softly, as he got up from the sofa and took you with him, starting to take a step backward. You kept your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, but you allowed your legs to follow him. Steady, careful steps were taken as Rúben continued to walk backwards towards the bedroom. 

His hand felt around for the door knob and he twisted it open. You had yet to lift your head from the alcove of his neck, sighing contently as he pulled you into the room. Rúben flicked the light switch on at your bedside, illuminating the room in a soft white hue in an effort to preserve the sensitivity in your eyes. 

“I’m going to find some sleep clothes for you, alright?” Rúben asked, as he reached behind him and pulled your arms from around his waist. The flash of disappointment across your face as your lips tugged into a frown did not slip his notice. He set you against the edge of the bed, a steady hand on your shoulder to make sure you were balanced. He turned back towards the closet. 

“You want to sleep in my clothes or yours, baby?” Rúben scratched at his head, tucking his hair behind his ears. 

“Baby?”

When he turned back towards you, a gasp caught in his throat to find you standing just inches away. How you managed to sneak up on him in this state, he’ll never know. You were staring at his lips, breathing heavily as eyes slowly trailed up to meet his. If Rúben thought his heart was beating painfully before..

A brush of your fingers at his waist line, playing with the edge of his shirt forced a gulp out of him. You purse your lips into a mischievous grin, grabbing at the fabric. 

“Take this off.” 

“W-what?” Rúben stuttered. God, he was never as nervous as he was around you. 

You leaned forward, hands releasing the fabric and trailing along his stomach under his shirt. Nails gently dragging over his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Before Rúben could say a word, your lips were on his neck. 

“A-amor, hold on now..” Rúben started, though he found he couldn’t finish where he was going. He couldn’t remember what he was even going to say, not with the way your lips were sucking so sweetly against that spot on his neck that drove him wild, traveling up to pepper kisses along his jaw. He closed his eyes, relishing in the sensation you left behind with each kiss. He knew he should stop you, but, God, how could he possibly when your lips were on the corner of his mouth? 

The moment you pressed your lips to his, he froze, hands out to the side. Your soft, plump lips kissed at his own, tongue dragging against the bottom of his lip, until you bit down, not enough to hurt but enough that it took Rúben out of his trance. 

His hands came up to the sides of your face, holding you against him as he parted his lips further for you. It was wet and messy, and rushed, and nothing like he thought it would be as you moaned into his mouth, sending a jolt below his waistline. The way you were tugging at him, the way his hands tangled in your knotted hair, it was all so much rougher than he wanted it to be. But with your tongue sweeping over his, all he could think about was how bad he wanted this. 

“Amor..” you moaned and Rúben nearly came on the spot “..Rúben..please, I need you to fuck me.” 

Rúben pulled away instantly, panting heavily. Eyes wide as you sat down on the bed, reaching to pull your shirt over your head. He couldn’t believe what he was doing, but hands darted out to grab yours before you had the chance to remove the fabric. 

“Wait a second, amor.” Rúben urged, stare caught on your swollen lips. He was screaming in his own head. 

You frowned “Rú, please. Fuck me.” 

The heavy slur of your words. The way your eyes couldn’t quite focus on him. The sway of your body, unable to keep balance even as you sat on the bed. You weren’t in your right mind. He should have known that from the moment you touched him. 

“Fuck.” Rúben cursed under his breath, the realization of what he was doing flooding through him. He took a step back, brushing his hand over his mouth “I- I can’t, amor. I’m sorry.” 

“But, Rúbenn..” you wined, grabbing at his arms and pulling yourself back to your feet. Your lips connected with his neck again and he had to stifle a moan before it came out. His hands set carefully on your shoulders in an effort to push you away. He couldn’t do this to you, not like this. 

Your lips came back to his own and Rúben pulled away reluctantly. It killed him to do so, tore at his chest in every painful way imaginable, but he did it. 

“Not like this, baby.” he urged and pushed softly against your shoulders, keeping you at a distance. Your eyes searched his, confusion evident across your features “Not now, maybe later..” 

“Why don’t you lie down, for now, hm?” Rúben gestured towards the bed. You followed his gaze and nodded slowly. All of your energy seemed to drain away in an instant. He had to nearly carry you to the side of the bed. Lifting the covers and tucking two pillows under your head to aid in the dizziness, Rúben helped to tuck you in. A warm smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you closed your eyes, just barely visible, enough so that he would have missed it if he wasn’t watching you so closely. 

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. A couple pain relievers and a glass of water by your bedside were left for you. He changed into some comfy clothes and joined you to bed, plopping down with a heavy sigh. His fingers brushed up at his lips, the sensation of you still tingling there. 

[lavenderxskys]

i dont believe in love at first sight... but god-damn - part one

pairing: buck barnes x reader

summary: its not normal for bucky to instantly feel something for a women. but you're just too good to ignore...

includes: strangers to lovers, inferred female reader (pronouns, descriptions, etc), implied smut?, alcohol intoxication, drinking, steve rogers ofc, story doesnt really follow any movie plots so no spoliers!, all characters are of drinking age, pet names?: sweetheart, doll

the night has barely even started and you're already halfway drunk, laughing over the loud music with your friend at the bar. your best friend, steve, orders another round and turns to you.

"are we just gonna sit here all night or are you finally gonna find someone to go home with?" steve cocks his head playfully and smiles, his obvious playful demeanor poking right through.

you roll your eyes, taking a sip of your drink, "psh. you really think anyone here wants me? plus we're in the bad part of town, i'd probably get murdered."

"not necessarily, i know plenty of good people that go here often. and you know, actually, i think today's the day that my friend bucky comes and grabs a couple drinks."

you smile, "ahh the infamous bucky, i would love to meet him, he's all you used to talk about after all."

steve agrees with you that if bucky shows up he'll introduce you, so you lay back on the drinks just in case you like the guy.

an hour or so pass with you a steve laughing about god knows what and getting excited when one of you twos favorite songs play. you almost forget you might be meeting bucky when steves face lights up towards the door and waves.

"hey bucky! over here!" steve motions for bucky to join the two of you.

you turn around and your heart pounds, the man walking over is gorgeous, even the way he walks over to the two of you sends heat to your face.

buckys not so quick to notice you, more focussed on asking his friend why he's here. but when he finally notices you, his sentence falters. his eyes travel to all parts of you, your hair framing your face perfectly, and the way your outfit showed off the features of your body had him almost drooling. he looks away quickly though, finishing his sentence.

steve smiles and nudges you with his shoulder, "y/n and i like to go here sometimes after work, gets the nerves to settle ya' know?"

bucky nods, turning his head to make eye contact with you, "y/n, huh? never heard of her, are you two..."

steve nervously laughs, "no,no. just friends. she is looking, though."

you roll your eyes, embarrassed. meanwhile, bucky is looking you over again, his own mind confused on why he's feeling this way.

steve exchanges a glance between the two of you, sipping his drink, "buttt i do know that buck is very 'hard to get' in that area so sorry y/n, he's probably not interested."

you gasp and shoot him a look, "i never said anything about being into him," you glance at bucky, "no offense."

"none taken sweetheart." your heart basically stops at the nickname, but you power through and take a sip of your drink while steve laughs.

"okay okay, sorry. how about we order some more drinks? gotta catch you up to speed james." steve smiles and orders more drinks for the three of you.

the drinks continue, so many rounds that you stopped counting after steve both you and bucky to the dance floor. the three of you danced pitifully, laughing whenever a new song played and the style of dance was altered.

after about twenty minutes of this, you left steve and bucky and sat down at a nearby booth, laying your head agasint the table, this hangover was gonna suck.

"tired already?" buckys deep voice sent shivers down your spine.

you lifted your head and groaned, "don't pay me any mind, i'm sure steve needs a dance partner." i look over to steve who's still going at it for whatever reason.

bucky scoffs a little, "you know hes not even drunk right? the sss makes it so he can't."

"of course i know, i think he has the placebo effect though, whatever makes him happy i guess." you smile, glad at least someone can have fun without the repercussions the next morning.

there's a moment of silence between the two of you. bucky looks down at you, wearing a subtle smirk that you can't decipher if it's a drunken one or something more than that.

bucky knows he feels something for you, but he's trying so hard to fight it.

james buchanan barnes does not believe in love at first sight.

but there you were, you're unmistakably stunning, every thing about you make bucky want more. all he knew was your name, and he still wanted you.

he clears his throat, using it as a way to clear his thoughts, "so you and steve, you guys aren't a thing? that's a surprise actually, the way he looks at you and all." there's a slight hint of jealously in his voice, even though he has no reason to be jealous.

you raise your eyebrow, baffled that someone would even think that, there's no way there's anything between the two of you, "we definitely are not a thing, steve's like my brother."

bucky nods and moves to sit down across from you, the intoxication beginning to mess with his head.

you giggle, "you and steve aren't a thing either?" you smile playfully.

"haha. you're funny." bucky says sarcastically, "no, we just go way back." he returns your smile, making your heart speed up.

you both can hear steve pleading the two of you to come back and dance. bucky makes eye contact with you then bursts out laughing, "i guess we should go and dance with him." he says between chuckles while he gets up and walks back to the dance floor. you sigh and follow him, a headache starting to form in your temples.

for whatever reason, captian america himself has amazing dance skills when it comes down to it. you and bucky cheer him on, joining in with him every so often. but it comes to the points where you're drunkenly swaying to the music, right against buckys front side.

you don't essentially realize how close you two are until you turn around and you're inches from his face.

you both pause for a beat, your breaths fanning out onto each others faces. bucky face is hot, whatever you did with your hips has his pants growing tighter by the second. but he holds himself together and hovers his hands above your waist.

"may i?"

you pause, but then nod, figuring it was harmless. he places his hands on your waist, surprisingly gentle, and sways to the music with you.

steve laughs, "jeez that didn't take long, thank god." he winks and walks over to a group of girls that has just walked in.

before you know it, you and bucky are stumbling out of the bar, leaving steve behind. your lips are crashing together as the both of you try to make it to buckys car.

you're desperate at this point, the alchol making you want to commit all types of unholy. you hold on the the collar of his shirt, kissing him deeply.

"now hold on doll, this is a public parking lot, let's go somewhere more private." you reach the car and bucky unlocks it, opening the car door for you.

you slide in and he closes the door, walking over the the other side and getting in.

bucky starts the car and starts to drive off, not worried about his drunken state. his right hand leaves the steering wheel and finds your thigh.

inching higher. and higher.

at this point you've lost your breath, biting your lip as your senses light up, little fireworks going off in your body.

finally, bucky pulls off onto a back road and stops the car, his hands moving further up onto your waist, pulling you over to his side and pulling you into another deep kiss.

his hands find your thighs again and your heart pounds, grinding down on his lap.

bucky chuckles, "needy are we? let me help you out then, sweetheart."

a/n: there is gonna be a part twooo so stay tuned for that

im not very good at writing the slow shit so i apologize if this is really boring but i think i'll improve in the next part because it is my area of expertise...

also dont drink and drive folks

[alloftheimaginesblog]

pretty {peter parker}

plot: you're a singer and every time peter hears you sing, he has to stop whatever he's doing to listen.

character: peter parker!tasm x reader

requested by anon - i didn't know what peter you wanted so I did tasm peter :)

song is feels like by gracie abrams

You gnawed at your nails, nail polish chipped so it didn't really matter if you destroyed it more, as you stared at the scribbled pages on your notebook. Under your breath, you sang the lyrics you were trying to figure out, scoring out and adding new words each time you sang it. Song writing was fucking hard. Every so often you found a perfect lyric, the perfect melody but to get to that it took a lot of work and determination.

You were sitting by your wall piano Peter had bought you for Christmas two years ago, moving your fingers down the keys just waiting for the right notes to piece themselves together in the perfect fashion.

For your songs, you would sometimes take inspiration from real life events, people you knew, sometimes you'd make it all up but most of the time, it was Peter who inspired you. Peter Parker, your wonderful doting boyfriend who also turned into Spider-Man but that's a story for another time.

Peter was your muse.

He was drinking his coffee, sipping the warm liquid as he watched you with - what could only be described as - lovesick eyes. Peter loved to watch you sing, loved to hear you, loved to watch the magic happen in your little corner. You were oblivious to everything when you were writing your songs, too focussed and in your own little bubble. Peter loved it. He loved when you filled up the apartment with melodies and lyrics and high notes, he lived for it. It's why he bought you the piano and why he encouraged you so damn much. You were so talented and he knew that one day, you'd get your big break.

"I would do whatever you wanted," you half murmured, half sang as you played it out on the piano, "We don't have to leave the apartment..." You glanced over at Peter and smiled, "Met you at the right time..." Of course it was about him, they usually were. A song about how much you loved him and how much you cherished your relationship with him.

"And I need you sometimes." Peter exhaled as he shook his head. You sounded so pretty. Every time he heard you sing, you just blew him away. He knew you were good but he'd never heard anything or anyone like it. Such raw, pure talent, "We'll be alright. Met you at the right time. This is what it feels like. And I miss you some nights. We'll be alright."

As you ended the song, scribbling down the last few lines of lyrics, Peter moved to you, wrapping you up in his warmth and pressing a kiss to your forehead, "You are unbelievably talented, sweetheart," he murmured in your ear, "Honestly I- you're incredible."

You rolled your eyes, fighting the warmth that spread on your cheeks, "You're the superhero, Pete. I just sing."

He shook his head, "I hide behind a mask, (y/n). You're the one that bares your heart so openly and beautifully every freaking time you sing! You are so amazing and I love that I can help to inspire some of the lyrics." Peter pressed another kiss to your head, "Can I hear the full thing?"

[pinkandpurple360]

I’ve wanted to ask, if you were the writer and you (unfortunately) had to make Stolitz cannon, how would you have rewritten it? Starting from ep 1 season 1? Or in general how would you have rewritten Stolas?

Hi anon!

Oh well the first thing I would do…massive tone change. It would definitely not be this deep melodrama of angst and betrayal, but far more lighthearted. And comedic. Spoilers they don’t end up star crossed monogamous married soulmates, not even close. They’d be close friends with a strong bond. Who may occasionally sleep together if they feel like it. And with other people. That’s basically as deep as it gets in the romance department. But that’s exactly how they like it, in fact both surprised that the other doesn’t demand more than that. I’d also have it be that stolas gets one focussed episode per season. His only song is ‘We* will be okay’ to Octavia.

First off, stolas and Blitzø make a trade with the grimoire, but one that is not sexual in nature. He completely allowed Blitzø to steal the book, finding his clumsy breaking and entering method very entertaining. He was just that bored. The ruckus blitzø, a “clown” disguised assassin in truth, caused at octavias birthday party made him laugh for the first time in several centuries (yes in this version he’s ancient and immortal) so he simply looked the other way when the theft occurred. “Sir! This imp has your grimoire in his possession!” “Say do we have anything stronger than this wine? I cant think on a sober mind. Fetch me some absinthe if you please?” “But sir!” “Absinthe! Unless you are doubting me?”

In my version stolas is the precautionary heir himself. And Via is her child self. This is why stolas is so negligent to his duties, he’s nothing but a figurehead. Symbolic. He knows how unimportant he truly is. Both parents love Via, but find it hard to connect with her because of her circumstances as the “extra” precaution and their arranged marriage. In my version at the start stolas still has his kind side, but is arrogant, afraid to show that side, and he is misogynistic towards his wife who is always “upset for no reason” I think stolas’ plain inability to read the room or people’s feelings pretty funny, so I’m keeping it in. He says things like “I’m sorry…that you think I owe you an apology Stella” she threatens to hire a hitman but doesn’t have the heart to go through with it. Ah but neither of them are violent towards the imps. Because. Ew? My version of Stella is actually a person. She gets enraged, abuses alcohol, suffers post partum depression. It takes some time before she and stolas become on good terms again. They decide to separate amicably in the end, their bickering having no real bite behind it and just becoming banter.

Plot: Stolas allows Blitzø to use the Grimoire, in exchange for offing a specific demon in hell or human target on earth, once a month. He also returns the grimoire for when Stolas needs it for a ceremony, so that nobody can suspect it’s misuse. This is in secret, training him for the ultimate target of all, Paimon. So that stolas can reach the throne and have a reason to exist in his own view. Nobody can suspect the innocent stolas of targeting his father whom he “loves” dearly. You never know if his moments of kindness or madness are a facade or if they’re real. He’d have a lot of references to Hamlet in my version. The occasional sex is nothing but a cover story for Blitzo coming over, sometimes stolas oversells the cover story. It becomes real once the two of them get a bit too carried away after celebrating one of their hits going perfectly.

In my mind stolas is completely insane but in an eccentric way. Strikers assassination attempt was a complete ruse, the one who hired him was none other than stolas himself to test Blitzøs skills and to introduce him to angelic weaponry. Yes he hired a hitman on himself. Stella was a red herring. In a tragic sense he knows he could have died but values his own life so little, that he wouldn’t mind. “I just wanted to see what would happen” is his explanation. Blitzø gets angry with him over this, for messing with/scaring him, and reminds him that even though he doesn’t love stolas that way, he still has a daughter who would cry over him. This inspires stolas to actually start trying to form a connection with Via. This is an aside but I find the accelerated aging trope fascinating (think Jake the dogs kids or Renesmee from twilight) so Octavia ages twice as fast as a human would before it pauses around 21. Stolas takes her to LooLoo land at 17 because she was literally 8 years old like, 4 years ago. That’s why it’s so difficult to parent someone like that. And why he and Stella still baby her, they can’t keep up with her rapid maturing. But stolas refuses to hire a full time nanny, he wants to do it himself. His own ‘father’ was his imp butler, when this butler died of old age it really effected him. He doesn’t want that for via.

With Blitzø, they form a bond built on mutual trust, push and pull, fun, empathy, occasional lust, but the fun is at the heart of it. Stolas is extremely ignorant about sexual innuendo, and Blitzø is very flagrant about it but stolas never knows what the hell he’s taking about. So blitzø has to challenge himself to use non raunchy humour. This is one of the many ways they start to change eachother.

Polyamory ✨ tragically, stolas knows this cant be a forever relationship, he doesn’t want to give up immortality, and he knows Blitzø would never want to be a consort. Stolas doesn’t even want that either. He thinks marriage is stupid nonsense. Him and Stella are swingers as is custom in Goetia families (a secret custom that is). And Blitzø is in love with more than one person. Having hate filled spicy trysts with Striker, an on and off again relationship with Verosika, and an unspoken thing with his friend fizzarolli, the court jester, that’s currently platonic but more intimate than any other relationship (aka terrifying).

Stolas says this mans bombastic love life is better than any telenovela and gives him plenty of material for erotic novels. (I’ll admit the romance novel author idea is a clever one I had a similar idea)

I think my stolas version is demi sexual and possibly aromantic. I just find it more interesting that way. Another idea I had was stolas as a dusty librarian who blitzø is in unrequited love with. This version of stolas is completely aroace, sex repulsed and all. Giving them a tragic angle and some fun conflict. They find each other fascinating, the flirting is only one way, and stolas helps Blitzø find someone right for him. (Spoilers it’s fizz because you know me) I just find it so much cuter if Blitzø is the one who is the real hopeless romantic and even though stolas doesn’t have romantic urges outside the fiction he enjoys, he finds it fascinating from an outside perspective. Maybe even subvert the ‘repressed’ angle to say stolas was repressing his asexuality to make people like Stella and Blitzø happy.

And yeah, twist! Paimon is executed during the revolution. Stolas abdicates as they move toward a democracy. His kind nature and changed ways allow him to actually be elected by the hellborn, giving him all his wealth and power back..causing him to have learned absolutely nothing and still being a spoiled brat but!! at least not a deeply racist one 😔 but please don’t use the word impish in your next novel owl boy.

That was so fun!!!

[hergrandplan]

Wille's Month Day 5 ( @youngroyals-events ): Cooking/baking

Hi everyone! I am back from New York and so so excited to post again. For this prompt, there's surprisingly little Wilmon... but that doesn't mean it's not sweet ;) Hope you'll enjoy!

Also disclaimer: I used Spanish in some places here, I am nowhere near a native speaker but have been learning it for the past few years, and did some extra research on Venezuelan Spanish. However, I haven't had anyone check it so any and all mistakes are mine.

It's the last night of their trip to visit Simon's family in Venezuela. They help Simon's abuelita prepare dinner.

Read below the cut or on ao3 (the ao3 version has a translation key)

The radio is blasting a canción, the strum of the guitar and the deep baritone of the singer joining the smell of roasting meat, of onions and garlic filling up the kitchen.

Simon and his abuelita are singing along to the music, her gravelly voice and his smooth one creating a beautiful, joyous homely symphony. It’s off-key, at times, like when Simon grabs his abuelita’s hand to spin her around, and they are both breathless for a minute, laughing. Simon is less focussed on how he sounds, more happy to just sing, using the ladle like a microphone.

Wille’s heart aches with fondness at the picture, and he’s grinning when Simon takes his hand, remembering at the last minute to put the knife he was using to cut the onions down as his boyfriend pulls him into a waltz that’s very much not fitting the song and yet perfect. They’re jumping around the kitchen, dancing, laughing and falling into each other’s arms as they try to match the up-tempo beat of the song. Simon’s abuelita looks at them fondly while stirring the meat for their dinner tonight – pabellón criollo, their family recipe.

It had taken Wille a full week to convince lita – because she insists he call her that too – to finally let him help cooking. This was, after all, her domain, and Wille was a guest. Every time he’d asked her, she just told him, with warm eyes, that los invitados no cocinan aquí, cariño, and Wille could say nothing against that.

But finally, on this final night of their trip to Venezuela, she caved after Wille told her how much he loves cooking. And though it’s true that the sound of the knife falling against the wooden cutting board and the sizzling of vegetables in hot oil, the doing rather than thinking and never stopping grounded him, it wasn’t the only reason he had wanted to help her cook.

Wille has been received with open arms from their first day in Venezuela, the whole family just accepting him and doing their best to include him even if he can’t always follow along and Simon has to translate. They joke with him the same way they joke with Simon, ask him for any embarrassing stories about their primo and even despite the language barrier, Wilhelm feels like he is home. Like he’s always been part of this big, loud and loving family.

And for that, he wants to say thank you. By cooking, by helping Lita in the kitchen as they prepare this last feast before they fly back to Sweden.

Lita asks Simon something in Spanish that Wille can’t understand. Though he learned a bit of Spanish when he was younger for diplomatic reasons, and though he tried to brush up on his knowledge before making the trip over, Lita speaks so rapidly and with such a heavy accent, dropping d’s and s’s, that Wille often has a hard time following her. Like he has now.

Simon nods at whatever Lita told him (asked him, maybe?) and leaves the kitchen.

Lita and Wille cook in silence for a moment or two, the radio still playing, but only Wille is humming along now. Though he can only catch part of the lyrics, he’s heard the song enough times now to at least know the melody.

Wille finally finishes dicing the onions and goes to put them in a separate pan to fry them up for the beans.

“You make him happy, you know.”

Wille is so focussed on what he’s doing that he doesn’t even realize that Lita started talking to him, the Spanish much slower than she spoke to Simon a moment ago.

Surprised, he turns to face her. Her eyes are trained on the food, but the corner of her mouth has lifted up into a small smile.

“He makes me happy too,” Wille says after a moment, in careful Spanish.

“I’m glad he’s found you,” she continues, again speaking slowly so Wille can catch every word. “You two remind me of me and my husband, dios lo tenga en su gloria, when we were your age.”

Wille doesn’t reply – doesn’t know how to reply, didn’t expect this at all. It’s not that Lita never talks to him, but he realizes now they haven’t had a moment alone before now, always surrounded by at least one other family member.

Lita fully turns to him now and places a warm, rough hand that shows years of labor and love on his cheek. She looks at him with chocolate eyes, a piercing gaze that Wille finds all too familiar – they’re Simon’s eyes as well.

“I can tell you love him very much, and that he loves you very much. I hope you’ll continue to make each other happy for many years to come.”

And where at first Wille was just surprised, now he’s stunned into absolute silence. This, this seems important somehow. This feels like a blessing.

“I’m happy you’re part of the family, mijo.”

Mijo. Wille falters at the word, barely able to wrap his mind around Lita calling him son, truly welcoming him into the family. He’s actually part of this, of them, of this part of Simon’s life now. And she, this woman who holds so much love in her heart, sees how much they mean to each other. That they are each other’s forever.

Wille thanks her, flustered and stumbling over his r’s that still feel unfamiliar in his mouth. But he thanks her nevertheless, saying he hopes for the same, that he will do everything in his power to make Simon happy, to show Simon how much he loves him every single day.

Lita just chuckles and resumes cooking, the moment gone as soon as it started. That’s when Simon stumbles back into the kitchen, holding a giant bag of rice. He launches into another tale in Spanish, occasionally glancing at Wille, who’s still standing next to Lita and isn’t really paying attention anyways, too caught up in what just happened. Wille knows he must have the dumbest smile on his face because Simon looks at him, questioningly. Wille shakes his head. Later, he mouths.

Wille looks on as the scene settles back to what it was before – Simon and Lita singing along to the radio, continuing their cooking. But it’s changed, somehow. Wille’s heart feels… Fuller. Fuller than it ever has as he too softly joins in the singing. This has Simon even more confused before he shrugs, shaking his head in bemusement at Wille’s very off-key singing.

They finish dinner. Wille helps Simon carry it all outside, putting it on the large table so they can have it under the stars, with the cicadas singing their cacophony in the background.

It’s their family tonight that they have this final dinner with. Their cousins that jostle around for the ladle, that laugh loudly into the night sky.

His and Simon’s, forever.

[abiiors]

Begging for more Ross fluff 🙌

Absolutely! 💞💖

Warnings - There are mentions of alcohol in this one and some very slightly suggestive content

Ross x fem! reader

Drunken Nights

‘How much have you had to drink?’ 

You hold up two fingers, then three. The room spins and the sound ebbs and flows around you. You aren’t sure what the question was in the first place or why you’re holding up your fingers. So just to be safe, you hold up three more fingers on your other hand. 

‘Ah,’ he barely suppresses the smile on his lips and nods sagely, ‘I see…’

‘How much have you had to drink?’ you try to ask but it mostly comes out slurred anyway. 

‘Nothing,’ he replies, ‘I need to drive you home, remember?’

He takes a step forward and goes to wrap his arm around your waist but you push him away.

‘Noooo,’ you whine, ‘I have a boyfriend!’ 

He raises an eyebrow and stops in his tracks. There’s something so familiar about his face, about the way he’s trying to suppress his smile. 

‘And what’s his name?’ he asks. ‘He must be a very lucky guy indeed.’

You let the last comment slide and eye him from head to toe. 

‘His name is Ross and he has this really cute smile and just gorgeous dimples. Oh oh he’s also in a band and he was supposed to come pick me up…’ You ramble for a bit more and watch as his restraint slips and his face breaks into a breathtaking smile. 

A smile with just gorgeous dimples.

‘Ross!’ you shriek and throw yourself in his arms with barely any warning. Of course, he catches you effortlessly.

‘Good job, baby,’ he laughs in your hair, ‘should we go home?’

He holds your waist for support as you stumble and sway to the exit and then out of the door. He listens to your half-finished distracted stories and reacts at all the right moments. The night air is chilly against your skin and despite the alcohol blanket, you feel the goosebumps rising. It doesn’t take him long to notice them too and instantly he goes to take off his warm leather jacket. 

Wearing the jacket feels like being enveloped in a big cosy hug. It reaches mid-thigh for you and the sleeves extend a good few inches past your fingertip but the jacket smells exactly like him. Once he makes sure you’re no longer cold, he presses a kiss just above your brow and goes to unlock the passenger-side door. 

‘Come on,’ he coaxes and helps you get into the seat. Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he reaches across and clicks your seatbelt in place. 

‘Did you have fun, darling?’ he asks as he starts the car but the softness of the jacket and the warmth of the car is already lulling you to sleep.

‘So much fun…’ you mumble as your eyes close on their own.

***

The next memories you have are of him carrying you out of the car and into the house. How he managed to unlock the front door is beyond you. All you really remember is being surrounded by his scent and his warmth as he hums some song under his breath. 

You feel the soft bed under you and feel his hands trying to make you sit upright. 

‘Are we going to bed?’ you ask already stifling a yawn. This room spins just like the last and being lulled to sleep in his comforting arms sounds like an absolute dream. 

‘In a minute, okay?’ he runs a hand through your hair and then crouches down to undo the buckles of your heels. 

‘Mm-hmm,’ you nod obediently and watch him as he puts the shoes in one corner of the room. 

You watch as he grabs the emergency makeup wipes from your dresser and gently starts to wipe away the makeup on your face. He’s so focussed on it that he barely sees it coming when you place a sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

‘You’re my pretty boy, did I tell you that?’ you try to flirt terribly when he laughs. 

‘Your pretty boy, huh?’ he asks and wipes off the last of your lipstick. 

‘Mm-hmm,’ you reply confidently. 

‘Will you let me take you out of this dress?’ he asks and instantly realises his mistake when you start giggling like a ten-year-old. 

‘Buy me dinner first, at least!’ 

‘Not like that you pervert,’ he laughs, ‘I need to get you ready for bed. Or do you not want to sleep anymore?’

‘Whyyyy,’ you ask coyly, ‘you have other things on your mind?’

He doesn’t even dignify that with a response, instead he opens his wardrobe and gets one of his t-shirts out.

‘Arms up,’ he instructs and you let out an oooooh

‘You’re going to have a raging hangover tomorrow, you know that?’ he teases as he finally manages to get the dress off you and put you in his clean t-shirt. 

‘I’m not,’ you declare, ‘I’m invincible!’

‘We’ll see about that,’ he says as he fills a glass of water from the bedside table. ‘Drink this for me?’

‘And what will you give me for it?’ you wink—or at least, attempt to wink and he simply rolls his eyes. But you don’t miss the small smile that’s tugging at the corner of his lips. 

‘My darling, light of my life, will you pretty please drink this for me?’ he asks as he crouches down to your level. 

‘Only because you asked so nicely.’

***

Once the lights are off, he pulls you in his arms, plays with your hair till you feel your eyes getting heavy again. 

‘You’re my pretty girl, you know that?’ he asks and he almost sounds shy.

Your pretty girl huh?’ you mumble repeating his words back to him. 

‘Mm-hmm,’ he replies just as you had, ‘the absolute prettiest girl ever!’

[lovelytsunoda]

mess is mine // colton herta (instagram au)

summary: colton and his girlfriend have always kept their relationship lowkey. but when they both seem to disappear from the internet, fans begin to worry.

warnings: mentions of severe anxiety!

pairing: colton herta x female reader

listen to ‘mess is mine’ by vance joy for best experience!

liked by kyle_kirkwood, josefnewgarden and 380,457 others

coltonherta all the love songs in the world can’t hold a candle to the way that I love you ❤️

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yourusername 🥹🥹🥹

yourusername I love you. Thank you for sticking with me ❤️

user5839 can someone catch me up? who is y/n? who is this beautiful woman who only has 170 followers?

-> user291 she’s coltons girlfriend! they’ve been together for two years, and she likes to keep her life private from the fans. she’s been on some of his livestreams before and sometimes shares small parts of her life with us! she’s studying copyright law and plans to work in the publishing industry.

davidmalukas I thought you did write a song about her?

-> coltonherta not one I’m letting the rest of the world hear. that’s song is for y/n’s ears only 😊

coltonherta added to his story!

coltonherta added to his story!

indycargirlfriends

indycargirlfriends y/n y/l/n seen entering the indianopolis motor speedway this morning ahead of this weekend grand prix on the ims road course. the girlfriend of andretti driver colton herta has been noticeably absent this month during the open test for the upcoming Indy 500 race, and her strange behaviour over the past few race weekends has been the subject of much debate.

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magicmalukas she looks pale…like a lot paler than normal…and has she lost weight?

andretitty have you ever seen y/n wear sweatpants? every time she’s been at the track she’s either been in jeans or a sundress

user3619 as someone who’s in indianopolis rn I can confirm that she doesn’t look very good. coltons been fussing over her all morning, and he’s only left her side when he was contractually obligated. it’s almost like he’s scared to leave her alone

coltonherta

liked by davidmalukas, 12willpower and 20,561 others

coltonherta Everybody talks about the magic of love and how wonderful being in a relationship and finding your person is. But they don’t talk about is how unglamorous showing up for your partner can be, how sometimes, you want to tear your heart out of your chest when you see the pain that your loved one is in.

Y/N has struggled with severe anxiety and panic attacks since long before I knew her. Over the past few months, her condition had taken a nosedive for the worse. She found it increasingly difficult to get out of bed, and her intrusive thoughts made her scared to be left alone. When I came out to Indiana for the 500, many of you noticed that she wasn’t with me. She flew back home to the town where she grew up and spent time with her parents, time she was trying to use for recovery. Even though I told her that she didn’t need to come out for the two races in Indianapolis, she has always supported my career as I have supported hers.

The 500 weekend was the final straw for her. She felt on edge and overwhelmed, and struggled to enjoy a race weekend the way that she normally did. That night, I sat down with my dad and told him that I couldn’t do this any more. That I could not keep putting her through this. That I would not compete in another indycar race until I knew that she was okay.

We’ve spent the past three weeks in Maine, where we’ve focussed on reconnecting with each other. I am very pleased to announce that Y/N is faring much better. While she may never be fully ‘recovered’, I can now see the smart, funny, lovely girl that I fell in love with. Assuming things stay in this positive, upwards trajectory, we will both see you in Mid-Ohio

Peace out,

Colton and Y/N.

comments on this post have been limited.

kyle_kirkwood Send y/n my love. Rooting for you both.

12willpower This is what real love is like. I know better than most what you’re going through, and I know that Y/N couldn’t be in better hands. Keep your head up, and I’ll see you in Ohio.

yourusername Forever thankful to have you by my side 🫶🏻

andrettiautosport ❤️❤️

coltonherta added to his story

TAGS

@clemswrld @thatsdemko @love4lando @libraryofloveletters @lorarri @diorleclerc @oconso @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @silversainz @silverstonesainz @scuderiasundays @magnummagnussen @somanyflippingbooks

[bitchfitch]

There was someone in the room with him. Evan laid on his side, his hands cold, his throat dry and throbbing. The alarm clock glowed red. He breathed, he focussed on the tips of his fingers barely visible on the pillow in front of his face. There was someone climbing onto the bed behind him. He needed to make his hand twitch. He needed his body to wake.

"Hello, My Knight," a sing song voice cut through the pitch dark. If Evi breathed, Evan would be able to feel it against the shell of his ear. "It's been so long since you let me visit."

A wave of familiar nostalgia washed through him like a riptide stealing a child under a pier. He needed to wake up before it drowned him.

He felt the bed behind him move, Evi climbing over him to lay in front of him instead of behind. His bubblegum pink hair and wine bottle green skin cut through the dark like they laid in broad daylight.

"Oh look at you. So... Mature now." Evi purred, brushing his fingers along Evan's jaw. The cold porcelain gliding over the patchy beard Evan hadn't cared to shave in days. "and Look at me!" Evi held his hand out, the crazed white of his new segmented limb being so bright that it burned. He sat up, tracing the fingers of his other new prosthetic up the thick matt of sea glass scarring on his handless arm.

"You've grown up and I've been dismembered." Evi is knelt on the sheets, his vibrant teal eyes inches from Evan's a single blink later. "How'd That happen? How's my story gone since you left me in the dust?" his voice was as bright as it was accusing.

"My knight left and now my kingdom has fallen. The evil witch shattered me. Your sweetest dream Broken. And you never came back to save me." He laid back down beside Evan, hurt beginning to edge in along his words as the lull of sleep started to turn the darkness grey.

"How could you do that to me? I was your muse. All those songs you wrote about me? They made you richer than god. And when fame got too much, when you couldn't bare the weight of the world looking at you but not seeing you, I was there. I kept you alive.

"It wasn't my fault you got so confused sometimes. The alcohol, your meds, it's no wonder you mistook one window for another," Evi pet his fingers through Evan's hair.

"So why'd you leave me to be forgotten? I thought you loved me?"

Evan blinked his eyes open. Evi was beside him still but the room was bright with morning.

He sat up in bed, his shoulders heavy with plate and chainmail. The soft shiny pink of Evi's castle made orange by sunrise.

"Evan?" Evi followed him to their window. The land beyond unfurling piece by piece as it settled back into existence.

"It was mistake," Evan said, his voice feeling alien in his own throat. He hadn't been able to speak a word since the tumors were removed. He stepped out of the window standing on air as he held his hand out to his once upon a time best friend.

"A mistake to leave?" Evi asks.

"A mistake to come back."

[mindfogs]

my thoughts on hazbin hotel from someone who was never in the fandom but nonetheless kept up with the updates

i think the main problem is that it feels like a second season, it already outdid its premise and it was waaaaaaaaaay too soon.

and this was noticeable in the first episodes but even so in the latest ones!

there's so many moments where they wanted to go "WWOOOAAAA" based on the years you waited for this. mimzy (?) appearance being the most blatant example. it was not foreshadowed, it brought NOTHING to the table (maybe it'll have consequences later idk), it was just there to make you go "THAT CHARACTER THAT WAS TEASED FINALLY IS HERE"

but also so much more... this show LOVES to TELL rather than SHOW... they tell us cherry and sir pentuous have a rivalry, they tell us alastor helped charlie since day one but they never show us any of it. and i think it's because they rely on the pilot too much? they assume you've seen the pilot and could piece things together yourself...

(p. s. some other things that weren't in the pilot like alastor and tv guy rivalry were established rather well i think)

they skipped the status quo and went straight to the subverting expectations! that's why the first season being "boring" and formulaic is so important! it sets the ground for the rest of the show!!

it supposed to be rewarding to hear charlie tell her dad and heaven that they made progress.... have they tho? we had a nice episode with sir pentuous apologizing, we see angel back story in ep 4 and we see him acting better in ep 6 but we don't really see what changed him we don't see him gradually improve. one could say his song with dusk acted as a catharsis but that to me sounded like he accepted his situation. literally the first step. everything else from episode 3 onward was not about the hotel, the premise of the show, but it focusses on world building and characters... which is fine, but wouldn't it be more rewarding if we got vaggie's "i am nothing without you" moment after watching, SEEING her struggling with herself for at least a couple of episodes before?

the whole talk to the heaven guys felt so flat since maybe charlie had some proof they could get better but WE didn't (until they opened the portal yes i watched the episode). we get a great big musical number about how the rules are bended and twisted and one of the angels joins in and "souls could be redeemed" but again i don't think we really earned a moment like this after 2, maybe 3 moments of genuine change with these characters.

all these moments are great in a vacuum, but they aren't really rewarding if not set up properly. i feel like it was a mix of having too much to pack in one season and 20 minutes episodes, and relying too much on the pre estiblished knowledge from the pilot and the general fandom. maybe in a longer season with some episodes in between where we see the sinners redemption? maybe after a whole season of just the hotel shenanigans? idk i'm not a writer but something feels off

i will still keep up with the series because it's a fun watch, the animation is really nice, the voice actors are fantastic and i'm genuinely curious to see where it's going. it's a passion project and it shows and i love it for that but i feel like they should have had someone who has never heard of hazbin hotel to help direct it in order to avoid relying too much on established lore and love people already have for these characters.

[sunnunderthesun]

We need to talk about Sudan and its poetry

Oh, German Hitler

Oh, Italian Mussolini

Your chair will never ever stay again

You are just like

a foreign piaster

with no value in our market

The above excerpt is the English rendition of the song famously sung by the Sudanese singer Aisha Musa Ahmad, during World War Two, to encourage active Sudanese soldiers fighting the Axis alliance in the hope of gaining independence from British rule.

It is only towards the end of the last decade, during the Sudanese revolution, that the Eurocentric mainstream news sources began to shine a light on Sudan’s centuries-old oral tradition of poems, songs, storytelling, and chants which have always been an integral part of the Sudanese people’s peaceful protests against any form of oppression. While the works of notable Sudanese writers like Tayeb Salih and Mahjoub Sharif have brought international recognition for Sudan's written literature since the latter half of the twentieth century, much of the nation's oral poetic battle cry of resistance, strength, and resilience still remains unheard of in most parts of the world.

When asked why the internet hardly has any English-translated Sudanese poems written before the present century, a staff of ArabLit informs me that not many poems from the early or even mid-20th century exist, especially online, as translations from Arabic to English was mainly an academic endeavour until recently.

My search for Sudanese folklore on Google brings up just a handful of websites, books, and social media channels focussing on, mostly, contemporary Sudanese diasporic poems and stories, translated into or written in English, but it’s too challenging to find an English-translated poem by a native Sudanese poet on the search engine’s high-ranking webpages that list “must-read poems” or “great war poems” of this century and earlier.

On some archival websites, fragmentary specimens of Sudanese folklore can be found in a couple of late twentieth-century research papers on Sudan’s oral tradition, the journal called Sudan Notes and Records that was started by the British imperialists in an attempt to gain more control of the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, and the racist memoir called My Sudan Year in which the cultural anthropologist Ethel Stefana Drower writes, The Sudanese is a rhymester rather than a poet. He makes rhymes and rhythms on every possible occasion, but, like all of Arab blood or partly Arab blood, he is seldom capable of producing lofty lyrical poetry. The boatmen, as they tug together at a rope, or pull their oars through the water, make chanteys, but these are rarely imaginative or poetical in the Western sense of the words.

I learn from a librarian at the Library of Congress that their only available digitalized collection of Sudanese poetry is not translated from Arabic to English. However, they couldn’t clearly tell me the reason behind the dearth of English translations of Sudanese folklore, especially the ones from over a hundred years ago, on the internet.

Efforts of individuals like Dr. James Dickens and the library activist Israa Abbas to preserve and promote recent Sudanese poems and songs, both in English and Arabic, may inspire the mainstream international literary publications, that also happen to be Western-centric, to consider publishing a powerful Sudanese poem or two sometime. Observing the educated masses' continued disregard for the ongoing destruction of lives and invaluable university archives in conflict-ridden Sudan, it’s hard to predict when the internet will show more cultural inclusivity.

[thozhar]

Gulf migration is not just a major phenomenon in Kerala; north Indian states also see massive migration to the Gulf. Uttar Pradesh and Bihar accounted for the biggest share (30% and 15%) of all Indian workers migrating to GCC1 countries in 2016-17 (Khan 2023)—a trend which continues today. Remittances from the Gulf have brought about significant growth in Bihar’s economy (Khan 2023)—as part of a migrant’s family, I have observed a tangible shift in the quality of life, education, houses, and so on, in Siwan. In Bihar, three districts—Siwan, Gopalganj, and Chapra—send the majority of Gulf migrants from the state, mostly for manual labor (Khan 2023). Bihar also sees internal migration of daily wagers to Delhi, Bombay, and other parts of India. Gulf migration from India’s northern regions, like elsewhere in India, began after the oil boom in the 1970s. Before this time, migration was limited to a few places such as Assam, Calcutta, Bokaro, and Barauni—my own grandfather worked in the Bokaro steel factory.

Despite the role of Gulf migration and internal migration in north Indian regions, we see a representational void in popular culture. Bollywood films on migration largely use rural settings, focussing on people who work in the USA, Europe, or Canada. The narratives centre these migrants’ love for the land and use dialogue such as ‘mitti ki khusbu‘ (fragrance of homeland). Few Bollywood films, like Dor and Silvat, portray internal migration and Gulf migration. While Bollywood films frequently centre diasporic experiences such as Gujaratis in the USA and Punjabis in Canada, they fail in portraying Bihari migrants, be they indentured labourers in the diaspora, daily wagers in Bengal, or Gulf migrants. The regional Bhojpuri film industry fares no better in this regard. ‘A good chunk of the budget is spent on songs since Bhojpuri songs have an even larger viewership that goes beyond the Bhojpuri-speaking public’, notes Ahmed (2022), marking a context where there is little purchase for Gulf migration to be used as a reference to narrate human stories of longing, sacrifice, and family.

One reason for this biased representation of migration is that we see ‘migration’ as a monolith. In academic discourse, too, migration is often depicted as a commonplace phenomenon, but I believe it is crucial to make nuanced distinctions in the usage of the terms ‘migration’ and ‘migrant’. The term ‘migration’ is a broad umbrella term that may oversimplify the diverse experiences within this category. My specific concern is about Gulf migrants, as their migration often occurs under challenging circumstances. For individuals from my region, heading to the Gulf is typically a last resort. This kind of migration leads to many difficulties, especially when it distances migrants from their family for much of their lifetime. The term ‘migration’, therefore, inadequately captures the profound differences between, for instance, migrating to the USA for educational purposes and migrating to the Gulf for labour jobs. Bihar has a rich history of migration, dating back to the era of indentured labor known as girmitiya. Following the abolition of slavery in 1883, colonial powers engaged in the recruitment of laborers for their other colonies through agreements (Jha 2019). Girmitiya distinguishes itself from the migration. People who are going to the Arabian Gulf as blue-collar labourers are also called ‘Gulf migrants’—a term that erases how their conditions are very close to slavery. This is why, as a son who rarely saw his father, I prefer to call myself a ‘victim of migration’ rather than just a ‘part of migration’. It is this sense of victimhood and lack of control over one’s life that I saw missing in Bollywood and Bhojpuri cinema.

— Watching 'Malabari Films' in Bihar: Gulf Migration and Transregional Connections

[bittersweetbark]

This is a ask I saw in a ask list earlier, and I've been thinking of it all day. What song do you think would make a great fic?

I don't remember If I sent this to you last night. If I did, sorry for the spam 😅

I saw others getting this ask and was like "phew, I don't know!" :'D (My "Heaven's Gate" story is more focussed on the OC.)

BUT I'm using this opportunity for a "character soundboard":

1. Lambert

I’m not alone in being alone

That’s one less thing on my mind

And if I counted, how many of us are

Many

Everything I’ve thought of

To think that many others have already thought of it

But still I feel all alone

(plus guilt and suicidal thoughts)

2. Ciri

...and a mix of images for Emhyr/Geralt (the secret chord), Yennefer/Geralt (tied you to a kitchen chair) and Lambert (outdraw them before they shoot ya) from good old Hallelujah: