#and frankly it’s hard for me if I don’t trust men

[redemptiionss]

Sometimes I just think there’s something deeply wrong with me idk

[maxlarens]

Hi, I have a smau request for Charles (based on c.ai bot lol, and the fact that I love painting), so the reader is invited by her friends to a house for vacation, her friends are all with their s/o and they also always try to set up reader with someone, that's when her and Charles meet, and reader finally gives it a chance because she knows her friends won't stop to set her up. They talk for a whole evening about what they do in life (reader is an artist/painter) and they get along really well. Eventually they get together and reader is very liked by the public, even if there will always be haters, but most fans thinks she's just very adorable (especially because of her insta/twitter posts)

CL: slip up and i call you baby

pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader

summary: you love your friends, you really do. you just wish they’d stop trying so hard to set you up with random guys. [smau + written fic] (read on: ao3) (part 2)

fc: faceless

word count: 5.1k

warnings: mild sexual references

a/n: this is such a cute idea! thank u so much for sending it in!! u will not believe how much this idea gripped me like i never write one shots like this its just unheard of for me if im honest. anyway i know u asked for a smau so i will be doing a second part/continuation to this that is solely an smau to make up for that. (ALSO sorry for disappearing i was super sick for the whole week and have been getting my shit back together in the aftermath😭)

(yn’s messages)

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ynusername italy we are in u!!!

Amalfi Coast, Italy

You’ve never been particularly boy crazy. At least not the same way your friends are.

There have been a few not-quite boyfriend’s over the years, but those relationships never last long. They never really get you, or they never really get the art thing. Which means, of course, that they don’t get you and never will— and that’s fine, you’re content with that. If living for your art means you’ll never be in love then so be it and frankly, good riddance to them.

For the most part, you’ve given up trying. You go on a few dates here and there, but you never let them stick around. Even the ones that seem interested in your paintings you don’t bother with— none of them really seem to be able to grasp what art truly is to you. It isn’t just paint on a canvas, it’s living, it’s breathing. You are only yourself with a way to make art.

It’s difficult to put into words.

So you don’t. Instead, you send texts that say ‘thanks for your time but this isn’t working out’ and you keep the men your friends try to set you up with at arm's length. You placate Chloe and her partner Rowan– who collects friends like they’re Pokémon– with, “he wasn’t my type” and “I’m not looking for a relationship right now”, which you suppose is true, but also isn’t the entirety of it. Yet, every time without fail, there’s a new boy at the scene of the crime.

Chloe doesn’t get it, none of your friends get it. You don’t try to explain it to them. So, y’know, here you are again.

Anyway, here’s the thing: they’re getting closer. Inexplicably, without knowing how you really feel about it all, Chloe and Rowan are getting better and better at picking the boys who are able to tempt you. Which is a pain really, because sometimes you’re trying to have a perfectly nice vacation in Italy without the lure of a boy you can’t let yourself have. But alas, these things generally don’t go your way.

You should know that by now.

Charles Leclerc is bang on the money, he really is. He is unbearably cute, like so cute that you have to leave the room when he walks in, because you don’t trust yourself to be in close proximity to him right now. You have a hard time looking at his face when you are forced to be around him. The dimples when he smiles, the squint of his eyes even when he isn’t. If you look too long you’re liable to stare and that wouldn’t lead to anything good at all.

He’s nice as well. So nice, just like Chloe told you. You try to pretend he doesn’t exist and he still asks you questions about your job and the area of Monaco you live in— like he’s even interested, like he’ll remember you two weeks from now. You try your best to be pleasant, to answer without it being like pulling teeth, and to ask questions of him as well. You’ll probably see him again after this, so best to not to go too far and act like you hate him. It’s difficult though, toeing the line between friendly and encouraging of more. Or it feels difficult for you. Charles doesn’t make even the slightest suggestion of the two of you being set up by your nosy friends. That’s unbearable too. Part of you wishes he’d just make a clumsy pass at you so you can rebuff it and make your intentions abundantly clear. But, obviously, he doesn’t, because he’s perfect or something.

It sucks. You hate him, you think.

Or you want to.

On the second day of the trip, you’re on the villa’s private beach, laying in the hot sun. Chloe, Anaïs and Bea are there; everyone else is either still sleeping off the wine from last night or swimming in the glittering ocean. You’ve got a secondhand book, a 2B pencil and a pair of sunglasses over your eyes. You’re trying to read but you just end up doodling, drawing your friends bikini-clad bodies over the text and shading grapes into the margins. Trying desperately not to accidentally put Charles Leclerc’s dimples, messy hair, or sloped nose to paper.

“So,” Chloe says conspiratorially, as you abort an attempt at drawing a slightly squinted eye with thick lashes, “What do you think of Charles?”

You raise an eyebrow carefully at her over your sunglasses, betraying nothing of your inner turmoil, “I think nothing.”

Anaïs laughs, rolling onto her back, “That’s such shit. You practically sprint away from him everytime he comes near.”

“I do not,” you answer too quickly.

Anaïs laughs again, louder. Chloe joins in and Bea raises her eyebrows at you like you’re a fucking liar. You frown, glaring a little before stubbornly turning your head back to your book. The conversation about Charles ends there, but unfortunately your actions have spoken for themselves. A chill of something like panic chitters up your spine and into your shoulders. You have to roll them to make the feeling go away.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky you lose some people to the heat and gain others. It’s just you and Chloe sweating onto your towels when Rowan and Charles finally give up on whatever game they were playing in the ocean. Rowan collapses unceremoniously into the space between you and Chloe, kicking up sand and getting water droplets all over you like he’s a wet dog. You let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated groan as you roll away from him, landing in the sand.

“Watch it,” you cry, “You’re getting my book all wet.”

Rowan laughs, “You’re drawing in it!”

“So.”

He pulls a face at you that makes you roll your eyes; then he turns into Chloe, shoving his face into her collarbone and flinging limbs over her. You snort, leaning over to snag the book off your towel before it gets dragged into the mess that Rowan is causing. You’re about to get up and go inside until you realise Charles is still standing there. Has, in fact, been standing there since Rowan ran over. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat as you look up to find him standing there.

“Hey,” you smile briefly at him, quickly looking away from his damp hair and bare chest (–which is difficult to do because, holy shit–) so you can gather up your towel.

“Hi,” he replies.

He might smile back. You don’t look. You’re trying to get the image of his washboard abs out of your head. This proves difficult when you clamber to your feet and find yourself face to face with him.

“Are you heading back?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

God, you want to kick yourself. You’re being so awkward, and right in front of Chloe too, who may not be watching but is absolutely listening to you make a fool of yourself in front of a guy you have very firmly said that you are not interested in. It must be clear to him too, that you’re trying very deliberately to not be interested in him. You cant tell what would be worse; if that means he’ll think you’re a weirdo or if it means he’ll take it as a sign that he should make some kind of move.

Ugh.

“I’ll come with you?”

“Hmm,” you blink yourself back into existence, seeing the questioning look on Charles’ face, “Yes, yeah. Sorry.”

You say goodbye to Chloe and Rowan who barely look away from one another, still rolling around in the sand like teenagers.

“Gross,” you say to Charles, as the two of you trudge through hot sand toward the sandstone steps that lead up to the villa.

He laughs, a breathy thing that tapers off with a sigh, “A bit, yes.”

You don’t say anything else, but you find yourself staring at his back and the way his muscles shift and move underneath his tanned skin. At the top of the stairs you part ways, he smiles at you and you offer something awkward in return, trying to pretend you hadn’t been looking at him. You don’t think he notices, but your cheeks red burn anyway.

You don’t see him watching you leave.

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chloegarelli hungover, sunkissed and lovesick

Amalfi Coast, Italy

Dinner is a huge affair, as it always is on these trips.

You, Anaïs and Chloe spend three hours in the kitchen that afternoon making chicken fricassée and about a hundred different side dishes to go with it. Everyone crowds around the dinner table to eat and drink even more wine than the night before. Piero Piccioni plays on the old record player, crackling away as you laugh and talk and tell stories with your friends well into the night. You watch the sun set through floor-to-ceiling glass windows and you wish wish wish that you had your paints right now.

You brought along a set of oil pastels and one of your art notebooks, but it doesn’t compare at all to painting. If you could get your hands on cadmium yellow in all it’s hues, maybe vermillion and a powder blue, your lack of paintbrush or canvas wouldn’t even matter. You’d use your fingers if you needed to. It bothers you so much that you get up in the middle of clearing away the meal and go to your room for the pastels and notebook. You need to get it on a page at least.

You push a few plates to the side, folding out your notebook and immediately marking the page up with a creamy white pastel. Bea teases you when she comes over to take the rest of the dirty dishes, but you just mumble something unintelligible, too engrossed with smudging the sunset into something that looks like what you’d seen out the window. When the oranges and yellows blend to your satisfaction you take the black and brown and draw in the top of your friends’ heads, not thinking about how much attention to detail you’re paying to the shape of Charles’ side profile.

When you’re finished, you’re surprised to see that the table is cleared save for a few half-full wine glasses and a fresh bottle. Only Chloe, Rowan and Charles are still sitting by you. You’re listening to another Piero Piccioni album now, or maybe just the other side of the record. You remember saying goodnight to the others and saying yes to a glass of wine, so you’ve not been totally dead to the world, but it’s all in a bit of a haze.

You think this might be part of the reason why you can’t hold down a boyfriend. The disappearing into your art like you cant breathe until it’s finished. That may as well be the case if you’re honest.

You sigh, wiping your stained fingers on the next blank page, then you take a long sip from your glass of merlot, pretending you dont notice the others’ eyes on you.

“All done?” Chloe quips, somewhere on the border of teasing and being annoyed at you.

You look at her, your eyes just narrowing enough for her to notice. She does and purses her lips. You raise an eyebrow to ask okay, what’s your fucking problem? And you see her eyes flash to Charles. You follow her gaze to see him and Rowan pretending to look disinterested in your answer. Charles is tracing the base of his wine glass and absently biting the inside of his mouth. You have to tear your eyes away.

“All done,” you answer, tone clipped, before gathering your things (including the wine glass) and leaving the room in a move you hope doesn’t come off as too rude.

At your back you hear Rowan ask Chloe, “What was that?”

Chloe means well, you think as you wind through the villa, making your way to the balcony overlooking the private beach. She wants you to be happy and she thinks you need a boyfriend to be happy. But she’d found the love of her life in Rowan after only a few years of dating around and she doesn’t quite understand that it’s never going to work like that for you. There aren’t enough people out there that understand the kind of passion you have for your art and certainly not many that would also be compatible with you. You’re fine with that, but Chloe doesn’t know what to do with it. Especially not now she’s cottoned onto the fact that you have some kind of interest in Charles. It’s killing her.

It’s irrelevant though, whatever interest you have in Charles doesn’t factor into anything. He’s cute, he’s nice, but so were the dozen boys that you’ve already dated and not continued dating. So really, Chloe needs to stop pushing it because it’s pissing you off. You’re here for a holiday, not to be forced into conversations with a guy you don’t know. If she needs to have an argument to finally understand that, then so be it. You’ve been friends for years, it’ll blow over eventually.

You flick a switch and blinking lights illuminate the balcony. Fairy lights are wound up the posts and draped on the awning, intertwining with the lush green vines that have grown up through the wood slats. The air is balmy and the breeze light as you settle into one of two cushioned chairs situated by a coffee table. It’s perfect. You spread the oil pastels out next to your glass of wine and set your open notebook on your crossed legs, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

You’re alone for what feels like a long time but is probably only an hour or two.

When the sliding door clunks open you expect it to be Chloe coming over to have it out, but it’s not. Instead, Charles slips through the gap with the rest of the wine gripped in one hand.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling at you in a way that makes dimples carve in his cheeks, and dashing any hopes you have that he’d walk right past you.

“Hey,” you forget yourself for a moment and bite your lip on a broad smile.

He holds the bottle out toward you, offering more. You lean over your notebook and hold your empy wine glass up in acceptance.

“Merci,” you say, and in a moment of weakness (and probable wine drunk-ness) you gesture at the plush chair across from you.

Charles, somewhat caught off guard, looks between your outstretched hand, the chair, and your face, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and finally taking a seat. Despite his apparent shock, you find it hard to believe he’d come out here simply to offer you some of the last of the wine. Surely, this is Chloe and Rowan’s doing. Though, strangely, you cant quite bring yourself to care.

He sets the bottle on the coffee table, next to your oil pastels. You lean forward to place a few back in their rightful spots, snagging your wine glass as you go.

Charles eyes’ scan your face for a moment, searching for something you suppose, then he points at your notebook, “Have you been drawing?”

You nod, “Mmm.”

You think perhaps the answer is a bit obvious. He seems to realise this, you watch a blush spread onto the top of his cheeks and he flutters his eyelids slightly, almost like rolling his eyes at himself. You don’t think about his eyelashes, thick and dark as they brush against his cheekbone, and you don’t think about his eyes, the lights reflecting off them, making them sparkle.

“What are you drawing then?” he asks after a moment of collecting himself, an edge of embarrassment to his voice.

You give in easily to the strange urge you have to show him, grabbing the notebook off your lap and holding it out for him to see what you’d been scribbling in the book for the past two hours. You let him take it off your hands, ignoring the spike of anxiety. He holds it gingerly, like it's a precious artefact (of course, to you, it is), which makes something warm bloom in your chest. You take a sip of wine and gesture for him to flip through a few pages, which he seems hesitant to do without permission. The book is angled in such a way that you can see most of the page, so you’re content to let him. Or at least you are until he flips to the page you’d started when you’d first come out here.

Panic drops like a stone in your gut because he’s looking right at a fully rendered drawing of his eyes. It’s in amongst some pillars strung with lights and covered in climbing vines; your best attempt at capturing the way the beach looked earlier in the day; and, perhaps your saving grace, Chloe half asleep on her towel. But the drawing of her is haphazard, it’s half-scribbled and half-finished, whereas the one of Charles eyes’ is as detailed as the sunset scene you’d done the page before. It had been something you just needed to get out, drawn in one of those hazes of yours. You’d felt better after it was done, your hands had stopped feeling like they were itchy.

Now, you itch to snatch the notebook off him, but you fear that would be even more incriminating. So you watch him look at the page and try to sit with the panicked feeling spreading in your chest.

Eventually, he points at the page, “Is this me?”

You bite your lip, breathing slowly through your nose to try and abate the blush spreading up your neck. You don’t say anything exactly, just shrug and rock your head back and forth in a kind of confirmation that doesn’t really admit anything. Though, there’s no denying the drawing is him.

“It’s good,” he says, seemingly stumbling over the words, “It’s very good.”

You frown into your drink, “Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

You know he means it. It’s not that.

“Yes,” you put down the wine glass, looking at him but avoiding eye contact, “I know. I know it’s good. I’m just… I’m embarrassed,” you admit.

He furrows his eyebrows– or it’s more that he squints and his eyebrows fold in with it. You watch his tongue dart out to run across the top of his bottom lip and you stamp down the less than innocent thoughts that come bubbling up at that. He waves the hand that’s not still holding carefully onto your notebook about for a moment, trying to conjure up words that he doesn’t have yet.

Slowly, he says, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I– It’s–”

He��s about to say flattering, so you cut him off, not wanting to hear the tone of it, whether it be pity or something else entirely.

You try to explain yourself, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Like after dinner,” you reach forward and flip the page back one, to the sunset, “I have to get it onto paper. Or… or… it just runs laps in my head for the rest of eternity, I guess. I don’t stop thinking about it.”

You cringe internally. You’ve just told him that you were so consumed by thoughts of his eyes that you had to draw them immediately. That is perhaps worse than just wanting to draw him because you thought he was cute. Charles raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your admission, but there’s perhaps also something sincere in there? You can’t pinpoint it, but it makes you feel a fraction better you think.

You sigh forlornly, “That’s weirder, huh?”

He laughs, properly laughs, and it sends some strange feeling skittering down your spine, “No. No, I get it. I don’t have any way to get it down as quickly as I’d like, but I definitely understand the feeling.”

You bite the inside of your lip, hesitant but still curious, “You understand the feeling? Really?”

“Yes,” he smiles easily now, relaxing more in the chair after he places your notebook onto the counter with a cautiousness you still don’t expect, “For me, with racing, it’s like I get an idea and I can’t sleep until I try it on track or talk about it with someone. Some of them don’t work, or aren’t possible, which is fine, but if it sounds right to me and it checks out with the people that it needs to, then, well, then it literally does run laps in my head.”

You laugh, mostly to yourself. You’re not sure yet if he understands what you’re saying, but he’s trying. That’s more than you can say for a lot of people. You try not to let that thought linger for too long.

“You think it’s similar?” you ask in a way you desperately hope comes across as curious and not accusatory.

He hums, waving his hand around again for words, “Perhaps. I think the urgency is the same. The passion is the same. Do you ever feel like something terrible will happen if you can’t–”

“Yes,” you’re a bit breathless in your haste to agree, to talk about this feeling with someone who understands, “Yes. I do. It’s like I need to put it somewhere before I lose it. Otherwise, it won’t be perfect, or it’ll be too late.”

“Exactly,” his eyes seem to light up, for a long second you watch the flickering lights reflect in them, “Exactly.”

“It’s never as good as I want it to be,” you admit, finding it easier to look him in the eye now that some strange barrier between you has been broken, “It’s never quite how I imagine it in my head.”

Charles points at your notebook, “These are very good, really. I don’t see how they could be better. But,” he shrugs, “Eh, I will win a race and still think of everything I did wrong.”

You nod eagerly in understanding as you lean back into the chair, finally relaxing into the cushions. It’s strange to have this conversation, knowing you’re talking about two entirely different careers, but feeling like they’re so similar. Maybe it’s just you and Charles that are similar, maybe your jobs have nothing to do with it? You don’t know, you just know it’s nice to feel like someone gets what you’re talking about.

Charles continues, speaking like he’ll explode if he doesn’t get this off his chest, “It’s there all the time, do you know what I mean? Maybe I’m not thinking about it every second, but it’s always there waiting for something to draw attention to it. And people ask what else is going on in my life, and of course I do other things, and I enjoy other things, but I want to be on the track. I want to be driving whenever I can.”

You nod again, more subdued now, “Mmm, right. I want to be making art all the time, and when I can’t it’s like missing a limb. To me art is– it– it’s like–”

“–breathing,” he finishes, almost the lilt of a question to it, but not really, it’s like he knows exactly what you mean… how you feel.

You exhale, long and slow, “Yeah. Like breathing.”

Both of you are quiet for a little after that. You’re trying not to stare at him, but it’s not easy. He’s looking at you almost blatantly and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks the longer he stares. The air feels thick with some feeling you can’t place. All you know is there are butterflies in your stomach and a smile keeps pulling at the edge of your pursed lips.

The smile takes over as you catch him starry-eyed in your peripheral vision, you mutter, “Stop that. Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

You tip your head back so you can’t see him looking at you, “Because.”

“Because?” he laughs breathily, shaking his head at you, “Okay, well, tell me if I’m misreading anything, but I’m pretty sure that drawing of me in your notebook says something, at least.”

You run a hand down your face, sighing loudly, “Yes, okay. I suppose it does. But– I–” for a moment you struggle for the right words to explain yourself, “I guess I’m not really looking to date anyone.”

He tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows and looking for all intents and purposes, like a confused puppy, “You guess?”

You nod, resisting the urge to just launch over the table and grab his face. He is very cute and he is making this so hard for you.

He sucks his teeth briefly, shrugging, “I’m not really either.”

“Alright,” you say, “Good.”

As over as that should make the issue, strangely enough it doesn’t feel like you’re done with Charles Leclerc and it certainly doesn’t feel like he’s done with you either.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

You try to avoid Charles after that, you really do, but he doesn’t quite let you.

For a few days of the holiday you give him pointed looks and purse your lips a lot when he’s around. Chloe catches on straight away and that makes it all infinitely worse until she finally realises she might need to leave you alone (yeah, shocker). When Chloe finally forces everyone to get off your back about Charles, it becomes much easier to be around him. You’re not glaring at your friends while they make eyes at you, or worrying if you’re acting weird; you’re just allowed to be.

It’s nice. He’s nice.

But you knew that already.

Neither of you are looking for a relationship so there’s no pressure for it to be anything at all. But you have this sneaking suspicion that perhaps both of you are looking for a relationship with eachother regardless. You try to ignore the thought.

On day five, you’re sitting together on an outcropping of rock that overlooks the ocean and you’re letting Charles doodle in your notebook with a ballpoint pen. The bare skin of both your arms are pressed together, they stick with sweat from the hot midday sun but neither of you seem to care. As you watch him doodle inexpertly you can smell him— salt and sweat and whatever cologne he uses masking the very faint scent of burning rubber. Your hair, still damp, brushes his forearm, you wonder if you smell of acrylic paint and mildew from all the water cups you accidentally leave out for your paintbrushes.

You reach out to trace a line he’d made, “Here, it should be more like…” you taper off, taking the pen from his hand and quickly fixing the curve of the beach before handing the utensil back.

“Hmm,” he hums, giggling a little, “I guess that looks better.”

“You guess?”

He nods, “What if I had a very specific vision?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, leaning back to look him in the eye you tease, “A vision. Did you?”

He tilts his head down to look at you. You’re very close now, you can feel his breath fanning over your face. In the reflection of his sunglasses you watch your lips part slightly and your eyelids flutter. Your chest grows tight with anticipation and maybe a little bit of panic. Still, you reach out and slide his sunglasses up to settle in his hair. You’re a little careless, but you like the way his hair pokes out from them at odd angles. As he breathes out you hear it catch for a split second.

“Did you?” you repeat, knowing he won’t remember what you were talking about.

He blinks twice, still staring at you, “Hmm?”

“You said you had a vision,” you breathe.

“Oh,” as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your mouth, only for a second, but it’s long enough to you know you’re done for.

You both lean in at the same time, your noses sliding off each other in your eagerness. You breathe a kind of laugh into his mouth and you feel him try to suppress a smile against your lips. It’s slow for the first few seconds, just you and Charles figuring out how your mouths fit together. His mouth is warm and wet and so soft, and it’s easy to lose yourself in it. You move the hand that had adjusted his sunglasses, sliding it up his shoulder to the back of his muscled neck. Your fingers weave into the short hair at the base of it, your nails scratching absently there. He groans, ever so slightly into your mouth and it sends heat skittering down your spine, into the low of your gut.

The hand of his that isn’t clutching onto your notebook slips forward and winds around to press at your bare back. He pulls you closer to him as you slide your hand up to cup the back of his head, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Soon it’s a mess of tongue and teeth and Charles blindly shoving your notebook somewhere it wont slip into the water so he can grab you with both hands. He tastes like red wine and coffee and you love the way his fingers dig into your skin and the way his teeth have been grazing at your bottom lip, like he wants to sink into it.

You’re almost in his lap when you’re forced to pull away for air.

Foreheads pressed together, you breathe heavily into the space between you. Your hand is still stuck in his hair and one of his on the small of your back, the other holding your knee. The sides of your noses touch, you nudge yours against his affectionately, tempted by the proximity of his mouth.

He laughs and you feel it against your lips, intermingling with your own breath, “Alright. That was–”

“Yeah,” you finish, dipping forward to kiss him again.

You’re lost for another few minutes. Tongue and teeth and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock behind you. And his hand on your jaw and in your hair and pulling you closer closer to him.

He pulls away this time, turning his head to press your cheeks together, mouth at your ear, “So,” he drags the word out with a laugh, “are you looking for a relationship now?”

You snort unceremoniously, and tease, “Hmm. I guess I would be amenable to that.”

“You guess?” he asks— but not really needing to at all because you can feel his dimples pressing into your cheek as he smiles knowingly.

You nod, smiling too, “I guess.”

🎨 yes of course i made a playlist>> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cAJaZjvK0V7SrmxoMosBX?si=ADlJGHxxQYKnlZ1jWFJxfw&pi=a-AI0MKbo3RTqE

taglist: (pls message if you'd like to be added to the taglist for charles. my yuck! one is full so need to start a new one😭)

[lesamis]

1810s dashboard but it's niche drama

💛 heartofanna Following

imagine cancelling someone for saying war is bad

🧵 sharethewoe Follow

#didn't expect better from w*rdsworth but some people i rly thought i could count on…… #anyway we will live to see this empire fall. can't stop history lol (via @heartofanna)

speaking as someone who was press ganged at the age of 17 to serve in his majesty's royal navy i couldn't be more grateful for your poem. young men like me are cannon fodder and you spoke for so many of us. fuck napoleon but fuck parliament even more.

86 notes

chatterpwned-deactivated78345629743

stable forgiving virtuous flourishing in my lane definitely not buying poison moisturized unbothered never been better

chatterpwned-deactivated78345629743

me when i lie

179302 notes

🏛 mynoseisfine Follow

Settling this once and for all. What does the public actually think about the Parthenon marbles debate:

🦉 realminerva Follow

lol i know it’s you lord elgin

🦉 realminerva Follow

like we joke and all but fully aside from the fact that removing the sculptures from greek soil was vulturine and opportunistic etc, it’s really just the tip of a frankly gigantic mountain of imperialist bullshit. let’s not pretend we haven’t been brutally killing hundreds who resisted oppression in india, LITERALLY BOMBED A NEUTRAL EUROPEAN CAPITAL, and embarrassed ourselves in the charge against napoleon for years now. pathetic ass empire & evil as hell to boot. @mynoseisfine the greeks who carved your marbles millennia ago would kick your tory ass so hard

3661 notes

🎀 emmawoodhousestan Follow

how do i still keep seeing thomas chatterton's final post being reblogged, wtf is wrong with you freaks??? he was seventeen it was tragic and horrible and happened ages ago. he was a kid just let him rest

294 notes

🍎 masque-off Following

callout post for @castleyeah @lordsidmouth @officialcoe @parliamentofficial: they oppress, murder and famish the british working people & also suck majorly

⛪ castleyeah Follow

sour cuz you’re unfit to have custody of your own kids huh

🍎 masque-off Following

proud to be the dad of a newborn who could already rend your pudding spine asunder with a mere glance

187 notes

🦆 mallardturner Following

finished this today 😊

44 notes

😎 chadeharold Follow

why is it always “you’re risking your life and legacy & will get yourself killed before the age of five and twenty” and never how was swimming the hellespont the hellespont looked fun was it fun

🎭 loved-joanna Mutuals

ohhh my god you swam the hellespont five years ago?? wooow should we tell everyone?? should we throw a party?? should we invite famous hero of greek myth leander who swam the hellespont

😎 chadeharold Follow

@loved-joanna look we never had any beef & don’t have to start this now. it’s cool that you’re sticking up for my ex, you guys were friends first, but just know that i’ve always trusted your opinion on my work & genuinely respect and admire you & would still be up for a collab whenever.

🎭 loved-joanna Mutuals

yea sure why don’t your lips collab with my ass

😎 chadeharold Follow

on it boss

1009 notes

#literally call me. down if you are

🍂 endymion Follow

sorry is it me or is the assassin who stabbed german bootleg wordsworth kinda…… 🥵

💄 biprincesscharlotte Mutuals

JOHN KEATS????????

2427 notes

#i'm p sure this is the author of lamia thirstposting on main??? help

🌾 huntsmanx Follow

romanticism this romanticism that why don’t you romanticise universal suffrage and rights for labouring people

🌾 huntsmanx Follow

anyone else in jail for seditious libel

🏹 axelaidtotheroot Mutuals

lmao i'm one of the “anyone else”s and i know you’re enjoying family visits and apparently some kind of cushy armchair situation, plus tons of books. try being in here as a spencean dude they won’t even let me learn how to write. worst of all some evangelical came by yesterday just to proselytize & put me “on the right path” fml

8341 notes

🗻 mounttambora Follow

y'all i don't feel so good :/

59 notes

[cherry-pop-elf]

Human Nature

‘Poof’ Periwinkle Fairywinkle-Cosma x Fem! Reader

Sum: Hazel and Dev were at a cozy little sleep over at your house, since Dev was avoiding his father like the plague. Lead to plenty of talks about Poofs Peri’s childhood. So while the parents are away, it’s time for Peri to play

Warnings: 18+, lots of fluff, , first time (for Peri), boob jobs, Wholesome body positivity, Dominate Reader, it’s very fluffy and wholesome with sex because I said so, nonbinary peri rights, “Woah boobs-“ fairy anatomy vs human, kinda cracky but that’s why you are here anyway, and of course Peri Loves Them Tibbies

“Finally….” Peri gave a groan, as he would slump onto the floor. Not giving a single fairy fuck that he was laying on the cold kitchen ground. His parents can be overwhelming, and now you got to see it first hand.

Hazel, and Dev, were having a sleep over at your place. You were Dev’s neighbor, and one of the painfully few adults he can trust, so he wanted to feel like a normal kid with doing kid things. Like sleepovers.

The only friend he had was Hazel, and it’s hard to have a sleep over with out company. Has Peri’s god parent he couldn’t refuse. So the whole evening was spent with hijinx’s, and some good old parents squealing and sharing pictures a plenty.

You loved learning more about Peri, and did your best to try and give him breathing room. Being his little shield with trying to be the one to ask questions and happily look through the photo albums, while Peri was trying not to break his teeth from all the gritting.

So here you two were. Cosmo and Wanda making sure the kids were safely sleeping, and certainly knocked out themselves, as you two finally savored the peace and quiet of the rest of your home. Just away from it all.

“Say, not to still keep on topic, but I gotta ask. Your dad was the pregnant one, so um. Does that mean he’s trans?” You were curious. Could it be blamed? It would be interesting to know if such concepts like that were even existing across other beings. Curiosity is human nature, may it be for good or evil.

“Trans-? Oh! Trans! Nah-“ Given Peri was raised rather closely to humans, compared to frankly any fairy he certainly is often more aware of those concepts. There is a difference between taking care of a human, and living with a human after.

“Our genders, or is it sex-? Whatever. It’s flipped flopped. Men have the vaginas, girls have the penises. We also can shape-shift after all, so stuff like that is kinda pointless at the end of the day. Like how I was born a boy, but never really felt like a boy, so now I have a penis and go by he/they.” He explained to you, as you tossed him a soda.

“Huh….Girls have the male anatomy, boys have the female…..Woah.” Certainly fascinating to think about. It’s as if it’s a construct, who would have thought? Really was curious to you. Something new.

“And then there are different types of fairies. At the end of the day it doesn’t matter. Not unless you care, for some reason, or want to be intimate.” They would explain to you, as he drank his soda. Just enjoying the cold floor on his exhausted body. Even a fairy can get tired.

“So….Not to get weird, but like….Is your penis like….similar to a human penis?” You were to curious! Fairies were all so new to you! The only reason you were aware they exist was because Dev kinda made you aware. You were someone he trusted. He just had to have you involved. It’s a lot to handle after all. A kid is a kid.

“That’s one way to get into my pants.” He gave an eyebrow wiggle, as you hid behind your soda. A whine of protest, as he laughed at you. Just always the charmer. The one to lead the tango. Maybe you want to spin that dance around.

“Why don’t you show me what’s under the top and I’ll show you what’s under this bottom~” You knew he was just being all talk. They typically were, before suddenly ready for a panic attack. You didn’t want to give him one, but there’s joy in making someone squirm.

“What are you doing-?” He gawked, as he saw that you were following through. Off your shirt went, and you sent it flying over to his face. How it dangled off their crown, leaving just one big violet eye to stare at you. To watch as you unclasped your bra. It was a long day, and underwire is painful.

“I know they aren’t the prettiest things around-“ You started, only to be met with those big fairy eyes sparkling. Literally. Like his pupils were just big ole hearts and sparkles. Seemed to be utterly enchanted at your half bare body.

The fairy was quick to zoom over to you, with your shirt gone in a vanished, as he seemed to be enchanted by your anatomy. That you had to be the prettiest person in the whole world. The whole galaxy! Their eyes were just pure. Not just driven. Not sexually charged. Just admiring you like a sunset.

“You wanna touch them?” You asked, finding it all utterly adorable. We’re all fairies this cute? Had to. Just look at him. How his wings were fluttering like crazy, and their head nodding in eager need. Need to just swallow you whole with his touch.

They were hesitant, but his hands would soon cup them. They were so gentle. Not an ounce of green in those finger tips. Just a fairy enjoying the beauty that a human had. Made you wonder how different fairy’s breasts were compared to humans. Were they different at all? Not like you wanted to ask Wanda to flash you.

“So soft….” He whispered, as he soon just face planted into your chest. Had you laugh, as he seemed to have found heaven in them. Fluttery wings just going wild, as he snuggled into them. Enjoying how soft they were, and easy it was to hear your heartbeat like this. They were just perfect for them.

“You are precious.” You had to admit, as you soon would play with their hair. Gently running your fingers on the back of his neck. Didn’t want to mess with his curl after all. Just wanted to enjoy the gentle little affection. Seemed he was enjoying it plenty.

“So….Gonna keep your end of the deal?” A muffled ‘hm?’ Was spoken into your chest, as you swore he was ready to fall asleep there. The warmth, softness, heartbeat, breathing, they just couldn’t resist it. His kryptonite.

“Come on, it’s fair. Lemme see your magic wand~” You giggled, as you had to pretty much prey his pouting face from your chest. Poor man wanted more, and you’ll be happy to give him more. Such a pouty baby. Arms all crossed, and all huffy.

“Pretty please~? I promise you can play with my boobs more if you do it~” You offered the magical creature. That seemed to be what finally made him follow through. Slowly with sliding his suspenders off his shoulder, before working on his buckle.

“Promise?” He asked, and you nodded. As if you could ever say no to those beautiful eyes. Such a shade of purple you couldn’t quite grasp. As if it was just a color that the human eye couldn’t quite register. It made for such a need to look at them more.

With the zipper down, and some shimmying, you finally got to see what you were excited for. Deep down, you were kinda disappointed though. Not by the dick as a whole. It was a normal dick, that was the issue. Nothing really made it seem supernatural, besides the well groomed purple patch of hair above it. Shaped like a star no less. Ok, that was cute. You couldn’t argue with it. Was going to make your next idea all the easier to follow through.

“As promises, I’ll let you play with my boobs again. But, I have an idea on how you can enjoy them more.” You offered, as he rose a curious brow at you. What could that possibly mean?

“What are you doing down there?” He asked, as you were soon on your knees. Your face under his cock, with a devious smile. The fact he asked you gave into your theory he may be a virgin. You were certain to make this something he will never forget.

“Showing you the magical world of boob jobs.” You said, before you brought his soft cock between your breasts. Gentle you were, as you would slide his dick between them. Squeezing it between your soft tissue, with little kisses to the tip.

“Oh sweet fairy world-“ He moaned, as he held onto the counter for support. Truly an experience they never had before. Was making their whole world spin, as their cock was starting to harden with in your grasp. Mans was in heaven because of you.

“Like it?” You asked, as they eagerly nodded. Just an utter puddle under you. Luckily not literally. Just figuratively. How they were gripping the counter for dear life as they were panting hard. Those pretty eyes fluttered closed, as those thick eyelashes of his were sparkling with held back tears.

You couldn’t help but drink it all in. They looked so perfect like this. Just letting out moans for you to listen on repeat. How so little was to much. You didn’t even do much, and you swore they would cum already. Would their cum be purple too? You just had to know.

You would speed it up, with a devious grin, as he was aching between your breasts. Just throbbing for you. Such a mess from so little. Suppose breasts were their one way ticket to their own heaven on earth.

“Oh jeez oh jeez oh jeez-“ They kept whimpering. Teeth biting hard into their lip, as he just couldn’t stop his whimpers and moans. A harmony of sounds for you to dance to. Ever growing more eradicated in their sounds.

“Gonna cum? Cum all over my tits?” You asked, as that had his already flustered face even redder than ever. Just looking at the sight under him was too much. He couldn’t handle it anymore. He just couldn’t.

“WAIT WAIT I-! AH-!” His hips were soon bucking on their own, as the orgasm hit him. The way their head threw back as their body was on autopilot. Riding out the climax. Just listening to what the new burst of adrenaline in their system gave them.

You were a little disappointed, you couldn’t lie, that it was a normal color. Was hoping it was at least lavender. Didn’t disappoint in the amount though. Was Al over your breasts, your face, you swore it reached your hair even. That’s annoying, but it’s forgiven for Peri. Their first time after all. Can’t be mad at that.

Poor Peri was just trembling. Hardly able to keep themselves up, as you stood up. You were glad you were still in the kitchen, so you just dampened a fish towel to clean yourself up. Probably safer to not consume fairy jizz. Who knows what it could do to your insides. That’s for another day.

“You alright over there?” You asked them, as you would look over. Poor Peri was just a mess. Hair all over the place, still flushed and panting, legs bend and feet turned in. Thought they might faint. Had you worried, before he was soon back to trying to play it cool. Like nothing had happened at all.

“Yep! Totally! Cool cool cool-!” Pants zipped, hair slicked back, just in a blink and it was like he didn’t just have the best nut of his life. Had you giggling, before you returned to him. A kiss to his cheek, and a hug. Because after care is always vital.

“Say uh, um. Do you….Do you think we could do that again sometime?” They asked, as they avoided eye contact with you. Oh who could resist such a cute face? Not you. You gave his flushed little cheek another peck, as you laced both your hands together. Just all smiles.

“As you wish.”

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A message.

I’d like to start by saying once more (due to it being the cause of so many hateful messages) that I support Palestine.

I donate to charities that fund several of the organisations that help and I use my business in the best way I can to give my services for free to fundraisers that also raise money for these causes. Shy of showing you my personal bank statements and private emails between myself and my clients, I don’t have any ways of showing this on tumblr.

I have several social media platforms, I have a business that I run, I have friends and family I talk to, I have an entire life off of this website. I choose to use tumblr to post my writing and for the most part, it’s become a really important space for me. Writing is one of the few things I truly do for myself. I enjoy it immensely and it can really bring me a lot of peace.

I choose not to blog anything other my writing, other people’s writing and general fandom related things on my blog because I like to keep it as that small space for myself and one of the things I love most. I understand wholly that that is a privilege in itself and I will not shy away from that fact.

However, I will not condone being hunted for the choices I make. For the vast majority of you, I am a stranger online and no one, absolutely no one, knows what I do off of this website. I won’t allow anyone to judge me on what they don’t see and don’t understand.

The size of my following was not a choice I made, it was not something I deliberately aimed for and it was not something I tried hard to make sure I achieved. It wasn’t the goal of this blog. I don’t deem myself capable of “influencing” anyone in anyway. I’m a fanfiction writer. I���m not a politician, I don’t claim to be the most educated person on political and worldwide matters. I simply would like to believe that everyone tries to help in anyway they can. I know not everyone has the financial means to donate and instead they choose to raise awareness in other ways - that’s absolutely okay.

But I - and others - do not have to follow the rule book someone else deemed law. You see, I gave my views and reasons and it wasn’t good enough. And now, if I chose to reblog certain things, I’m pretty sure I’d be dragged for being performative, or “back tracking.” I fear that with some people, who like to hide behind an anonymous button, I cannot win. Despite an argument revolving around real life issues, I think I can safely say it came across as a very personal attack.

As other people have mentioned before, I also don’t enjoy the idea of writing smut and happy ever after’s about our favourite fictional men and then reblogging the death of others in real life straight after. I know that’s the world right now. I’m aware. I read articles, I watch the news, I follow accounts on Twitter, on Instagram and I try and keep myself as up to date and as educated as possible. I just don’t show that on this one platform.

As many of you know, I do run my own business. I’m also five months pregnant. I’m definitely experiencing more stress than I usually do. I’m very happy and enjoying my pregnancy immensely but I struggled with sickness and tiredness for the majority of it so far. Whats to come in the next four months and beyond fills me with excitement and anxiety and nerves. Coming onto tumblr and writing about fiction is a little reprieve from that - again, a privilege I am so aware of.

But I won’t be tolerating any more hateful messages, I won’t be arguing with anyone. I’m not lowering myself to it. You can talk about me passively aggressively, you can choose to hate me, that’s fine. I’m happy blocking people and moving on. Anons will be off indefinitely, it’s been proven that too many people are willing to hide behind them. After the messages regarding myself and my unborn child, quite frankly, there’s not a lot of trust left when it comes to knowing how far people will sink.

I’ve said all I’d like to say on the matter, I’ve told people where I stand, my views on the genocide that is occurring, what I’m able to do about it in my personal life and why I choose to keep this particular space the way I do.

I hope everyone can try to understand and respect that. If you don’t, that’s fine, that’s your prerogative. I don’t go out of my way to challenge, or police, or demand things from people I do not know. I hope that no one thinks that they have the right to do that to myself and others. I’m under no obligation to follow someone else’s rules.

I don’t know what the future holds for this blog, pregnancy and real life is very much taking priority over writing at the moment, but I do like to try when I can. I can’t lie either, the messages and their content that I received really left me feeling dejected and frustrated, this fandom really has turned into something rather poisonous. I’d like to be able to rise above it and in the mean time, even if I’m not always present, I’d like people to be able to access the stories I worked really hard on.

Thank you for reading,

Emmy 🧡

[droughtofapathy]

Hi there! I read your review of Cabaret and saw that one of your main complaints was that a lot of Jewish culture was staged/written out. I’m not Jewish and don’t have that baseline understanding of the religion/culture and was wondering if you could elaborate further?

Hi Anon, I'd be glad to elaborate a little more, with the caveat that I'm not Jewish either, but I do know a thing or two about the history of this show. I'm also long-winded, so... buckle in.

I don't believe the production team intentionally went into it and took an eraser to Judaism as they went, but I do believe that being an English team with far less Jewish influence in their culture and society has made them blind to the inherent Judaism of the story beyond the glaringly obvious. As I've said before, this is a revival made by gentiles for gentiles right from the very conceit. In centering the show on this nightmare puppet spectacle of a cabaret, it does a disservice to the real heart and moral of the story's true epicenter: the boardinghouse and Schneider and Schultz and the grounded people around them. The very fact that it's officially been retitled "Cabaret at the Kit Kat Club" (frankly redundant) shows that this production is no longer about the actual book, but about the frivolous hedonism. Schultz's Jewish storyline is an afterthought hastily plopped down into the cabaret setting. Because of this staging, the focus is never away from the now-very goyish cabaret. Cliff, Schneider, Schultz, and even Ernst were very much given the "I don't care much" treatment by this director who wants everyone to ooh and ahh over the exorbitant pre-show gimmicks and whatever the fuck the Emcee and Sally are doing, and to hell with the actual plot.

Everything from the direction to the marketing to the creative tone seems to scream out that no one on this creative team actually understands the message. The nightclub might be the titular setting, but it's a looming figure in the shadows. A seedy little joint in a back alley where everyone's just trying to survive. Vaudeville could be bawdy, certainly, but the staging and choreography here is vulgar and tiresome, and says to me that the creatives also have little to no knowledge of that artform either.

Cabaret is an inherently Jewish musical. The three original creatives (Joe Masteroff, John Kander, and Fred Ebb) were Jewish men who were all alive during WWII and old enough to understand the horrors happening around them and overseas. Director and producer Hal Prince was Jewish. Revival director Sam Mendes is Jewish. Both Joel Grey and Alan Cumming are Jewish and/or gay. Eddie Redmayne is the first major Emcee on Broadway (baring a few late-run replacements, in the other runs, I'm sure) who is neither. Rebecca Fracknell is not Jewish and beyond the fact that I just don't think she's a good director of musical theatre (which is an incredibly hard artform that differs from directing straight plays), she has no inherent understanding or trust of the rich material already in place. She chose instead to create spectacle without actual spectacle, and focus all the time and energy into the Emcee--a character who was never meant to be the protagonist. The charisma and iconic performances of past Emcees have elevated this role in all subsequent productions, yes, but always as a centrally Jewish (and subtextually queer) figure. By having that representation and interpretation, Cabaret remains a centrally Jewish musicals. By stripping this particular Emcee of that, we get a goyish nightmare puppet, not a man. Not a Jewish man hiding or highlighting his Jewishness. We get a re-centered gentile production dead behind the eyes.

Antisemitism in Weimar Germany takes on a featured role in what should be a starring turn. Fracknell clearly sees herself as Sally, and she's made it all about the Sally in a painfully white goyish feminist way (don't get me started on a rant about the "girlbossification" they're trying to make happen), but the VERY CLEAR intent of the material is that we should not want to be Sally. We should not be proud of being this willfully ignorant girl who doesn't care about the rise of fascism all around her, and actively states that it has nothing to do with her. We should be horrified at her complacency and shamed that we might have gone in feeling the same way. And Schneider says it, she says it right there in what's meant to be the scene, that Cliff and Sally can just run away when the going gets tough without a care in the world, but she can't. When a show takes a Jewish story, written by Jewish men, and turns it into a gentile funhouse carnival and refuses to acknowledge its Jewish-centered book characters and actors (notice how Bebe Neuwirth and Steven Skybell were almost entirely excluded from promo materials until late into the Award Season publicity) to instead prop up a white gentile man and a white gentile woman...well, that's just blatant Jewish erasure.

[dearweirdme]

why it so hard for you to accept that jungkook and tae couldn’t have a deep conversation? you don’t know these men, you probably frankly never will- you cannot say that they never felt like it based on the interpretation you have of their relationship when their words have told you otherwise. and how their distance cannot be true because it doesn’t align with your fantasies. it’s not only weird but boderline insane. you’re extremely obsessive and need a reality check. rather than accepting that these men want to share a story ab themselves and to show you you can mend relationships with people your close with and things aren’t always at it seems, you fight tooth and nail to convince yourself and others that it’s not real. it’s funny because it seems that when tae was struggling with his mental health that’s exactly when their relationship took a hit- he became closed off because of it even so that jungkook noticed and wrote it to him in their 2020 festa in which he told tae to reach out to someone- literally anyone because he knew he wasn’t that person. you denying this is denying that tae did ultimately go through something, something that the entire fandom had noticed and rather than accepting it and acknowledging the fact that mental health does it fact cause strains on person relationships you act the way you do. like a delusional person. relationships can change find a way to accept that or unstan tae. they’re not pawns for a story u chose to create to comfort yourself, they’re real people

Hi anon!

I don't even care if you're a Jkkr or just annoyed with Tkkkrs in general (though I'm leaning towards Jkkr since you're probably here because of that jkkr account that discussed my post recently).

You are very much underestimating my experience and knowledge about/with mental health, depression, and the effect it has on relationships. This will probably come of as a 'trust me dude, I know', but honestly most people who have suffered from depression (or other mental health problems) will tell you that the depth of a relationship does not matter when it comes to depression. Depressed people are not more prone to open up to their partners, their partners can't fix them and are not able to cure them from being depressed. Partners are also so often just a bystander in someone's struggle with depression. So your comments on this are basically invalidating every depressed person's relationship with their partener, because it has the assumption that a romantic partner is the exception when it comes to a depressed person's internal struggles. They are not! Very often a depressed person will try to hide their pain from everyone. To avoid harming them. Now every person's story is different and every depressed person's way of dealing will also be different. Educate yourself anon.

Tae shut everyone out. Just like Jm shut people out, just like Namjoon shut people out. Parners that truly love one another will endure these times together, even if one of them shut's the other out. I do think Tae shut Jk out at his hardest moments. I also think it is clear that Jk stood by him and was a source of comfort in the ways he could. I've witnessed many (too much for my liking, because it is brutal to see people you love go through this) couples survive mental health problems and making it through them together. I've been the person that a depressed person's partner hoped they would open up to... even though they did not open up to their partner themselves. When you see someone go through hell each day, you don't care who they open up to.. you just hope they do to whomever they can.

Now the real question is... why does it trigger YOU so much that I think Tae and Jk do have deep conversations?

[eco-lite]

Some mostly out of context funny/sweet/heartbreaking moments from Una McCormack’s Enigma Tales:

[Text ID: “Renel took the other chair and the two guls, both big men, perched awkwardly together on the sofa. Garak had asked for the sofa’s dimensions to be just slightly too small to comfortably seat two adult males. His cruel streak always found expression somehow.” End ID]

Garak forcing stuffy military men to squeeze onto a tiny sofa together. Utterly diabolical.

[Text ID: “My real pride is, of course, my garden. I have worked hard here. Parmak helps, although he has a tendency to kill plants on touch—worrying in a doctor (previous sentences underlined in red by me). He can’t do too much damage. The plants are hardy, the flowers have their own agenda, and not even Parmak can kill dry stone monuments.” End ID]

I love that in The Crimson Shadow, it’s implied that Kelas takes care of Garak’s garden while he’s away, yet here we learn that he’s actually terrible at it. First of all hilarious. Second of all, very sweet that Garak trusts him to keep trying.

[Text ID: “’There might be another route to Garak,’ Alden said slowly, at last. ‘Ambassador, what do you know about Kelas Parmak?’

‘He is the castellan’s close friend,’ said T’Rena. ‘Probably one of his closest advisors—not officially, but certainly they are often together.’

‘Are they lovers?’ said Pulaski.

‘I don’t know,’ said T’Rena. ‘I do know that Parmak was interrogated by the Obsidian Order in his youth, and that Garak may have been involved.’

‘Damn,’ muttered Alden, ‘this place is twisted.’” End ID]

Pulaski just assuming that Garak and Kelas are lovers. A perfectly valid assumption--it’s the same assumption I make myself. Also, Peter Alden pointing out how it is frankly fucked up that they should be lovers considering the circumstances of their past encounter. He’s not wrong... Kelas is just a forgiving angel of a man.

[Text ID: “She picked up the parcel she had brought with her. ‘Hey,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to go now. I hope it’s been good to see me. But I brought you a present. Well, it’s not really from me. Several of your friends got together and found this, and when they heard I was coming they asked me to bring it with me. I hope there’s no injunction on importing livestock. I think I got away with it.’

He was hardly going to unwrap the gift, so she pulled at the paper, revealing the small brown bear inside. She reached for Bashir’s hand again, lifting it and pressing it against the toy, in case the touch stirred some memory. She pressed it against his cheek too, so he could catch the scent. Smell and memory were closely intertwined; smells took you back to places more than anything else. Then she put the bear upon the windowsill, half looking out at the city, half looking back at Bashir. She smiled at it; this little guy had been loved, she saw, and someone had done some stitching that would make a surgeon proud. She reached out and rubbed its ears.

‘He’s an old soldier, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘He’s been through some wars. We’ve all been through some wars.’ She stopped and kissed her lost friend gently on the brow. ‘Come back, Julian,’ she said. ‘We miss you.’” End ID]

Pulaski bringing Kukalaka to comfort the comatose Julian are you kIDDING ME? This scene is so bittersweet.

[Text ID: “’My father would say, all the time, how much I was wanted. How much he wanted me.’

(Next paragraph highlighted red by me) Well, he had wanted something, Garak thought. Telek’s father had not wanted the child he got. And that hurt, as Garak had cause to know; yes, that hurt very badly.” End ID]

Hahahahaaa ouchie.

[Text ID: “Garak realized that he was still holding the phaser. He slipped it back into his pocket, for he would no doubt need it again one day, and then he rested his head against the cool of the window. My poor Julian, he thought. He let himself tremble for a while, allowing his body to process the shock. He might have allowed himself some tears then, too, in the dark while nobody could see, for all that had been lost, for all that he had done; for everyone that he had harmed.

Everyone that he had been unable to save.” End ID]

Despite everything, Garak is a very compassionate person. He very kindly talked down Telek, who was about to kill him, and was sensitive and remorseful that Telek’s Bajoran genetics had been eradicated as a child, at the insistance of Telek’s Cardassian father. And then immediately after that assassination attempt--a moment in which you’re surely allowed to think selfishly--he instead thinks of “My poor Julian,” another man whose father did not want him as he was. And that’s not even acknowledging all the other shit Garak is going through here. It’s a lot.

Love to end on a sad note. But seriously, everybody go read this book! These are just a few great moments among many. Lots of angst, lots of tenderness.

[elizabethkitley]

I hate when speculation that caitlin or whomever is gay is grouped in with the (untrue) stereotype that all women’s basketball players are gay. Ofc they’re not. Unfortunately no matter how much they hold hands, Kysre’s and Angel’s vibes SCREAM I ❤️ men, and trust me I wish that were not the case bc they’d be so adorable lol but im not totally delulu. And it’s not bc they’re feminine either — look at dijonai carrington and Izzy Harrison, extremely femme and extremely gay.

When we speculate cait is gay it’s bc that girl’s vibes are fruity as hell! That’s it!! Not just bc she plays basketball!

Side note, the way Angel goes hard for Kysre and is always standing up for her is so cute, and im glad Kysre has good people around her bc she has such a horrid past w men. Them as femme4femme would be amazinggg bc frankly men don’t deserve either of them but alas lol idt it would happen.

yup! i like seeing that they're still pretty close even with kyrse no longer being on the team anymore. it kinda sounds like she was probably the closest to her on the sky so nice to see they're still hanging out! they do both give very straight though

[officialleehadan]

Thorns and Roses

Hello darlings! Today's story was brought to you by Tirani! Darling, thank you so much for your support!

Prompt: Punica Granitumwith blood-red thorned roses

+++

Stephone had a dozen employees who specialized in arrangement alone, but some days she needed to lose herself in the scent and colors of fresh blooms.

It was what drew her to flowers in the first place, back when she first packed a single backpack and left for a university her mother did not approve of. It had taken months of planning, arranging her financials. The inheritance from her father, after he left her mother and drank himself into an early grave. His last act of spite was to make sure that Stephone had the capital to get out from under her mother’s thumb.

He hadn’t been a good father, had earned the messy divorce as much as her mother did, but that gift let her go to university for the political law degree she hadn’t quite finished, and let her open Spring Flowers at the same time. It was the way she met Hadrian. The reason she was able to finally, finally, cut ties with her mother for good.

Her father might have been a dead-beat trust-fund baby, but in a strange way, he was also responsible for the best things in her life.

So once a year, on the day of his death, she braved the heavy thorns of his favorite blood-red roses, put together a bouquet, and went to his grave.

This year, she was taking Hadrian.

“Do you need anything from me?”

Hadrian had come to meet her at Spring Flowers. He had a briefcase of paperwork and was reading over some contract or another, circling bits here and there with a highlighter. He frowned at one clause and crossed it out entirely, but when she looked over at him, he was watching her over the rims of the reading glasses he usually pretended not to need.

“No, I’m okay,” she said after taking some time to deliberate. He didn’t ask that kind of thing without meaning it, and she tried to give him honest answers when he did ask. “This… it’s a tradition. He’s been dead for a long time and we weren’t close before that.”

“But you bring him flowers? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said and set his papers aside to give her his full attention. “You don’t speak much of him.”

“Not for any reason, but because there’s nothing to tell,” Stephone said and threaded more roses into the arrangement. “He was a philanderer who brought out all the worst in my mother, but he left me… enough to start my business and go to uni. He’s the reason I don’t have to do what my mother wants.”

“Enough reason alone to respect him, despite whatever else he did,” Hadrian noted and went for her frankly terrible coffee. It was always burnt, and he liked it anyway. On a better day, she would tease him about it. It wasn’t a better day. He watched her add roses steadily, before she went for black irises. The tribute to the rebellion against her mother that he enabled. “I suppose Damiana and Henrietta have similar taste in men. Did my brother know him?”

“I assume so, although I don’t remember much of Zed. Usually when Henrietta came around, she did it alone.”

“Can’t say I blame any of them.”

“Neither do I.”

The flowers were done, and Stephone sat back, pleased with the work, even if it was more personal than they usually were.

“Mom’s trying to force me out of business again,” she said as she toyed with a fallen rose petal. She didn’t look at Hadrian as she said it. “She has friends at my university. A few big donations over the years means she has friends on the board. I don’t have any proof it’s her, but I’ve lost three academic advisors in four weeks and a fourth has been ducking my calls all week.”

She had been fighting to keep her grades up all year with the new drama from her mother, but it was getting harder and harder as time went on. Getting any law degree was hard. Getting one while she fought to keep her business and personal life on track was nearly impossible.

The loss of her advisors was manageable but one more inconvenience on top of everything else. The fact that she hadn’t been able to get another was concerning. Hopefully it wouldn’t delay her graduation.

That was just her mother’s style too. Lost one battle, so she went nuclear to try and win the war.

The problem was, Stephone wasn’t willing to give up this time, and there would only be peace when Damiana won, or thought she did.

“I need a new way to distract my mother,” she said even as she adjusted one more of the roses for her father. “She won’t give up. My rebellion, it’s an affront to her. My defiance is something she will never forgive, and she’s going to try and destroy my life until I fall in line.”

“There’s nothing she likes more than a good fight,” Hadrian said and finally left his chair so he could come over to her. Stephone sighed and leaned back against him and he wrapped his arms around her. “Well, except…”

“Except?”

It was a bad idea. It was such a bad idea. It was every possible version of a bad idea.

“The only thing she cares about more is Harvest Season,” Stephone said as the bones of a frankly terrible plan began to form in her mind. “She’s so focused on burning my life down, I think it’s about time I returned the favor.”

+++

Punica Granatum:

Petal and Thorn

Tiger Lilies and Cypress

Oceans of Blue

Poppy Milk Chocolate (Subscriber Only!)

Green and Gold (Subscriber Only!)

Smile of Spring

Battle of Winter   (Subscriber Only!)

The Iron Queen  (Subscriber Only!)

Queen of Flowers

Chronos Children (Subscriber Only!)

Bolting Blossoms (Subscriber Only!)

Storm Talk (Subscriber Only!)

Queen's Reception

Oncoming Winter (Subscriber Only!)

Thorns and Roses (New!)

+++

MASTERLIST

[solariswrites]

Reckless

Reckless. Reckless. Reckless. 

Phayu’s replacement word for stupid. Instead of instilling determination and anger what Rain was feeling in the moment was pure disappointment and frankly resentment. He was confident that if Sky was in this seat right now there wouldn’t be a lack of trust going on. Just fear that Sky was pulling away from him. Rain? No he gets the distrust and belittling like he isn’t a grown ass adult in a relationship with these three men. He loathes his feelings right now which makes it worse. All he did was go with Aye, Thua, Kan, and Rain’s new friend, Zain. 

He knew it was going to be an adjustment for him, Sky, and Phayu when he changed majors; Prapai had been the most supportive of him switching to the Arts to focus on his writing degree. And to Rain, Prapai was the only one being supportive now because this was getting ridiculous. He had a right to spend time with his friends from his new faculty and old childhood friends too. They’d come here to get inspiration for their own projects and had accidently gotten stuck with Kan’s suv then walked back just as the storm started to roll in their direction. Akk had taken the other three as Rain had assured Zain that it was fine to leave with a brooding Phayu, annoyed Sky, and their ever peacemaker Prapai.

“This was beyond reckless. You should have called us before leaving town. This is what happens when you hang around Ayan and Zain. You do reckless things like this. Going out in the middle of nowhere with no cell reception and a trail till you hit the main road…” Phayu’s words cut through Rain’s thoughts and he’d had enough. He didn’t give two shits that they were stopping at the stop sign in the blistering rainstorm. He wasn’t going to sit here and take anymore of this criticism for another second. 

“Yu…” Prapai started but Rain cut in. It hit him the silence coming from Sky and Prapai as Phayu had scolded him. They agreed with him. 

“And what P’Phayu? Wait for my busy boyfriends to decide for me if it’s alright to take a day trip with a group of friends that wasn't even supposed to take half the day? When without hesitation all three of you just drop whatever you want to do into our calendar? Do you know how hard it is to plan something or do something with you all when you do that to me? I take one day, hell not even a day; I take one lousy couple of hours… ” Rain angrily spat back, reaching for the door. “I don’t know what I’ve done to make you think I’ve consented to being treated like a fucking child but I haven’t. I deserve the same trust and respect as you clearly give each other.” 

“Rain!” Sky struggled to stop him from getting out just as much as Prapai. Phayu was stunned for a moment before he rolled the window partially down. 

“Get back in the car!” Phayu ordered over the heavy downpour, not that Rain was listening. He just flipped him off and started walking his way towards the village so that he could stay at another hotel. He sure as hell wasn’t staying with them. 

Suddenly a pair of arms wrapped around him but the self defense classes he took since the incident with Stop allowed him to easily twist and shove the owner of said arms away. He glared at Phayu as soon as their gazes locked. 

“Don’t touch me! Venus!” Rain yelled, Sky and Prapai joined Phayu across from him. Their eyes wide that he still wasn’t budging on letting them near him. “I am not getting back in that car. You all say you love me but this isn’t how you show it. Trust goes both ways. I am so sick and tired of having to prove myself.” 

“You don’t have to, but we need you to get back in the car. It’s…” 

“Reckless right?”

“No, Darling, not safe! I just want us all safe. So please get into the car.” Phayu tried to get the younger man to listen to him.

“Baby that’s not what we meant.” Prapai tried to apologize as he shared a look with his partners. 

“Yes it is! I said venus P’Pai!” Rain quickly dodged Prapai’s hand. He knew it was instinctual because of how Prapai was tactile. But it still felt like they weren’t listening. That he hadn’t earned a voice. 

“We do trust you Rain, we were just scared!” Sky gave back and the look in his eyes let him know that this was true for Sky. 

“Of what? What happened before with that asshole repeating? Well it’s not going to happen again…” Rain found himself trying to console him  but shook his head, “No, you refuse to actually believe me that I can take care of myself. I retook the classes and I checked in a lot.” Rain snapped as he flailed his hands. “But it’ll never be enough will it? No matter what I do I’ll just get to watch you three thrive off each other till you tire of me just standing there.” 

“You’re not standing still.” Phayu cut in, “And we do tru-“

“You don’t get to tell me how I feel.” Rain argued, “especially when I cause you to turn into this jealous monster!” Those words earned a sudden shiver to go down his spine at the look Phayu gave him. He for sure thought that the man was going to start chiding him for his language. 

“You don’t get to tell us either. But yes, I’m jealous. But it’s not because I don’t trust you, darling, it’s because I loathe that Zain gets to spend all this time with you that used to be ours. I love you…We love you, Rain, and if you need us to stand out here in this storm all night to tell you all the reasons why we do, then we will.” Phayu argued right back and like that it was like all three of them despite the storm were on the same page. The focus on him was a bit overwhelming.

He was about to respond when Sky spoke first, “I’ve always loved your determination. It’s beautiful, wild, and unique to you.” Sky slowly reached out to Rain. Just as carefully, Rain felt like he could handle them coming closer. When he did, Sky lifted their joined hands to press a kiss to Rain’s knuckles. 

“You’re my buttercup.” Prapai stepped closer next, his hand reaching up to cup Rain’s cheek. His thumb rubbing softly over rain soaked skin, “Our love is different and so open despite all the bites the world has taken. Your bravery and willingness to adapt are just some of the reasons I love you, buttercup.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Rain’s forehead then he stepped back to let Phayu come closer. 

“Verbena?” Phayu asked, knowing it was his fault the fight had sparked anyways. Rain nodded and this time they stepped towards each other. Phayu cupping Rain’s face gently. “I love that you trust me with all of you and that you inspire me to be a better lover to us. You’re amazing and so beautiful, darling.” He leaned, pressing the softest kiss to Rain’s lips. When Phayu went to pull back Rain, gripped the now soaked through v-neck to keep him from moving away as he chased the kiss. This one thought carried a different feel as they poured their apologies and love for one another into the kiss. 

“Oi! You were supposed to kiss his cheek, you jerk! Jealous and greedy is more like it. Where is ours?” Prapai’s voice pulled them from their moment. 

“How about we have this conversation in the car?” Sky shivered as Rain laughed, resting his forehead on Phayu’s shoulder. He didn’t need to look to know that Phayu was sending Prapai a look. 

“Okay.” Rain agreed. He reached out for Sky, the two of them squeezing their hands before Sky headed inside. 

“Well I am not going till I get my kiss.” Prapai continued to tease. Rain wiggled his fingers towards the older man to draw him into a kiss. Those dark eyes beamed as he stepped closer, kissing Rain softly. 

“Now you have one. Let’s get back in the car and to the hotel before we all get sick.” Phayu guided them back to the jeep. Prapai wrapped his arm around the other side of Rain as they walked then stole the younger man into the backseat where they could cuddle until they got to the hotel. 

Read More of my works on AO3 for LITA

[anonymousandtalentless]

Fuck, let’s be honest

I still think about that night. I try so hard to not let it affect me, not let it affect us. And in a way it doesn’t everything seems to be fine and I am able to love you just like I did before. Yet somehow I am still triggered by mundane everyday life events daily. I hate that you did this to me because you did this to me. I was already uneasy and insecure about these situations but I learned from them, I grew, I healed. You jump started the feelings right back up to the surface like the motor of a car I desperately didn’t want to turn on. I work on it daily and you’re not helpful. I always think that you handled the situation better than I could’ve imagined and when asked how to deal with it I would give you as an example. But my love, you suck at this part of the healing. When you did what you did, you didn’t take into consideration who I was, my previous life experiences and struggles. You didn’t realize the way I paved for myself. You blew it all away like a hurricane and I need to start anew. I hate to be like this, I hate that I have to prove myself, I hate the way you look at other girls, I hate that you find other girls attractive and exciting, I hate that you have female friends and I hate that I will never know your true opinion on them. I hate that I can’t ask you which girl you find attractive in our show and when I do and you answer, my whole world collapses and shatters into a million pieces. I hate that you don’t know why you did what you did. I hate that I can’t be the cool laid back girlfriend you always wanted. I want to, I desperately want to, I would kill myself to become her but frankly I will never be. I hate your best friend, I hate that you have a female best friend, I hate that you called her oh so pretty, I hate that you found her attractive when she was skinny. I hate that the only thing standing in your way is her weight. I hate knowing that you felt those feelings for her and continue on keeping her close. I hate to know that if I gained weight you would have those feelings towards me too. I hate that I can’t grasp onto the subject of a best friend of the opposite gender. I am bisexual and have primarily female friends but yet I can’t seem to understand how it is possible. I love my friends and I find them beautiful but I am not attracted to them in that way but somehow when you say you find your friend beautiful I just feel like you would jump her if you had the chance. It’s not only you I think I always had this opinion on men after having male friends. From my experiences, from your cheating with a friend, from my ex cheating with a friend, I simply can’t believe that it’s platonic. Maybe it’s internal misogyny, it probably is but then again my problem isn’t with her, it’s with you. I have an issue with you because maybe I lost trust in you around women. You’re beautiful, so charming and so funny, I don’t know how someone would not want to be with you even for a night. I would never forbid you from seeing any of your female friends or come between you and them. I don’t want to control you but I just hate the position you put me in. I don’t want to blame it on you either, the real person I blame is myself for feeling this way but I can’t shake it off. It’s there I can’t get rid of it, I hate it and hate myself deeply for it.

[ffntroco]

*Deep Sigh*

A lot on my heart, but no one to talk to about it or not feeling safe. Everyone labels me as the bitch, but in reality my heart is so soft and pure. The drama. Why do boys make it so difficult and why do they claim to like you, but try to put you through hell. If you’re that nigga for me why try to inflict pain in me. If you wanna sleep with me why would you talk to me like shit? Why don’t you uplift me. Instill confidence. Passion. Joy. Inspiration. It’s like the goal is to shake up my confidence. I’m exhausted and quite frankly is why I choose to stay single. I’m young and don’t wanna waste these years chasing men. Young and wealthy is my goal. Multiple streams of income and all that. I don’t know who I can trust sometimes and I don’t even know if I can trust myself and after I fought for this healing. This peace. This self love. I still find myself weak because of I guess my craving for love in my lonely little world. But I am scared of if it.

Where’s the loyalty? The appreciation? The respect? The real desire to just be a real person. And it’s no hate in my heart no malice or ill will, but I will no longer let ppl sit and play in my face. Fine you don’t want me then bye. Compare me to others? Go play like you don’t see this divinity elsewhere. I am beautiful and deserving of a beautiful life. So if we cannot add to each others beauty then so be it. I’ve had so many people trying to tear me the fuck down guys. Like it’s been difficult and sometimes it’s hard not to let it not get to you especially when physical violence is involved. What I’m learning is to not get entrapped by someone else spells anymore and stay hyper focused on the blessing that is my life. That’s how you end the mind games and the playing around. And the drama. Like Maddie said in Euphoria. Out of sight. Out of mind.

I hate attention guys. Like I hate it, but people for some reason make me the center of attention by dragging me into problems. I’ve healed. I don’t wanna argue. I spent most of my childhood confused, alone, isolated(which is why it’s hard to make friends for me), abused and neglected. I don’t entail that being in my adulthood since I’ve already been robbed of my childhood and at some point we all have to grow the hell up. You cannot suck on mother’s tits. In taking this time to invest in myself, my future and my loved ones. I have to deem what’s important. What’s important for me is making sure I will be okay. What I’m learning is I have to be okay with not involving myself into other ppls dramas anymore. So many ppl hit me below the belt because of where they are and I’m learning that’s not my fault and I’m learning it’s okay to admit I felt hurt, betrayed and you broke my trust and I know that you don’t care but it’s okay because I do. When we push our feelings to the side in that defense mechanism we’re just telling ourselves we don’t value ourself. I’ve been needing to speak for so long but we live in a world where ppl like me however you may interpret it do not to have a voice a voice in the space of the fact that alot of us queer folk need to take the time to heal. We’re taken advantage of, beaten, neglected, abused, and made to be something we’re not all because of the egotism in masculine energy. It’s like when your feminine the only thing you amount to is being viewed as pleased and I have to accept it because you think I’m sexy. But this sexy mf also walks this thing called life as well as sometimes I’m not feeling it just like you don’t be.

I had to hermit myself. I had to go love on myself. I had to go value myself. I had to protect myself. That’s all I been doin. Lovin me. Valuing me all of me and I’m actually not afraid so say damn okay im not that bad of a person lolz. Stay beautiful.

[mcrmaidlesbian]

It's frankly insane to insultingly ignorant to claim that tlou wasn't written with zionist intentions from the beginning, when the head writer has explicitly stated it as so. He's not lying about his intentions, why would you need to loe for him?

And as someone who liked the game trust me I get how hard it can be to let something go, but at the same time it's really nothing if you look at the reality of it.

Also I just have to say seeing the people talking about it I'm missing context, but still headcanons are explicitly non canon interpretations.. Like I understand not supporting bigoted head canons but your responses seem confusing at best

I have already acknowledged the second game was made with Zionist intentions. Because that’s what was said. He said he heard about Palestinian s killing one Israeli soldier (fuck the IDF who cares sorry I just had to put that in because I truly couldn’t care less), and his whiney ass wanted to get revenge in some way, then he felt “disgusted” that he would want to go that far. He said that’s what is the inspiration to the second game; he wanted people to know what hate felt like but then feel ashamed.

Nothing was said about the first game. And someone said the first game was always planned to lead to connect to the second one, and that is a lie. Especially due to so many inconsistencies. Neil wanted the first game to be a revenge game of sorts where Joel killed a friend of that one woman he was with I forgot the name, but then that was going to lead to that woman seeking revenge on Joel and Ellie. Bruce Straley, the co director of the first game, said that having people cross country for revenge during a zombie apocalypse was stupid, and therefore that is why that idea never went through.

I didn’t see anything about any Zionism inspiring the first game.

Also I’m not even sure what people are talking about in regards to the headcanons. I forgot the whole situation. Maybe it was because someone wanted to claim one girl character who is canonically attracted to men to be a lesbian or something? I honestly don’t remember nor do I care anymore. In regards to that situation, I guess I was ticked off because that character’s attraction to men was central to her character; she was this fundamentalist Christian girl who felt extremely “dirty” for having sexual thoughts about the school bully/popular jock, who also has obvious feelings for her back. This leads to her basically in a way blaming him for her sexual desires, even going so far as to not care about killing him fkfnffkf it’s a long story. I thought how the story was written especially hers was extremely interesting and unique in a way.

But yeah that’s it I guess. Like I said, I don’t care anymore, so don’t bother

[break-the-chains]

Writing prompt: Lust

6/21/15

My name is John, and I am a humble man. I define myself by what I have rather than what I don't. I have love, stability, and an appreciation of society. I have gentle parents, a consistent job, and good health. I want for nothing.

I have challenges just like everyone else, but they don't redirect me far from my path. I am able to maintain myself and my relations to others. I am not violent, nor am I a victim. I need this to be known. 

I am not broken.

6/26/15

I know that society is a result of the hard work & effort (whether willful or not) of the ones that came before. Because I know this, I choose to respect this gift. I bear the byproducts of this cohesion. 

One byproduct includes tolerating those who do not respect that peace. Phil, my coworker, is one of those people. 

He seems insistent on spouting out his disdain for those that hold up the structure of governance. He believes that greed is the driving factor of their decisions. He has no idea how ignorant he sounds. 

Does he not know of disease? Does he not know of flash floods? Does he not know of moral depravity? He has no idea of the dangers he is protected from by the very people he looks down on. 

I tolerate this man because it is my part to play. 

6/30/15

It took 30 miles and a gift of liquor to do what must be done. Nobody saw my license plate. Yet another hollow victory.

7/1/15

The home owner's association I moderate saw me come home last night. Dorothy is trusting. I'm not worried about Samuel, either. I know what goes on in his gardening shed. Veronica will be the one to cause problems, if any of them are feeling more superior than they deserve.

I have not found anything on her. I have time. 

7/2/15

Today, I saw a glimmer of what I have been waiting for. Ever since this started, I have been unsatisfied with my clients. Their responses have ranged from immature to licentious. They must have been raised in broken homes. It disgusts me. 

But today brought me hope. She is new. It seems like this is her first source of employment. She has that element of which I cannot describe, but I know is exactly what I need. Her parents are studious, if a bit distant. She has no siblings. She seems to stay indoors. She is, for all intents and purposes, a model young woman. In another lifetime, she would be a good future wife.

Of course, I am not looking for a wife. That is the one pillar of society I have failed. I accept that failure and I atone for it every time I go for a trip. God knows my intentions. I will surely receive divine punishment before I am allowed to rest in peace, but God also knows how devoted I am to his image. 

7/4/15

My job is integral to the order of our neighborhood. I do not always enjoy the day-to-day tasks that it brings, but I am immeasurably grateful for the opportunities it gives me. 

I discovered that Veronica divorced multiple men. She had two sons out of wedlock, and they don't seem to be in contact with her. She lives off of alimony, and that's why she can spend so much time sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. I am not surprised. She is a foul woman. No self-respecting man would keep her in his house.

I'm not sure yet how I will use this, but it's a great start. God smiled upon me today.

7/6/15

I am trying to be patient, but it's beginning to strain me.

I want to give the Lord what he wants. What I want. Unfortunately, a bottle of spirits won't get me through this one. I must be fastidious. 

She continues to be a soft-spoken and well-behaved young lady. She is admittedly quite beautiful, although I know better than to be swayed by appearances. She is quick to notice details. Polite. Afraid of confrontation, as she should be. Frankly, she is the sum of all the parts, inside & out, that I look for in a point of interest. She pains me.

I asked her for help deciding between two pain relievers today. She handled the request well for a woman. When I stepped on her heel, she apologized profusely. That's exactly what I was hoping for. It took an unusual level of self-control to smile & walk away. 

She brings me the most tempting source of anguish I have ever experienced. Oh, to be young and faceless. The burdens of leadership are a terrible weight to bear. I do this for God, and for my community. My service is immovable, no matter the cost.

8/7/15

I visited the store again today. She was not on shift. I have been too careless. I should know these things. 

Meanwhile, Samuel is indulging in his sickening delights in the comfort of his own backyard. He doesn't even seem to care that I can hear his absurd lecherous cries. I have seen his packing slips full of useless leathers and items I'd rather not mention. I hate him, but I appreciate that he knows not to challenge me. He is a useful sinner.

9/30/15 

I have spent the last week planning out my course of action. She has a night shift tomorrow. Veronica will be home, but Samuel has agreed, with persuasion, to lead her to the troublesome family at the end of the street. She'll be too busy to notice my absence.

Her parents will be at the play showing on Main St. In fact, most people I'm concerned about will be there, including my coworkers. 

When I arrive, I will wait until she restocks the drinks. I'll disconnect the power to the camera's computer. They have a rudimentary system that saves the data to the computer first, then uploads it to the cloud. No original file, no cloud.

I will go to the hair product section (furthest from the entrance), ask for her advice, and the rest is God's will. She rest her gaze on my glory, and she will submit. She will be the vessel of my legacy. 

I have my exit strategy, but I don't need to dwell on it. I cannot calm down from this miracle that is about to unfold. Lord have mercy on my soul. 

7/15/15

It is time. I am at a disadvantage, for I cannot contain my lust. I must bring a suitcase for this to work. It would be too suspicious for me to change my wardrobe now.

Samuel is taking his time, that stupid bastard. I hear him hollering next door. He should be out by now. It is already 8:05 pm.

7/16/15

One would say that I have made a horrible mistake. If God were to permit me to repeat last night, I would have done it anyways. 

I understand that my foresight was not as keen as I expected. Perhaps I was blinded. I regret nothing. Let me tell you of my ultimate victory.

Although Samuel was late, he performed as I instructed. Her parents left on time. Her store was as empty as I had planned out. She took longer to leave the front register than I thought, but I still managed to disconnect the security module. She didn't notice, either. 

When I stood in front of the shampoo and called her over, she seemed nervous. I will not lie, this excited me. As she walked over, I unzipped my fly. I still had the suitcase in front of me, but I kept growing as she walked to me. She smelled enticing.

Her soft voice and tentative glances fueled my mission. I let her know how beautiful she is. I told her the truth: that she will make an excellent mother. Her growing distress was everything  I hoped for. I set the suitcase down. My groin was proud of its desire. This was my moment to serve God's ultimate wish.

It took her exactly thirty-five seconds to see my lurid outline. She quickly averted her eyes and turned to silently walk away. I reach out for her arm and hold her in place. She didn't look at me. I move to fit my chest to her shoulders, her buttocks to my hips. I brought her close to me, and her sweet warm skin made me fully primed. 

This sweet and sinful female form struggled so hopelessly. My desire fueled my motions to restrain her. I had to bring her to the floor, not my favorite outcome, but it was worth it to see her so defenseless. She was amazingly quiet throughout the entire night. 

What a man and a woman do to create new life must be revered and held close. For that reason, I will not go into more detail about our actions last night. I will only say that the passion was real. The gift of procreation is one that I will never forget. There is a part of me that feels sorry for her. She did not choose to be a woman. It is God's will that she will be my carriage for new life. Nevertheless, she was a wonderful host. 

As all mortal good must come to an end, once my loins had nothing left to give, I had to depart. I came home to exactly what I expected, a commotion down the street that had nothing to do with me, parents still out on the town. No alerts from the office. Last night was a good night. The best night of my life, even. 

This will be my last entry. Because of my position, I have special privileges to let this journal die in the dark. However, this morning I received the news that my act has not gone unnoticed. Dorothy saw the girl sobbing in the aftermath. There is a substantial chance that any potential charges will be dropped, but my life will not be the same once the news spreads across town.

I have served my purpose to God. The final task he requires of me is complete. I have literally nothing left to live for in this world, so I will either travel for the rest of my days, or I may end it all in a justified act of defense from an escalated conflict. We shall see how it plays out. God loves me. I am at peace. 

[hansensgirl]

baby, but you.

summary. | He hopes you can feel it, because nobody else can heal it but you. Baby, but you.

warnings. | smut, hate fucking (ish), enemies to lover, slight angst, birthdays, degradation, praise, spitting, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, yearning, crushing, riding, couch sex, breeding, possessiveness, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI AND DO NOT REPOST MY STORIES.

word count. | 3.6k

pairings. | Bucky Barnes x Reader.

a/n. | happy birthday @asadmarveltrashbag ilysm!!! thank you so much for being there for me since like day one, for being such a good role model and for just being amazing. thank you so much for listening to me rant and giving me advice, i’m so grateful for you. i hope your birthday is amazing today, i love you so much!! don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know.

He stands afar from you. A cold, calculated stare that you’re almost tempted to challenge with your killer one. There are only about two and a half meters of space separating you two, and even that’s not enough. You’re like a cat and a dog, constantly fighting about God knows what. Sometimes it’s the stupidest of things; other times, it’s the most reasonable. Either he has the television on too loud, or you come home too late. The other neighbours… Well, frankly, they don’t live here anymore.

It’s because they can’t handle his screaming when he has nightmares. You scoffed when you first heard it from your landlord, finding it absolutely insane that nobody is used to the sounds of a nightmare. As if they’re any better. You handle it like a champion, simply just putting on earbuds and your favourite songs at the lowest volume until you fall asleep. You almost feel bad for him when you see him with deep bags under his eyes.

But one short, snarky remark from him has the sympathy in you draining. Almost like the way his hands are the palest colour ever, and his skin doesn’t have the redness it should have. Almost as if the colours on a painting have been scraped off. You shouldn’t be noticing these things, really, but you just can’t help it. He’s almost a shell of the man he once was, at least in his words, but you believe that with some care (not from your hands, ew), he’ll be back to normal.

He shouldn’t notice the way you sigh every time you get home. The way you drag yourself through the carpeted hallway, out from the metal box that Bucky doesn’t trust. He doesn’t charge anything that has to do with heights, so that’s why he’s settled for the second floor. The drop in his stomach brings back so many memories that he can’t bear to remember.

Sometimes, he picks up the rumble of your stomach that he knows you’re embarrassed about, only because when it happens, you become the most fearful sailor to ever cross the shore. You always arrive right before Bucky falls asleep, leaving him at peace. ...No, no, no. It’s not like that. He totally doesn’t wait up until you come home safely before he can actually fall asleep so he can have a sense of calm. No, that’s absurd. Another absurd thing is the ungodly hour that you arrive home.

“Listen, you’re the one who bumped into me, okay? Let’s just leave it at that,” you huff, swinging your keychain between your fingers. Your digits are so soft, only ever coarse when you touch the skin between them. His hands, however, are almost the opposite. They’re rough and dry, but the crevices are a bit damp with sweat from pure nervousness. “No, no, you bumped into me, and we’re going to leave it at that, okay? Okay,” he nods, even though he’s talking to you.

“No, you bumped into me, and that’s that. Goodbye, Mr. Barnes,” you finish, throwing your bag over your shoulder and stomping down the hallways. You don’t look back once, simply just strutting your way to that darned elevator that you loathe. Suddenly, a hand wraps around your arm and turns you around. “I didn’t say you could go; we’re not done until I say we’re done,” he growls, gripping your arm tight enough to have you whimpering.

“No, fuck you. I’m tired of constantly listening to you bitch and moan about things that aren’t even my fault. God, it’s like you’re twenty fucking years old with no maturity, it’s fucking pathetic,” you spit, trying to yank your arm away. But compared to a supersoldier, your strength is equal to a cool spring breeze hitting a concrete building—basically nothing. Bucky’s chest heaves, and for a moment, you’re scared.

But even though he has a temper, he could never hurt you. He’s not the Winter Soldier; you’re sure of it.

His jaw clenches, and you stare at him intensely. Work is long forgotten, just like the fact that today is your birthday. That nervous, jittery feeling that would pool in the pits of your soul isn’t there. You wonder if it’s because you’re all grown up now, or maybe it’s because you’ve been so busy that your birthday seems like any other day in your eyes. Your eyes fall to his lips, almost on instinct. They’re pink and plump, slightly damp from the wetness on his tongue.

He gently pushes you inside his home, and you stumble back in shock. “I have to go to work–” you start, but he cuts you off. “I don’t give a shit. I need to teach you a lesson,” he snaps, pulling off his leather jacket. It has blue hues to it, sometimes grey if shone under the correct lighting. It’s overall black, suiting that dark soul of his that some people claim he has. You keep your mouth shut, clutching onto the strap of your backpack that rests on your right shoulder.

Suddenly, that fiery haze of yours has faded out, and you just watch him dumbfounded. Your jaw is slightly slack, but your eyes aren’t bulging out. Bucky pulls off the unusual leather gloves that always seemed to be a little too big on him. The space between his fingers and the cloth is always too much, and you even contemplated ‘accidentally’ giving him a new, better-fitting pair.

They flop onto the floor with an almost laughable sound, but you know you shouldn’t even dare to crack a smile. “Always going on and on about something. You just need to be shut up for once, don’t you?” Bucky questions, snapping his head towards you. “N- No…” you whisper, looking down to the ground. Suddenly, you prefer looking at wood floors to handsome men such as Bucky.

“Oh… Right, I forgot. You don’t know what’s good for you, that’s why you go to work and come home so late in the night. Bet you don’t have any time to fuck around with those pathetic twenty-year-old douchebags. That’s why you touch that little pussy of yours before you head to work, right?” he questions, and you gulp thickly.

Did he really hear it all?

“Please, I heard the way you finger fuck yourself in the shower all the way here. You really need to learn how to properly lock your door. You’re lucky those old ladies were here when I heard you, or else I would’ve come all the way over there and taught you a real good lesson,” he snaps, and you genuinely feel like doubting every little thing you do. “And you know what’s so funny, doll? I even hear the way you moan my name when you’re about to come,” he whispers, standing so close to you, and you wonder how he even managed to get here.

Your faces are inches away, His warm breath fans against your skin, and Bucky can feel the nervousness seeping through your pores. “Need a refresher? Or are you just going to stay quiet?” he questions, raising his eyebrows. He has a stupid smile on his face, and you’re not sure whether you want to kiss him or slap him. Both seem very appealing, but God, that devil on your shoulder always did have a loud voice.

Your bag joins his gloves on the floor, and you tilt your head upwards to kiss him. Your lips slowly slot against his, the taste of stale coffee immediately fills your mouth as Bucky shoves his tongue past your lips. He cups the side on your face, and your hands remain bent in the air. You don’t know what to do with yourself, so you place them on his shoulders, hoping for the best. He tenses up for a bit, and you start to pull away.

He doesn’t let you go too far. His hands keep you near him, and he stares into your eyes. Blue, blown-out orbs give Bucky an even darker look, and you’re practically sailing the same ship. “Don’t… Don’t go,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours. “I won’t, but-” you begin, but he cuts you off with an open-mouthed kiss. It’s so rough, so passionate. Teeth and tongues clash at each other, and you whimper against him as his hands move from your face.

They run down your body before gripping your hips and pulling you closer to him. His front presses against yours, and you can feel his defined muscles through that black t-shirt of his. You wrap your arms around his neck, such a simple act and yet he’s swooning like the lovesick fool he is. No, no, no, he’s not lovesick, and he’s not swooning. He’s just wanting, and that is all, just like you are.

You roll your hips for friction, desperate for something. The faint feeling of Bucky’s hard cock sends shivers down your spine, and you just know he’s huge. He could probably split you in two if he really wants to, and maybe it’s what you want as well. God, just the mental image of his cock sliding in and out of you is so pleasurable. Wetness soaks your panties, and you moan into his mouth.

“Say ‘ah,’ slut,” he mumbles before pulling away from the kiss again. You quickly do so and watch as Bucky puckers his bruised, red lips. You’re not sure what to expect; a stupid, silly kiss or something else. Your tongue is stretched out inside your mouth, and you wait for him as your chest rises and falls. Your eyes watch him as he spits into your mouth, a wad of spit dripping onto your tongue and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets.

You quickly swallow it as if it’s some sort of antidote to an incurable disease. “Oh, you’re such a dirty fucking girl, aren’t you? I bet you’d let me do anything to you, right? Let me fuck you silly, throw you around, treat you like the spoiled brat you are,” Bucky growls with a fierce smirk on his stupidly gorgeous face. Sculpted by the Gods themselves, you wonder why the world has been so mean to him.

No, no, no, you don’t. You’re just desperate and needy.

“You really are stupid, and I haven’t even touched that little pussy of yours yet, and you can’t even answer a simple li’l question,” Bucky says out loud, expressing pure shame and disgrace. You shake your head before placing your hands back on his hard, defined chest. There’s a specific spot on his chest where the fabric is too sheer. You can see the way his soft hair has been shaved down to a mere stubble, and you wonder what he’d look like if it was grown out.

“I- I’m a dirty girl, I’d let you do anything to me, James,” you whisper to him, looking up at him with unintentional doe eyes. “I know, baby, I know,” he smirks before pushing you backwards. You expect to collide with the wooden floors harshly and startle the downstairs residents, or maybe even on a carpet that would try to break your fall but would end up failing.

You don’t expect to fall back onto a soft, cushioned couch. It’s more so an armchair that is a greyish-blue colour, one that you’d see and Ikea and want so bad, but you’d quickly change your mind once you see the whopping price it’s set at. Bucky towers over you, and you tilt your head up, still watching has the features of his face twitch a bit. His hands run down to your thighs, smoothing over the fabric of your jeans before his nimble yet strong, thick fingers reach to the button and zipper.

He makes quick work of stripping your clothes off for you, and you try your hardest to do the same for him. But flying, clashing hands that are oh so desperate can’t really do much. So as he pulls your wet panties down your feet, you hurriedly kick them to the floor. Bucky pulls his shirt over his head, and you’re not sure if you’ve lost it or if time truly has slowed down. You’re able to memorize each freckle, each scar, each mole and each muscle of his upper body.

He’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful. Though everyone has their measly little flaws that can be so bothersome, in your eyes, he has no flaws. “Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty, baby,” he breathlessly tells you, making you struggle to fight the cheerful smile that forces its way onto your face. “You’re pretty too, James,” you tell him, reaching backwards to unclasp your bra.

Now, there’s nothing special about it, really. It’s plain black, and in some areas, it physically pains you, leaving branded marks behind that feel good when you gently run your hands over them. Nonetheless, you look gorgeous with it on. But when it’s on the floor, treated like nothing, you’re even more beautiful. Your slick has stained your inner thighs with stickiness, and your clit throbs with need.

Bucky parts your legs, watching as strings of wetness pull apart from each other. “Fucking hell, is that all because of me, slut? Say it, tell me who you’re so wet for,” he demands, and your breathing hitches. “S’all for you, James, I’m so wet because of you,” you whisper to him, and he smirks devilishly. You clench around nothing but air, desperate for his cock to be inside you. “I want you so bad, James, please fuck me,” you beg to him desperately, and he chuckles.

Bucky goes to start taking off his pants, unbuckling his belt and pulling down the zipper that sometimes gets caught onto the fabric of his boxers a little too much. The black fabric slips off his skin like an extra layer of skin, and the sight of his hard cock beneath his briefs is so sexy. You let out a shaky breath, and you can just see how fucking huge he is. Impossibly long with a thickness that’ll leave you limping for at least a week or two.

“You know what’s so fucking hilarious, baby? Just moments ago, you were cursing me out, fuming at me and calling me pathetic, but look at you; you’re the pathetic one here. Practically drooling for my cock, so needy as soon as I put my hands on you,” Bucky scoffs, and you know he’s so right. He pulls down his boxers, and you watch as his cock springs out, slapping his lower abdomen and near his pretty Adonis bone.

He roughly pulls you up and sits down on the couch before dragging you onto his lap. You straddle the sides of his thick thighs, and his big cock presses right next to your pussy, between your legs. Beads of precum drip down the shaft of his cock, and some of it even sticks to your skin. “You want my cock, baby? Well, go ahead, you can have it,” he tells you, resting his hands on your hips.

You exhale nervously, knowing that his cock is gonna stretch you out so much, it’ll be borderline painful and pleasurable. You lift your hips up a bit, and Bucky’s hand grasps the base of his cock. He’s sticky and pulsating, a raging red that is almost purple if you squint your eyes enough. He drags it from your swollen little pearl all the way down to your drooling hole. The mild friction is absolutely amazing, making you moan softly.

Bucky shudders as he slowly pushes the tip of his cock inside of you. He almost wants to tease you so badly, make you beg for it until you’re sobbing and going all ditzy for him. But he’s not all the mean, and he can’t possibly be so cruel to the birthday girl. In one swift motion, Bucky pulls you down onto his cock, burying himself inside of you. You toss your head back and cry out as he stretches you painfully. The wet squelching pounds of your pussy are loud, but your moans are much louder.

He curses and bites down on his bottom lip, falling in love with the way your pussy hugs him tightly and the velvet feeling of your walls. No, no, no, he is not falling in love. He’s just desperate, that’s all. It takes you both a few seconds to adjust, and the painful stretch dulls down to immense pleasure. You struggle to control your breathing, though, because you’ve never taken anyone or anything as big and him. Months of wanting and needing him have finally come down to this, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

He hopes you can feel it because nobody can heal it but you. Every single day he thinks about you, and his heart hurts. His heart hurts when he watches you leave and come home, it hurts when you both fight, and it hurts when he believes you could never love him. His mind still tells him that, and yet here you are, riding his cock on your birthday. He notices the way your bottom lip wobbles a bit, and he pities you.

“Shh, it’s okay, baby, you’re doing so good. Ride my cock, birthday girl, I know you can do it,” Bucky praises with the most innocent smile ever. You nod your head and slowly begin to rock your hips, moving them up and down his cock. Bucky is torn; he doesn’t know whether he should stare at your pretty face or at where you’re both connected. Your slick coats his cock and leaves it glistening, and he watches as it disappears and reappears over and over.

His hand returns back onto your hips, and he gently guides you up and down his cock. Your pained whimpers soon turn to loud, slutty, desperate moans, and Bucky begins to fuck up into your cunt, meeting you at every thrust. “Fuck, yeah, that’s my good girl. Riding my cock so fucking good,” Bucky coos, and you can’t help but giggle. Warmth fills your chest, and pleasure blooms immensely in your core, and it’s the exact same for Bucky.

His balls slap against your ass, and his cock drives in and out of you. You ride him at a quicker pace, moaning loudly, and he nudges against your sweet spot. “You look so fucking sexy riding my cock, baby. Could watch you forever an’ ever,” Bucky purrs, gripping your hips even tighter. Electricity crackles up your spine, almost like a burning wire in a destroyed fuse box. Everything is so sensitive, and the searing pleasure builds up inside the two of you.

Beads of sweat drip down your neck, and it is the same for Bucky. His skin shines just like his cock does, and the veins on the side of it throb with every movement. The wet noises and the sound of skin on skin fills the room almost impressively. The neighbours would’ve already filed noise complaints if they still lived here, but they don’t. So Bucky’ll fuck your brains out until you can’t make a sound.

“Fuck, you’re close, aren’t you? Can feel the way that nice little cunt is squeezin’ my cock,” he groans, staring up at you with his jaw slightly slacked. Your eyes have glazed over, and you stare at Bucky’s face. You ride him using his dick for all your needs and wants. It’s just like you’ve imagined, even down to the pleasure you’re feeling. “Mhm, gonna come all over your big cock,” you whimper at a specific thrust.

And he’s close too. Though the serum should make him last longer, your pussy just defies those rules. He fucks into you faster and rougher, and your legs have turned to jelly. You collapse onto his chest and let him pound your pussy into oblivion. Bucky’s chest rumbles with a chain of moan and curses, and you look up at him. His metal arm is icy cold, just like his eyes. But his orbs are darker than regular ice. They resemble black ice more than anything.

The elastic band in your stomach twists up tightly until it can’t do anything but snap. And so it does. The dam breaks, and you’re suddenly coming around Bucky’s cock. Your cum coats his cock and drips down his balls as your body seizes up. Your jaw falls open, and your eyes roll back while you moan loudly. “Fuck, you look so pretty when you come,” Bucky breathes, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck.

You cry out loudly as Bucky sloppily fucks you through your orgasm and chases his own. “I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, knock you up with my kids. Fuck, you’d look so hot with a bump, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of your body,” he moans deeply, feeling his balls tighten up. He tosses his head back and curses, hitting his release. Ropes of cum shoot inside your cunt, painting your walls and even leaking out a bit. Somewhere, deep down inside Bucky, he truly hopes it sticks.

He moans loudly as his hips give a few shallow thrusts, prolonging his orgasm. You both sigh, slick with sweat and other bodily fluids that neither of you cares about. “Happy birthday…” Bucky whispers, pressing a kiss on the side of your head. “T- Thank you… How’d you know, though?” you question, even though his cock is still inside you. “Just did… Listen, I’m sorry–” he starts, but you cut him off. “Shh, I don’t care about anything but you, baby,” you tell him, whispering gently.

“Baby, but you.”