#barefoot lads

[sysig]

The most fun you can have, barring the pain and torture (Patreon)

[groovywolfcycle]

[demontickles]

Well well!!! Barefoot LAD begging to be LOCKED in STOCKS and TICKLED FOREVER!!! 😈

[sailoryooons]

🧡🎃 my queen. i have been sent here by the guardians of the moons to slip a drabble request of spooky-weenie love. we can keep it rated pg 13, imply relationship/smut if you desire. however i shall be here — looking for the young lad taehyung, dressed up as prince charming at a heavily intoxicated halloween party. frantically searching for his partner, oc!cinderella, as he realizes the strap to one of her heels have broke and she is walking around barefoot without her shoes on (typical cinderella amirite?) and as the goodest of boyfies — he is just trying to take care of his girl. oh, and he discovers — after searching throughout the entire complex — that she has accidentally gone overboard after her last intense and competitive game of beer pong and oc has found solace in a bush outside the house 😂😅🥹 to where her tiara sits crooked on top of her drunken head and her prince charming comes to assist her with whatever else has gone wrong 🤪🧡

❀ Pairing: Taehyung x f. reader

❀ Summary: Taehyung loves being your prince charming, even if it means trying to find where you’ve wandered off to in the middle of a Halloween party without your shoes. 

❀ Word Count: 1,657

❀ Genre: Established relationship, Fluff, Drunken Silliness

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Taehyung is a simp!!! Recreational drinking, reader is absolutely tanked but in a funny way, Taehyung is drunk but not as drunk, general descriptions of being drunk, one very sweet kiss, talks about toes djgdogidjgid, one sexual thought slipping through Taehyung’s brain

❀ Published: October 10, 2023

❀ A/N: THIS IS FOR MY QUEEN MAGGIE!!! MY BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL SAILOR MAGGIE! Everyone is just going to have to accept the bit about the toes and the running around barefoot in this because listen - we had a vision and I stuck with it and!!! Taehyung just loves her even if she’s ten-toe hogging it around a party with no zappatos on!! This was so fun and sweet to write and my god I need to write Taehyung more because I’m so down bad  for him rgoidjgodijgdoigj. THIS IS ONLY GRAMMARLY EDITED SFODIGJ PLEASE FORGIVE ME EVERYONE. 

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Haliween Requests |

When Taehyung sees the silver pair of heels kicked off outside of Jimin’s bathroom, he knows it’s over for you. He still can’t help but smile, bending down to scoop them up by the straps, dangling off of his fingers. 

Jimin’s house is full of creatures and goblins and ghouls and in Taehyung’s case, a prince. The itchy fabric of the Prince Charming costume is nearly insufferably where it rubs at his neck, the overcoat sweltering in the heated atmosphere of the Halloween party. 

Music thumps as Taehyung navigates out of the hall, swiveling his head as he goes. Fifteen minutes ago you had announced rather loudly - and with a wicked lean that nearly knocked over the beer pong table you’d been championing - that had to relieve yourself. Taehyung watched with a buzzed grin as you picked your way toward the hall, lifting the skirts of your Cinderella dress to avoid anyone tramping on it. 

Now, there’s no Cinderella dress in sight. 

Taehyung pops into the kitchen, hoping to find you drinking water. Only Yoongi hides in the kitchen, ripping off the cat ears Hoseok has stuck on his head. Taehyung spots the fridge and realizes that you might want water when he finds you. He needs water to find you, the room spinning a little and his mouth still awash with the aftertaste of the witches' brew Seokjin had plied him with. 

“Have you seen Cinderella anywhere?” Taehyung asks Yoongi.

Yoongi scowls as he wets his hands under the faucet and starts wiping at the cat nose on his face. 

“I think she went out in the backyard. Something about a pumpkin at midnight.” Taehyung snickers and shakes his head. “She was also missing shoes. And said something about pong champ.”

Taehyung holds up the items in question. “I think she might have crushed it a little too much at the pong table. She's running around barefoot”

“Well, it is Halloween. Maybe she’s in touch with the Hallow’s Eve or whatever Or your princess turned into a werewolf and is currently howling like a fiend.”

“Uh-huh. Good luck with your cat nose.”

“Good luck with your princess. Or werewolf.”  

Little does Yoongi know, Taehyung is always lucky with you. From the day that he bumped into you in a coffee shop, to the first date you went on, to years later, sharing an apartment above the coffee shop you love so dearly, Taehyung has been lucky every day. 

He grins thinking about it, opening up the back door and heading into the year. It’s a crispy night, cool air brushing against the sweat gathered at the back of his neck. He pauses for a moment to shrug out of the itchy, cornflower blue overcoat of his Prince Charming costume to reveal a white tee. 

Tying the coat around his waist, Taehyung surveys the yard. There’s no one outside that he can see, but the porch lights reflect all the way to the fence. Jogging down the steps, he glances up at the sky. It’s the perfect night, a thousand stars mapped across the world in perfect silence. 

It makes sense that you would come out here, he thinks. You love to look at the stars, but most of all, Taehyung knows you’d like to lie down somewhere and look at the skies after having something to drink. Knowing you, you’d have come out for fresh air after realizing how drunk you were in the bathroom, only to get distracted by the sky.

He loves that about you, though. Loves that he can somehow piece together the way your mind works, loves that the natural course of trajectory for you was through the kitchen and out into the yard with a flippant comment about a pumpkin. 

“Jagiya?” Taeyhung calls out, warm breath fogging in front of him.

“Pa-riiiiince!” 

Taehyung turns around to look at the garden. He raises his brows when he sees your legs sticking out from the mulch. He presses his hand to his mouth, trying to conceal his laughter and shock that you are crushing Jimin’s marigolds. 

He jogs over to you, finding you on your back with your hands tucked behind your head. You don’t seem to mind that you’re splat in the middle of flowers and dirt, your misty eyes fixated up on the sky with your mouth open in a dizzy smile. 

You look radiant. Bathed in moonlight, eyes wide and lost in the sky. Even if your crown is a little crooked and your dress is a little stained, Taehyung feels his heart rate speed up. You may be dressed as a princess for the night, but you look like a goddess. Ethereal. 

Taehyung feels a little dizzy. You reach for him and he complies, unable to say no to you as he sits and feels the marigolds crush under his ass. Your hands are warm and soft in his as you sigh in delight, thrilled to see him. 

“The stars are so wonderful,” you breathe. You turn your head. He notices the yellow petals stuck in your hair. Your face changes from wonder to something else. Adoration, he thinks. Taehyung’s stomach flips as you squeeze his hand. “Almost as beautiful as my Prince Charming.”

“My Cinderella is beautiful too.” He holds your shoes up. “Even if she is running around ten-toeing it, barefoot in the middle of the night.” 

You squeal, making grabby hands at the shoes. He lets you have them, laughing as you grab them and hold them to your chest, closing your eyes. Your head lulls to the side and he can see the sleepiness pulling at your edges. 

“You’re sloshed, huh?”

“Like a coke slushie from the movie, Your Princely-Highness-Lord.” 

He can’t fight his grin. “Have you had any water?”

“Champions don’t drink water.” He holds out the bottle of water to you anyway. You reach for it but miss several times before your greedy little fingers get a hold of it. As he lets it go, you loose  your grip and it hits you square in the face. “Motherfucker, the water is attacking the champion!”

Time to get you home.

“It’s after midnight, Princess Champion. We gotta hitch a ride on the pumpkin.”

“Get the cat to drive,” you mutter, not opening your eyes. “He was trying to wipe his nose off in the kitchen.”

Picking himself off the ground, Taehyung manages to get you up and dusted off. You sway in front of him, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. He can see the desire boiling there, and though it makes the blood rush to his groin, he ignores it, knowing you both need bed. 

Kneeling down, Taehyung slips your shoes back on. He’s careful, lifting your feet by the ankle to delicately slide the straps up. You’re nearly asleep as he works, eyes fluttering as his touch skims along your cooling skin. It’s only then he realizes that your shoe is broken and that leaving it on your foot and having you walk is dangerous. 

Sighing, he takes them back off, intent to carry you to the Uber and up to your apartment. His fingers make you wake up a little, swinging your head down as you say, “Hey weirdo. I have a boyfriend - a prince, to be exact - and he wouldn’t appreciate you touching my toes. Those are his.”

Taehyung laughs and stands up. He looks down his nose at you. You have to tilt your head back to see him, breath coming out in sweet little puffs that smell like juice. “Oh,” you say as Taehyung lowers his mouth, nose brushing yours. “You’re my boyfriend. These are your toes.” 

“They are,” he agrees. He steals a sweet kiss from you. Your mouth is warm against his, lips softer than ever. A shiver ripples through him as you melt into his touch, content to put your weight on him and let him hold you up. He always will. “Let’s get those toes home and in a pair of Sailor Moon socks, hmm?”

“Yeeeees.” 

The Uber home is quiet. You immediately lean into Taehyung, smashing him against the door as you knock out. He smiles all the same, wrapping a warm arm around you. He kisses your head before leaning his forehead against the window, feeling the cool glass bring him all the way back to sober. 

Lights blur by outside. Orange and purples of Halloween, smears of costumes, and partygoers coming and going from their haunts for the evening. Once you’re at your apartment, he rouses you and lifts you up, carrying you up the stairs as you go. Your crown only falls off your head once, which he dutifully sets you on the ground to collect so you don’t loose - in your words - the honor of your kingdom. 

You sprint the rest of the way to your apartment then, tearing through the halls in your bear feet until you’re inside and on the bed panting, completely in disarray. 

Two glasses of water, pajamas, and Sailor Moon socks later, you’re crashed in the bed, snoring lightly. Taehyung grins at your form, opening the drawer of the dresser where he stores his pajamas. Seeing you in your shared bed in his shirt, hand reaching out looking for him is the perfect end to this night. 

Sliding into a t-shirt and sleep pants, he moves to close the drawer before he hesitates. At the bottom of the drawer is a black, velvet box. It’s perfectly square, and Taehyung smiles when he sees it, thinking about the way your eyes were starry and lost as you looked at the sky. He pulls a shirt over it - it only needs to be hidden for a few more days. 

Shutting the drawer he turns to look at you. His sleeping beauty, now. 

Biting his bottom lip, Taehyung laughs. It’s after midnight, but your spell on him isn’t broken. It never will be. And he cannot wait to slide the ring on your finger instead of sliding slippers on your feet.

[akanposting]

"I made the first few for revenge, but then I started exploring new aspects of myself. I have lived these past years, Henry. My lads, they get speeding tickets, they walk barefoot through the grass, and boy, do they get laid."

[shunshunrika]

╰──╮YUUJI ITADORI - LOVE LANGUAGE ╭──╯

 *ੈ✩ A wholesome young lad. Any parent would want him as their son-in-law. You met him because you were in the same club and were smitten by how kind and communal he was. You fell first and started finding opportunities to be around him more. He was oblivious at first but when you outright confessed, he fell harder than you did. Eventually you came to be known as the 'parent couple' of the club and people would treat you like a married couple.

 *ੈ✩ He's the type who waits after school to walk you back home even if he lives in the opposite direction. Sometimes your schedules don't align he stays back anyway to walk with you. And no, he doesn't do this to get into your pants. He's a genuinely nice person who wants to ensure you get back home safely, especially if it's late.

 *ੈ✩ The type who plans weekend outings because he knows you don't have to many people who invite you out for things when you really want to go and have a social life. Eventually his friend group becomes your family too and beach trips, karaoke, arcade, evening walks - all become a norm of your life, just like you wanted.

 *ੈ✩ Gives you company when you are doing arduous tasks. He won't talk or bother you, he just sits in close vicinity, listening to music, reading comics or doing his own thing quietly while you work. His presence is comforting and makes the tedious task go by faster. You don't know what you'd do without him.

 *ੈ✩ He's bad at giving gifts. He really wants to. He's always short on money though because he doesn't have any family to give him pocket money. Once he picks up a part-time job just to scrape up enough money to buy you a Christmas present. You cry that day. You scold him first though and then start crying. You tell him that he doesn't need to buy you material things to make you happy, he could've just shown up with his puppy face and you'd melt.

 *ੈ✩ He's a good listener and has great memory when it comes to remembering things. Also has an iron will. You note how people keep calling him stupid and blockheaded, but he really isn't. He is quite caring and compassionate, and you love this part of him, rarely found in the smartest or the hottest boy out there. He remembers little things you tell him. He remembers all your problems and the streams of thoughts you have about those problems. He remembers all the expressions you make and all the times you'd bite your lip or fumble with your fingers.

 *ੈ✩ Learns to cook for you because he's concerned you don't eat enough and are always tired. Becomes pretty good at cooking actually as he's a natural. Cooks up various cuisines, multiple times a day and makes sure you are well fed and happy. Makes sure he's using the right ingredients with the right nutrition output to boost your serotonin.

 *ੈ✩ Once, Yuuji Itadori showed up outside your house in the dead of winter, because he was super happy for some reason. He called you and asked you to look out the window as he waved his hands frantically. When you finally see him, standing there in knee deep snow, he starts moving around, writing something in large letters on the snow.

"Happy Anniversary" he spells out and grins big.

You are speechless as you walk out of the house barefoot and hug him tight.

"Happy Anniversary, you idiot."

There may be many hot men like Gojo, or cool men like Megumi - but there is only one Itadori Yuuji and he's yours.

I love him so much!!! literally the best boy in the show. He deserved more attention y'all!!

[mykneeshurt]

Sparring Session - Soap x F!oc

Just a Soap Drabble. I love this trope and I’ve not written for the Scottish god himself yet.

This is a self insert (kinda) cause god damn it I want this to be me. Descriptors of moi in here. Female reader.

Warnings - descriptions of violence, knife play, implied smut (I think)

The requested part 2

‘Good to see you again love’ Price’s warm smile welcomed you into his office. Smiling back you met the Captain in a hug ‘So good to see you John! It’s been ages, the boys still giving you trouble?’

‘Like you wouldn’t believe’ he snorted as he pinched the bridge of his nose. You and Price went way back, when you were an inexperienced rookie. He felt so proud watching you blossom into the cut throat special forces op you were today. ‘Ready?’ He asked releasing you from his grip guiding you to the door with his arm. ‘Absolutely’ you smirked.

‘Lads, this is Raven. She’s come over from Alpha team to help out on our next mission. She’s an expert in close combat, so, she’s come to join your sparring session.’ Gaz, Soap and Ghost all immediately stopped what they were doing and looked over towards you and Price. ‘Riley’ you nodded, offering him a warm smile, ‘you’ve not changed one bit.’

Soap whipped his head around so fast his neck could have snapped. ‘You know her?’ He asked quietly. Ghost met his gaze in the corner of his eye and let out a grunt. ‘Raven.’

‘Oh come on Riley! You can’t still be holding a grudge against me?’ You laughed hiding your smile with your hand. Soap furrowed his brows, so you two had history. Like a dog with a bone he piped up, ‘what? Lt? What’s she talking about?’

Ghost remained stoic and silent, regarding you from across the mats. Stifling a giggle you explained that you and Ghost had trained together, worked on a fair few missions together which went exceedingly well. But you were the only person currently recruited that was able to put Ghost on his ass, in front of everyone. ‘Get tae fuck?!’ Soap burst out, ‘Lt? She floored you?’

‘Yeah I did. He looked magnificent underneath me, didn’t you Riley?’ He rolled his eyes and visibly tensed up, feeling sorry for him you sauntered over and punched his bicep. ‘I’m joking Riley. But you need to let it go, I won fair and square.’

Huffing he shook his head ‘it’s good to see you too.’ His shoulders relaxed and he appeared to adjust to your presence once again. ‘Right, Gaz, Raven, you’re up first’ Price ordered. Stepping barefoot onto the mat you and Gaz circled each other like vultures circling prey. Eagerly waiting for someone to make the first move, Gaz lunged forward arm already extended which you grabbed pulled him off balance. Gaz fell to his knees and within seconds you had your knife against his throat. ‘Predictable’ you tutted.

With your knife against his throat you flashed you eyes up to Soaps. He was already staring completely infatuated with what he saw before him. Removing your knife you placed it back in its holster and helped Gaz up. ‘Again’ you commanded. Shaking himself off Gaz once again tried to lunge for you but lower this time, being wary of where his stance was. You dodged and jumped on his back about the pull the knife again, Gaz quickly pulled you over his shoulder before you were able grip his waist with your thighs. Landing with a full thump on the floor Gaz tried to get the upper hand, but being as quick as you were the knife was already back at his jaw. The tip of the knife pressed into the fleshy underside of his chin. ‘Fuck sake’ he sighed.

You patted his cheek grinning at him ‘better, but you need to be quicker.’ Gaz got up before holding out a hand for you which your graciously accepted. Price laughed in the corner knowing exactly what you were like. ‘Soap, next.’

Feeling like a child at Christmas he stepped onto the mat, and flicked a brief glance over at Ghost who rolled his eyes. ‘Ready?’ You asked, tightening your ponytail. He nodded. He flew at you ready to land a punch but you managed to block it and landed a kick into his ribs. He came at you again, calculated punches and impressive footwork. Still managing to block them you threw a foot out to kick him again, but this time he caught it. A huff of surprise left your lips at you twisted your body and threw your other foot into his stomach. This caught him off guard and winded him briefly. Taking this chance you got in close to avoid anymore punches and took out the backs of his knees.

He fell to the floor but managed to grip your waist and threw you under him. Seeing you go for your knife he grabbed your wrists and put them above your head. Nothing you couldn’t get out of, but seeing him squirm was too much fun. ‘Ooo down boy’ you smirked ‘isn’t this position reserved for the bedroom?’ He visibly stiffened, not quite sure how to take your comment. He slid his knee in between your thighs until it was resting just beneath your cunt. ‘Only if you want it hen’ he hissed back. Ever so subtly you let your hips move a fraction to grind on his thigh letting your eyes flutter shut.

He watched as your chest raised and lowered, lulling him into a trance. Your pulse on your neck clearly evident as it danced along your milky white skin. You bit your lip ‘don’t tempt me with a good time.’ Feeling his grip loosen slightly you pulled your wrists free as you arched your back, pushing your hips up throwing him off balance. As you did this you used your muscular thighs to push him sideways before you straddled his hips. Knife at the ready you pinned one of his muscular arms down over his head and traced your knife along his neck. You could feel how hard he was getting against you. Leaning into his ear you nipped at the lobe and whispered ‘you look so good underneath me Johnny.’

Sitting up you rolled off him completely brushing off what you’d just said him. ‘That was good Soap, again? Don’t lose focus.’ You barked. Soap got to his feet trying desperately to hide the semi now adorning his gym shorts. Luckily they were baggy enough to hide how much he wanted you. You began circling each other, a shit eating grin all over your face. Soap this time went for the element of surprise, he rugby tackled you to the floor. Causing you to drop the knife and land on your side. Before you could counter attack him he was on you, pushing you in the the floor in a prone position. He held your wrists behind your back and this time held your knife to your neck.

‘Fuckin’ naughty you are’ he muttered under his breath. Using your nails you pinched his skin causing him to flinch loosening his grip. With your arms now free you grabbed his Mohawk and pulled him closer to your face ‘yeah? What are you gonna do about it?’ He let out a whimper in your ear, you were teasing him. Your breathless question had him conjuring up imagines in his head of bending you over a desk and fucking you from behind. Winding his hand in your long black ponytail as he thrust deeply into your wet cunt. Feeling his erection growing further as he pressed against you, you moaned his name. It was barely above a whisper but it was enough for him to completely forget what he was doing.

Throwing an elbow into his ribs he fell to the side, once again you managed to get your knife and hold it to his throat. ‘Mmm good boy’ you drawled. He couldn’t take any more, he looked around questioning if anyone else was hearing this? Evidently they weren’t. Price was muttering to Ghost about the up coming mission while watching you both. Gaz was rubbing his chin where the knife tip had prodded him. You were in your own bubble on the mat.

Running your tongue along your teeth you smiled, a filthy, come fuck me smile. He stared up at your bluey green eyes, which contrasted perfectly against your porcelain complexion and black hair. His mouth fell open, laboured breaths escaped him as he tried to ground himself from what ever spell you’d cast on him. ‘Fuckin hell’ he muttered to himself as you climbed off and got to your feet. He propped himself up on his elbows and watched your hips swing as you walked over to Price.

‘This was fun. I’ll spare you the embarrassment Riley, same time tomorrow?’ you laughed.

[polijakefim]

F  L  A  U  N  T

TRAVIS FIMMEL

Girl's Gotta Eat

There are paths seen and unseen. There are paths taken. There are the Midwestern housewives who sit at home, who formerly popped bennies and ran topless through every jam band show at the local amphitheater. There are the vagrant, longhaired transients who receive stares as they push their cart of nothings around sweaty Southern towns, that formerly received stares only because they were professing at the front of a philosophy class. There are the attention-deficit young men, oft chastised for their inability to focus, but given open creativity, become playwrights and screenwriters. There are the balladeers. There are the celebrities. There is the you. There is the me. And there is Travis Fimmel, sitting in a hotel room in Vancouver, freezing his balls off. His is a story of barefooted farm boy turned bare-bodied model turned actor.

“It’s bloody cold,” he says in a relaxed Australian drawl. Of course it is. Fimmel grew up helping out on the family farm in a small town on the fork of two rivers in the middle of sunburnt Australia. He’s currently in the benumbed west Canadian port city filming Duncan Jones’ Warcraft: a film of epic proportion and expectation. But despite the video game-based spin-off, one gets the feeling Fimmel is the kind of lad who would much rather be chopping wood than mashing plastic buttons on a gaming controller. “I’d never heard of it,” he freely admits.

The path begins. When I ask about his early foray into Australian-rules football, he concedes what stymied the course, “Yeah but I sucked at it, man, I was very bad.” And thus he skipped the sporting life and tried college, “I didn’t pass any classes becauseI didn’t end up showing up—I was doing project managing for construction, like a foreman. Architecture and commerce [was the] main part of the course, I didn’t really want to go to college, I was just trying to fill in time…but then I ended up going overseas.” Fimmel wasn’t meant to be a paper-pushing desk jockey; just as Paul fucking Newman wasn’t meant to sling charred chicory at nine-to-fivers. With those baby blues and gilded locks it wasn’t long before Fimmel was modeling, most notably for Calvin Klein and most times wearing not a stitch. Previously Fimmel has played down his years of modeling, crediting favorable lighting, advanced cameras, and Photoshop for his looks and success. In fact, it’s speculated—and blatantly obvious upon viewing—that Fimmel was the inspiration behind Samantha’s washed-out brick-bod lover—“Jerry” Smith Jerrod—on Sex and the City.

The path winds. “Wound up in L.A., got into an acting class and then that’s where I started acting. I had no idea, never wanted to do this stuff, still don’t really want to do it, mate,” he admits. Fimmel is even-keeled, he exudes a thoughtless vibe, and as much as Fimmel plays it all down, one even has to question how hard he worked to get to his current status. Sometimes his nonchalant nature can come off as arrogant, and it’s easy to imagine he’s often misunderstood, but couldn’t care less; he’s just riding the wave. At first, Fimmel took jobs everyone in Hollywood thought would pay dividends but floundered [see: WB’s Tarzan] until he grew a beard and started swinging an axe. Ah, the farm boy swinging the axe again. It’s in History Channel’s Vikings that Fimmel found his niche, receiving acclaim for his portrayal of the contemplative but merciless, Ragnar Lothbrok, a deep-thinking maniac from Viking Age Europe. There is a swagger to his character that is maintained somewhere within Fimmel. When I ask about his association with Ragnar, he states, “Every guy that I know that fights is always the quietest guy in the room; I just try to think more than talk. You’ll always learn more by listening rather than being the loudest guy in the room. And whatever you do, you do because you enjoy it, so I try to make my character enjoy fighting.”

The path straightens. And so we find ourselves back in that Vancouver hotel room, freezing our balls off with Fimmel, as he’s in the midst of shooting the biggest film of his career. With all the aloofness Fimmel radiates, it piques one’s interest to know what he really is passionate about: “Farming, mate. That’s whatI want to do. I love the country. It’s hard to explain. When you grow up in the country you just enjoy it so much. I love animals and I love trees and anything country.”

And, lastly, that beard that’s quickly becoming his trademark: “It just grew I guess, I couldn’t for ages. I would have loved to grow one when I was a kid, I would have loved to have gone to prom and school and shit with a beard.”

Nothing to do with shedding the barefaced image of your Calvin Klein days? “[Audibly scoffs] Shit. I couldn’t grow one then. Otherwise I would have had one.”

That would have been a different path.

[alphacrone]

Portland Row Trio - Tugging!

Tugging - being able to feel a tug in the direction of your soulmate if they are feeling a strong emotion

Lucy had always been pulled south. 

She hadn’t always dreamt of moving to London. As a child she’d been content with her life in the north, running barefoot through the fields and climbing trees with Mary. Even after she began at Jacobs, Lucy thought she’d end up in Newcastle like Jody and Beth, or Durham like Sarah, or stay in her little village and marry a nice boy like Michelle. London was worlds away, a pipe dream at most.  

But when she felt her soulmate’s tug, it was always south. It never mattered where in town she was, never mattered how far she wandered or how far she traveled for a job. Lucy’s soulmate was always south. 

The first time she felt the tug, Lucy cried. She barely remembered it now, she’d only been three or four at the time, but the overwhelming sense of grief that pulled at her heart was too much for her to bear. Mum had scolded her for throwing a fit while she cooked supper and Dad had yelled at Jody and Michelle to shut her up. Lucy hadn’t had the words to describe the sadness that had overcome her, but she knew that it was leading her somewhere, somewhere away from home. She’d made it to the garden before someone scooped her up and smacked her bottom, which only made her cry harder. In the end Lucy had gone to bed without supper; she was far too upset to eat, anyways. 

After that, Lucy didn’t tell anyone when she felt the tugs of her soulmate. Not when she was overcome with rage and shame while picking flowers in the schoolyard. Not when she felt an elation on Christmas that didn’t correspond with the secondhand rapier her mother had foisted on her, a silent command to become an agent. Not when her heart broke in two during a normal training session and she’d been sent home for her hysterics, pay docked for the lost hours. 

Everyone else spoke of their soulmates openly. Sarah found hers in town, a sweet lad who lived down the street. Before she left home, she’d told Lucy that he’d found her on the day their father died, when she’d been so overcome with relief that she’d wept. He could feel her, he’d said, knew how to find her without even seeing her. Lucy thought that sounded useful, if not a bit creepy. 

Once, after a long day of working and a long night of drinking, Mum had told Lucy and Mary that she’d felt it when their father died. She’d felt his fear and his pain, had felt a sudden pull east towards the rail station, then…nothing. All that remained had been a cold, empty nothing. 

Mary had cried but Lucy’s eyes remained dry. The nothing meant her father wasn’t a Visitor, and that was more than enough comfort for her. People whose soulmates returned were said to be driven mad by the pull, by the constant loop of anger and sorrow.

It was almost a relief to Lucy that she didn’t feel that fear, that pain, that nothing after the mill incident. Her team had been her closest friends for half of her life and they’d been snatched from her so horrifically, but at least she hadn’t felt it. At least none of them had felt her terror as they died. 

So when she left home in the wee hours of the morning, Lucy didn’t have to think twice about where she would go. The answer had always been: south. 

---

Lucy didn’t feel her soulmate much after joining Lockwood & Co. 

That wasn’t unusual. Most people didn’t live in a state of constant heightened emotion. Her soulmate probably had a normal job or went to school, lived a life free of danger and excitement. Lucy often wondered if she kept them up at night, when jobs went a bit sideways or she walked in on George in the bath. She wondered if they thought of her at all. 

George had asked her about her soulmate once, when they’d been reading in comfortable silence at the kitchen table. He had some Xeroxed articles in front of him from the Archives, studies on soulmates and the dead. Lucy wasn’t very interested in her own mystery novel, so she’d tossed it aside to answer his questions. 

“I’ve never met them,” she’d said with a shrug. “Not even sure where they are. South of my hometown, I know that for certain.” 

George nodded, peering at her over his glasses. “Mine’s all over the place,” he admitted. “Most often North, but not always. They must live in London, I just haven’t pinpointed them yet.” 

“When was the last time you felt them?” Lucy asked, propping her chin in her hand. 

To her surprise, George looked a bit bashful. “Well…don’t misunderstand this, but…the night you and Lockwood burnt down the Hope house.” 

“What, you don’t think…?” Lucy glanced up at the ceiling, to where Lockwood’s bedroom sat just out of sight. George shook his head. 

“I thought so as well, at first, but there have been times I’ve felt the pull while with Lockwood, and it wasn’t towards him.” For some reason, Lucy felt relief, but she couldn’t be sure why. “What about you?” 

“Well…” Lucy paused. “I thought felt it at Combe Carey, but it was all over the place, and everything happened so fast. I think I get it confused with my Touch sometimes.” 

George gave her a shit-eating grin. “Is your soulmate an evil monk ghost?”

Lucy pretended to consider it, tapping a finger against her lips. “Well, I do like them tall, dark, and crazy.” 

“What about me?” Lockwood stood in the doorway, society magazine tucked under his arm. His shirt was rumpled, tie draped loosely around his neck. Lucy wondered if he’d been dozing in the library. 

“We’ve decided Lucy’s soulmate was one of the demon monks from Combe Carey,” George said. 

Lockwood didn’t have the courtesy to look fazed. He simply chuckled and plopped down in the chair next to Lucy, tossing his magazine down next to Lucy’s discarded novel. “I’d have thought it would be Annabel Ward, if we’re choosing Visitors who died before we were born.” 

“Do you know your soulmate, Lockwood?” Lucy asked. 

“No,” he said simply. “If they want to find me, I won’t oppose, but all that—love, dating, marriage—it’s not in my plans.” 

“That’s a bit of a reductionist take on soulmates,” George admonished. “It’s not just about getting married and having 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. They could be platonic or familial, a lifelong companion of some sort, a twin flame—or flames! There have been instances of three or more soulmates all finding each other, or soulmates who have other soulmates outside of each other. It’s a literal connection of the soul.” 

Lucy liked listening to George talk when he was excited about something. His eyes would light up and his hands would dance all over the place. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Lockwood watching him, too, with an easy grin. 

“I surrender, George,” he said, hands raised in defeat. “I was being reductionist. Maybe one day I’ll find my soulmate, but it’s not at the top of my to-do list. I’ve got my team; that’s all I need.” 

“That’s insane,” George retorted, but he was smiling. 

Lucy decided then and there that she agreed with Lockwood. She didn’t need her soulmate, not as long as she had her boys and her home in Portland Row. 

---

In the end, it shouldn’t have been surprising. 

Somehow, in some stupid way, they were all still blindsided by it. 

The job had gone wrong. Lucy thought that should have been the agency’s motto: Something WILL go wrong, guaranteed! Nothing was on fire and nobody had broken any bones—yet—but if they didn’t hurry up and find the source, someone was bound to die. 

The poltergeist was a strong one, throwing knives and chairs and other detritus all throughout the house. They’d all been separated pretty quickly, torn apart by the raging wind and flying projectiles. Lucy was trapped in the hallway between the kitchen and the sitting room, shielding herself behind a tea tray that had nearly decapitated her. She could hear the poltergeist’s screams, could feel that the source was somewhere nearby, but without anyone to guard her back she had no hope of finding it. 

Then—a flash of terror, searing pain in her ribs, and an overwhelming pull in her chest had her sprinting toward the kitchen, dodging flying books and debris. Something glanced off her head and she could feel blood trickling down her temple, but Lucy couldn’t concentrate on that, not when her soulmate was in trouble. 

When she found George, he was pinned to the wall by the kitchen table, struggling to break free. That explained the pain in her ribs. That explained why she’d been pulled to London her whole life. 

That didn’t explain why she now felt a pull upstairs. 

“George!” She cried, stumbling across the room to him. She batted down pots and pans that came at them with the tea tray, ignoring the ones that met her back as she wrestled the table away. George sank to the ground, gasping for air, but he grabbed Lucy’s arms, eyes wide and terrified. 

“Lockwood,” he panted. “He’s in- he’s in trouble- I can feel-”

Lucy nodded, pulling him to his feet. “Me too.” 

“And- your head- I could feel-”

“Yeah.” Lucy grabbed his hand and tugged. “Yeah, I know.” 

“Okay.” George followed her from the kitchen, slashing at the airborne cutlery. “Source?” 

“Hallway. Under the floorboards, I think.” Lucy ran past the spot, not giving it a glance. “Lockwood first.” 

“Lockwood first,” George agreed. His grip on her hand tightened. “Hurry.” 

Lucy felt it as well, a swell of fear and then…nothing. That nothing scared her more than the poltergeist at her back, more than the way her head spun from the scent of blood, more than any pain she’d ever experienced. She sped up her pace, taking the stairs two at a time. 

On the landing of the top floor, Lockwood’s body was sprawled across the pea-green carpet, rapier still clutched loosely in his hand. His eyes were closed, face too pale, chest too still-

“He’s breathing,” George said. “Lucy, he’s okay, he’s alive.” 

Lucy didn’t realize she was crying. She hadn’t cried over her soulmate in years, and now look at her, weeping like that little girl in the garden all those years ago. She collapsed on top of Lockwood’s chest, hand still entwined with George’s, and sobbed. Sobbed for all those times she felt their pain and grief, sobbed for all those times they’d felt hers, sobbed for the nothing she’d feared so viscerally. 

“Did I die?” A voice below her asked. “Why’s Lucy cryin- George, are you crying?” 

Lucy pulled back to see Lockwood’s eyes open and trained on her. He was wincing a bit, struggling to sit up, but his gaze seemed clear and lucid. A goose-egg was forming on his forehead, where the poltergeist must have nailed him with something heavy. 

Before either of them could say anything, Lockwood put a hand to his chest, face twisted in confusion and sadness. Then he looked up, glanced between them, and said, “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” George said, voice thick with tears. “Guess we found you after all.” 

“We should probably-” Lockwood motioned vaguely. “Poltergeists feed on emotion, and all that.” 

Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. “We’ve realized we’re all soulmates and that’s your reaction?” 

Lockwood grinned at her. “Well, it makes sense. You’re my team, my- my family. Of course we’re soulmates.” 

“I don’t care how injured he is,” George muttered to Lucy. “I’m drowning him in the tub when we get home.” 

“C’mon, I know where the source is,” Lucy said, pulling her boys to their feet. “Someone fetch me a crowbar and a net.” 

Containing the source would be a remarkably simple task, once they were all together. In fact, it would be downright dull. The real excitement of the evening would come later, when they were safe at home, icing heads and cleaning wounds, exchanging stories and secrets and little, whispered confessions. Lucy wouldn’t feel the tug south any longer; they would never be out of her reach again.  

[demontickles]

Perfect type of barefoot LAD to have his toes tied back and TICKLED FOREVER!!!! 😈

[crynwr-drwg]

Message from the EZLN regarding recent gossip and rumours. Full text below:

P.S. THAT WARNS. – We were already going to tell you what this whole thing is about, but reading, seeing and listening to the string of atrocities that the «specialists» in everything and knowledgeable in nothing say and write (about supposed withdrawals, dismantlements, advances of organized crime and «returns to the past” – Coletos had to be the majority -), we decided rather to let them continue burping.

With their deep analysis and well-founded research, the zapatologists state: “an example of the Zapatista defeat is the loss of indigenous identity: young indigenous people already wear cowboy boots, instead of walking barefoot or in huaraches. And they get ready to flirt, new pants and shirt – or ironed! -, instead of wearing blanket pants and buying their wives according to indigenous uses and customs. And they ride motorcycles, instead of carrying their women coletas bosses on their backs. The only thing left is for young indigenous women to wear pants or, what a horror!, play soccer and drive vehicles, instead of serving the coleta ladies. They even dare to dance cumbias and ska instead of Bolonchon, and sing rap and hiphop instead of psalms and odes to the landowners. And, as another sign of the loss of their indigenous identity, they even pretend the absurdity of being subcommanders, commanders, and women commanders! And pretend to govern themselves. And they don’t ask permission to be however they want to be. And they travel and get to know other lands. And they work and earn their pay without a ‘tienda de raya’. And they do not have them in concentration camps, like in Gaza, so that they do not pick up “Sinaloa” ideas, that is, foreign ones – because the mayo-yoreme in Sinaloa, are all about narcocorridos, my man –. Because of Zapatismo, we anthropologists will no longer have any jobs. What a shame. And all because they did not follow the revolutionary vanguard of the proletariat or MORENA, same thing. A serious mistake of Zapatismo not to obey us. Because today, the indigenous people no longer look down when you bump into them. They look at you with irreverence, with defiance, with rage, as if we were the intruders and not them, as if we were the criminals and not them. Before, only the Zapatistas did that, now any ‘Chamulita’ stands up to you. And, as Marxism-Leninism-Stalinism-Maoism-Trotskyism-all-isms say, any indigenous person who is not like the anthropology manual says is a narco.”

We know for sure that, later, when the full meaning of this stage is known, they will have the minimum of honesty to say and publish: “We do not have the slightest idea of what they did, what they do or what they will do. The best thing would have been to ask the Zapatistas and not the anti-Zapatistas.” Or are they not honest?

Tell those “journalists” that it is always better, although more uncomfortable and not profitable, to interview the actors, not the spectators, ‘villa melones’ and lazy paramilitaries. Investigative journalism is a professional job that often requires risks and discomfort. But, don’t worry, we understand that everyone looks for a living the best way they can.

So, as a greeting to the “zapatologists”, we continue with these P.S. made with love:

P.S. OF THE CAPTAINTY OF PUERTO DE MONTAÑA. – We had prepared a series of clever phrases to make fun of the political class as a whole (government and opposition), but now we think that there is no point, since each flock has its shepherd or each shepherd has its flock. Or does someone naively believe that the matter is between two shepherdesses?

Our silence in these years was not, nor is, a sign of respect or endorsement of anything, but rather that we strive to see further and seek what everyone, men, women and ‘otroas’, is looking for: a way out of the nightmare. While you learn, from subsequent writings, what we have been doing, perhaps you will understand that our attention has been elsewhere.

But we understand that more than one suffers from what we Zapatistas call a “theoretical torticollis” which is caused by looking up, too much, and affects good judgment, common sense, decency and honesty – in addition to being addictive and creating chronic dependency. We understand the limitations of your horizons of analysis. One thing is the desk, the academy, the journalistic column, the commissioned report, the government position, the revolutionary coffee gossip or social networks, and another thing is reality.

The latter not only does not pay, but it also charges very expensively. Shakira has already said it: ‘la realidad factura’ (reality costs), and it does not include VAT. Sorry.

We will not make firewood out of the fallen trees up there. Reality, that implacable fool, will do its thing and the last splinters will be those that organized crime takes from the “cobro de piso” in the proposals of each of them.

Some masturbate with the ‘mañanera’ (morning presidential conference). Others with destruction, deaths, murders, rapes, disappearances, hunger, war, diseases, pain and sorrow. None of them have a viable and serious political proposal, they just entertain… until they don’t anymore.

And, since we are talking about autoeroticism: given the choice between Bertha and Claudia, well, Wendy.

-*-

Okay, cheers and now what am I going to do with my costume to dance corridos tumbados? “Compa, que le parece esa gorra?”… What? That’s not the way it goes? Don’t I tell you? It is the loss of indigenous identity. I hope anthropologists arrive soon to save us.

From the mountains of the mexican southeast.

The Captain

(Looking very handsome with his cowboy hat, not for bragging. Ajúa my people!)

Mexico 40, 30, 20, 10 years after

P.S. «CONTEXTUAL». – Televisa being Televisa and anthropologists being anthropologists:

https://www.nmas.com.mx/noticieros/programas/en-punto/videos/ezln-cierra-caracoles-avance-crimen-organizado/

[aphroditestummyrolls]

In a weird headspace where I HATE the chapter I posted last night, but!

I love this part 🫠👍

Maybe Jesper had agreed to wait till the half chime, but Colm had made no such promise.

It wasn’t his greatest idea, perhaps— in a huge house he hardly knew, with a couple glasses of wine in him, when he knew that Wylan wanted to be left alone. But, he couldn’t bear the thought of the poor lad all alone in these drafty old halls. All throughout the trial, he’d listened as Wylan recounted the versions of the abuse that he’d been told to share. He thought about those big brown eyes as a little lad, locked up and starved; and the crisscrossed web of scars in the flesh of his back; and the bit off scream of fear in his throat as he woke from his nightmares on The Wraith.

The last time Colm had interrupted Wylan in a moment alone, he’d been a breath away from tipping over the side of the ship, shivering and barefoot, paralysed by the past.

He had left him, then, with nothing but a jacket. No pity, he supposed— but it haunted him. Colm couldn’t pretend not to care. That wasn’t pity. That was just…

That was what fathers were supposed to do. What it meant to be a parent. To have compassion, and desire to take care of these young kids. Inej and Nina, Matthias, and.. and even Kaz bloody Brekker.

Kids like Wylan, who hadn’t been loved like they ought to be.

Kids like Jesper, too. He could still feel his son in his arms as he ambled down the corridor, a lump in his throat at the thought of his boy, finally reaching out.

He wanted to be a worthy father.

And that meant no one left behind.

The full Colm and Wylan 3 +1 is on AO3 here! Now COMPLETE! Even if I’m annoyed with it right now!

[baelathebold]

she walks into a room and smiles in relief because he's there, she knew he would be there. hoped he would be there. he's kneeling on the floor so the boys can look him in the eye as they explain their newest game to the big nice man who always plays with them. he's mother & father's friend. he found them shushing each other, and jacaerys gave lucerys his i told you so eyes, he told him to stop being so loud or else they'd get caught... you're not in trouble, lads, mother & father's friend only laughed, cuffing their ears. looks as though you could use some help, eh? they have a new baby, luke explains, skipping ahead. they take turns telling him the whole story while they're each holding onto to one of his arms. it's exciting being naughty, leaving their lessons, like something aegon would do, but he says it's okay to be naughty because they have a new baby today

she holds his arm too, just like the boys did, doesn't even have to ask for it. laenor whispers to their son, a brightness in his eyes that even her snapping at him couldn't dim. forgotten already, she knows he'd say if she apologized, so she doesn't bother. another boy, he says. didn't i say it would be, she doesn't say back. hides that in the corners of her lips quirking up. he catches it, catches her smirk in the yellow of the afternoon, catches it and keeps it when he lays eyes on this babe she knew would be a boy. didn't she say it would be?

might i? laenor is so absorbed with his son that he needs to be called twice, but when he realizes, he says of course. there's the shuffling arrangement of passing the slumbering creature between two sets of arms, supporting his head, his body, his chubby legs, all of which finally distracts jace and luke from their world into joffrey's again. please father, luke badgers. his fathers brush him off. jacaerys pulls his brother's arms back, ever responsible, eager for the approval of the men who make his mother smile. the men who tease her when she's barefoot after supper, the men who swing lucerys between them.

little family, she thinks. all that it shares. all that it holds. gods, she's tired. relaxes. she can do that now, surely? now that all is well?

a certain insolence, rhaenyra muses. harwin's silence is as soft as a heartbeat. the cauldron holding the egg smokes, and rhaenyra smiles, and says, when my mother was pregnant she couldn't abide the smell of dragon

[moonslittlestar]

Meet The Lads™ [part. iv]

Darragh

Darragh: a gender-neutral name of Irish origin. It derives from the Old Irish word daire, meaning “oak”.

The runt of the litter, or so they like to call him, the smallest Cervitaur of his herd. What Darragh lacked in height he made up for in personality. A clumsy little thing that often tripped over his feet or got his horns tangled in the forest vines, always bringing laugher to whatever group he was around. The majority of the time, you'd find him stoned off his face, a keen eye and taste for magic mushrooms granted him more abilities than the rest of his herd. Allowing him to communicate in ways they couldn't... with the world around him and with other creatures. Darragh's hair consists of 80% moss, leaves and twigs, tangled between his horns. Their skin markings mark a pathway for the magic inside them, from head to foot they run through his body like the roots of plants. When Darragh uses their magic his skin markings glow in a bioluminescence light. Roaming around barefoot means his roots keep him in communication with the mycelium underfoot as he wanders, keeping him in constant touch with nature and the world around him. Their roots also allow them to communicate with other creatures and beings via touch, through micro electric pulses, meaning he can completely tune into someone's body and mind all through his finger tips. Darragh wanted more from life than being a part of the herd, seeking freedom from his circle, Darragh travelled to Baldur's Gate in search for someone to help give him a more humanoid form. There he met a Hag, who, for a price, gave him a humanoid body, only to tease that he'd never lose his antlers, to remind him of what he was giving up, what else the hag stole from them, remains a mystery.

[littledrummeraussie]

Angie babe, how about a little summery vibes blurb. Walking barefoot, meadows, ice cream with sprinkles, stuff like that… I’m so done with winter and cold temperatures. ~ Rema

Rema @whentherosesbl00m darling - let me give you a little taste of surfer!Ashton who is sadly not written yet, but I think this little something something definitely gives you an idea of how much of a cheeky, summery lad he is!

masterlist. | want to be added to my taglist? | Christmas Blurb Fest 2022 / I want a blurb too!

a sweet taste of summer. [a surfer!Ashton blurb]

warnings: lots of fluff. lots of inappropriate sex talk. little bit of possessiveness. Ashton with a manbun and a golden retriever.

word count: 1044

----------

“Did you put on sunscreen?”

“It will just wash off the second I get into the water,” Ashton waved his hand as he dropped off the bag next to his surfboard, already tugging on his shirt to get out of it.

“You cannot be serious,” you rolled your eyes and grabbed his elbow, pulling him under the shade of the umbrella. “You know that the easiest way to get burned is in the water. ”

“But the waves… they are waiting for me…” he pouted at you, arms slipping around your waist as he knocked his forehead against yours. “Please baby?”

“Nope,” you giggled, pressing your lips against his quickly. “You sit down and I’ll do your back, and you can dive in in 20 minutes, okay?”

It was Ashton’s turn to roll his eyes, but there was a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he finally settled down on the plaid, his faithful golden retriever Bono curling up between his legs, ready to take a nap. Ash scratched the dog’s fluffy ears as you started putting sunscreen on his back and shoulders, leaving tiny kisses on the condor tattoo on his neck, the curling baby hairs on the nape tickling your nose and cheek. Your hands slipped onto his chest, fingers running over the tattoo on his ribs, and that finally made him fall back against you, eyes big and sparkling with mischief.

“I know you just wanted to touch me inappropriately out in public,” Ashton grinned, head resting on your shoulder.

“Yeah, cause we definitely did not have sex on this very beach at sunset just a week ago,” you smeared some sunscreen onto his nose with a giggle, which made him scrunch up his face.

“We also did not have sex at sunrise on this very beach, you are right,” he quickly rubbed the cream over his face, fingers running over his curls to pull them back into a manbun. “How could I forget that you hate anything and everything related to PDA?”

“No idea,” you pressed another kiss on his cheek, arms wrapping around his shoulders, then continued in a whisper. “Need to show to all the ogling girls on the beach that this man, he belongs to me.”

“Only you, sweetheart,” Ashton sighed, burying his face in your neck. “Just wanna look at you and touch you and love you. Only you.”

Another giggle slipped out of your lips before pressing them all over Ashton’s face, making him turn a beautiful shade of red. He mumbled something about how the sunscreen is definitely not helpful when it comes to blushing, and how if you continued he won’t be able to catch the waves because his suit will show to the whole beach just how much he enjoyed your sweet kisses and teasing touches. In the end you let him go when you were sure the sunscreen had settled and Ash pressed another quick kiss on your lips before picking up his surfboard, disappearing in the direction of the ocean.

***

Bono’s ears perked up and he lifted his head when you settled down next to him, fingers running through his soft fur. You became great friends once you started dating Ashton, the two of you spending long hours together when he was out surfing, patiently waiting for him to come back. Now he was on his way back to your little corner on the beach where the shadows were stretching long, and you felt a little pride for your perfectly timed snack break. You put a cup in front of Bono with some whipped cream in it, and he started lapping at the sweet treat just as Ashton appeared, gloriously hot and wet.

“Please tell me you didn’t only buy a Puppuccino,” he looked at you with hopeful eyes, and you threw his towel at him, laughing.

“Like I would ever come back from Sugar Rush without buying you ice cream,” you scooted to the left to let Ashton settle next to you on the plaid, reaching for one of the cups that was resting on top of the cooler.

“With sprinkles?” his cheeks warmed as you gave him the ice cream, his smile wider as he looked at the colourful sugary treat on top.

“Always with sprinkles,” a kiss landed on his cheek, and Ashton pulled you into his lap, holding onto you while also trying to start on his dessert. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Because I made you wet?” he cocked an eyebrow at you, mouth full of ice cream, but the grin was still evident around the edges, and the whole thing made you laugh again.

“Well, your clothes did, but I’m sure you could make me wet if you tried hard enough,” you settled against his chest, licking off your spoon.

“Thank God we live only 10 minutes from the beach,” he groaned, pressing a hard kiss onto your mouth, his lips and tongue tasting like strawberry and lemon. “Cause I’m not sure they would let us get away with having sex on the beach in the middle of the day.”

“I’m sure their surf champion could get off with only a warning.”

“Now you’re just doing this on purpose,” his cold fingers tickled your thigh under your summer dress, making you shiver. “And you’re giving me ideas I shouldn’t entertain out in public…”

“What kind of ideas?” you raised an eyebrow at him, not sure if he was being serious or was just teasing you as usual.

A second later you saw him quickly looking around before he tipped the ice cream cup in his hand towards you, a few melted drops landing on your cleavage just above the top of your dress. You hissed at the cold, but in a moment you needed to bite back a moan as Ashton leaned closer to lick the ice cream off of the top of your breasts. He pressed a long kiss to the base of your neck, nosing his way up to your ear, hot breath tickling your sensitive skin.

“Let me finish my ice cream… and then I’ll take you home… and show you just how inappropriate I can be if they let me get away with it… maybe with the windows wide open…”

----------

@mymindwide @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @suchalonelysunflower @talkfastromance4 @ashtonsunflower @in-superbloom @wiiildflowerrr @lovelywordsblog @heyitskelseaj

[deathzgf]

how did saint-just get into the military/ what were his big accomplishments

MILITARY TWINK POSTING TIME

saint - just was actually involved in the military well before he was a représentant en mission ( representative on mission ) during the terror

early 1790 saw the start of his military career , with the revolution picking up the pace the traditional structure of blérancourt ( saint - just ' s home town ) , of which the notary gellé previously had unquestionable power , was reformed by saint - just ' s mates

to me , this is Crazy since saint - just wanted to marry thérèse Gellé . BUT shit happened and by 1786 thérèse had been married off to another notary . then The Silver thing happened . i ' m not gonna go into them any more , but you can read about thérèse + saint - just here

so . saint - just and the lads were like Man fuck the gellés ( which , mind you , saint - just had been trying to do ) except not really and blérancourt held its first open municipal elections ! shout out to the national constituent assembly :3

thanks to the new electoral structure , saint - just ' s friends were able to assume power instead of the gellés . examples of some of the positions they were in were mayor , secretary , head of local national guard , etc

his brother - in - law being the head of the guard is actually what started saint - just ' s military career ! he was only 23 when all of this happened , so he was unable to assume the same positions as his friends . However , since the head of the guard was who he was , he let saint - just join the guard ! yippee !

the discipline he ' s famous for was evident even in these early months , and due to this he quickly became commanding officer with the rank of lieutenant-colonel :3

throughout his time as commanding officer , there ' s this one thing i think is Crazy which is the story about the burning anti - revolutionary pamphlets at a local meeting . like . Girl . we get it you ' re into the revolution ??? you don ' t have to set pamphlets THAT YOU ARE HOLDING . IN YOUR HAND . ON FIRE ??? TO DISPLAY YOUR DEDICATION ??? LIKE ??? average teenage girl behaviour honestly . that would have hurt though like , as someone who has burnt the back of both their hands off , yowch

unrelated to military affairs , but , whilst commanding officer he also wrote  L ’ Esprit de la Revolution et de la constitution de France ( which can be read here ( fr ) ) + wrote to robespierre ( which can be read here ) for the first time

due to his position in the guard being because of his want to participate in the revolution + his revolutionary texts , he was elected to join the national assembly as a deputy in 1792

BUT ! it does not end there

10 october 1793 as well as the whole " government would be revolutionary until peace " thing , saint - just ' s proposal that deputies from the convention should directly oversee all military efforts was approved

these deputies were called représentant en mission and sent to designated areas to maintain law and order , oversee conscription , monitor local military command , etc . one of the most critical areas was Alsace , who ' s army of the rhine was collapsing . womp womp . so saint - just and le

were sent to alsace to fix shit up

which they did do ! as i mentioned , saint - just was famous for his discipline . this discipline was again evident in this mission . thanks to the law of 14 frimaire , représentants en mission were granted the freedom to impose discipline how they chose . by the way , by discipline i MEAN DISCIPLINE . girl dismissed officers left and right . and executed via firing squad MORE officers + at least one general . Girl . GIRL

whilst enemies of the revolution were repressed by saint - just no matter if they were soldier or civilian , he did Not agree with the mass executions ordered by some of the other représentants en mission ( cough cough fouché in lyon . cough cough fréron in toulon )

he also , noticing the majority of the army being barefoot , ordered 10 000 pairs of shoes to be confiscated from aristocrats in Strasbourg , which was a nearby city , to be redistributed to soldiers . Strasbourg instead sent 17 000 pairs of shoes + 21 000 pairs of shirts to the army

speaking of Strasbourg , i do believe saint - just got Eulogius Schneider arrested + executed

~ december 1793 the army of the rhine was reformed so saint - just briefly returned to paris , where his success was celebrated . saint - just , of course , did not do all this by himself . it was a group effort between both him and le bas . i do not know much on le bas ' own military accomplishments though :[ BUT i do know that le bas wrote to robespierre on behalf of them both whilst they were in alsace . something something " Saint - Just doesn ' t have time to write to you . He gives you his compliments " saint - just please make time for your girlfriend he misses you

~ january 1794 saint - just was sent back to the front lines , this time to belgium with the army of the north --- who were experiencing the same issues as the army of the rhine

saint - just began to repeat what he had done in alsace , however less than a month in he was recalled to paris by robespierre

and now i interrupt this tumblr post to show you a clip from saint - just et la forces des choses that rots and rotates in my brain 25 / 8

anyways

~ april - june 1794 he was sent back to belgium to , again , do what he had done previously with the armies of the rhine + the north . he contributed to the victory of the battle of fleurus , ordering any retreating soldiers to be shot

saint - just also intimidated Reynac into surrendering charleroi . " I don ' t want this piece of paper ( i . e . Reynac ' s note with proposed terms of surrender ) , I want the place itself " girl calm down . the french weren ' t even ready to assault charleroi , it would have taken at least another eight days , so saint - just was bluffing . BUT . it worked lol ; reynac surrendered charleroi unconditionally

the victory of fleurus was saint - just ' s last military affair . once he returned to paris , his success was once again celebrated --- however , the political side of things was declining . something something the great terror something something thermidor . womp womp

which is Crazy because saint - just ' s victory of fleurus was a major trigger for thermidor . the committee of public safety was being held together because of the threats that saint - just had now dealt with . there was , obviously , a lot more to it than that but that Definitely was Something

girls when their success leads to their failure