#but if you’re going to use history to back up your vote

[chronic-cynic]

Watching the AO3 top ship finals go down (here it is), and the amount of people talking about how the mlm ship (not naming it, in case I get dragged for having an opinion) deserves to win because it’s a part of Tumblr history is just… ridiculous.

Like, that is absolutely correct, but why exactly did it become a part of Tumblr history? Why has Tumblr had an obsession with non-canon (this particular ship is canon, though, but it seemed like a last minute decision from the writers) mlm ships, whilst ignoring any potential wlw ones?

Think just a little, guys. I promise you that you’ll get there.

(Dropping my favourite video ever because I can)

[4pfsukuna]

Kings get jealous too

Yall voted and honestly the thought of Jealous!sukuna was tooooo good to not write. Reader is black (happy black history month btw). Sukuna does not like to share… or have anyone touch whats his why would a king have to?

The vibrations of my phone for the 3rd time was finally begining to annoy me so with eyes still closed i reach around the bed only to slap something warm and firm.

“Still here sweetheart” i hear the raspy voice of sukuna i dont need to look at him to know hes smirking and my eyes shoot open making direct eye contact.

Finally reaching for my phone hoping to get some sort of clarity i see 100 missed calls, 43 text messages, 17 instagram post. The safest option was to go through my messages as i try to gain memory of why this idiot was in bed next to me.

“Oh sweetheart do you not remember?” He chides cockily and i sit up seeing a picture that nearly killed me. My tongue out… against Sukunas sternum in a secluded corner of the club with him smirking devilishly at me and the next of him carrying me out his hands firm on my ass.

The club.

The club!

Housing yuji had been no problem at all, owing a favor to Gojo i was glad when this was all he needed. Yuji itadori was sweet kind always cleaned after himself and was a genuine pleasure to have around even cooking when away on missions.

The issue? The fact that he was a vessel for a 1000 year old king of curses that was a complete pain in the ass who gets a thrill out of you especially finding out i was kazumi Honoka and had i not resented my family could easily match Gojo or top him . The Honoka clan known for the most powerful flame and fire weilding sorcerers every few generations, squeaky clean image rich and arrogant just as the other powerful clans.

“Sukuna the only reason your not dead is because i havent found a way to exercise you from yuji i know for a fact i could kill you” i seethe only to be met with silence. I hated being ignored and he would do it on purpose as if his pathetic ass being housed by a child was better than me. Growling i pull a dagger from my waist band and swing it at Yuji necks who looks at me in fear but Sukunas mouth breaks through his neck biting the dager making it crumble into a million pieces as if it was nothing more than a cracker.

“You dont even know how to fully weild your cursed energy sweetheart, i could have you dead in 10 seconds and with the remaining 9 dance over your corpse” his mouth cackles from the side of Yujis neck.

This was a typical tuesday morning for us.

“Yet you’re only a pathetic excuse of what you used to be. King of curses yet you’ve been trapped inside of yuji for years how lame” i degrade a sneer on my face as i adjust my shirt.

“I— should we do something about this” Megumi ask from next to Nobara on the couch who looks concered and ready to break us up but not sure how plates of breakfast getting cold. It wasnt even 11am yet.

“No. This is a typical Tuesday it’s kind of like foreplay for them. Usually she ignores him or teases back unless she had a difficult mission” Yuji informs them before shoving another pancake in his mouth and of course he noticed the differences in our interactions i was the only one Sukuna really interacted with anyway.

“How was it?” Nobara looks at me and i sigh. I nearly died because i lost my footing tripping over my own tube of fenty lip gloss, how could i ever admit that.

“Pffft, struggling with a puny curse yet you think you could take me on? You make me laugh, brat” and thats what makes me lose it and ignite the fire flames on my hands my eyes matching as i do cause a groan from Yuji.

“I havent even finished breakfast yet can i atlea—“

I cut him off.

“Release him” i fume cracking my knucles making the flames bigger my breakfast completely forgotten about.

“Yeah release me brat so i can finally have my moment with her” he snaps back at yuji and this time I smirk the fire on my hands dulling.

“If thats what you wanted that’s all you had to say, it’s childish to be mean to a girl you like. Unfortunately you’re not my type” i grin patting Yuji cheek where Sukunas mouth was only to feel his sharp teeth nip at my hand.

“Youre nothing like the women i had keeping my bed warm just like you’re silly little technique you wouldnt know what to do with me” he chides back the two on the couch getting whiplash from how fast our conversation changes and how quick our comebacks are for another.

“See, foreplay” Yuji utters to them as he finishes his plate of pancakes satisfied with his belly being full leaning back on his seat.

“Well we were going to celebrate you getting back and figure you could use a night out since returning from your mission, but it looks like you definitely need it” Megumi speaks up motioning between myself and Yuji.

————————————————————-

Giggling with Nobara as we take a 6th shot of casamigos to see who would tap out first watching a woman try to flirt with  Megumi who's completely oblivious or just awkward at flirting.

“What's the deal with you and Sukuna? Girl to girl like i didn't even know he spoke unless he had full control” she prys bumping my shoulder which i roll my eyes at.  “Please Yuji told me how he always has an eye on you, always ask about you when you're not around and flirts with you relentlessly”

“He also pesters me” i add sipping the lemon drop the bartender placed infront of us mentioning it was on the house.

“Anything to keep your attention” she smirks while taking another shot. “It’s why he’s taken over Yuji yet instead of burning the entire world down he’s watching you”.

And he is, black tattoos adorned his body as he sits on the sofa eyes piercing through the crowd focused directly on me. Maybe it was the curiosity maybe it was the alcohol but i was tempted to test her theory. 

Swiping another coat of lipgloss over my lips and adjusting my shirt so my boobs were perked up with a quick hair fluff i turn to the guy at the end of the bar Whos been covering our tab for drinks.

“Hello handsome” i grin taking the stool next to him watching the instant lust build in his eyes. I could still

Feel his eyes on me and its only right to give him a show.

The man on the stool looks over at me, double taking before adjusting his posture to give me his full attention.

“My my tonight must be my lucky night an angel like you gracing me with your presence” he praises the strong smell of alcohol on his breath as he twirls one of my dark curls around his finger releasing it with a spring.

“Move” and Sukunas glare is deadly biceps rippling under the club light his shirt long gone.

“Hey pal” the man says setting a hand on Sukunas shoulder unaware of just what was about to happen and i couldnt even warn him my eyes never left the king of curses. 

Without breaking eye contact he grabs the mans hand crushing it the sound of bones crushing couldn’t be hidden by the loud music but i still could only focus on sukuna.

“Wipe the smug look off your face” he grumbles stepping closer the heat of his body rolling off onto me.

“Lord Sukuna, king of curses the almighty and powerful isnt… jealous?” I giggle watching as he takes the shot left behind by the man scowling as he takes the shot next to it as well.

“Dont humor me, he was weak and undeserving. Plus if something happened to you Yuji would never shut up” he… rambles? Oh he was so jealous. Fire literally comes out of my hand unless that man controlled water and in copious amount what harm would he truly bring me.

 “So if i were to go home with him and sleep with him you wouldnt be jealous in the slightest? And i mean hours of letting him have his way with me—“ to which he scoffs rolling his eyes in disgust.

Sukuna wasnt a man of many words more so action so i could talk all i wanted but the best reaction id get was from action. And i knew just how to pull it from him.

“Not even if i did this?” I ask but before he has a chance i bend down coming eye level with his abdomen and drag my tongue from the begining of the black mark to where it ends on his chest smirking when i come eye level with him watching as something dark ignites in his eyes.

___________________________________

When we get home theres not a surface left untouched that he doesnt have me against. Pressing me into the front door as he bites down my neck licking and sucking over my pulse.

“Suk—mmmm” the moan comes out of me as he tugs on my earlobe with his mouth his hands feeling like hot fire on my body. He begins to pull me further in but i pull back giggling at his look of dissatisfaction. 

“I gotta take m’shoes off” im sure i slur my words slightly only to be picked up and placed on the top of the black velvet couch my feet on the seat cushion giving him easier access. Im shocked by how gentle he is untying the straps from around my calfs before he gets frustrated ripping them off.

“SUKUNA!” I yell watching the coy smirk on his face and he leaves a kiss on my calf.

“Whaaaat?” Before another kiss is placed on my knee followed by my inner thigh and right when i think hes going to go under my skirt he switches to my other leg the warmth spreading in my core and i wanted him to stop teasing. 

“Sukuna” i groan but it instead comes out as a sigh feeling his thumbs massage into my inner thigh extremely close to my core as i feel his breath over my underwear.

“Tell me.” He grunts against my core the vibrations shaking my whole insides and maybe my body was just sensitive to him because i could definitely cum just like that. “Tell me what i want”

And hes placing kisses over my pussy through my underwear moaning and something about him wanting me so bad he would kiss me through my underwear turned me on even more. I’m sure he could tell because its not long before his tongue is poking at the sides making me shiver.

“Give me what i want” i counter to prideful to beg alcohol be damned the arrogant grin on his face doesnt budge as he pulls me down so im on the seat easily throwing my legs over his shoulders. Long fingers brush my wet folds as he hooks his finger in my underwear, a lewd comment about me being so wet for him my thongs were clinging to it in a way his tongue would replace.

And hes not lying, he places one long lick from my hole all the way up to my clit, a light swirl around before placing a peck and I feel electric. My head luls back as he uses two fingers to spread my lips open giving easier access to my clit which he sucks kisses licks and moans against.

“Fuck” he groans against it placing a wide open mouth tongue kiss on my pussy and i arch into him? Away? Im not sure my eyes slam shut when i realize hes kissing my pussy the same way he was kissing me against the door and the pure lewdness of his mouth being full of me. The wet smacking sounds were being drowned out by my moans and cries of his name and with a particular flick of his tongue on my clit i launch forward squeezing my thighs around his head which seems to entertain more than bother him.

“Eyes on me” he moans against me tapping my thighs twice and i couldnt even remember shutting them. His lips apply more pressure as my hands get lost in his hair holding him in place which seems to egg him on his motions becoming filthier with every flick of his tongue.

He pushes me back before his wide palms squeeze my thighs grunting as he continues his assault licking me in ways that would leave a mark on my mind before tongue-fucking me which is what sends me into the spiral of cuming for the first time. (And embarassingly fast)

“So delicious” he murmurs licking up every drop and i can feel my heart pounding in my ears as i try to catch my breath. It took him less than five minutes to have me in a puddle, figuratively and literally and my brain scrambled. 

Pulling me forward by my chin he places an aggressive kiss on my lips leaving me dizzy as i taste myself on his lips until he quickly pulls back standing up beckoning me to follow him.

“We need to get you to bed” he speaks and i miss the taunt in his voice taking it as being scolded instead which makes me stop the cold of the hallway floor settling on the pads of my feet.

“What?!” I snap and he raises a brow facing me the taunt evident on his face.

“Unless you want something from me, tell me sweetheart” And it’s nothing more than an attempt to get me to beg but i was entirely not going to. I would never, no matter how mad i wanted him to rearrange my insides.

“No?” He ask cupping my jaw roughly his thumb grazing my bottom lip rubbing the juices on my lip— the moment he fucks up.

Using my tongue to wrap it arround his thumb before sucking it into my mouth watching the desire come full force in his eyes. I release it with a small pop sound a string of saliva connecting his finger to my lip his eyes never moving from it.

“I mean i know you like when i lick your marks up your chest but what about down?” I whisper before my tongue drags down the black lines down to the waist band of the pants pulling them down watching his dick spring out yet the weight, length and girth stops it from springing completely against his abdomen. 

My mouth waters at the sight and i feel myself sink down to my knees keeping eye contact wrapping my acrylic fingers around it. Theres a drip of precum as i slowly begin to pump that i chase with my thumb smearing it against the tip.

Removed from my trance i feel his large hand cup my jaw roughly and the other replace my hand over his length giving a few slow pumps so i eagerly stick out my tongue knowing exactly what he wants to do.  He taps it on my tongue twice before slowly pushing it in my mouth keeping direct eye contact the whole time listening to the way his breath stops as he hits the back of my throat. He feels heavy in my mouth in the most delicious way causing me to moan and give a slight suck.

Its the soft groan that he makes that encourages me to take control pulling back slighty before pushing him all the way down my throat one hand at the base making a twisting motion while the other massages his balls this time earning a “fuck baby” and i almost tease him about it but my mouth was… full.

Pulling back once more for air i swirl my tongue around the tip collecting every drop of precum before licking my way down to his balls and taking them in my mouth. His leg twitches and his eyes are on me with a blown eyed gaze as i swish them around my mouth sending him a wink the smirk coming back.

“Youre such a— fuck… brat taking my dick like this in the…” he stops for a second going to reach for my hair and i almost send a glare until i realize hes just moving it off my shoulders. Hollowing my cheeks and sucking hes brought back to his words. “In the hallway, so hungry for me arent you” he growls 

Moving my mouth back onto his length taking him 4 more times down my throat my hand replacing where my mouth previously was before continuing a bobbing motion. The pace of my bobbing matching the pace of my hand twisting before his hands start caressing my cheeks using it as leverage.

“Such a good girl” he begins stuttering eyes rolling back head falling against the wall. His hips began moving and im not even sure he realizes it and hes fucking my face at a quick pace muttering words in a language that i couldnt identify— maybe something prehistoric.

“Throat so.. mmf… so good, such a good brat. FUCk” he growls when i gag but doesnt stop for a second just continues his rambling. “My brat, youre taking every inch so fucking… so fucking” he holds my head in place as if hes trying not to cum to quick.

Shit thats exactly what hes doing!

Tapping his thigh to gain his attention, the same way he did to me I internally smirk the moment his eyes meet mine and I know exactly what kind of thing would make him release. Slowly pushing down until my nose hits his pelvis as I pull back I give him the longest blink I can exaggerate without looking crazy letting the tears prick my eyes without falling giving the base of his dick and balls a slight squeeze moaning the entire time.

“You fucking demon— nnghhhh”he moans as ropes of his cum shoot down my throat his hips twitching as he holds me in place trying to keep his eyes on me. after hes satisfied everydrop is in my mouth not a single one gone to waste He finally lets my face go before im being pulled up by the front of my shirt. His lips are on mine as hes groping me like my clothes dont exist his hands running all over my body pulling me in closer. 

His tongue swirls in my mouth and its like a mix of both of us before i playfully bite down on his bottom lip feeling him harden against my hip making me grin. He likes it rough i could be as rough as i wanted and hed probably just love it even more.

My legs wrap around his waist the moment he picks me up walking the rest of the way to my room and placing me on the bed pulling me shirt over my head and to inpatient for my skirt and underwear he rips them off. Climbing over me he places a few teasing bites up my neck marking up what hadn't already been marked before pulling back slightly to line himself up with my entrance.

I assume hes going to tease but the squelch and sudden burn of him pushing in makes the corner of my eyes prick with tears only brought back by the sounds of his grunts.

“And you fucking thought id let you go hone with another man and hed have this view of you cock drunk already and all ive done was slide halfway in” he chuckles darkly and i look at where we are connected.

HALFWAY?

“Eyes on me brat” and my leg is thrown over his shoulder before he leans forward giving me a bruising thrust. Well clearly i bit off more than i could chew. His thrust are fast and heavy but not painful. He rolls his hips and my hands fly up to his chest.

Hold on what was this. He sends a handful more thrust just like that with the same force… no not force pressure and i can feel my mouth watering. These werent the quick hard and fast strokes i was expecting. Sure they were rough but—

His large hand throws my other leg over his shoulder pulling a high pitched moan from me and he was entirely to deep inside of me. Its a particular thrust that hits a spot deep inside of me causing my eyes to cross and i nearly push him off of me had it not been for our position.

“Ahhhh looks like i found that sweet spot” he taunts thrusting into it again and i bite my bottom lip trying to hold in the moans. “Cute attempt” and before i could ask what he means he leans forward so were chest to chest and if he wasnt deep before he definitely was now.

“Fuck” he growls against my ear continuing his assault my eyes only catching the way every muscle ripples in his back. He was making his mark and not just sucking and biting but engraving his self in my memory. Every thrust every roll of his hips its like he was trying to make sure i wouldnt forget drunk or sober. Its slight caresses that turn to grips, hip rolls that turn to strong thrust that rattle my whole body bites thats followed by his tongue flicking over them.

The orgasm begins to build and i feel the wetness already sliding down making him grunt picking up the pace. 

“S-sukuna!” It rocks through me before i have time to warn him but he doesnt stop just continues to fuck me through it his chuckles a distant thought it my head.

“You were so jealous” i mutter through heavy pants the only thought i could hold onto before he's pulling out and i'm flipped onto my stomach his length pushed back in this time his hand snaking under me to play with my clit his strokes different this time. 

His fingers are going fast yet his strokes are slow are taunting his balls slapping against me the contrast sends me into another orgasm my brain telling me to fight back. 

“The next time you think IM jealous of another man some puny mortal remember i can make you cum in 30 seconds” he grunts in my ear and i know theres a glare on his face. But he doesnt stop he alternates the pace of his fingers and thrust making me moan out trying to hold back long forgotten.

“You look so delicious” he moans and the sound has my toes curling. He drops half of his weight on me as his other hand comes around grabbing my neck lifting me up so I can see our reflections in the mirror. His maroon eyes were dark and getting darker with lust as we made eye contact through the mirror and for a second my mind turns to mush the only thought was how good he felt with every thrust and pinch of my clit.

“Look at you… fuck falling apart under me” he grunts a smile building on his lips before he licks them gripping tighter on my neck. “You look so perfect taking my cock like this. Getting so… youre making such a mess on me. Youre pussy is so tight and warm and the way youre clenching when i talk… shit. You must like my voice” his grin grows and i look away but the way i clench around him gives me away im sure.

His hand moves from my clit leaving three stinging SMACKS. His grip grows tighter on my throat forcing me to look at him again in the mirror, his hand squeezing over my cheeks.

“Sukuna” i snap or try to but it only comes out as a stuttering moan which satisfies him. 

“Don't look away” he growls and when hes sure im not going to try again he places his hand back on my clit.

“Im not jealous,” he tries to prove his point but it was lost on me i didnt even care i was in complete bliss.

“I can fuck you better than him. He was just going to turn into a boy and jackrabbit you. He wouldnt know what to do with all the woman you are. Me…JEALOUS? No im leaving my mark youre going to remember every touch, lick, bite, shit and thrust. Thats real punishment. Ruining you for every man after me. They couldnt fuck you like this” he rants a deranged look in his eyes before his speed increases and of course.

He wasnt some 20 something year old guy he was a 1000 year old curse with years of experience in torture. Brute force was a mere quick thing and nothing about this was quick.

“Sukuna im going to…” i whine kicking my legs feeling the pressure build up and it was becoming to much for me. I try to thrust back to push him off but that sinister smile grows the widest ive ever seen and instead he pulls me to my knees by my hip. It instead becomes leverage as he uses his other hand to push my back down creating an arch as his pace comes to the fastest its been all night finally pushing in all the way the tip hitting the spot that made my eyes cross again.

“Oh… OH” he chuckles as he watches my fist curling in the blankets the moans no longer quiet but loud screams im sure my neighbors would complain about tomorrow but i couldnt care. 

“Feels good doesnt it, i should make you beg to cum, i should edge you. I shouldnt even.. fuck.. youre lucky youre so pretty i shouldnt even let you cum for even entertaining him. Were you trying to piss me off?” He growls but it all falls on deaf ears. My own shrieks of pleasure are the only thing i can register.

“But since youre here… under me and that stunt you pulled? At that silly little club? Ill be nice just this once brat.” He moans his thrust becoming sloppy as if the thought of me licking him turns him on. 

“Cum for me” he pinches my clit sending me into my demise the hot ropes of cum from him shooting inside of me as his grunts get louder while he rides out our orgasms. 

“Good girl” is the last thing i hear before darkness takes over.

_________________________

Sukuna isnt prepared to glance at the clock at 4:37am. Sure he wasnt fully sleep but being prepared for the brown skinned fire sorceress to wake him up 10 minutes ago for another round was the last thing he expected.

Sukuna loved every second of it. She wasnt like past women who wanted to made sure they just pleased him oh no she wanted to conquer him.  find every kink, every sensitive spot any twist of her hips or clutching of his core that made him putty for her and exploit it. Biting him, sucking on his neck, hair pulls and even slight chocking— ok it was nothing slight about it at all, even when she pins his arms above his head he was losing his senses because everything was her.

She had the audacity to try this and look so fucking good doing it. It was no longer him fucking her but dhe was fucking him and damn did it feel good. She was marking him every inch of his body stating her claim and he nearly felt pride, his brat, fuck did she know how to get him going. So prideful she wouldnt even cum again until he did even if that means he did have to snake one of his hand down to pinch her clit watching her tears come down her face as she fights so strongly.

Sukunas proud and for a moments forget this isnt his body just a mere vessel but hes so proud of her he wants to drop his whole load and really claim her as his own but things are a bit complicated right now. But hes so prpud of her being so strong taking every inch and seeing the lengths of her stubotness but fuck does he want her to cum. He needs to feel the way she cums arounds him and watch as the cream builds up at where their bodies meet, he needs to see that pure look of bliss and feel the desperation as her body clings to his. But he can talk her through it.

“H-hey sweetheart, look at me” he growls angry she had him stuttering and with a sharp thrust upward to meet hers she whines looking down at him.

“What?! Y-youre —-mmmm fuck… youre fucking up my pace” she seeethes through clutch teeth pulling roughly on the hair at the nape of his neck his moans unable to be hid at the pure pleasure.

“Sorry sweetheart” he falsely apologized repeating the thrist again feeling her clench. “Just wanna say youre doing so good, taking me dick so good just like you should” he sits up watching as she adjust using his shoulders for leverage.

“Listen to it… every sound, squelch— youre gripping me soooo tight. I could fuck you all night, loose myself in it. Its so wet and warm and your taking every inch like a good brat for me, my brat” he breathes in her ear before bringing her jaw so theyre eye to eye once more.

“I cant wait to watch you cum for me again, make a mess all over your dick.” He tells her watching as she tries to close her eyes and he sends another rough thrust forcing her eyes back open.

“You have 5 seconds to give it all to me” he tells her darkly left hand going to her clit as a threat not rubbing or moving just pressing into her.

“4” and she presses her forehead against his

“3” he smirks as her hips become erattic the whimpers increasing from her mouth.

“Sukuna!” She snaps digging her nails into his back holding on tighter to him. He grins kissing the side of her head thumb not moving from her clit but pressing harder.

“2” and the wet sounds increase  letting him know he was more than capable of talking her… counting her through it.

“I hate you” she moans releasing all over him sending him into an orgasm as well thrusting his hips so they can both ride it through only stopping when he feels her body slump against his.

“I hate you so much” she speaks through ragged breaths as he leans back never pulling out and he chuckles kissing her head again pushing her hair out of her face.

_____________________________________

“So youre telling me…” i trail off completely speachless when all the memories from last night come back and i can feel everywhere he touched like it was burned into my skin.

His arms rest behind his head the holds that cocky smirk and lazy look in his eye as if i forgot his moans.

“You fucked me like that because you were jealous?” I giggle once more watching as his glare comes back

[qqueenofhades]

I'm watching the results come in for the French legislatives first round, and I have been following American presidential race and supreme court from afar. I am depressed. Please say something wise that will give me hope. I never thought to live through times like this.

Anonymous asked: Hey I know you said you’re avoiding posting about politics so absolutely feel free not to reply, but any tips about not getting hopeless? Especially when the fellow young people in your life are all clamoring to talk about how both parties are the same, they won’t vote, etc, etc (😑)?

Welp. It seems that what the people want to hear at this point is some Wise Words From Internet Grandmother Hilary, so... I will do my best to see what I can come up with. It bears repeating, as I have said many times before and will do so again, that I still have heard no better advice for living through The Horrors than the Gandalf: "So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us." Because, yeah. That, in its simplest essence, is it. We cannot control The Horrors. Individual people have never been able to control The Horrors, and five thousand-odd years after the invention of documented human history, here we still are, making the same stupid fucking mistakes. That is pretty maddening to deal with, and if you try to think of it like that, it is impossible to wrap your head around and it will only drive you crazy. So, then. What?

I will freely admit that I am scared too. Despite my best efforts, the post-debate furor wigged me out, I had to log off all social media and news sites for most of the weekend, not look at anything aside from one site I trust for two minutes, and try to get myself back in an okay headspace. So yes, rule number one: STOP DOOMSCROLLING. Please get a muzzle on that little voice in your head that says you HAVE to look, you HAVE to read everything, you have to KNOW JUST IN CASE HOW BAD IT COULD POSSIBLY BE. Then you look at stuff that makes you upset, and that leads to other stuff that makes you more upset, and then there you are in a stew of anxiety and anger and everything else that doesn't help. Do not look at the Bird Site Formerly Known as Twitter or news sites or anything else that is liable to have stuff that upsets you, especially in Panic!!! moments like this. It is designed to make you feel worse and it obscures the fact that nobody actually knows. Like, I devoutly hope that the anonymous "adviser to a prominent Democrat" and the NYT editorial board and everyone else screaming about how Biden should drop out right now step on ten Legos a day for the rest of their lives, but they also DO NOT KNOW (and given the NYT nakedly admitting to a personal vendetta against Biden for not giving them an interview, everyone can see exactly what this crass and unbelievably stupid sabotage attempt is, but yeah). Even if they get quoted in prominent publications, they do not know what is going to happen. They are not prophets. The NYT has, as noted, showed its ass 800 times before and keeps coming up with polls that are so ludicrously pro-Trump that it's becoming a cottage industry to debunk them. They are crass and cynical and trash and all that, they have vested interests, they have a platform, but repeat after me: WE DO NOT KNOW "FOR A FACT" THAT EVERYTHING IS DOOMED AND WILL NEVER BE OKAY AGAIN IF WE DO NOT LISTEN TO THE ALMIGHTY NEW YORK TIMES. In fact, the NYT has been so fucking wrong so fucking many times that at this point, I would bet on it being the other way around.

As part of my Bad Headspace Night on Friday night, I did picture the worst-case scenario of Trump winning, American democracy being overthrown, fascists around the world being emboldened, etc. It was a nasty mental picture and I didn't like anything that would come about if it did, but I had to remind myself that even if it did happen, well, the world would still be here, and good people who care about its future would have to do something to make that future happen. It would be ten times harder and it would be the result of another unimaginably evil and cynical fascist sabotage campaign, but... those are not exactly unprecedented in human history. (See: making all those mistakes over and over again.) People in the past were faced with those same exact moments where everything seemed monumentally hopeless and doomed for a generation, and they fought back, and they won. That's the thing. Fascists are evil and awful and terribly unnecessarily destructive, but they are not unbeatable, and they never have been. If we make the choice to resist them, then, well, they can be resisted. It will not happen by posting vaporous screeds on social media, or sitting on your ass and waiting for some miraculous savior/revolution/whatever to swoop in and save you, but it can happen, and it can work. That's what is very hard to remember in the current Horrors, but it's the way it's been for as long as there has been evil. It is not the be-all and end-all of the human experience and never will be.

Likewise: if a la the second anon you're being surrounded with people who are saying stupid things and making you feel worse: just don't be around them any more. It's that simple and you should do it. You can unfollow people who are posting defeatist rubbish, or you can avoid spending time with people railing about how everything is already doomed and voting is useless, etc. You may feel guilty because these people are your friends or you don't want to cut off contact, but you need to do what is best for your mental health, and if all you hear is BS, then, yeah. Pull the plug, cut the cord, do whatever you want. You do not owe anyone else your headspace, your attention, your mental health, or anything else, especially if it is demonstrably idiotic and incorrect. Find ways to do something. Go out and volunteer. Put down the phone (again, this cannot be overemphasized) and stop looking at doomerists on Twitter who get their engagement fix from making you upset and angry. Read a book, watch a TV show, visit a friend in real life, take a walk outside (if you don't live in a furnace, which unfortunately a lot of us do right now). Just sit and close your eyes and meditate. Stretch or move your body. Drink water. Super basic ordinary things that get you away from the increasingly frantic death spiral mindset and put you back in the reminder that things are never over and there is still a lot of time for everything.

As I said: I am doing this myself right now. It is not easy. I know it is not. I wish that we lived in a kinder timeline where this was not necessary, but as Gandalf says, nobody ever wishes for this and yet it happens nonetheless. But we can still control how we react to it and identify the things that are doing their best to make us feel terrible and doomed and hopeless, and make a choice to move away from them. We do not know what's going to happen, no. But we also do not know that everything is doomed, and you know what, it usually ends up not being that way. So that's what I can offer for now. Courage.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Drawn to you | Pt. 7

(A/N) Okay, writing alive!Alastor is a lot of fun. Also, I'll already put out a warning for the next part. It will be a though one.

Pairing: Alastor x bunny demon!Reader (no Y/N)

Warnings: some more murder, foreshadowing, kisses

Synopsis: He remembers you. Finally.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

Alastor couldn’t deny that he was somewhat nervous. After all, he had just killed his boss. No matter how much he tried to concentrate on his work and script for tonight, he kept seeing the bloodied body of the man in front of him. And it made him smile. The rush he had felt…was addicting and in his mind, he was already choosing his next victim.

But before he could do that, he had a show to deliver. And knowing that you were among the listeners gave him the boost he needed to finish his script and slowly get ready. While he was in is office, doing vocal warm-up exercises, he thought of you, how you were probably on the bus at the moment, on your way to the tiny apartment that you called home.

If only you’d let him, he could offer you so much more. A house, with a nice backyard where you could plant your favorite flowers. He would build a swing for the two of you and maybe you could get a dog. Something to protect you while he was gone. You could finally quit your job here and escape this thankless, misogynistic place.

He would put the prettiest, little ring on your finger and wear his own with pride. He would take you to his mama and introduce you, sure she’d love you just as much as he did. He would brag to anyone who’d listen that you're his. His best friend. His lover. His wife. The mother of his children. Children…he would put as many in you as you’d allow. And he’d be a better father than his own ever was.

He could see it clear as day, his life with you.

“Al? You have two minutes until you’re on air?”

The voice of the radio host’s assistant brought him back to reality and he jumped slightly in surprise.

“Oh, of course, my apologies.”

With quick steps, Alastor rushed to the booth he was hosting from and quickly got settled, just in time for the red light above the door to turn on and the music to end.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to today’s late show. I’m your host, as usual, Alastor! What a lovely evening folks, gotta say, I’m kind of jealous that I’m in here, while ya’ll can enjoy the outside.”

He took a practiced pause before continuing his spiel, talking about some nonsense before he started the first song. As soon as his microphone was muted, he took a deep, relaxing breath and glanced out the large window into the room, where the assistant was supervising the show and taking phone calls from listeners. He gave him a thumbs-up to signal that everything was going smoothly and he nodded in return.

After the song was over, Alastor took the time to talk about the 19th amendment, knowing that you’d have to go to bed soon and he wanted you to hear him talk about it.

“All in all, it’s an important step in America’s history folks, and all I can do is hope that everyone in Congress sees reason and votes in favor. If not…well that’s just proof that this country is ruled by old, fat, ignorant men. And if you don’t agree with me, there is this handy little dial on your radio, you can use to switch to a different channel.”

He knew that he’d get in trouble for that little stab at his listeners, but the image of you giggling about the comment made it worth it. His own smile grew into a smirk that stayed on for the rest of the night until another host took his spot and Alastor could finally go home. On his way out of the building, he noticed the police presence. The body had finally been found.

Acting confused, he joined a small group of coworkers who were whispering to each other in the lobby. They nodded in greeting but continued with their hushed conversation until Alastor spoke.

“Do any of you know what’s going on?”

“Al…it’s your boss. He was found behind the building, dead.”

As if in shock, Alastor took a step back as his eyes widened. He even dropped his jacket which he had been carrying. He whispered his boss’s name, for once, no smile on his face.

“Are you sure? I just saw him a few hours ago. He…he can’t…”

The entire group nodded in confirmation that it was indeed his boss and Alastor blinked a few times while looking at the ground. He soon excused himself, keeping the act up until he was a few blocks away from the building. Even as he was walking away, he felt their concerned gazes on his back. If radio host doesn’t work out, he should consider becoming an actor. Or so he told himself.

On his way home, he felt his fingers itch, his eyes scanning every creature he came across, debating if he could kill them. But no, he had to be patient. After all, he already knew who his next victim would be. Maybe it was a bad idea to kill two people so closely connected, but he had wished death upon your boss from the moment he met you. The only thing he had to figure out was how to do it. But that could wait…for now.

Hell - now

“-stor? Alastor?”

You had woken up a few moments ago, confused for a second as to where you were, but as soon as you noticed Alastor next to you, you relaxed. At least until you noticed that he wasn’t moving. Or even blinking. He just stared ahead, eyes blown wide, his smile as low as you’d ever seen it. He looked…haunted.

You carefully sat up and reached for him. For once you didn’t wait for his permission before you touched him, instead just placing your hand on his shoulder and shaking him slightly. You began to whisper his name, getting louder when you noticed that he didn’t react to any of it. Close to panicking, you placed your other hand on his shoulder and started to shake him with more vigor. At least until his eyes snapped up to you.

With movements so quick it took you a second to realize what had even happened, he pulled you into a tight hug, pressing you against himself and whispering your name. No…it wasn’t your name. It was a nickname he used when you were both still alive. Tears gathered in your eyes at the realization.

“You remember.”

Alastor pulled you impossibly closer, just continuing to whisper your name. Your body started to shake as quiet sobs escaped your lips. You buried your face in his neck, wetting his fur with your tears, but at that moment, neither of you cared.

The demon continued to hold you, slowly shifting you so you were sitting on his lap while he still worked through everything he just relived. How could he ever forget you? The love of his life? His best friend? His girl?

Earth - 1920s

“Well, what can I say ladies and gentlemen, the killing spree continues as another victim was found earlier today. My source in the police department reports that there are still no leads to the identity of the killer, so I urge you: to stay in after dark and stay in groups. No one is safe when it comes to that one.”

Alastor took a breath and glanced towards the window, where the radio host’s assistant once sat. But now, there was you. It’s only been a few months since he had gotten you the promotion, but the excitement of seeing you there never subsided. After all, he’d never tire of seeing you. Especially not after you finally allowed him to court you.

You had said yes shortly after Alastor had killed your boss, not that you knew about any of that back then. But the stress relief it brought you, finally allowed you to even think about dating. And after Alastor asked you out, all you could do was say yes. It started with Alastor insisting on accompanying you home after he was switched to host the afternoon show, meaning that both of you got off at the same time. After all, how could he let you walk home alone when a dangerous serial killer was roaming the streets? Especially because back then everyone was still thinking that he was specifically after people who worked at the radio station.

Him bringing you home turned into you inviting him into your apartment for a cup of coffee, into the two of you getting dinner before going home, into the two of you going to a jazz club. And one night, after you had both gotten at the very least tipsy and you complained about your old boss and the misogyny at work, Alastor was so close to confessing. Instead, he admitted that he envied whoever did it, how he would’ve loved nothing more than to do it himself. And in that moment you kissed him.

You pulled him down and pressed your lips against his in a gentle kiss. The fact that he would kill for you made warmth spread through you. You truly loved this man. But you would never know that truth. At least not in this life.

The shy smile on your lips pulled Alastor from his thoughts. He had been staring at you through the whole song and it was almost over. Usually, he would pause to talk some more, but instead, he decided to just let another one play. You raised an eyebrow as you noticed the switch in behavior, but Alastor just waved for you to join him. So you did.

You entered the room and he extended a hand towards you, pulling you onto his lap once you were close enough. You giggled as you fell against him, feeling his chest vibrate as he chuckled.

“How are you doing, my love?”

You hummed, a coy smile on your lips as you gazed up at him.

“A little tired, the usual lately.”

That made Alastor frown. He had noticed that you seemed to have less energy recently, but he chalked it up to stress. With a worried look on his face, he pulled back and properly looked at you, and he quickly realized that you had lost weight. A lot of it.

How could he miss that?

“Love, I think you need to go to the doctor.”

You shook your head and started to talk about how that was too expensive, but he quickly cut you off, assuring you that he would take care of that. After a bit of bickering, you agreed to make an appointment as soon as you were back at your desk.

After one more kiss, Alastor let you go and returned to host the show, while you walked back to your desk and picked up the phone, scheduling an appointment for the next day.

Neither of you had been prepared for what you were going to find out.

@impulsivethoughtsat2am @fanficwriter5 @wonderlandangelsposts @mo-0-o @xalygatorx @fairyv-ice @nixie189

Please consider reblogging and following me! It helps a lot!

Hazbin Hotel - Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

[baby-girl-aaron-dessner]

Hi, I’m glad you’re bringing this topic up without it feeling like you’re going to be rude—in fact you’re being kind about it.

I do wish she’d speak up on a lot of topics. I live in the south, but am not a “typical southerner”. I’m a queer liberal. I would’ve loved for her to say something about the reproductive rights that were taken away from my state the very week she played multiple shows here, but she didn’t. Or to have voter registration available at the venue.

But back to Palestine, which is an absolute genocide. I’ve been torn wondering if I’m simply wanting her to speak up on it because it’s what I believe is right—or do I think it would effect change? I don’t know the answer to that, but you seem better versed than I am, and I guess I’m hoping this is a safe space to ask that. What would we hope comes from Taylor speaking out about this? I am trying to think critically about this, so I hope you won’t see this as me disagreeing. I really do wish she would. I just don’t if what we’re asking of her would end up being performative for the public, or would it effect real change to save lives in Palestine?

Hi anon, firstly, I’m so sorry to hear that your reproductive rights were stripped from you and your fellow citizens. If there’s anything I can do to help – whether that be signing a petition or donating to women in need – please let me know.

Secondly, I do want to make sure this is a safe space for swifties (especially those of us who are minorities and often feel overlooked in the fandom) to express their thoughts because its important that we use our critical thinking skills as opposed to following someone blindly and without question (we’re not sheep, after all).  

To answer your questions, “What would we hope comes from Taylor speaking out about this?” and “would it effect real change to save lives in Palestine?” there are 2 main points worth discussing.

Firstly, the most obvious point is that Taylor herself believes in activism and has stated that "I need to be on the right side of history". For reference, please see her Miss Americana documentary, her Rolling Stone interview on discussing white privilege as well as a bunch of other times she has made her stance clear (Tweets about Trump, interviews in her Lover era, her speech during Pride Month etc.).

Unfortunately, because she no longer participates in activism and hasn’t for a long time now during the peak of her career, it’s fair to criticise her previous activism during her Lover era as performative or selective.

It begs the question, “Does she no longer care about standing up for what is right?”

Secondly, to answer your question: yes, speaking out and doing the right thing matters and makes a difference. And there are three reasons for this:

The principle: to be on the right side of history

Safety of the oppressed (recently, Swifties have been caught committing hate crimes against minorities and doxing Palestinians)

It makes a difference (e.g. donations feed the hungry and poor, awareness leads to better voting outcomes which in turn leads to better policy decisions).

I’ve already spoken about the first point.

The second point is especially relevant following recent events where Swifties have harmed minorities (see below). In this case, it’s important for an influential leader of a powerful fandom to make their stance clear on a genocide so that innocent people don’t get harmed.

And the third point is that activism matters because it creates a real impact. For example, The Weeknd recently donated millions of dollars to families in Gaza which means people who are starving and are victims of genocide can at least be fed. Because Taylor is a billionaire, she has the capacity to spare a few dollars to feed those who are starving like her celebrity peers – Gigi Hadid, The Weeknd, Dua Lipa etc.

This is especially important for Taylor because the IDF and the State of Israel use her and her music in their PR strategies (see their post about her bodyguard on the social media account of Israel). This is similar to when Trump and the Republicans actively used her in their PR strategies and spoke about how much they liked her and so she became a darling of the extreme Right. That was until she came out and said she was against white supremacy and showed public support for the Dems.

Finally, as @placeinthisworld so eloquently put it, “friendly reminder you can love taylor swift but still be critical about her silence about politics and current events because tbh it’s pretty obvious where her values lie now”.  Here are other Swiftie’s who are more articulate than me:

Anyway, I hope this answers the question of why her fans (including me) are disappointed in her decision to remain deathly silent on genocide.

[kallie-den]

Renewable Energy

Ziratha, an intrepid young succubus researcher, finds the ultimate solution to the looking Succubus Energy Crisis: a device that brainwashes its subjects back into nourishing, delicious, easily-flustered virgins - even rough, experienced, punk trans girls like Vivi

This was a delightful commission from GrillFan65, one of my patrons, and features a very, very fun TF ;)

If you enjoy my work and are looking for more, or you want to support me, I strongly encourage you to check out my Patreon! I write erotica full-time, which means I need your patronage to keep creating, and my Patrons also get benefits like early access to my stories, extra stories, and the ability to vote on what I write next! So, if that sounds good to you, head over and join the couple hundred patrons I already have :)

---

“Wow. This is a succubus’s lab?” The crust punk trans girl looked around Ziratha’s research laboratory and sniffed. “I would have expected more candles. Magic circles. Maybe a few jars of goat semen or something.”

Ziratha the succubus rolled her eyes as the punk laughed at her own bad joke. “That’s a stereotype. You’d think humans would know better now. We’ve been living amongst your kind for decades now, and-“

“And succubi are simply people just like us, living perfectly normal lives, except for the whole needing sex for subsistence thing,” the punk interrupted. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard the history lesson before.”

Ziratha had to suppress a groan. Alongside her PhD research, a full-time job in its own right, she worked part-time as an adjunct making minimum wage. She’d forgotten what a good night’s sleep felt like. Half her blood was coffee. She was way too tired for this.

Unfortunately for her, this punk girl - Vivi - was the best shot she was going to get at seeing her research reach fruition.

“Anyway,” Vivi piped up, “hurry up and tell me why I’m here already.”

“You’re here,” Ziratha replied tersely, “because I caught you breaking a window at the back of the lab. Probably looking for something to sell. And because if you help me out, I can delete the feed from the security camera. Got it?”

“A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” Vivi shot back. “HRT ain’t free, you know?”

Ziratha sighed. In truth, she didn’t hold the attempted theft against her. It was simply that the succubus really, really needed just one single research subject. One was surely all it would take to get the funding board to sit up and pay attention.

“So, c’mon,” Vivi insisted. “What do you need me to do?”

Ziratha took a very, very deep breath. “OK, let me explain. Firstly, what do you know about the SEC?”

Vivi sniffed. “Sounds familiar.

“The Succubus Energy Crisis,” Ziratha told her patiently. “We succubi depend on energy harvested from our sexual partners. You clearly know that much. However, what you may not know is that sexual energy isn’t a sustainable resource.”

“How’s that?” Vivi seemed more interested in scoping out Ziratha’s messy lab than in the answer.

“The amount of energy a succubus harvests from her partner is inversely proportional to their sexual experience,” Ziratha went on. Reciting this was practically automatic. She’d been over it a hundred times in class. “The potency of sexual energy declines after, well, sex. Especially sex with succubi. The more we take, the less they have to give. Sex with ‘well-used’ partners yields negligible energy - and furthermore, might actually kill the human.”

“OK.” Vivi laughed offhandedly. “So what? There will always be more virgins, right?”

“That’s what people used to say about coal and oil,” Ziratha pointed out. “As it turns out, no. Thanks to a declining birth rate, an increasingly sexualized culture, and a constant expansion of liberal sexual mores into untapped parts of the world, reserves are depleting faster than they can naturally refill. Humanity’s store of sexual energy is trending towards zero. Starvation for succubuskind.”

“Right…” Vivi said skeptically, before shrugging. “I don’t see what that’s got to do with me.”

“I was getting to that,” Ziratha retorted. “I’m working on a solution, OK? See, traditional succubic magiscience holds that the depletion of sexual energy following virginity loss is a spiritual-metaphysical phenomenon. In other words, completely and totally irreversible. But that’s bullshit!”

Vivi looked up sharply at the sudden outburst of passion from the succubus.

“Those idiots in the academy just don’t want to let go of their precious little doctrines!” Ziratha fumed. “They’d rather sink billions into pipe dreams than admit the textbooks could be wrong.  I mean, the SuperCharm Collider? Seriously? It’s a joke! But once I get my funding, I’ll be the one who’s laughing!”

She let out a loud, rich cackle worthy of her demonic forebears.

“See, my research indicates that the source of this problem is purely neural-psychological,” Ziratha ranted. “In other words: if you can turn back the clock on someone’s mind, you can completely refill their sexual energy. It’s a perfect solution. Renewable energy for all, forever. But the Institutional Review Board won’t give me the damn funding for a proper set of clinical trials.”

“Hold up,” Vivi broke in. “Are you about to tell me that I’m your guinea pig? And… you want to turn me back into a virgin?”

Ziratha grinned, her eyes flashing behind her nerdy glasses. “Exactly! Behold my Transcranial Magical Stimulation Unit. Which I expect to be known more widely as: the revirginization helmet!”

Reaching over to her workbench, she picked up something that looked halfway between an old VR headset and a military-issue tin foil hat.

Vivi folded her arms over her battle vest. “There’s no way I’m wearing that.”

“It’s safe!” Ziratha insisted defensively. “I made sure of it. If it wasn’t, this would kill my entire career.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Vivi replied, unconvinced. Then, she tilted her head to one side, and a crafty, dirty grin slowly spread across her face. “Hey. How about you and I go someplace comfortable and find a solution to a different kind of energy crisis?”

“Huh?” Ziratha blinked.

Vivi kept grinning and winked.

“Oh, I see.” Ziratha smiled wearily. “You want to have sex.”

Vivi giggled and nodded. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” the punk girl said, “but you look like you could do with a little top-off.”

Ziratha frowned. “Rude!”

In truth, though, she couldn’t be too offended. It had been a long time since Ziratha had fed properly, and it showed. Proper, nourishing partners weren’t easy to come by. Her deep red skin had taken on a slightly unhealthy pallor, her horns were nubs, and her tail was just a thin, dainty little thing. It was a far cry from the kind of overbearingly transhuman appearance succubi could have if they were permitted to glut themselves to their hearts’ content.

Admittedly, Ziratha wasn’t exactly playing to her own strengths. Instead of anything particularly alluring, she was dressed in the universal uniform of the overworked grad student: an old t-shirt, grey sweatpants and comfy sneakers, with a lab coat over top. Her hair was tied back in a hasty ponytail, her huge, round glasses made her look like exactly the nerd she was, and she hadn’t bothered with any makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes.

Beneath it all, though, she still had a killer body. She was still a succubus, after all.

“What do you say?” Vivi proposed. She glanced pointedly at Ziratha’s chest. “Wanna turn those C-cups into something bigger?”

Ziratha was surprised Vivi knew so much about how energy levels affected succubi. “You’ve slept with my kind before?”

“Sure have.” Vivi’s smirk was infuriatingly cocky. “A few times. And don’t worry - they were never disappointed. I know just how to treat a girl - mortal or demon.”

Ziratha rolled her eyes at the lewd comments, but she was smiling too. This made Vivi the ideal test subject. It was what Ziratha had been hoping for when she’d first laid eyes on her. Vivi was tall, hot, and confident, and while Ziratha knew better than to judge a book by its cover, Vivi did look like someone with a certain amount of ‘experience’.

She was pure punk, top to bottom. Vivi was wearing a battle vest covered in patches and spikes over a simple, loose-fitting top, and beneath the belt she had on a pleated skirt, some torn stockings, and an impressive pair of boots. A lot of the skin she was showing was covered in ink, and both sides of her head were shaven, leaving her with a messy streak of hair that was dyed neon blue.

Ziratha would have been pretty shocked if Vivi had told her she was a virgin.

“As attractive an offer as that is, I’ll have to decline.” Ziratha didn’t bother to conceal her weary sarcasm. “You’re a guinea pig.”

Vivi rolled her eyes. “Fine. I guess I can think of worse things than getting my ‘sexual energy’ replenished - whatever that’s gonna feel like.”

“Great. Great!” Ziratha immediately started ushering Vivi deeper into her lab before the punk could change her mind. “Take a seat, please.”

She gestured towards a chair that looked like it had been ripped out of a hospital examination room, with all kinds of wires and machines hooked up to it. Vivi glanced at the chair dubiously, but still moved to sit down.

“What’s all this, huh?” she asked, settling.

“Just monitoring equipment,” Ziratha explained. “Taking your vitals, measuring neural readings. That kind of stuff.”

“Nerd stuff, got it.” Vivi winked. “OK. I’m ready, I guess.”

Ziratha could barely contain her excitement. This was it. Her breakthrough. Her triumph. But the succubus was too much of a scientist to count her chickens before they hatched. “Here. Put this on.”

She handed Vivi the helmet she’d spent hundreds of hours designing and building. The punk looked at the strange, ramshackle device even more dubiously than she had at the chair, but she did as she was told. Once the helmet was properly adjusted, the screen mounted to it hung in front of Vivi’s face, obscuring most of her vision.

Ziratha tapped a few keys on her laptop and the screen came to life. A few lights and indicators on the helmet started to glow and flash, and the whole apparatus began to hum as the large capacitors mounted to it started to charge.

“Hey, so, how long is this going to take, anyway?” Vivi asked. The punk sounded a little less brash and a little more uncertain now. “Is this, like, some kind of long-ass meditation thing? Because I have places to be.”

“No, don’t worry,” Ziratha answered. “It’s much quicker than that.”

The succubus tapped a few more keys, checked a few readouts, and then hammered the space bar.

There was a huge, bright flash, like an old camera going off.

Vivi went still and stiff for a moment, and then groaned faintly.

“What the fuck?” she complained. “What… was that it?”

“That was it,” Ziratha confirmed. Her tail was very straight, and her voice was thick with anticipation. “How do you feel?”

“My head is throbbing.” Vivi slipped the helmet off her head and blinked as her eyes readjusted. “You could have given me some real warning, you know. So, did it work?”

Ziratha glanced at her laptop screen. “According to the diagnostics, it should have worked.”

“How’s my, uh, energy?” Vivi asked, a faintly mocking smile on her face. “Any of your fancy instruments tell you that?”

Ziratha simply returned the smile. “Oh, I don’t need any instruments for that at all.”

The succubus reached out and took Vivi’s hand, and let her demonic sixth sense for energy tell her everything she needed to know. Her smile immediately became a wide grin. Oh yes, it had worked. Succubi could always tell when someone would make a good meal. It was no different from any other predator’s sense of smell, although physical contact made it far more precise. Right now, Vivi had the scent of a ripe, untouched virgin.

This was it. The breakthrough Ziratha had long searched for. Her invention was about to change the world.

Despite such heady thoughts, though, Ziratha wasn’t celebrating. Something else had caught her attention. There was something very strange about the way Vivi was reacting.

The punk girl was trying not to let it show, but she kept squirming and shifting in her seat. A distinct pink blush was showing in her cheeks, and Ziratha could feel Vivi’s palm starting to turn hot and sweaty as they held hands.

The succubus tilted her head. Now this was very, very interesting.

“Vivi,” Ziratha said. “How do you feel now?”

Vivi couldn’t seem to meet her gaze. “I-I’m fine,” she blurted out in reply. “It’s nothing.”

Ziratha wasn’t buying that for an instant. She had a succubus’s instincts. She could tell when someone was seriously flustered. Experimentally, Ziratha lent in closer and squeezed Vivi’s hand.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Jeez!” Vivi’s voice was a little too strained. Under Ziratha’s watchful gaze, she twitched tellingly. “You’re just being kind of l-lewd.”

Lewd? Just by holding her hand? “Fascinating…” Ziratha murmured.

The succubus pulled away, allowing Vivi to breathe a sigh of relief, and inspected some of her equipment readouts more carefully.

“It clearly worked,” she said, as much to herself as to her test subject. “But there’s signs of something else, too… hey, Vivi. Remind me: you’ve had sex, right?”

In contrast to her earlier, cocksure attitude, Vivi now looked like a deer in headlights at the question. “W-w-well, yeah! Of c-course!”

“So your memory hasn’t been affected, just…” Ziratha murmured, before turning back to Vivi and clapping her hands. “I think I know what’s happened!”

“What?” Vivi demanded. “I mean, uh, nothing. Obviously. But what?”

“Just as I was hoping, my revirginizer helmet completely returned you to a virgin state regarding your reserve of sexual energy,” Ziratha explained. “But I theorize that it also affected some of your closely-related inhibitions, skills, and arousal responses.”

Vivi blinked. “And what does that mean? English please.”

“Well, do you remember being a blushing, nervous, inexperienced teenager, years ago? Remember how much ‘steam’ you had to blow off on a daily basis? Remember how it made you feel when a girl so much as looked at you?”

Vivi nodded, and waited for Ziratha to say something else. But when Ziratha just glanced at her significantly, the punk girl turned as white as a sheet.

“N-no way,” Vivi protested. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid so.” Ziratha giggled. “It’s all connected, it seems. Congratulations. In just about every way that counts, you’re a virgin again.”

Vivi turned from white back to red upon hearing the v-word said out loud. She made to stand up. “I-I can’t believe you did this to me. I gotta get out of here.”

“Wait, wait,” Ziratha urged. She moved to Vivi’s side and calmed her with a simple hand on her arm. “I should really run a few more tests. Just to make sure.”

The succubus’s nostrils flared. She was shocked at how potent Vivi’s energy now felt. It was palpable, even when they weren’t touching. She could sense it in the air. Clearly, she had to investigate further. All in the name of science, of course.

Vivi was back to looking flustered, but she still threw a mutinous glare at Ziratha. “Y-you’re crazy! I can’t believe I even…”

Ziratha swiftly decided that if the betterment of succubuskind wasn’t a good enough reason for Vivi, she’d have to resort to other forms of persuasion. She bent down at the waist, putting her face close to the punk’s, and made her eyes very big and alluring.

“Please?” she whispered, in a voice that was suddenly soft and intimate. “Won’t you stay with me?”

Vivi looked like her body temperature had just shot up ten degrees, and Ziratha noticed that she couldn’t seem to meet her gaze properly. The succubus was sure she wouldn’t have fallen for that five minutes ago, but now she was a total sucker. “S-s-sure,” Vivi managed, in a strained voice.

“Wonderful.” Ziratha licked her lips. The distinctive virgin-scent Vivi was starting to give off was just delicious. “These readings - and reactions - are extraordinary. And I’ve done nothing more than hold your hand.”

Vivi whimpered plaintively.

“I can’t help but wonder,” the succubus murmured, “what kind of yields you might produce with slightly more purposeful stimulation.”

Vivi’s eyes registered alarm but, before she could protest, Ziratha slipped closer and planted a kiss on the punk girl’s cheek.

Her reaction was as immediate as it was striking. Vivi let out a faint gasp and her back arched slightly, even though she was clearly trying as hard as possible not to show it. But even more striking was the intensified deer-in-headlights look in her eyes, like she was desperately struggling to figure out what this meant and what she should do about it, even as she was so devastatingly flustered she couldn’t even manage basic addition.

Ziratha’s nostrils flared again. This was amazing, and she was starting to become aware of just how long it had been since she’d had a real feeding.

“Wow,” she said teasingly, momentarily letting her instincts get the better of her. “Just from one little kiss, huh?”

Vivi whined indignantly. "I-it’s not… that’s… t-this is nothing!”

“Yeah?” Ziratha couldn’t resist a giggle. “It’s just so funny - you seemed so cocky before. So experienced.”

“I am experienced!” Vivi tried to insist. “I’ve f… um… fu… I mean, you know… I’ve had s-s-s-“

Ziratha’s grin just kept growing as she watched the previously fierce punk trail off, her blush growing steadily deeper as she struggled to bring herself to actually say it. The transformation was quite the sight to behold. She had to keep pushing Vivi further. She just had to. It was part of the experiment, somehow, she reasoned. The succubus took advantage of Vivi’s helpless spluttering to press closer still and put her lips right by her ear.

“Sex?” Ziratha breathed, pouring as much suggestion and seductive glee as she possibly could into that one, single word.

Vivi looked like she was about to explode.

“You see?” Ziratha drew back, smirking victoriously. “You’re not experienced. Not really. Not anymore. You can remember that you’ve had sex before - but that’s it. And you can barely even bring yourself to think about those memories, because you might get too worked up. Neither your mind nor your body knows how to handle it.” She giggled. “Typical virgin.”

“I-I’m not…!” For a moment she thought Vivi was about to start tearing up, but then the punk girl managed to rally herself. “Y-you’re just messing with me! That’s all! It’s your stupid little machine, making me all confused. T-that’s the only reason I can’t think straight right now. I’m not, um, w-worked up.”

“Yeah?” Ziratha challenged. “Then explain this for me, please.”

She reached down and rested her hand firmly on the big, unmistakable tent in Vivi’s skirt.

Immediately, Vivi went as white as a sheet. Clearly, until that moment, she hadn’t noticed the huge hard-on she was sporting. She attempted a protest, or perhaps an explanation, but all that came out was a few strangled, incoherent sounds.

“My, my.” Ziratha licked her lips again, without even realizing it. She was so very hungry. “You see? You’ve become so adorably excitable.”

Vivi whined as Ziratha started stroking her fingertips along the surface of her bulge. “Y-you can’t just… what the hell are you d-doing? This is harassment!”

“I’m a scientist, Vivi,” Ziratha chided, in a voice that made her sound anything but scientific. “After my experiment, it’s only natural for me to give you a nice, thorough examination.”

The punk girl let out another whimpered protest, seeming to sense Ziratha’s ulterior motive, but under the succubus’s ministrations that soon gave way to a weak, pitiful moan. The new virgin was like putty in Ziratha’s hands. The power, the energy, the scent - it was all intoxicating.

“In particular,” Ziratha decided, “I think it’s only proper that I get a reading on your, ah, endurance. I really think - I really do think - it could be very, very scientifically interesting.”

Science was increasingly slipping out of view. Ziratha’s gaze was set firmly on the huge tent in Vivi’s skirt, and it was getting harder and harder to think clearly. After a little teasing, that sweet, sweet virgin energy was coming off Vivi in waves. The laboratory was thick with its scent.

Vivi was still giving the succubus that achingly alluring deer-in-headlights look, but after a moment, her willpower started to wane. She nodded. Ziratha’s nostrils flared. That made sense too. What kind of virgin had the resolve to say ‘no’ to a succubus?

In exchange, Ziratha decided, maybe it was time to make good use of some of the inherent succubic talents she’d spent all of grad school neglecting.

Ziratha straightened up and, as Vivi watched, shrugged out of her heavy lab coat. As it fell to the ground, she reached up and removed her hair tie, shaking her head to make sure her hair cascaded down around her face. Vivi was all but hypnotized by the sight.

But that was only the beginning.

Next, Ziratha took her t-shirt by its hem and lifted it off over her head. She moved slowly, though, letting the helpless punk watching her savor the sight of her tummy and cleavage being revealed. The way she slipped out of her sweatpants was even more seductive. She made a dance of it, swinging her hips from side to side as she peeled them away from her body to expose her long, sculpted legs.

The striptease left Vivi with a little trail of drool escaping one corner of her mouth. She couldn’t seem to stop leering. Her eyes were shining like she couldn’t believe her luck, and the tent in her skirt was now marked with a growing spot of damp precum.

Underneath her clothes, Ziratha wasn’t wearing lingerie, merely a comfy sports bra and a matching pair of boxers. But that, she decided, was plenty to work with when it came to a virgin.

And from the look on Vivi’s face, she was right.

“Tell me,” Ziratha panted, “have you ever gotten a lap dance before?”

Vivi looked almost panicked as she shook her head.

“Great,” Ziratha purred. “Then I suppose this will be a genuine first.”

Effortlessly, the succubus eased her weight into the examination chair, and backed up inch by inch until her naturally huge, curvy ass was pressed right up against Vivi’s hard bulge.

Vivi squeaked like a mouse.

At this point, her every little noise and twitch was like a red rag to a bull. The newly-restored virgin’s scent was so thick in the air Ziratha could taste it. Her hunger was awakening instincts she’d never known she had. Moving to the sound of unheard music, she started grinding and gyrating like she’d been doing it all her life.

The effect the lap dance had on Vivi was nothing short of explosive.

The punk looked like every bit the virgin she now was. Her eyes were wide and practically bulging, and her mouth was contorted into a goofy, uneven shape halfway between an amazed grin and a look of desperate, anxious disbelief.

She looked like she was about to blow.

“C’mon,” Ziratha mocked, in a voice dripping with honey and brimstone. “You can do better than this, right, virgin?”

Her teasing elicited another strangled whimper that just made the succubus want to push Vivi further and further. She danced her way up the punk girl’s body and turned to face her, rolling her hips as she pushed her ass back out behind her to grind into her throbbing bulge.

“Be a good girl,” she teased. “Hold on a little longer for me.”

Vivi just nodded haplessly. Her eyes were scrunched up closed, and she was gripping the sides of the chair so tightly her knuckles had turned white. Ziratha could just imagine what was going on in her head. Baseball scores. Times tables. Whatever she needed to help not utterly humiliate herself.

“Let’s see if you can handle something a little more… direct.”

Ziratha arched her and straightened her tail, daring the virgin punk writhing beneath her to open her eyes and stare at her amazing tits. Then, she reached back and used her deft fingertips to unfasten Vivi’s skirt. Vivi let out a moan that was as much protest as eagerness, but it didn’t stop Ziratha from using the motion of her hips and thighs to slide the garment out of the way, and then pull aside her panties until her hard, leaking cock was completely exposed.

Zirath’s long, forked tongue lolled out of her mouth as she stared at it, dripping drool down onto Vivi.

She needed it.

“Good news, punk,” she breathed, shivering. “You’re about to get your cherry popped.”

“W-w-what?” Vivi exclaimed pitifully.

“It’s, uh, for the experiment,” Ziratha reasoned. She was frenzied as she tore off her bra and panties. “I need to sample, uh… and, well, get a reading on the volume of…” She rolled her eyes and licked her lips. “Actually, forget the science. I’m just hungry, and you’re ripe for the eating.”

“B-b-but!” the trans girl spluttered, as Ziratha positioned herself against her cock. “I-I don’t know if I’m ready yet!”

“Yeah?” Ziratha paused, bemused.

"I mean… uh…” A bashful look came over Vivi’s face. “It’s just… I maybe… I wanted it to be special. You know?”

“Oh my god.” Ziratha snorted a laugh, and grinned wickedly. “You are going to be just delicious.”

In a single motion, she dropped her hips and impaled herself on Vivi’s cock.

Immediately, Vivi’s voice shot up an octave, and she let out a girlish cry of absolute pleasure. Right after, Ziratha’s rich, gleeful moans joined the chorus. The succubus couldn’t believe how good the virgin’s cock felt. It wasn’t just the sensation. It was the sustenance. Merely being in Vivi’s presence for the last few minutes had made Ziratha fiercely hungry. Now, at last, that hunger was being sated.

Once she recovered from the initial hit, Ziratha started moving her hips and bouncing greedily on the end of Vivi’s shaft. With each bounce, the punk girl underneath her thrashed madly in a clumsy, instinctive attempt to meet Ziratha thrust for thrust.

She mostly failed. But the attempt, at least, was adorable.

As she rode the sensitive, inexperienced punk, Ziratha started howling with glee. She’d never had the pleasure before, but it was true what they said - there was nothing like milking a virgin. Her body was humming with energy, and every time she buried Vivi’s cock to the hilt inside her pussy, the sensation got sweeter and sweeter. Something about the flavor of a virgin’s energy was utterly transcendent, and it was made all more nourishing by what it represented.

Ziratha’s complete and total victory.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t long before Vivi’s moans started to peak, signaling that she was at the edge. Clearly, despite her memories, the virgin had absolutely no stamina. Ziratha wasn’t going to complain. The orgasm was the sweetest part of the meal.

“Go ahead!” Ziratha urged. “Blow your load already. We both know you can’t hold back anymore.”

With a cry of absolute, mortified bliss, Vivi exploded inside her.

Ziratha’s moans peaked too when she felt Vivi’s virile, nourishing cum paint her insides. It was better than anything she’d ever felt before. The power, the pleasure, the feeding - all of it. Ziratha could already feel her body priming itself to swell and change with the infusion of fresh energy.

The ecstatic rush of it made her greedy. She wanted more. She wanted it all. Ziratha squeezed down on Vivi and started riding her harder and faster than ever. Every bounce, every thrust, coaxed more and more sweet, sweet cum from the virgin’s cock, until Vivi was whining in blissful agony as she came down from the high of orgasm. Eventually, Vivi’s eyes rolled back  into her head and simply passed out, her mind overwhelmed past its limits by sheer pleasure.

Ziratha kept riding her all the same. The succubus didn’t stop until she’d milked her for every last drop.

Eventually, though, once her hunger was sated, she slumped down next to the punk girl, giggling intermittently in giddy, light-headed glee. The succubus’s head was already filling with daydreams of fame and wealth when Vivi came to and pulled her into a hesitant, needy embrace.

“Hey, u-um,” Vivi whispered earnestly, in a voice that was anything but punk. “W-was it good for you too?”

“Huh?” Ziratha roused herself. There was something strange about the way Vivi sounded. No; about the way she felt. Ziratha had expected her to start returning to something closer to her normal behavior.

“I-I-I just, uh…” Vivi was once again turning bright red. “I-I thought it was really special. You know? Like, um, maybe we really have a connection.”

Ziratha seized Vivi’s hand again and, as Vivi stared at her hopefully, paid close attention to what she could sense from the punk girl. When the penny dropped, she started cackling.

“Oh my god!” she howled. “I can’t believe it. You’re still the same way. As fresh as ever.”

“What do you mean?” Vivi sounded defensive.

“I’m definitely going to need to hold you for some… oversight observation. Just to make sure.” Ziratha licked her lips suggestively. “But I can already tell. It’s like your brain can’t adapt anymore. Not just your energy levels. Your social skills. Your inhibitions. Your stamina. Everything.”

“What?” Vivi pressed anxiously.

“It’s the revirginization,” Ziratha pronounced. “All of it. It’s permanent.”

***

Mere weeks later, it was a very different Ziratha that stood upon the stage to make her big pitch to a room packed full of succubus leaders and investors. It wasn’t just the confidence - although she had that in spades, now that her Nobel prize was apparently all but assured. Her body had changed too. She stood taller. Grander. She exuded power and presence, and all of her body’s assets had gone from merely ‘hot’ to inhumanly mouth-watering. Her horns were a massive, knotted crown upon her head, and her tail was as deft as a whip and as thick as an anaconda.

All thanks to her favorite little meal.

Vivi was standing a little way behind her on the stage, and while physically she was unchanged, she seemed to have shrunk just as Ziratha had grown. She exuded a fragile, nebbish submissiveness despite all tattoos and piercings. She wore a choker collar bearing Ziratha’s name around her neck, and she was wearing a dress.

Ziratha liked her that way. And Vivi was no longer able to argue with the succubus.

“So, as you can see from our data, our early clinical trials have borne out the most promising of my invention’s results,” Ziratha was saying, as she rounded off her speech. “The regression to maiden status is, both psychologically and metaphysically speaking, permanent. The process isn’t damaging, but the subject’s mind naturally sheds its ability to develop new sexual skills or comfort zones, physical or social. Accordingly, their energy levels remain at peak capacity and potency - forever.”

Ziratha paused for a beat, letting the crowd of succubi sitting in front of her drink that in.

“In short,” she concluded, “they’re helpless perma-virgins. Isn’t that right, Vivi?”

Vivi blushed an incredibly deep red and looked down at the floor, but nodded.

“So!” Ziratha clapped her hands. “It’s safe to say that we’re ready to move into pre-production. Soon enough, each and every one of you could have one of my devices in your very own hands - assuming you’re willing to provide me with funding, of course. What do you say, ladies? A future of infinite, renewable energy awaits us!”

As expected, the auditorium was immediately filled with thunderous applause.

The age of the Succubus Energy Crisis was over.

The age of perma-virgin mortals and succubus dominance was about to begin.

---

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[bloodandthestars]

request please for ex!miguel o’hara x spiderwoman reader, they have lots of romantic history from a long time ago but never told anyone (secret relationship rahhh) and Miguel ended up ending things because he has too much trauma baggage even though they have so much love for one another… but forward to current day (like when miles arrives), they always argue mainly in spanish and seem to be sworn enemies but still f buddies .. they jus so complicated 😭 love ur work sm btw <3

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄

tags: angst. angst as hell. no spoilers! spanish speaking gn!reader

hello all! sorry, i had to deal w the brainrot that is making a spidersona. time to get back to writing miguel! i orginally saw this style of hcs and fic from @loganlermanstanaccount and wanted to try my hand at it. i did take most parts of this request and ran with it so whoops. a part two is possible however. thank you for your request, and i hope you enjoy, darling. AND TY FOR LOVING MY WORK <3

wc: 3k masterlist. credits to the artist, tbd.

You tap away at a few screens on your multi-dimensional device, walking with a crowd through the Spider Society. Another day through the labyrinth, another day to deal with a whirlwind of anomalies. Not to mention the unlimited number of Spider-Men who all need direction, and who better to carry that on his shoulders than your ex, Miguel O'Hara?

You were there since the beginning of the Spider Society through an ill-fated glitch. How Ironic, hm?

Miguel was in the middle of putting together his control center. His platform was being installed, all by his working hands.

Your arrival almost took his heart out of his chest— a whirl of colors splashing behind him not getting his attention until there was a loud *CRASH!*

He turns around, approaching the scattered heaps of documents and boxes of materials like a wary animal. White papers fell around your arching figure when he finally sees you.

You catch his eyes and he catches yours, causing him to lower the wrench that was tight in his grasp.

Jessica comes into the space, as do a few others that were starting recruits. “What the hell-? What happened, Miguel?”

“Miguel!” The second calling of his name catches his attention to Jessica. He looks to her then down to you.

You run your fingers through your hair, eyes unfocused to be swallowed in your thoughts. You continue on your way through the amalgamation of paths, twists and turns past many who do the same as you: stop the anomalies, putting the universe first. Those ideals were drilled in from the very beginning. Since you saw the effects of it firsthand, you were all for the cause.

Safe to say you were an easy addition to the team.

At first, you wanted to just find a way home. That’s what would come first. Miguel didn’t mind that. If you weren’t here to stay, then why bother with the insignificant?

That was until an emergency hit the infant spider society on all sides

Your ears were pierced with screams of fear as soon as you pushed through the portal. You looked around frantically at what you could through the rushing crowd. It was another version of Paris, with the Eiffel Tower replaced with a large monument made of stone. Not many places to attach webs in an open area. Shit.

Miguel barks out orders to the other two Spider-people on the scene. When his eyes look at you, they narrow. You immediately tense. Was it a fight you were preparing for? You didn’t have time to think about it when a device was thrown your way. You catch it with ease— an item to wear around your wrist.

And before he thwiped away you hear: “If you’re going to be here, you might as well be useful.”

You weren’t sure whether to take that as a vote of confidence or not— you go with not.

A version of the Goblin, made of some kind of glass crystal material. His hoverboard emitted light on himself that he uses to his advantage to blind others when they get close.

The searing white obstructed the vision of one Spider-person, causing them to misplace a step on the monument. Webs snap under the concrete they were trying to keep from falling. Your stomach turned— it was time for action.

Using your webs on the crumbling monument, you catapulted yourself to the solid rock. Webs sprouted from your capsules and slid under the concrete. Before the rock’s weight can take you down entirely, you shot out a web to the top of the monument and pulled as much as your strength could muster.

You could your veins pulse as you held on. People scattered as much as they can before the webs bounce under the heavyweight. A man tried to help his wife up from a broken ankle. If they didn’t move from the area, an ankle wouldn’t be the only thing that was broken. Or worse, and you couldn’t have that.

The tendrils of your webbing began to snap, maybe you could try to web more before it—

Red lining shoots out, going under the rock to give support. Miguel skid to a stop next to you, ordering through gritted teeth. “Go!”

You dove down from above, bouncing off the piece and webbing the couple’s backs. You gave a sharp pull. They whisk by and into your arms as you slide to a stop. Miguel can see there are no civilians in the way and let's go with a gasp of air.

Your eyes snapped to the piece of concrete as it falls. When it gets closer to the ground, you webbed over to it to break it to pieces— lessening its impact when it falls.

Within a second of catching your breath, Your gaze went back up to Miguel’s. He gave you a short nod. You returned it, pulling a web out to join the fight at the top of the monument.

From there, you’ve been a part of the team. Starting on small missions and quickly going from there.

Your wrist device lights up and captures your attention. Miguel’s unmasked face looks at you with a hardened look. “I’ll need your assistance with an anomaly case. You know where to go.”

And that’s exactly how he speaks to you now. Straight to the point, no time for idle chit-chat. You exhale through your nose. “Alright.”

Returning from the attack for the Goblin, You and Miguel caught your breath once the portal closed.

You glanced over to Noir and Jessica, who had the said anomaly tied and ready to be contained.

“You sure disco ball over there is secure?” You asked dusting off your suit. “Yes.” Miguel responded. “Good enough excuse to see how our holding pods will work.”

You gave a nod, looking off to see them take the Goblin away. You caught “Now as for adjustments…” from the voice next y to you and turn. You thought he was talking to you, but instead, he had a hand over his mouth. It took you a moment to realize what he was muttering to himself.

“¿Te balbuceas a tí mismo todo el tiempo?”

Miguel’s head snaps over to you with wide eyes. They turn slender in slight curiosity. “¿Hablas español?”

You gave him a light shrug, but the smirk on your face was evidence enough for him. You were close to tensing under his gaze— until he let out an amusement huff.

“¿Qué otras cosas guardas bajo la manga?”

“No te puedo revelar todos mis trucos, ¿o si?” You gave him a small smile.

He returned it.

Now, Miguel looks at you sternly before his image flickers out. You click your tongue, beginning to make your way to his control center.

You had dated for two years— entirely in secret, mind you.

There was the important cause for safety, but another excuse was simply because the seclusion suited you both.

As the day went by, you were two colleagues. Side by side on a mission, working with each other going off of a few glances.

If you desired to speak to only each other, you'd speak in Spanish. A passing compliment, a question on anomaly details, what to have for dinner that night. The world didn't exist then.

By night, a gentle hand would rest on Miguel’s shoulder, causing it to lose its built tension. In the quiet of the space, you’d whisper. “Let’s get some rest.”

At first, it would take some coaxing but as time went on, he would be by your side before you could get the words out.

Your place or his, it was a switch between the two. Either way, you’d feel the weight of his body sink into yours. All his exhaustion comes to fruition behind closed blinds.

Sometimes if it weighed too much, you’d fall onto the couch with your suits still on. If he had a bit of energy, you’d get out of them and then take loaded steps towards the bedroom.

Your favorite nights were when he fell asleep before you. A chuckle escapes your lips when you turn back, only to see him sound asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Gently, you’d brush his strands from his face, bathing in the rare sight that was a calm expression. The tips of your fingers graze the strong height of his cheek, lingering there as if to savor the moment a bit longer.

It was in these secluded moments that you’d pull the cover over his scarred back. Where you’d lay next to his larger figure, close but barely touching. Fingers grazing each other at best.

His struggles with opening up weren’t anything new to you. It took a lot of power to be vulnerable, to take that chance. So you took it one step at a time.

Those days weren’t long gone, however, you both made progress as time went by.

Fingers grazing each other became hand-holding. Hand holding then turned into him capturing your body in one swoop of his arm and securing you to his form.

And it was here you felt the most secluded. Because only you could see that neutral expression of sleep turn into a relaxed one. Where you could feel his need through the grip of his arm in the depths of the night, and not tell a soul.

He could have called anyone else. It's a proposition that only occurs to him after he makes communications with you. By the time you show up in his space, the idea is long forgotten.

Miguel turns around just in time to see you arrive. You lean your weight on your foot, hip out with a hand resting on it. “What’s the situation, O’Hara?”

O’Hara. He would have thought that sting would numb away by now.

You swing up to his platform, catching your landing out of the corner of his eye. With a few buttons pressed on the hologram, he swipes it in your direction without looking at you. “We got an anomaly on the move. Lyla’s attempting to track it now using the intel gathered.”

Your hand stops the hologram, opening it with your palm. In a gold hue, an image of a Mysterio lights up. A model of him spin for your view, some kind of blue flame for a head. Details of his face were in the fire, filled with an ego that seemed to span many universes.

“I remember this one.” You say, fingers swiping through logs. You stop at one, then push it in his direction. “Android from Earth 1610. Not his first time trying his hand at this.”

“You’ve been dealing with him before?” Miguel asks with sternness in his voice. He knew it was there and ever evident.

From your tone, it seems you caught it too. “From his glitch into a different universe. We returned him back to his own but it looks like he’s trying his hand at multiverse travel.”

The taller man scoffs, muttering under his breath. “Great.”

To no one’s surprise, you picked that up. Your voice grew in intensity. "What?”

Miguel finally turns around. With stern eyes, he looks at you and his stomach feels like it’s gotten hit with a ton of bricks. It’s exactly what he was afraid of, hence him never sparing you a glance when called to his station. It didn’t show on his face however, he wouldn’t allow it to.

“That means it could have gotten handled ages ago by simply sticking him somewhere he couldn’t get out.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “That was the beginning, we didn’t know any better. Now we do. It’s called growth, Miguel.”

He held the audacity to roll his eyes. You’re quick to speak. “We don’t expect them to become nuisances.”

“But it could’ve been avoided.”

“Of course, it could have. Emphasis on could. It’s just something we couldn’t predict.”

“Oh? Really?” A bit of edge appears in his voice again. “He’s a villain! It’s second nature!”

You take a step up to him, finger pointed in his direction. “We followed your protocol! You can’t predict everything, Miguel!”

You were there for the best parts

And you were there for…for the worst parts

The parts where in the thresholds of sleep, you swore you could hear him mutter her name, and his arm clutch around you even tighter.

The parts that were once fruitful moments of communication, ended in distance due to his growing anger.

The parts that held you both up at night, Miguel finding another thing to pick apart, to worry about, to enclose you from.

A picture of two you couldn't see. A toy box collecting dust in his apartment closet.

You were there…till the very end.

“Miguel, I just don’t understand why this is an issue.” You hold the bridge of your nose before letting go and addressing him with unwavering eyes. “Noir says you’ve been at this for months, we have a lead-”

“Into a universe that is on the brink of collapsing!” “That’s why the anomaly would go! To hide in plain sight of a possible disaster!”

“No, absolutely not.” Miguel shook his head, already final in his mind. “One wrong move and you’ll end up like-” It was like all the color drained from his face.

“Like who, Miguel?”

Your question stopped him cold, hard eyes glancing at you. “You know who.”

He pushed away the thought of you hearing him in his sleep when the sun comes up. But deep down he always knew. He always knew that you knew something was going on with him. And he could see that you were trying so *hard* to be patient with him.

With every frustrated huff to end the conversation, every turn away from you, you were unmoving. Waiting. Giving him all the time in the world that deep down, he knew he didn’t deserve.

This conversation ends like the others, with a clenched jaw wanting to spill out everything he can but never finding the words to do so. Leaving you there in the dead silence where you feel the most alone.

You shut your eyes, trying not to waste any more tears on another fruitless conversation. A sigh slips past your lips. “I can’t keep doing this, Miguel.”

His head looks back to you with wide eyes. Those eyes slowly narrow, with words coming out like the very venom he creates. “Then leave.”

Those words still pierce your heart as if it was yesterday. You shut your eyes, shaking your head to push the familiar feelings from bubbling in your chest. Even with the attempt of calm, he persisted.

“No. I can’t.” He sounded like he was just saying it just to say it. “But I sure as hell can prevent potentially dangerous messes from coming back— like this one!”

Emotion erupts inside you all over again, breaking what little restraint you put together. Like a twig snapped under the slightest edge of pressure. You fell into that same routine all over again. “You’re being completely unreasonable to the people who-"

He held the bridge of his nose, voice not losing its hard edge. “Do you remotely have an idea of how many anomalies have to be taken care of in a week? In a day? When I want something taken care of, I expect it to be.”

“You’re always expecting perfection, some kind of straight path you can control. Is that why you got rid of me-?”

Your gasp quickly stops you from speaking further— but it was already too late. Miguel’s eyes snap up to you, wide at your exclamation. You place a hand over your mouth with panicked eyes. The silence was what made it worse, feel it wrap around your neck and cause a hard, painful lump in your throat. You know he watches as you turn away from him.

“Then leave.” Those words still plague his mind as if it was yesterday. As if he didn’t have enough piling onto his shoulders, he had to go and lose you too. The one thing that—some days—was keeping that very mind together.

Something aches within him. His heart grows heavy in its weight. He turns his head, closing his eyes to take a breath. Many things haunted him, whether it be his own failings or the atrocities he’s seen throughout dimensions. He didn’t expect to, nor never wanted to add you to the list. You became another person that slipped from his fingertips.

You take a deep breath, wiping your face with a shaky hand. When you turn back, he’s collected himself. His gaze was now devoid of frustration as it was set upon you. Instead, it was filled with something else, something different. You exhale to make your brain know to say something. Miguel parts his lips. In a soft mutter you begin to recognize, he says. “I didn’t get-"

Your senses go off, turning your body away from his to see Peter B. and one of Jessica’s come around the corner. Your eyes remain on them, forcing themselves onto them. You calm your breathing with a hard swallow. Miguel felt something twist in his stomach once you turn away. A heaviness weighed at his tongue, lips still parted for what he wanted to tell you. But you had eyes on you now, curious looks that could grow into something more if he didn’t follow your lead.

He blinks a few times, turning to face the other two Spider-people with a locked jaws. How’d he’d be able to speak with his throat feeling non-existent was a feat in itself. Your eyes are kept to the ground until you take a deep breath. They raise, your feelings being pushed down once again. And you stand next to each other, with what felt like a world’s distance between you, miraged by only a couple feet.

taglist: @manchuria @kokomaii @rea-zxv @vvitcxen @pooiooi @jowtaro @miguelsfangs @vegas-writing-den @m150-50up

“¿te balbuceas a tí mismo todo el tiempo?” — you mumble to yourself like that all the time?

“¿hablas español?” — you speak spanish?

“¿qué otras cosas guardas bajo la manga?” — just what else do you have up your sleeve?

“No te puedo revelar todos mis trucos, ¿o si?” — I can’t just reveal all my tricks to you, now can I?

[arabian-batboy]

you do realize that jill stein basically is in with the russians and is in putin’s back pocket? she’s practically a russian asset. it’s so obvious that she doesn’t truly understand or cares about how the us political system works and opts to speak political misinformation. if she truly wants to be a good candidate she needs to start at the local governments rather than jumping into the presidential ballot every four years to basically steal votes? she’s just appropriating the current movements that would potentially give her some votes without an actual plan for anything. she’s “anti war” but takes money from lockheed martin? be so fr rn now.

what’s her plan for a ceasefire? a two party state does she understand how the government would come to that? she’s antivax and spreads conspiracy theories - one of the reasons why we even lost in 2016 is bc of people like you voting for her.

it’s unfortunate, believe me, that we even have a two party system. i hate it but that’s simply how the government works and there’s nothing we could do to change that right now, but if you’re voting for hee then you’re voting against women and the lgbt and poc in the us as well. if trump does end of winning this election bc of voters who vote third party, like how he won in 2016, the us is going to be so much worse than what we could possibly ever imagine. there’s so much at stake this election cycle it’s mind boggling.

if she really wanted to be president, she’d start at local elections and work her way up rather than just jumping onto certain states ballots every four years for the presidential election tbh.

You got proof that she receives millions of dollars from Russian lobbies? Because there's proof that Kamala, Biden and Hilary all received millions of dollars from Israeli lobbies in the form of AIPAC publicly announcing that they use lobbying money for them without any shame, they literally don't try to hide it. Yet I don't see you rushing in to call them or any other AIPAC's recipients an 'Israel's asset" or accuse them of being in Bibi's back-pocket......even though they are.

Here's a video of Stein's fundraiser director debunking her receiving money from Lockheed Martin: X

Trump was the first person to become a US's president without any political or military history, people thought it was just a joke when the funny old man from Celebrity Apprentice ran for office yet he won and there's a chance he will win again, so I don't see why holding any local government should be obligatory for 3rd party before jumping straight into the presidential ballot.

I already said everything I wanted to say about voting for 3rd party here X, frankly I have no interests on putting Stein on a pedestal or convincing others that she's a morally good person, all I care about is that she does the bare minimum of "doesn't unconditionally support a genocide against my people" and is the only 3rd party candidate who has any chance of winning, so that's more than enough for me.

But back to you, everything you said is so fucking narcissistic, telling people that are dying that its "simply how the government works and there’s nothing we could do to change that right now" must be easy for you to say because you're not the direct victim of the US's imperialism, but its not our fault that you're such a spineless complicit who believes the US simply can not exist without genocidal war-criminals running the government at all time and everyone who suffers from it should shut up and stop being an inconvenience because things will not change for them and instead they should put your needs and wants before their very lives.

Through-out human history many empires that were considered the strongest in the world came and went, the US empire isn't an exception and if it can't change from within then eventually it will be forcibly changed from the outside and its mostly likely the latter, since asking you to grow a conscious is asking for too much.

Also I just don't understand why you people talk about women, people of color and gay people as if they only exist in the US or that them living in the US while Republicans are in office is somehow worse than living in a country that is currently being bombed by the US? Democrats' bombs kills women, Democrats' bombs kills people of color, Democrats' bombs kills LGBT community, matter of fact Democrats' bombs kills as many people as Republican bombs do, so explain to me how things will be worse for women/PoC/LGBT exactly if the Republican win? Because Republican were in office from 2017 to 2021 and I didn't see minorities in the US being indiscriminately killed by the thousands in day-light without any repercussions for their murder, but they are being killed overseas, both by Republican and Democrats while you are here busy making up cartoonishly-evil scenarios about how the things that are happening to them will happen to you if people vote 3rd party and the Republicans win because of that.

Spoiler Alert: No it will not, you will continue living a safe peaceful life in a developed nation without having to fear 60,000 tons of bombs being dropped on you while you're hiding in a tent in a refugee camp or searching for food among rubble regardless of who wins, whether its the red, blue or green party. So at the very least vote for a 3rd party so that other people from other countries will enjoy the same privilege as you instead of making up ridiculous stories about how all of your human rights will be stripped away if the blue war-criminal wasn't in office so therefore those annoying victims of war should be quiet and dare suggest the heinous crime of voting for a 3rd part.

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Turmoil; Chapter 2

Roman Roy x Reader

slowburn romantic drama

a/n: I’m so glad you guys love this as much as I do!! kisses, enjoy x

Word Count: 2.313k

The Waystar building is daunting. It makes you queasy- not because of the architecture, but because of the people in it. You’re in Kendall’s office, his blinds drawn shut. You’ve been pacing for so long you think you’re going to wear a hole in the floor. Roman lounges on an armchair, his legs hanging over one of the armrests.

“You need to tell me everything you know about your father’s criminal history. It’s the only way out. Throw him in jail before he can do it to me. And then he’s rendered unfit to run Waystar and it goes to Kendall.”

Roman is playing with a tennis ball, tossing and catching it methodically. “He took Kendall out the will and replaced him with Marcia.”

Kendall sinks in his chair. “You could’ve told me that earlier.”

“Anyway, we all know my dad’s 100% a criminal. He just has so much money there’s practically no witnesses nor any evidence,” Roman continues. “We have to catch him with his pants down.”

“But in the act of what? We can’t just watch him 24/7/365. It’s not feasible,” you reply.

“Okay, do you have any better ideas?”

“We bait him. Is it unethical? Probably. But I think we’re all past that.”

Kendall gets up and goes to stare out the window overlooking the city. “You think maybe he’s laundered money?”

“What do you think he had to clean the money from?”

“Prostitutes,” Roman says confidently.

“That’s not illegal, genius.”

“Where’s your imagination, Y/N?”

You continue your pacing. “Let’s go down the list. Tax evasion? He wouldn’t go to jail for that.”

“Even if he did, he’d be evading an entire $2 in taxes. The bracket distribution is fucked,” Roman points out. “He covered up Connor’s property fraud. Shouldn’t that be enough?”

“It would be if we had concrete proof. Connor’s never going to testify and tell the truth, and I doubt we can find whoever he paid to forge the deed.”

Kendall shrugs. “I’ll try anyway.”

“We could try to get a confession,” you say. “But if he had a crazy enough attorney, it might not hold up in court.”

Roman rolls onto his side, staring at you. There’s no way that can be comfortable. “Why not?”

“It’s the twenty first century, Roman. He can claim that it was AI generated using his voice from speeches posted online. The only way it’d work is if he confessed on the stand.”

He throws you a dirty look. “Quit shitting on my ideas.”

“It wasn’t your idea. Plus, I’m just doing what any attorney with a brain would do,” you retort. “Your dad clearly has the money. He’ll probably find someone who’s thirty times the lawyer I am.”

“You’ll be fine,” Kendall assures you.

A knock on the office door interrupts your erratic pacing. Kendall opens it, allowing Siobhan to storm in. “He knows,” is all she says.

“Good afternoon,” Roman drawls in response.

“Congrats on your engagement party,” she snaps back.

“Party?” you ask.

“Your father in law is throwing you an engagement party in Norway.” She gives your arm a squeeze. “And I have to go.”

“Aww, I love you too, Siobhan,” you say sarcastically.

“It’s nothing against you. And call me Shiv. We’re friends.” She throws herself onto the couch. “I’m supposed to meet with a bunch of people here so that they can start digging. But not if I’m in Norway.”

“I can-”

“Your attendance is required as well, Kendall.”

“…Is Greg’s?” he asks. Shiv’s face splits into a small smile.

“I think he’ll forget about Greg. But none of us can ask him.” She turns to you. “Y/N?”

“I don’t even know who Greg is.”

“He works here. You can’t miss him, he looks like an egg,” Roman supplies.

Shiv nods. “He’ll have people start digging while we’re abroad, we get a head start without him being able to cover anything up.”

“We still haven’t figured out what to do about Marcia’s being the heir,” Roman says, going back to sitting lopsidedly on the chair and tossing his tennis ball.

“Vote of no confidence, I guess. Who’re the board members?” you ask.

“Me, Roman, Gerri, Frank, Karl, my dad, and five other partners. And you, now, I think.” Kendall sits back down, then gets back up, only to sit back down again.

“Do you think we can swing the votes our way?”

“How?” Kendall drops his face into his hands.

“He needs to do something dumb in public,” Roman says. “I dunno, like be racist.”

“Is he…?” You look incredulously at Roman.

“Probably.”

”We can’t bank on him probably being racist. Members of the board, vote him out, he maybe hates foreigners.” You sigh. “I need a break. I’m going to go get sweets or something.”

“Bring me back a cheesecake and I’ll kiss you,” Shiv replies.

“Back off, Shiv. That’s my fiancé,” Roman says sarcastically.

“Kendall?” You ignore Roman, still lounging on the armchair.

“Um, a cupcake? Chocolate?”

“I’ll be quick.” You make your way through the office bullpen before Roman catches up to you.

“Hey, wait. You didn’t ask what I wanted,” he says, walking backwards in front of you.

“Good job, you noticed!” you say bitterly. He rolls his eyes.

“Let me come with you?”

“Will you be quiet?”

“No.”

“Then also no.”

You wait for an elevator with Roman right at your side. “You’re a jerk. We’re supposed to be a team.”

“You’re the one who’s made it clear that there’s no ‘we’ in any situation.”

“What, you want us to be exclusive? Can’t get any more exclusive than engaged, and you that’s what we are, baby.”

☾𖤓

Later that day, you’re in your office at your firm. After you and Roman had gone back to Waystar, you’d gotten a call from your assistant saying that someone was at her desk demanding to see you. You’d weaseled your way to your office and asked her to send whoever it is in.

Connor comes storming in, the girl he was with at the party awkwardly in tow. “We want a lawsuit.”

“Hello, Connor, I’m doing fine, thanks for asking!”

“My girlfriend, Willa, and I are staying at a hotel while our house in the country gets renovated.” Without asking, he sits in one of the chairs in front of your desk. Willa stands silently behind him. “I took took our valuables from home and gave them to the staff, who said they’d hold them in the hotel vault and keep them safe. We went back last night and, lo and behold, everything’s been stolen.”

You stare at him blankly. “You’re wasting my time, Connor.”

“I’m being serious,” he exclaims dramatically. “Her diamonds and gold were taken, along with my best watches.”

You sigh. “I’ll have one of my associates take this. This is an easy suit, Connor.”

“You’re going to do it.”

You get up from your desk. “Why, pray tell, would I do that?”

“Because I have leverage. And I need the best on the case. This has to go through.”

“Excuse my language, but a fucking toddler could win this. It’s negligence- innkeeper’s law. They put your stuff in their vault, it got stolen, they’re liable. Case closed.”

You try leaving, but Connor’s immediately up and blocking your way. “No. You’re doing it, or I tell the papers.”

You scoff. “Fucking fine. Do you have pictures of everything that was stolen?” Connor smiles, satisfied with himself. “Images from the companies you bought the junk from is fine. Have it on my desk with your hotel reservations by tomorrow. I’m not going to spend too much time on this.”

He blocks your way again. “Thank you.”

“Bye,” you say, gesturing your office door. After Connor leaves, Willa shuffling behind him, Roman takes his place, collapsing into a chair. “When’d you get here?”

“Like ten minutes ago. Connor was stomping around like a toddler. What’d he want?”

“A bunch of stuff got stolen while he’s staying at the hotel. He wants to file a lawsuit through me.”

“He’s trying to waste your time,” Roman says matter-of-factly. “He knows the four of us are gunning for Dad, and by proxy, him, because Dad is the one protecting his ass.”

“What does Connor own that would be damaged by Logan leaving?”

“He’s a shareholder. If you oust Dad, he probably goes too, just to save face.” He kicks his feet up onto your desk. “And he’s just annoying like that. You know he pays that girl to be with him?”

You wince. You don’t want to think about that. “Why are you here?”

“I can’t come visit my fiancé?”

“No.”

“Too bad. Waystar’s hosting a charity dinner tonight. Or, technically, we are.”

“We?”

“Our first public apparence together. Isn’t it romantic?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You don’t have the mental capacity for this. “Okay. Do you know what you’re wearing?”

“Same thing I always wear. Dress pants and slacks.” He gets to his feet. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, anyway. It’s just a bunch of corporate wannabes kissing my ass so that they can move up in the company.”

“Because your ego needs it.”

You manage to go home and change before Roman picks you up. Rather, the driver does. Both of you sit wordlessly in the back, until he tells you, “You look nice all dolled up.”

“I don’t look nice usually?”

“That’s not what I- never mind.”

Feeling bad, you glance at him. “You look nice, too.”

When you pull up at the venue, Roman scoots until he’s pressed up against the door and takes your hand, pulling you against him before opening the door and stepping out with you behind him.

The paparazzi is as aggressive as always, and you know you’re getting sick of it. When you’re both safely inside, he lets go of your hand. “I’m gonna go drink an excessive amount and pass out behind a curtain.”

You watch him wind into the crowd. You hope he’s joking.

Roman was right, earlier. This wasn’t the sort of charity dinner where people actually donate to charity- this was purely social.

You find Shiv by herself in a corner and join her. “I fucking hate these,” she tells you. “They could at least pretend to be here for a noble cause.”

You two spend the half hour before dinner chatting among yourselves in the corner. You thankfully veer away from talking about work and the clusterfuck that you’ve gotten yourselves into and instead idly discuss anyone and everyone you both see.

When you’re called to be seated for dinner, you peer at the the seating chart indicating that Shiv’s on your left with Roman on your right. You and Shiv take your seats, Roman nowhere to be seen. 10, 20 minutes pass.

“This is normal for him,” she tells you, in between bites. “He’s probably blackout drunk somewhere.”

“In public?”

She nods.

Once dinner is over, the crowd goes back to mingling. Shiv has to step away to talk to some client of hers, and while she’s gone, someone taps on your shoulder.

“You’re a pretty face I haven’t seen before.” It’s an old man. A very old man.

You try to just ignore him, making your way to the refreshment table and plucking a chocolate from a tray. He follows you anyway.

“What’s your name? What do you do at Waystar?”

You give him a dirty look and continue your inspection of the refreshments.

“You’re a feisty one, then?” He laughs, and it makes your skin crawl. “I like a challenge.”

You give him another look and round the table. “I have much better wine at my place. Much better than the garbage they serve here. Much.”

He follows you despite your pretending like he doesn’t exist. “I can tell you’d be a good time.”

Before you can do something rash, a warm hand goes to sit on your hip, grounding you. You smell his cologne before you realize it’s him.

“Figures you don’t know how to take no for an answer with all the whining you do to me for a promotion.” Roman pulls you flush against him. “Are you trying to fuck my girl?” Before the man can say anything, Roman interrupts. “The answer is no. And there’s also no showing your face here, or at Waystar, ever again. I’ve been looking for a reason to fire you. You were never an asset.”

He scuttles off, and Roman slumps against you, arm still hooked around your waist. “Are you drunk?” you ask him.

“Very,” he responds.

“I think it’s past your bedtime,” you tell him. “Can we go home?”

Arrangements had been made for you and Roman to start living together in a cozy apartment secluded from the rest of the city. You weren’t mad about it, really. You just hope Roman isn’t a slob.

“Tell what’s-his-face to pull the car up. I’m going to puke in my shoes.”

When you’ve sat down, Roman sets his head in your lap and stretches out along the back seat.

“How much did you have to drink?” you ask stiffly.

“Lots and lots.” He presses his face into your stomach. “Before we left, I had a lovely conversation with my dad. Told me how much of a fuck up I was, how you’re the only right decision I’ve ever made. And it’s not even true. I didn’t want this.”

You give his shoulder an awkward rub. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re involved in this. I should’ve known, way back then.”

“The worst part is, Y/N, as much as I try to hate you and blame you for this shit show, I can’t. You’re innocent. You’re a damn good lawyer that was just doing her job. And it pisses me off that you’re so fucking pretty, because I can’t have you, but I want you so bad.”

[fruitcoops]

i just reread "big head" and laughed my ass off, will you do another ego award one pretty pleeeeeaseee? (only if you want of course :))

One of my favorites! Character credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

(Part 1: Big Head)

“The 2022-2023 hockey season has officially wrapped,” Talker announced as he walked backward down the hallway of Gryffindor Arena. “This team had a run for the history books and everyone is so proud—and so grateful—to have such outstanding fans there with us every step of the way. We truly could not have done it without you.

“As a ‘thank you’ for everything you’ve done for us this year, we’d like to continue a very special end-of-season tradition: the Ego Award. Some of you may recall our reigning champion, Heartthrob O’Hara himself, and his fabulously embarrassing stories from last year.” He paused just outside the locker room with a significant look toward the camera. “Those may be big shoes to fill, but rest assured we have found the one person who can literally and figuratively get the job done. Behold.”

He swept the door open with one hand and chaos spilled out in a rush.

“Read it! Read it! Read it!” half the room chanted.

“Eat it! Eat it! Eat it!” the other half cheered.

“I can’t,” came Leo’s distressed answer, red all the way from his ears to his neck as he gripped a wrinkled piece of notebook paper. “You guys, this is such a—”

“Gentlemen!” The room fell silent as Talker spread his arms with a wide smile. “Welcome to the 2023 Ego Award, hosted by yours truly and bestowed upon our sweet baby net angel, the Nutcracker.”

“It’s Knut,” Leo said miserably. “Like the lizard.”

“Hush, Crunchy Peanut Butter. Do you have your punishment prepared?”

Leo turned baleful eyes on the camera. He looked rather like a puppy that had been put outside in the rain, hunched in his stall and surrounded by his carrion-bird teammates. “Save me.”

“Saviors are for the humble. You, sir, were voted off that island. Read.”

“Oh, god,” Leo mumbled under his breath as he unfolded the paper. In the corner of the frame, Finn watched him with unhindered glee. “My name is Leo Knut, and these are my top five most humbling moments with the Gryffindor Lions. Because clearly I don’t suffer enough for this team.”

“Keep that up and you’re getting the Potty Mouth Award, too,” Talker warned.

“You can’t—” Leo rolled his eyes. “Fine. Number five: trying to drink out of the wrong side of my waterbottle.”

“How many times?” Finn prompted eagerly.

“Once.”

A chorus of protests rose up—Leo pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Nine times. Shut up. Number four: losing a kitten in my shirt when we had a shelter visit."

"Two kittens," Sirius corrected. "One went up your pant leg."

"Oh my god, can you not?"

“That one was delightful,” Kasey agreed, nodding along. “Just—honestly, one of my favorite memories.”

Leo smoothed the edge of the page, nose wrinkling like he had smelled something unpleasant. “Is it too late to eat the paper?”

Remus tsked. “We gave you a chance. Not our fault you chose the most painful path.”

A rogue socked foot came into frame and poked Leo on the shin. “Read, Butterball.”

“Number three,” Leo continued, tilting his face to the ceiling in a clear bid for strength. “Getting stuck jumping the boards, falling back onto the ice, slipping when I got up again, and only making it over successfully with the help of two different people dragging me over the edge.”

“Like hauling a bag of bricks,” Logan mused from his place on the floor.

Dumo nodded solemnly. “Or a dead bear.”

“Slip a disc about it, Grandpa,” Leo quipped before glancing to Talker. “If I read the next one without eating this paper, can I skip the last one?”

“No,” the rest of the team answered in perfect unison.

“We all go through trying times,” Finn said with a pat to Leo’s knee. “Look on the bright side: at least it isn’t me this year!”

Leo stared at him for a long, silent moment.

“You astound me,” he said at last.

“Thank you.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“I’m taking it as one.”

“How did I end up with this award?” He looked around the team with a lost expression. “How is it not Ginger Spice every goddamn year?”

“Because we have to switch it up so we can trauma-bond over mutual humiliation,” Talker informed him. “Also, you’re a little fucker and you can’t hide it from the good people of Gryffindor forever.”

Leo shook his head, but turned back to his notes. “Number two: leaving the ice baths to get my Gatorade, then slipping and falling in my own puddle on the way back.” He closed his eyes. “And spilling the entire bottle of Gatorade on myself. And slipping in that as well.”

“It’s important to me that people know you just laid there for, like, five full seconds,” Kasey added.

“Thanks.”

“Any time, Honeynut Cheerios.”

“After I’m done, can someone bury me under the net? I want to haunt you all for making me do this.”

Several noises of assent followed and Leo nodded.

“Cool. Sweet. I love this for myself.” He cleared his throat and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Number one: I underestimated the weight of my new gear, sat on a stool, and fell backwards off it. I took six and a half people down with me like a bowling ball wrapped in Velcro and foam. Every second of it was caught on camera and replayed through commercial breaks, then late-night television. Harzy, will you do the honors?”

“Of course, Bodacious Nutacious.”

Leo held his arms up and Finn scooped him over his shoulder with a grin as the room erupted into whoops, hollers, and applause. The camera followed the stream of players out and down the hallway; Talker stepped into frame once more, craning his neck to watch Leo and Finn disappear around the corner.

“Thanks for joining us for another year, Lions,” he laughed. “We look forward to so many more. Stay humble!”

[daphneyoumustmakehaste]

I have nowhere else to spew my politics garbage so I'm choosing tumblr as you do. Focusing on America and Britain here because that is what I know best and its what I study.

It is so so aggravating whenever I see people (specifically left wingers or left-centrists such as democrats and Labour voters) discourage people from voting third parties/candidates. A few years ago, I would have been foaming at the mouth at this statement. I remember a couple years back (when I was literally like…14) I posted on here encouraging people to vote Biden because “no one wants Trump”. But now I’m older, and Biden has been exposed as the decaying, wicked old man that he is (but my opinion on Biden is neither here nor there and has little to do with the point I want to make, so if you Biden lovers can just shut up and block me if this makes you mad please x) I’ve come to realise that voting for third candidates is an essential part of democracy.

Almost the same argument is used whenever left-wingers say they want to vote for third parties. “You’re going to divide the left. We need to get [Republicans/Conservatives] out of power. Please vote for [Democrats/Labour].” And I do agree. That voting for third parties and candidates will have consequences in dividing the left. However, voters DO NOT OWE their votes to left parties purely because they are “left wing”. Just because a candidate is “the better option” does not mean you owe them your vote.

Over the past couple of decades, I think a mindset has formed of “no matter what this party does, I’m going to vote for them because i don’t like the other option.” You don’t think politicians know this is a popular mindset? This allows them to say and do and vote for whatever they want with minimal repercussions. Just in 2024 alone, Joe Biden has become increasingly more defensive over Israel despite MANY of his 2020 voters opposing this. And fair enough. If that is what Joe Biden believes in, then I think he should freely express it. But if voters don’t want to vote for him on account of that, you cannot guilt trip them into voting for him because Donald Trump is an awful option (which he is, and obviously I don’t want him to become president, but it’s a sacrifice I think people should be willing to accept).

Sir Keir Starmer has moved the Labour Party to more centre ground ever since he came into power in 2020. Again, that’s fine. He should do what he thinks is best for the party. But if voters don’t want to vote for him on account of that, you cannot guilt trip them into voting for Labour because “conservatives are worse.”

I think America are in a much more vulnerable position than the UK. Conservatives have little to no chance at winning the next election, and I think Sunak knows this (despite what he might say). Trump stands a very good chance, and I think this is account of the split that’s originated on the left. That isn’t the voters fault. I think it can partly be attributed to Biden dividing the left, and I think it can also be attributed to the way politics works. Biden was never a strong candidate, even in 2020. The main thing he had going for him was “better than Trump.” But unfortunately, Trump is back for another round, Biden is running again, and we’re in the same position we were last year (history really does repeat itself).

I do think it’s a difficult argument and there is no one way to go about it. Like I said above; I do not want Donald Trump to become President again. I do not wish for another five years of tory rule. But I also don’t want to forget everything bad Biden has done, and I don’t want to forget the shitty, bootlicking things Starmer’s Labour has said.

At the end of the day, the message here is that voters should VOTE FOR WHO THEY WANT. If you want to vote for Biden or Labour because you don’t want the alternative in power, go ahead. The whole point of voting is to strengthen democracy. By “forcing” people to vote for “the better option, even if they’re not the best.” Instead of looking down on the people who choose not to vote for them, maybe you should look upwards and ask why those in power are not doing everything they can to attract and keep voters.

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Alpha, Beta (& Omega)"

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3627

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, anal sex, oral sex, hurt/comfort, first time, age gap, domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, got to the story's masterlist

14. A Headship's Rebuke

This Chapter: If Bucky ever wants to get out of this marriage and get his independence back, he’s going to have to really buckle down and remember his mission.

Bucky has a hangover the size of Long Island the next day.

Steve isn’t too sympathetic about it, which irks Bucky. He’s already feeling like shit, he doesn’t appreciate Steve’s continued scolding.

Only … he doesn’t exactly scold him. He’s crisp and curt, which in itself is very un-Steve-like. He barely says a word to Bucky when they wake, making himself scarce after they dress for the day. Sharon is the one who gives Bucky what he needs. He’s provided with a tonic to help relieve his headache, a mild breakfast and absolutely no words of comfort. It’s not Sharon’s job to do that. She’s just household help, and while she may have a relationship with Steve, to her Bucky’s nothing but a mandatory duty. He’s the man her employer married whom she now also has to wait on, so she does, but she extends him no courtesies or gestures of kindness. Bucky wonders if she’s always this cold, or if Steve told her what happened last night and she’s decided to stand in solidarity against Bucky. 

Either way, Bucky’s left on his own to figure out what to do all day. “Where did Steve go?” he asks Sharon, when he notices that the apartment is empty save for the two of them.

“Pietro took him to a meeting, I believe,” Sharon says. She’s carrying laundry in a basket, and she continues on down the hallway, leaving him alone. 

“Oh,” Bucky says to no one. He twists his lips and looks around the room with a sigh. “Okay.”

Steve returns around eleven o’clock, just before lunch. Bucky forces himself not to ask where he’s been. He doesn’t want Steve to think he cares. Steve appears in the living room and looks down at him where he’s sitting on the couch. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I received a telegram,” Steve says. “A motion was called and I had to send instructions on how I wanted my vote to go.”

Bucky wants to ask what the motion was, but he forces himself not to. “Kay,” he says.

Steve stares at him. “What’ve you been doing this morning?”

“Nothing. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to go out.” He says it with a modicum of sarcasm.

Steve frowns. “What? Of course you could’ve.”

“Well how would I know that?” Bucky snaps. “I don’t know what these new ‘boundaries’ are, Husband.” He uses the title in an obnoxious show of formality. If Steve wants to be all Headshippy on him, then Bucky will treat him like one. He gets a small measure of satisfaction as he watches Steve realize this.

“Oh. Well okay.” Steve seats himself in the room’s armchair. “I suppose you’re right. Would you like to discuss that now?”

“Not particularly, but I guess it’s whatever you want, right Husband?”

Steve huffs. “Is that how you’re addressing me now?”

“Unless you’d prefer ‘Alpha’.”

Steve’s jaw works in frustration. “I’d prefer my name, in private company.”

“Fine.”

“Oh stop it,” Steve snaps. “Just because I scolded you last night doesn’t mean I’m suddenly your jailor. Grow up.”

Bucky feels anger flood through him, though it’s followed quickly by embarrassment. “I’m eighteen, Steve!”

“I know that,” Steve growls. “Am I supposed to feel bad about that? I don’t. You think it's tough being married so young? Try being shoved into a Senate Seat at twenty-eight. You’re eighteen, not eight. Act like it.”

Bucky huffs and crosses his arms, refusing to say anymore. Steve watches him for a moment before speaking. “Boundaries. Okay. Let’s talk about it. I won’t expect you to tell me your every move, but I will expect to know what your general plans are during the day.”

“Even on this trip?”

“Especially on this trip, our honeymoon.”

Bucky snorts. “For as splendidly as it’s going.”

“And you were raised as a gentleman and Senatorial heir, just like I was,” Steve says. “So I expect you to conduct yourself as such in public. No drunken escapades, rudeness or disrespecting our union.”

Bucky can’t manage any snide comments toward that. Steve’s right—he was raised as a gentleman. He feels a small bit of shame creep in at the reminder of his ridiculous behavior last night. That’s what it’s going to take though, he reminds himself. If he wants to make Steve want a divorce, then he’s got to continue doing things like that, and worse. “Okay,” he says. “Fine. Those are the rules. Now I know them.” Now he knows exactly which ones to break.

“Good.”

“Good.”

Steve seems to relax a bit. “Well … What would you like to do today?”

“With you?”

He sighs. “Yes, with me. We’ve got another two days in London before we head to the continent. Is there anything you’d like to do, see?”

Bucky shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess.”

Steve nods curtly. “Well come on then. I’ll get Pietro to hail us a hackie.”

Despite his efforts to remain despondent, Bucky winds up having a good time while he and Steve visit some of the more popular tourist sites around the city. His hangover ebbs, and after Steve buys them lunch at a café, he feels back to normal. He finds himself slipping back into friendly territory with Steve, and he scolds himself each time he laughs at something the alpha has said, returns a smile, or gets drawn into enthusiastic conversation without realizing. Steve is a reasonably easy guy to get along with, so If Bucky ever wants to get out of this marriage and get his independence back, he’s going to have to really buckle down and remember his mission.

They see most of the places that Bucky had on his list of things to see. London bridge, Big Ben, Parliament and Buckingham palace take up most of the day, and Bucky finds himself growing antsy as he realizes that he’s been friendly with Steve the whole time and not managed to create any incidents that might add to their fighting.

This marital discord stuff is hard.

They get to Westminster Abbey and step out of the hackie together. “We’ll head home after this, yeah?” Steve suggests.

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I’m hungry.”

Steve smiles and takes his hand. “Sharon told me she’s making a roast for supper. It should be good.” Bucky doesn’t comment. Instead he’s quiet as he looks at their joined hands. Steve guides him into the abbey. “Wow,” he says once they’re inside. “It’s huge.”

Bucky nods, looking up at the ceilings. “It doesn’t seem any bigger than the national cathedral though.”

“You’ve seen it?” There’s a modicum of surprise in Steve’s voice.

Bucky scoffs, yanking his hand back to himself. “My family did keep a residence in D.C., you know. I’ve been to the capitol tons of times.”

“Of course. … I wasn’t making a jab at your circumstances.” Steve looks away sadly, visibly putting on a cheerful face after that. “There are over three thousand people buried here,” he tells Bucky. “Tennyson, Dickens, Queen Elizabeth, Chaucer, Darwin …”

Bucky keeps examining all the fancy architecture, not looking at Steve. “I suppose we would’ve gotten married there, if it hadn’t been such a rushed affair.”

Steve pauses in his listing of famous names. “At the national cathedral? Yes. I suppose so …” Bucky can feel Steve peering at him, probably trying to figure out why he’d bring that up. “... Either there, or at St. Patrick’s in New York,” he says quietly. “It’s customary.”

Bucky nods. Privately, he’s grateful that they hadn’t had to have a grand State wedding. Even if he’d chosen the marriage, he wouldn’t have enjoyed saying his vows in front of a thousand people. He continues looking around the cathedral, eventually wandering away from Steve, who lingers in the section where the poets are buried.

A man in church robes approaches Bucky near the nave of the church and greets him with a smile, asking if Bucky has any questions about the history of Westminster. Bucky shrugs, stepping away from the plaque he’d been reading. “No, not really,” he says. “I was just looking around.”

“I see,” the man says.

“Are you a priest?”

The man smiles. “No. I’m a deacon here.” He holds out his hand. “Deacon Aemes.”

“James Bar— erm, Rogers, that is.”

“You’re American?”

“Yes. I’m here with my husband, Senator Steven Rogers.”

The man’s eyes seem to light up with recognition. His posture straightens. “I see! Is this your first visit to London?”

“Second. We’re honeymooning here.”

“Wonderful!” the man beams, which is annoying. Bucky has had more than his fair share of experience with being treated differently once people figure out who he is, and he can tell that’s what’s happening now. He tries to think of a way to get out of having to talk further with this man. “I think I’d better go find him, actually,” he starts to say. “We were just about to—”

“Are you interested in worship services during your visit?” the deacon asks. “We have seven services each Sunday. I’m sure with your husband’s Societal standing I could arrange for reserved seating.”

Bucky frowns. “No. Thank you. I—” His eyes catch on movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he glances over he sees Steve heading their way. He pauses, reconsidering his words. This is an opportunity, he thinks, nerves quickening his pulse. “I … actually don’t go to church.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. I’m an atheist,” he says, forcing back a sly grin and inserting disdain into his tone. “It’s silly to believe in God.”

Deacon Aemes’ face is turning pink. He looks mortified. “Well … that’s—”

Steve has come up to Bucky’s side, and Bucky continues his spiel, “Religion is the root of all evil, if you ask me.” It’s a wild exaggeration and just about the rudest, most-awkward thing Bucky can think up on the spot to say. Not to mention it’s a lie: He’s always held a general belief in God. But he continues his rude speech now that Steve is there to listen. “When was that last kiddie fiddler scandal, after all? Half a year ago?”

“Bucky!” Steve says in shock.

Bucky forces a scornful laugh. “What? It’s true. Religion is just the opiate of the masses: people too scared to use their own brains, so desperate for comfort that they'll believe anything, giving corrupt men power that they don’t deserve. Christianity spreads intolerance and hate, and it generally fucks up other people’s lives. It’s fucking awful.”

It’s a trifecta of obscene behavior for which Bucky is somewhat proud of himself. If the insults to religion and the shameless mention of lewd acts weren’t enough, he’s also made sure to top it off with a nice smattering of curse words. Bucky sneers at the deacon. “As far as I see it, ‘God’ is nothing but a rapist, murderer, thief and pedophile, himself.”

Unsurprisingly, deacon Aemes is starting to look enraged. “Sir! You are in a house of worship. Have some respect.”

“‘Respect’?” Bucky scoffs. “For what? The Church of England? It’s been responsible for more abuses than—” Steve’s hand closes around the back of his neck and scruffs him so fast that Bucky’s speech cuts off in a gasp. 

“Sir,” Steve practically growls at the deacon. “I am so sorry for this rudeness. Please, excuse us.”

“Well I never,” the deacon sputters. He looks utterly outraged, though Steve’s taking control of the situation seems to have kept him from outright yelling at Bucky himself. “I’d suggest you leave,” he says tightly. “Don’t come back, and take your disrespectful Spouse with you.”

Steve nods tightly. “We’re going.” On Bucky’s neck, his fingers tighten cruelly and he steers him away. “Come on.” He marches him down the length of the cathedral and shoves him into a narrow side hall near the front doors. He crowds Bucky in against the wall. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” he hisses.

Bucky fights back the victorious smirk that wants to come. “What?”

“How could you say those things to that man?!”

“Well it was all true,” he says. “You want me to lie?”

Steve’s face darkens. “Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you. You went out of your way to provoke him.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says, putting no apology into the word. 

Steve seethes at him. He steps back. “Come on. We’re going home.”

“What if I don’t feel like—”

“Follow me, now,” he Voices, already walking away.

Bucky’s eyes widen at being commanded, though he knows he honestly shouldn’t be surprised at this point. Steve seems to have no problem coercing him with his Voice whenever he gets truly mad. Bucky’s feet start following, and even though it’s not pleasant seeing Steve so pissed off, he does thrill a little at having accomplished his goal.

This was just one small step, though, he thinks. He’s still got to do far worse to make Steve want a divorce.

Steve is silent and terse on the ride back to the apartment, but once they’re inside and the door is shut, he gets right to work in ordering Bucky about. “Sit,” he says, pointing at the writing desk in the living room. “There. Grab a pen and paper.” He stalks out of the room, leaving Bucky to do as told and worry what’s next. He returns after only a moment, a stack of envelopes and papers in hand. 

“What’s that?” Bucky asks.

“The post. Our mail was forwarded. These are the nuptial congratulations and well-wishes we’ve received.” He sets a large part of the stack in front of Bucky, then a single open sheaf of paper. “This is a list of the guests who were at our wedding, and their titles.” He sets down one last envelope. “And this is a letter from your mother.” 

“My mother?” Bucky starts to reach for it.

“No,” Steve says, making Bucky’s eyes snap back to him. “You’re going to answer the other letters first. Then you’ll write thank you responses to each and every person who attended the wedding.”

Bucky winces. “You can stop Voicing,” he says. 

“No, Bucky. I can’t.” Steve is looking down at him with icy eyes. “You obviously don’t know how to listen without it.”

“You should’ve told me I wasn’t allowed to speak my mind to strangers,” Bucky throws out. “How was I to know that was one of your ‘boundaries’?”

“Shut up,” Steve says. “You’re not going to say anything smart for the rest of the evening. Sit here and answer the letters. Do a good job. I’ll be reviewing them before they’re mailed.”

Bucky huffs. “Fine.”

Steve raises an eyebrow at his tone, but doesn’t command him any further. He makes to leave the room. “I’ll be in my office,” he says. “I’ll come get you when dinner is ready.” He stalks from the room.

Well.

Bucky twists his lips to keep himself from saying anything as Steve leaves. He supposes that as far as consequences go, this isn’t so bad. He sets in to opening the envelopes.

Most of them are from high Society: other Senatorial families or congressmen and women. A few letters from prominent common folk have made it into the mix, though. Bucky recognizes the name of a famous singer on one. Everybody writes nauseatingly cheerful messages, all in the general theme of: Congratulations! Blessings for your union and best wishes! Here’s hoping you find your Third and have butt-loads of children as soon as possible!

Bucky crafts three versions of the same reply, which he cycles through depending on the type of person he’s responding to.

The aforementioned list of names and titles also makes mention of all the wedding gifts that’ve been given, and it becomes clear that Bucky and Steve will have a front hall full of packages when they arrive back to Steve’s Brooklyn residence back in the States. The promise of a state-of-the-art gramophone, in particular, holds Bucky’s interest (he writes that individual a genuinely customized response).

Over an hour later, he’s still writing, having answered all of the well wishes and moved on to the list of wedding attendees that he needs to thank for simply showing up to his and Steve’s farce of a wedding. His hand is cramping and he’s just set the pen down to wince and rub at his palm, when Steve appears. 

He clears his throat at the door. His eyes are fixed on Bucky’s hand. “You’re hurt?”

“No.”

He stares at him for a few seconds, as if he’ll say something else, but he doesn’t. “Sharon says dinner’s ready.”

“I haven’t gotten to read the letter from my mother,” Bucky says. “Can I—”

“No. Come on. Dinner.”

Bucky tucks his lips in and follows meekly after Steve. At least he’s not using his Voice anymore.

Dinner is indeed a roast, and it’s just as delicious as Steve said it would be. Bucky moans a time or two during the meal, and though he isn’t trying to entice Steve, he does catch his husband pausing to consider him each time he moans. Bucky finishes chewing another bite and says, “Sharon’s a much better cook than Agatha”

“That’s your family’s cook?”

“Yes.” He frowns. “Though I’m not sure they’ve been able to keep her on staff since … you know.”

“I’m sure they have,” Steve says. “The marriage contract stipulated that they be well-provided for.”

“How much?” Bucky asks. It’s quite a gauche thing, for men of their breeding to talk about money, so Bucky masks his embarrassment by reaching for his wine glass and taking a sip. “How much per annum?”  

“That’s between your mother and I,” Steve says, though there is a degree of amusement in his tone. “Honestly, Bucky.”

“Come on Steve. Please tell me? I’d like to know. I’d like to not have to wonder what my mom and sisters are able to afford.” He looks down, abashed. “I’d like to not have to worry.”

Steve softens at that, and he begrudgingly admits, “Twenty thousand per annum, Buck.”

Bucky inhales harder than he intends to, choking on his mouthful of table wine. He coughs and carefully sets the glass down before he’s able to choke out, “Seriously?”

“I told you not to worry.”

He’s shocked, he can’t hide it. Steve’s paying Bucky’s family just as much as they ever earned on their own from taxpayer dollars. “You can … you can afford that?”

Steve shrugs. “I wouldn’t pay it if I couldn’t afford it. House Rogers is wealthier than most. Surely you must’ve realized that.”

“Uh, yeah,” Bucky says. “I guess I just didn’t know how much you’d be willing to pay for my family.” Suddenly, he feels very, very embarrassed; very small, and very grateful to Steve for what he’s just admitted. “Um, thank you,” he murmurs.

Steve nods. “You’re welcome.”

That’s all the more they talk about it, both of them finishing their meal in silence. When his plate is cleared and his belly is full, Bucky sighs and stands. “Well I guess I’ll get back to it. I’ve still got a bunch of letters to do.”

“You can take a break, Buck,” Steve says. “You’ve done a lot. Finish tomorrow.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Why don’t you go read the letter your mother wrote you, okay? I’m going to finish up a few things in my office, then I’ll get ready for bed.” He doesn’t say anything about Bucky doing the same, but it’s clear that he expects it.

Bucky nods. “Okay. I’ll uh, I’ll see you in a bit.”

“See you in a bit.”

Bucky goes back to the living room and reads the letter from his mother. It’s a kind and heartfelt note, but nothing that Bucky hadn’t expected from her. He takes the time to write her back, then seals that envelope and sets it aside to be sent out with the next day’s post. Briefly, he wonders what she’ll think of it when he and Steve divorce.

When he goes to bed, Steve is already washing up in the en-suite, so Bucky has privacy as he changes into pajama pants and a shirt. He trades places with Steve in the bathroom and then they both tuck in. “I’m tired,” Bucky manages to say—half because he is, and half because he isn’t at all certain what Steve wants to be doing right now. Will Steve always be obvious when he wants sex? Or is Bucky supposed to ask for it?

“Okay, Buck. Me too.” Steve leans over and cups the back of his head, pulls him in and pecks a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight.” He lies down and adjusts his pillow, closing his eyes. Unlike the night previous, he’s lain down facing Bucky, this time.

Bucky bites his lip, staring at Steve’s face for a moment. God, is the man ever good looking. And what did that kiss just now mean? “… Steve?” he says after a moment.

“Mm?” Steve doesn’t open his eyes.

“Are you still mad at me?” Bucky isn’t sure if he wants the answer to be yes or no. Steve getting mad was the point, but it instinctively doesn’t feel good to know his husband is angry with him. It feels rotten. He angsts about it until Steve responds with his eyes closed, sounding tired.

“Just … go to sleep Buck. It’s over. We can start fresh in the morning.” 

Well.

Bucky huffs and lies down—also facing the center of the bed. He watches Steve’s face for a long time, deep in thought. Steve doesn’t open his eyes again, and Bucky eventually sighs and closes his eyes as well. Being married to Steve is … confusing. He needs to get this divorce thing going before he does something stupid, like develop feelings.

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[thesinglesjukebox]

MARSHMELLO FT. KANE BROWN - "MILES ON IT"

They did another thing wrong...

[2.53]

Tim de Reuse: A terrifying peek behind the bro-country event horizon; the whole genre scrunched up like a loaf of Wonder Bread in a hydraulic press. The "guitar" is an alien, glassy thing, kept around out of habit and inertia like a vestigial organ. Marshmello's instrumental is coherent only if you don't actually try to pick out a single instrument from the haze. Commodity fetishism finally stripped of pretense, un-sublimated, all metaphor drifting away like diesel fumes, leaving only the genuine desire to achieve orgasm with your dick in a $60,000 luxury pickup. [1]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: That sounds mad uncomfortable, dude. [2]

TA Inskeep: I hate this ode to fucking in the back of a pickup for the following reasons: 1) grown men need to stop calling women "girl"; 2) a trad EDM-adjacent boom-bap shouldn't be all over mainstream country radio; 3) "we could break it in, if you know what I mean" is an utterly icky turn of phrase.  [0]

Iain Mew: The instrumental is cookin’ on about half a burner, but the bigger problem is an acute case of metaphor backwash. By the time you’re singing “you and me in a truck bed wide like a California King” you’re not using creative ambiguity, you’re just singing about having sex on the back of a truck. From there the "it" easily glides into being about the woman he's with; read that back into the already weird “these wheels are innocent”, plus “no history and you just can't fake that” and “let’s put some miles on it” and there’s some gross implications. Basically the song is too easy to read as Kane Brown waggling his eyebrows and saying “hey babe, let’s get together and depreciate your market value”. [2]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: At least it’s a significant improvement from the last rodeo.  [3]

Julian Axelrod: Now this is a song that could use a big Phil Collins drum fill. [5]

Ian Mathers: This actually feels less ersatz than Brown's own "I Can Feel It," but he's still pretty generic; the real surprise is that Marshmello keeps the boshing relatively restrained, which is a pity. It's not bad, wouldn't be mad if I heard it in the wild. But I am also going to take this blurb space to talk about a superior modern country song (and track I missed blurbing when I was inconveniently sick last month), Shaboozey's superior "A Bar Song (Tipsy)", which is an easy [10] and makes this feel even more milquetoast than it does in isolation. [5]

Harlan Talib Ockey: Are there any good EDM/country crossovers? This is just emotionally flaccid grocery-store-core. [1]

Taylor Alatorre: Justice for Icona Pop. [3]

Jonathan Bradley: It should be exactly the wrong point in the nostalgia cycle for anyone to be resurrecting the festival EDM meets festival folk of Avicii's biggest hits... and it is! [2]

Hannah Jocelyn: One quarter of a single Mississippi and three quarters of "Wake Me Up" -- much less leaden than "I Can Feel It," and so it's more likable! [6]

Aaron Bergstrom: I have to assume the new truck is a replacement for the horse they've already beaten to death. [1]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Could not believe when this ended that it did not break the three-minute mark. [4]

Katherine St. Asaph: This is an awful single that stops trying to be a real song somewhere around the four-"miles on it"-mark. But if you replace everything but the backing track with the hook from "Timber," it becomes catchy, so sorry, I can't score it any lower.   [3]

Nortey Dowuona: "Fuck this movie." - Sean Burns [0]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[qqueenofhades]

I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable answering this, but my mind is spiraling out of control and you’re the only person I know with the level of knowledge to where I can feel comfortable asking this without getting some form of “bla bla we live in a safe state don’t worry.”

I’m sincerely wondering if I need to be making plans to leave the country in the event of November bringing the most horrible of outcomes despite our best efforts (and yes I’m planning to vote blue in everything I can); as a AFAB in CA?

I know about project 2025. I’m terrified. Forgive my pop culture reference, but I feel like a version of Princess Zelda staring down a barrel of possible doom while everyone around me is like “nah that future you literally had a nightmare about where they made it illegal for a woman to have a bank account without a guy co-signing it and took the money from everyone who didn’t comply by a certain date isn’t even a possibility!”

I’m just confused about my life and am trying to take it day by day, and exercising every right while I still have it to prevent this outcome, but it feels weird making plans and retirement accounts and just general Setting Up Adult Life And Future Things™️……while wondering if I even have a future in this place at all and I’m just making it harder to escape if need be.

I’m sorry I’m rambling, and I guess I don’t know what I’m asking since no one has a crystal ball.

But I guess, it’s stuff like how much can the feds effect state’s policies? Is it possible for them to immediately block international travel for all women practically upon inauguration? How much time would I even have to gtfo if the worst begins?

Bc honestly this whole thing feels like the lead in to a very nasty chapter of a history book, and even though I have hope we’ll have another blue tsunami, it can be hard to try and figure things out when it feels like there’s barely any historical precedent for any of it.

Welp. Okay. First of all, I am giving you a comforting hug, I am walking with you to your favorite coffee shop, I am paying for your favorite beverage and also a baked goodie of your choice, and we are sitting down in a corner where we can talk honestly. So that's where I want you to imagine us having this conversation.

To start with, yes, I completely understand this feeling of utter, paralyzing doom, where I am trying to go about my daily life and make plans for my career and carry out daily tasks and Be Responsible while there's still just this total void beyond the end of the year, the utter impossibility of knowing if we will have dodged an absolutely massive bullet and finally be safe (since if Trump loses again he is 100% going to jail in the next four years) or, well. You know. That is a very hard way to live, when you're wondering if anything is going to matter and you can't see beyond that black cloud of fear on the horizon. It sucks you down and tells you that nothing is worth doing now in case it just gets so much worse. I am not going to tell you not to feel that. We all do. We are all scared. That in and of itself is a perfectly normal way to feel.

However, there are things you can do both now and if (I repeat, if) God absolutely forbid, the worst was to happen (again). First of all, we have already lived through a Trump presidency once. It was terrible and scary and awful and demoralizing as fuck, but we can do it again if we absolutely Goddamn fucking have to (once, again, God forbid). Second, you are currently about as safe as you could be in California. Newsom has proven himself to be smart, tough, able to run rings around Republicans, and unwilling to comply with their stupid performative-cruelty directives. He's not a saint or a magician, but you don't need that; you need a shrewd politician able to fight back, and he has proven himself willing and capable of doing that. So as long as he is governor, you're going to be more safe than not, and I'd also like to ask all the shrieking Online Leftists if, should the shit go down, they would rather live in a state with a Democratic governor who will fight Trump 2.0 every step of the way, or a Republican governor who will just roll over and obey. (But that would destroy their BOTH PARTIES ARE THE SAME talking point, so you know.)

Next of all, even if the Republicans are doing their best impression, America in 2024 isn't Germany in 1934. There are different tools, different ways to fight back, and different awarenesses/social media/visibility factors. I also need everyone to remember that just as Biden can't just sign an executive order and fix everything everywhere, Trump can't just sign an executive order and fuck everything everywhere, just like that with no more discussion ever. He tried that last time, it generally didn't work, and trust me, at least this time nobody is sleeping on the danger he poses. His candidacy in 2016 was dismissed as a long-shot joke that nobody took seriously until it was too late, and for better or worse, people aren't doing that this time. He will be sued instantly, incredibly, and repeatedly with everything his band of wannabe fascists try, and since we have had four years of Biden fixing the courts from where Trump trashed them, that does mean something. There is no scenario where even if he does issue some outrageous order against women, LGBTQ+ people, immigrants, etc (which to be clear, I'm sure he would try) it would just be carried out completely, immediately, and with no feasible way to stop it. Evil is evil, but it is also stupid, clueless, determined to hurt people just for the hell of it without any regard for what is possible or which will be allowed, and there's a lot more grey area in there than just "Trump says something terrible and it's instantly done, the end."

Once again, I'm not going to say that the worst-case scenario is not possible, but I don't think it's likely, and even if that does happen, there are ways for us to survive and fight back (again). Nobody wants it and it should not have to be asked of us due to the utter collapse of the social, civic, political, and intellectual fabric of this country thanks to the TrumpCult, but once again... these people are so loud and dangerous and cruel and stupid because they are in the minority. Etc. etc. polls are garbage, but we did just have an interesting piece of empirical data from the Iowa caucuses. Trump -- in one of the whitest, most rural, most conservative, most religious, most Trump-loving states in the country -- struggled to break 50%. Almost half of a rabid Republican fully-Trumpized electorate, among the diehards sufficiently motivated to get out and caucus in extreme freezing weather, voted for someone else (Haley and DeSantis took about 20% apiece). Now, no, we don't know how that will translate to the general election, and if registered Republicans will flock back to the nominee even if it's Trump, but as almost half of Haley voters said they would vote for Biden if it was a Biden-Trump matchup in the general, there is some sense that Trump is an aberration to their otherwise ironclad party loyalty. Now, Republicans are the fucking worst and nobody should be relying on them to save us; we still need to get out and vote for Democrats with all our might. But Trump is no longer barn-burningly popular even in core Trump heartland, and it'll be interesting to see how things go in future primaries.

My point is: I know the feeling that evil is awful and unstoppable and all-powerful, and will crush our lives and our futures no matter what we do to resist it. I really, really do. But Trump is a terrible candidate, he's running literally only to keep himself out of a long, long prison sentence, and if he had crushed the Iowa caucuses regardless, we might be having a different conversation. However, we need to remember that it is possible, again (God forbid) in the worst scenario, to resist, to live, and to win. Everyone who is motivated to work for a better world will still be here. Everyone who can help you and all of us will still be here. And there are more of us than there are of them. Yes, I do understand the feeling that we need to have contingency plans in place, I do absolutely know that it could get very bad, and all that (as you say, nobody has a crystal ball). But for now, I want you to take a deep breath, try to take this day by day, and remember that this is not a crushing and inevitable future that will sweep over you and destroy you without you (or any other person of good will) having a say in the matter. You still have agency, you still have the ability to protect yourself, and you still have others who will protect you in turn. You're not alone. The bad guys want you to think that, because when you're isolated and terrorized, you're easier to pick off and/or recruit into their cult. But you're not.

In conclusion: "What are we holding onto, Sam?"

[staceymcgillicuddy]

120

Ooh this one was fun, and could 100% be the basis for a brand new fic, I swear.

Other prompts from this meme!

“Take my jacket. It’s cold.” 

“I don’t want your jacket. I’m fine.” 

Jason rolls his eyes, and Chrissy rubs her arms. She’s lying—they both know she’s lying—because it’s October in Indiana, and the leaves are turning, bringing with them a brisk breeze that no bonfire can overpower. Not even a bonfire so big it threatens to burn down half the state, should a branch catch overhead. 

It’s traditional, this bonfire. There’s the Homecoming football game, the court crowned at halftime, and the all-night party that follows. The cops turn a blind eye to it because it’s tradition, and most of them are from Hawkins and participated in their own version of the ritual. It’s been going on since the twenties, maybe. Thirties? Nobody really knows, but honestly, the history doesn’t matter. What matter is that they’re there, they won the game, Chrissy got voted onto the court as the junior representative, and Jason is drunk and pissing her off. 

He’s been pissing her off a lot lately if she’s being honest. They’ve been dating since Christmas of her sophomore year, and while things were pretty good through the summer, the semester has been… less than great. Weird. Annoying, actually. 

It’s not even Jason’s fault, really. He’s a good boyfriend—he respects her, her parents like him, he makes her laugh sometimes—and she even lost her virginity to him the night before they went back to school for junior year. But lately, it’s like he doesn’t trust her to make her own decisions or know what she wants. He even ordered for her when they went out to eat for her birthday, and tonight he made a joke in front of Steve Harrington about her getting him a beer, and, ugh, she’s just mad, and she’s even more mad that it feels like she’s not allowed to be mad. 

“Geez, Chris, what crawled up your butt?” Jason says, which doesn’t exactly help the situation. 

“I’m going for a walk,” she replies. “Don’t follow me.” 

She bounces to her feet as he raises a protest from below. The perks of being the sober girl at the party (well, mostly sober; she had a beer, but that hardly counts) means he can’t get himself together quickly enough to follow her down the path toward the clearing where they all parked their cars.

It’s dark out, though, and Chrissy finds herself a little discombobulated about which direction the parking lot lies in. There are branching paths because a lot of people use these woods, and the lot isn’t exactly close, so, yeah. Whatever. She’s just going to use the bonfire as a waypoint and start walking. 

Direction one seems promising, but she realizes she’s gone the wrong way when she stumbles over a rise and finds herself in a moonlit clearing dominated by a giant rock. 

When she turns back, though, she collides with a warm body and lets out a little shriek. 

Warm, tall, and… God, it’s Eddie Munson. Who definitely wasn’t invited to the party but smells so strongly of weed that she suspects she knows why he’s here. 

Chrissy stumbles back, and Eddie holds up his hands, one wrapped around a heavy black flashlight. 

“Hey, sorry,” he says. “Looking for me?” 

“Why would I be looking for you?” 

That comes out snippier than she intends it to. Eddie takes it in stride, reaching into his careworn leather jacket to pull out a bag of marijuana. 

“Ta-da,” he says. “You buying, or what?” 

“No. I was just taking a walk.” 

Eddie raises a brow, and the opposite side of his mouth curls into a smile. It’s kind of cute, actually. “And you just so happened to end up here?” He shakes the baggie and grins. “C’mon, man. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.” 

“I’m not!” She finds that she’s smiling despite herself. “Everyone was being stupid, and I just wanted to… I don’t know. Be alone?” 

“There are mountain lions out here, you know.” 

“No, there aren’t,” she says, ignoring the shiver that runs down her spine. “Besides, you’re out here by yourself.” 

“Catering to my loyal customer base. Speaking of, where’s your boyfriend?” 

That comes as a surprise to Chrissy for two reasons. Number one, she didn’t know that Jason smoked weed. Number two, she wasn’t aware that Eddie Munson was so invested in her social life. 

“He’s being annoying,” she says, aiming for nonchalance as she rubs her arms again. 

“King Carver? Surely not…” 

“I’m probably going to break up with him soon.” 

Chrissy startles herself with the sentence. It’s one she’s thought a lot since late August. A mantra she’s repeated to keep herself sane whenever Jason starts bugging her a bit too much. She’s never said it out loud to anyone, though, and now there she is, telling someone who’s practically a stranger. 

“Oh yeah?” Eddie says like it’s no big deal. “Why’s that?” 

“I don’t know. Because he’s annoying.” 

“Seems as good a reason as any.” Tucking the weed into the front pocket of his dark jeans, Eddie catches her eye and smiles. “Hey, question.”

“Hmm?” 

“You want my jacket? It’s kind of cold.” 

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 36 - Glee

On the properties of blood rejuvenation and the history of the world (i guess).

On AO3.

“A devil? Astarion’s voice is sharp and just this side of a whine. “Now we’ve got a devil after us?”

Voices from below. Gale and Shadowheart and Lae’zel. Y’all should probably regroup. You try to focus as you climb back down (easier, as you’re laying on your belly, but also harder, as you’re already shaking and shivering).

The rest of the crew look between worried and grim. Lae’zel has relaxed back into her “breathe on me and die” stance. Only you seem to still be having a physical reaction. Possible because you’re the only one suddenly dumped ass over tea kettle into an unasked for crisis of (un)faith.

The others debate about it. Or discuss it, since nobody seems to be outright in favor. Wyll is dead set against the entire concept. But it’s Astarion that draws your eye. He wants to use the parasites, you’d gathered from snippets over the last day and a half. He’d said so to the others after the whole dream intruder episode. Man seems pretty down for snatching any form of power (or supplies) he can get his hands on.

But when you look at him, he wears a dark look.

“He’s playing with us,” Astarion says when you ask. “He reminds me of…well. Creatures like them don’t play games unless they know they can win.”

That fuckface hunting him.

“I don’t want any kinda deal with a devil,” you say. “We got stories about that where I come from, and they all end bad.”

Which piques Gale’s interest. You really should take an evening and let the man go whole hog on your stories. He’s been so helpful and curious. Might be a good idea to get a wizard on your side anyway. Short of finding some butthole ship flight recorder, he might be your best shot and getting home again.

All your troubles are starting to run together. Problems gained, nothing solved. You’re not even sure you’re remembering everything outside of “Wyll’s demon” and “Halsin with goblins.” Seems like there’s more you should be remembering.

This line of thinking usually means y’all should set up camp. You ain’t gonna get any less crotchety. Maybe if you offer Gale a Q and A session you can get another vote in “we should stop for tonight.”

***

Gale is only too happy to swing the vote. To be fair, Wyll don’t even protest. Whole devil thing really rattled everybody. Y’all find a stream, start setting up tents, and Astarion is the first one to march over with an arm of clothing.

You still ain’t done nothing with that scrap of linen he gave. You don’t know how to sew, and you don’t have the supplies. You been pondering scavenging another belt and just rigging you up a goddamn loincloth. You suspect it’d look weird and bulky underneath your trousers, though. But maybe you should, just to get used to it. You been here a week or so; it’s maybe another week until the cramps kick in and you start bleeding. You read enough history to know a loincloth is your best bet for dealing with that (you’re gonna have to keep an eye out for more rags or shirts that ain’t all mildewy).

Thoughts of drawers aside, Gale is ecstatic to sit you down and pick your brain. He hands you a scroll and a quill and an inkpot (“For your own keeping. One never knows when one might need to take notes”). He talks to you until most of the others have retired for the night. Talks to you as Astarion finishes his first watch (he sends you both a weird look), and only seems to notice when Shadowheart emerges from her tent to take second shift.

“Oh, goodness, I’ve completely lost track of time!” he says, scribbling furiously.

He’d started with what you remember of Mesopotamia—quickly sidetracked into prehistory and the entire theory of evolution, and then veered into parallel world speculations you didn’t quite follow. He taps his lips with the tip of his quill. They’re not, you notice, full feathers like in the movies. He actually cuts them much shorter, leaves only a tuft of feather on the far end. You wonder about that, until you realize the trim brings the thing down to about pen length. Huh.

“But if that theory is correct, your people would have had to be on Ay-arth for a significant amount of time. Far beyond even the creation of Toril.”

“Toril?”

He looks up. Blinks. And that’s how you learn Faerun is the name of the continent. The planet is Toril. Neat.

You leave him still muttering. He kind of waves, murmurs a “Thank you, Eleanor. Rest well.” And then he shuffles towards his tent, still reading his notes, quill still tapping his lips and you don’t have the heart to tell him he’s got ink on his fingers.

Shadowheart nods as you approach. “Late night?”

You groan. “I barely even got started. He wants to know everything I do and I been learning for years.”

She hums. Glances to the wizard settling in at a reading desk he probably pulled out of his magic bag. You don’t think he’s going to sleep at all, tonight.

“So you’re a scholar, then?” she says.

“More of a hobby,” you say. “My people got access to a lot of information real casually. I don’t got the brain juice to explain right now, sorry. Though, could I ask you a question?”

Her face is cool in the orange glow of firelight. “That depends on the question.”

You know very little of her, aside from hating Lae’zel, and she’s got jesus hands. Also that she’s got mean girl tendencies.

“That potion and your magic, the healing? Does it speed up, um, blood production? Not the fluids but, like, the bits it carries?”

She holds up a hand. “I’m aware of how blood works and its components; I’ve seen enough of it. And yes, a healing potion or my spells encourage the body to heal any recent injuries; so more than just replacing the water in the blood. Why?”

There’s…a suspicious fucking edge to the last word, there. Ain’t no time to be subtle.

“Feeding the vampire,” you say and fuck it, being honest with doctors makes their job easier, right?

Her suspicion turns scathing. It takes all you got not to squirm.

“Really?” she says.

“It helps him fight,” you say.

“So would a feather bed, yet we’ve all been managing fine without.”

But she didn’t feel the monstrous hunger ripping through her innards. Not more than the barest flash Astarion had let slip during his impromptu group chat.

You been hungry before. It was one of Mother’s favorite lessons, hungering for the grace of the lord. His salvation made physical through the hands of the shepherd he sent to guide the unworthy. Deliverance could only follow punishment, though. As your unclean thoughts or actions separated you from the light and bounty of the lord, so did your physical body have to experience that loss. Plus it left no marks for any outsiders to see and be concerned over.

(raspberry and artificial lemon and the stink of dirt)

(No, there’s no root cellar here.)

It’s an awful feeling. And if your body is fine (and soul firmly tied down) you don’t want to let that carry on. Not if you can do something.

Nobody came to help you. Not for a long, long time. Not until Sasha.

You can do your best to be a Sasha, too.

“Is it gonna hurt me in the long run?” you say.

Shadowheart’s voice is as flat as her expression. “No more than letting a vampire at your throat usually is. Are you sure he didn’t dominate you?”

That word again. It’s enough to break through the nasty turn your thoughts were taking. You wonder if that’s a sex thing in Faerunese, as well in English.

“I am of sound mind, making choices of my own volition,” you say. “I used to do this back home pretty regular. Not with vampires, though; we don’t got them. Donating blood helps people with medical emergencies. And my dad’s side…helping your people is a cultural thing. You go to any of my relatives and you barely get a ‘hi’ outta you before somebody’s asking if you’re hungry and they got food in the kitchen, help yourself. It’s real…people-oriented. Helping each other. Or it is when people are trying to do right, anyway.”

Gale still mutters over his desk. There’s ink stains in his beard, now. You wince, but you’ve committed, and you ain’t gonna out yourself at this point. Let him think nobody noticed and salvage his pride.

“That sounds like a people that can be taken advantage of,” Shadowheart says.

That hits. It’s a subject you get stuck on, too. Maybe if the first people the Spanish and then the English had found had been less generous and more murder-happy, y’all wouldn’t have been decimated by disease and then force-marched off all y’all’s land.

Or maybe your ancestors still would have lost, eventually, and without that caring, y’all would have torn yourselves apart during the chaos that followed. Maybe y’all wouldn’t still be here.

“I helped you on that ship,” you say.

Her frown is a sharp, vicious thing. A razor embedded in a ball of ice. “I believe I’ve already repaid that debt a few times over.”

You hold up your hands. “More than that. I’m not trying to hold that over your head. You’uns are the only reason I’m still alive, so thank you. I’m just saying, people survive better when they work together. I ain’t gonna ask any of you to let him chomp down, I just wanna know if it’s safe for me to volunteer. If it ain’t, I won’t.”

She stares silently for a long moment. So long, you’re sure she’s gonna walk off without giving you an answer.

Only she sighs. Puts her hands on her hips and glares at Astarion’s red tent. “You should be able to manage every three or four days, given you have a potion or someone to cast a lesser restoration spell.”

You look at her. She looks at you.

She throws her hands up. “Alright, fine. Find me in the morning after I’ve had my breakfast. But if he drains you dry, you’d best let everyone else know not to come to me to revivify you.”

The too-tight muscles at the base of your skull relax a tick. There’s one thing off the problems list. Or, well, piled onto your plate. Still, you’re gonna count that as a win because fuck it.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Don’t thank me for this. Ugh. And keep you…feedings to yourselves. I doubt anyone else in camp wants to see that.”

You give her a two-fingered salute and let her begin her patrol.

Finally, you can sleep. Deal with all this tomorrow (when maybe y’all find a demon woman to kill). You’re trudging by the time you make it to your tent—next to Astarion’s; somehow, that’s become the official set up. You hadn’t really noticed before, but they did it even when you died passed out, didn’t they?

“Well?” His voice is smooth and low in the dark. You valiantly try to catch yourself when the startle tangles your feet and you end up plowing into your own tent. The poles creak as the whole things sags under you.

His laughter is high and light. Exactly what you think some fancy boy at a rich bitch party would sound like if the staff dropped a tray of teeny, tiny little pickled fish eggs or roasted peacock asshole or whatever those dipshits eat.

“Fuck you, too,” you say on instinct.

On bad instinct.

“Feeling rather forward this evening are we, darling?” Astarion says. The dick. He’s not actually inside his tent; has plonked himself down all criss-cross applesauce right outside the flap. He sits completely unmoving, the only giveaway the shift in eerie eyeshine as he tilts his head back to regard you.

“Ain’t you just a creeper,” you say.

“A what?” He sounds more amused than insulted.

“Creeper. Some guy lurking all creepy in the fucking dark.”

He ponders that a moment. Then lets out his high, little “ah-ha!” giggle. The firelight catches that predator’s eyeshine again. “Vampire, darling. It rather comes with the territory.”

“I guess.” He’s got a point, goddamnit. “You eavesdropping again?”

“Of course. Especially once I caught that juicy little conversation with our dear cleric.”

You’re so tired. You sway on your feet. Sitting down sounds great, and it’s the polite thing to do, but you know the second your butt touches the dirt, you ain’t getting back up.

“Tomorrow night,” you say. “I’m way too beat right now. But you can feed tomorrow.”

“Oh ~darling~” the man fucking purrs. “I was so hoping you’d say that. I’ll come to you then, when you’re snugly wrapped in your bedroll, and we can have a little privacy. And this time, I’ll make sure I’m quiet. We don’t want to disturb your rest. Later on, when we are at rest, I will eat you right up. Just enough to give me strength and just enough to leave you wishing for more.”

Um.

“Um,” you say. Scratch the back of your head. “I think I’d prefer you don’t come in while I’m asleep?”

So of course he plays right onto that, because he’s a horrible person. The firelight catches his face as it pulls down into a leer. “Prefer to feel my lips on your skin again?”

He can see in the dark better than you, you gathered. Hopefully not enough to catch the wash of heat over your cheeks.

His tongue on your neck. It’s the most intimate you ever been with somebody.

“A strange man slipping in and biting my while I’m asleep, hmm. You do know that’s exactly what I meant when I called you a creeper, right?”

“We’re hardly strangers at this point.”

“I’ve known you a week.”

He seems on the verge of firing something back. Reconsiders. His smile, when it comes, is a touch too composed. “As you like. You’ll wait for me, then? After the others have gone to rest?”

Making it sound like a damn hookup.

You’re honestly too tired to keep up with this pointy-eared dork. “Sure, sure. I’ll wait up for you. Do me a favor, though, and if I do fall asleep, wake me up?”

The reflected glow of his eyes dips as he places a hand over his chest and gives you a seated bow. Maybe it’s your own tired, or maybe (just a little), the teasing is (kinda) fun. But you dip into a fancy bow back. You been itching to do that.

Which lights up his whole face in delight.

“Night,” you say before he can kick off another round of being weird, and you duck into your still-sagging tent.

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