#but like. (a) how much convincing of conservatives do you really think is gonna happen on tumblr anyway?

[aeide-thea]

very much an off-the-cuff post so there may well be bugs, i'm still workshopping my thinking here, but—

i seem to see posts fairly regularly in which a member of some marginalized group A is objecting to attempts by less marginalized group B to make connections between discrimination against A and harm experienced by B (the main thing i have in mind here is when people attempt to align themselves with visibly-trans people by pointing out the ways that transphobic legislation also impacts gnc cis people, theatrical crossdressing, &c, but there are definitely also examples along other axes)—

and like. the main objection i've seen from A is 'why do they have to connect my experience to their experience in order to care about it? why can't they just agree that i shouldn't be discriminated against as a matter of, like, compassion for fellow humanity?'

and this reaction does honestly always just seem a little, idk, naive to me?? like, i don't know, it's gotten very popular ime to complain about normies' clumsy attempts to Understand Instead of Just Accepting [this feels potentially linked to like. the way many of us now prefer silently clicking 'like' to producing our own original, maybe clumsy, responses? but don't @ me on that point], probably because a lot of the time they aren't genuinely seeking to Understand but just to point out all the ways our queerness &c doesn't fit their received (unexaminedly conservative) understanding of the world, which feels to us (very reasonably!) like renewed pressure from the establishment to make ourselves fit that established framework, and so we resist… but at the same time, idk, maybe i'm just outing myself as lesser-than-thou here, but for every sort of person i was raised to distrust and have since arrived at genuine loving acceptance/appreciation of, it's involved first coming to understand their frame of reference at least a little? not to say that there isn't a place for shutting up and listening while you're still working to understand, because there definitely is! but i do kind of think this idea that's become popular in certain liberal circles of like, 'you don't have to understand my experience, you just have to respect it,' is fine and true for keeping peace with strangers, but really isn't a recipe for winning friends or influencing people—it's a recipe for keeping people at arm's length where they can't hit you. and then people turn around and want to apply that rule to coalition-building, and get all shocked-pikachu-face when others seek to identify more active points of connection.

...

another ~Radical Objection to Liberal Approaches~ i've seen, though often not specifically in this context (of discussing the way attempts to oppress A have knock-on effects for B), is like—'there's no point in deconstructing their logic because it's fundamentally illogical! insert that sartre quote abt anti-semites!' and like. no, there's absolutely no point in debating their logic with them. but fundamentally when people assert a logical resistance to bigoted positions they are not doing it to Own The Bigots, imo, or at any rate shouldn't be; they're (we're) doing it to reaffirm the basis of their/our own camp's position, namely, we see your knee-jerk fears and reject them; we substitute instead a patient allegiance to logic, that reasons its way into compassion.

that said, obviously there's a conversation to be had here about, like, platforming bad positions, and to what extent deconstructing them is implicitly platforming them! but. i do think that complaining that logic won't win over bigots is missing the very fundamental point that the logic isn't for the bigots: it's for us. we're talking to ourselves; we're affirming ourselves. and yeah, we need to understand that this sort of intra-party discussion doesn't, on its own, constitute sufficient activism! messages need to be communicated beyond the bounds of the party! but i do think i disagree that there's no place for it.

[1-800-sin]

YOUR WRITING IS AMAZING 💞 i beg you to write some headcannons about the sawyers family with their s/o, in tcsm. with the new characters from the game if you can (sissy and johnny)?? thanks🫂

Sawyer Family x gn!reader basic hc’s

Omg this took way to long, writers block is a killer. I’m gonna admit I had to do some research and read some fics to get to know some of the characters I don’t usually write, but here we go<3

Disclaimer: the Sawyer family tree is so very very confusing, so the characters I went with: Bubba, Johnny, Sissy, Drayton(who is gonna be the older brother but more father figure bc his role is confusing), and Nubbins,

If I missed anyone, let me know and I wasn’t completely sure if you wanted this fluffy or smutty, so I went safe. If you did want smut, ask me please. And it shall be done:)

Bubba

•The sweetest boy, always reaching out to you for affection.

•He’s a big hugger, and a bear hugger too. Sometimes forgets how much bigger he is than most other people, but how can you say no? Even when he’s knocked the wind out of you with those big arms of his.

•He’s a simple man, he could die peacefully and fulfilled in your embrace.

•PRAISE HIM!

•He corrects himself on accidental roughness, tell him he’s doing such a good job and he’ll melt.

•Sometimes he gets easily frustrated because of people not understanding his intentions, so be patient with him. Reward him with hugs and cuddles and he’ll be satisfied.

•Late night talks! Even if it’s more enthusiastic grunts and whines. You’ll both be lying in bed and he’ll just be babbling happily about his day, or about how much he loves you with the widest grin on his face.

•He’s never really had a ‘relationship’ before, so there are times when you have to remind him what’s appropriate in front of the family and what’s not.

•Like sometimes he’ll get really excited, and start kissing you all over.

•But it’s at the dinner table, and some people in this Texan conservative household don’t want to see that PDA.

•His brothers and sister just love teasing him left and right about you, and he couldn’t care less. He loves you, and he’d tell the whole world if he could.

•The warm humidity of Texas is all he’s ever known, so one night there’s a weird and sudden cold snap, and he is absolutely freezing. You aren’t allowed to move from being his personal heating pad.

•But you aren’t complaining, trapped in a pile of blankets with the man you love isn’t the worst way to go.

•Sometimes he’ll go hunting in the forest and bring you back wild fowl, or something other than what the Sawyers all usually eat.

•Sure he wants you to be part of the family, but he notices the way your face scrunches up at the prospect of eating other people.

•It confused him at first, then it clicked that you didn’t like eating people. Like how he didn’t like his vegetables(or that’s how he thought about it).

•So he brings you other more humane alternatives.

•He hates rain and storms, they confuse him. As nobody took the time to explain to him what was happening, why everything was so loud and dark.

•It takes a lot of convincing and encouragement until he’s not cowering in fear at the thunder and lightning(thinking of making a one shot about this tbh).

•To sum it all up, he’s hopelessly in love, and he’d do anything and everything to protect you, and make you happy. He loves the feeling of your soft skin on his. Even if you have rougher hands, it’s nothing compared to his, and he loves it.

•Be gentle with this man, love him to death I beg<3

Johnny

•He’s a cocky bastard, even before you were officially together he was treating you like you were married to him under the state.

•Has absolutely no shame, and he will make out with you in front of Sissy to make her annoyed.

•He’s hyper fixated and persistent, meaning he will get what he wants eventually. So it’s better not to fight him on it(whatever it may be).

•Just like with Bubba, he is teased RELENTLESSLY. More so about how soft you make him. Or how whipped he is for you.

•Whenever he does something remotely sweet or nice to you in front of his siblings(and sometimes even his father and mother) he’ll get a sharp whistle and a chorus of teasing and laughter.

• “Wow Johnny, you really are just a softie huh?”

• “Shut it..”

•He’d never admit it to his family, but he would do anything for you.

•Any guy(or girl frankly) makes the mistake of catcalling or harassing you? They’re dead on the news the next morning.

•As I said even BEFORE you guys were officially dating.

•And he’s a jealous jealous man, so even if it was a misperceived or imaginary threat, it’s enough for him to kill them.

•He tries to be normal for you at first, tries to ignore the taunting from his family that he’ll slip up and scare you away.

•Then he quickly discovers your a freaky little thing by nature, even if your a little freaked out at first.

•Because who wouldn’t want a boyfriend so obsessed with you that he’ll murder for you?

•He likes it when you touch his hair, especially when he’s all sweaty from one thing or another.

•He won’t make you eat people, sometimes he doesn’t either. Not because he’s disgusted by it, more so because he gets bored of just one thing.

•The type to decide when you wake up, whether he’s up before you or not. Sometimes he’s clinging onto your midsection telling you ‘just five more minutes’ for the next hour and a half,

• Other times it’s a note left on your nightstand after he’s left to do farm chores, saying ‘If I see you up before 11 so help me god’

Sissy

•She personally lives for the thrill of bringing you(male, female or other) back home to her family. Specially her daddy.

•She doesn’t hide anything about her life from you even from the beginning. Meaning she expects the same blatant transparency.

•Loves annoying her brothers, mostly Johnny.

•She refuses softness in front of her family because as stated prior, she knows she’ll be made fun of excessively for it.

•That’s not to say she isn’t clingy and all over you.

•She is, it’s just much less ‘lovey dovey’ more ‘this person is mine, touch them and I’ll kill you’.

•She loves when you treat her, growing up she was often overlooked by her family, or even underestimated.

•Buy her something pretty, or something like a plant and she’ll be even more in love.

•She’s never liked loud animals, but she likes cats. Despite her family’s protests, onetime when she was a kid Nubs tried to kill a cat for lunch, she beat him silly. Saved the poor orange kitty and fed it for years.

•Her favourite colour is orange because of that.

•She sleeps like she’s constantly taking up to much space, she curls into one side of the bed and tries to keep there.

•It would be greatly appreciated if you pulled her close, let her uncurl from her little self created ball.

Drayton

•This man has his moments, and I’m not completely sure how I feel about him.

•The Sawyer family often picks on each other and teases each other but Drayton and Nubbs often take it just a little too far.

•His younger siblings are constantly poking fun at his attempts at leadership, and I feel like that makes him a deeper character then I’ve really thought about before.

•He’s a classic older cowboy type, a gentleman with a very stereotypical older brother vibe.

•He tries to keep his family safe, and that includes you when you find your way into his heart.

•He isn’t exactly ‘sweet’ but he can commit to sentimental gestures if that’s something you like.

•The occasional bouquet of wild flowers on your nightstand, or a kiss on the cheek before he goes out for work in the morning.

•He often judges himself too harshly, his decisions and his ability to lead his family, just tell him he’s doing good. He’ll melt in your hands like putty.

•His siblings often make risky choices just to show they can, and it stresses him out(more than he’ll show or admit).

•He can be bad at minding his manners, especially when people are riling him up.

•All he needs is someone to come home too, someone who can appreciate him for all he does and all he tries to do.

(His is really short but I’m unfamiliar with his character😂)

Nubbins

•He’s definitely the most openly clingy if the bunch, he’ll stick to your side like he’s glued there.

•Whether you’re going for a drive into town, or just getting up to go make something for yourself, he’s on your tail.

•He loves being pressed up against you, barely(if any) space between your bodies.

•It makes him feel safe.

•Drayton, Johnny and Sissy often tease him for being dumb, but he’s not dumb! You don’t think so..right?

•Unlike many of the others, if he needs your reassurance, he’ll ask you for it.

•He loves it when you run your fingers through his hair, or down his back.

•He tries to be polite, at least after you teach him what exactly that means.

•He’s very possessive, some days when there isn’t any work that needs done, he’ll just hold you hostage in your bed.

•He loves sunrises, sometimes he wakes up at a specific time just to watch them(his internal clock).

Some of these are shorter than others, if you want anymore specific head cannons let me know, or any other characters<3 have a lovely day.

[cheesiedomino]

When Worlds Collide

Part 2

genre: non-idol au, college au, hyunjin x fem!reader, badboy!hyunjin x innocent!reader, enemies to lovers? if you squint, pg-14

wc: 5.6k (i’m not very good at keeping things short i see)

tags/warnings: fluff, kissing, cursing, themes of anxiety and insecurities (regarding the reader), alcohol usage, mentions of drugs (weed), reader is introverted, hyunjin is a rich boi, hyunjin is a little mean to the reader at first, that’s pretty much it i think.

synopsis: you’ve been wanting to get rid of your good girl image since you transferred schools, but luckily, you have an extroverted roommate that can help you with that. Along the way, you meet at a strange individual at a party that shines a light into your dull life.

It all started after you transferred schools. That’s when everything changed for you.

You grew up in the smallest town where every and anybody would gossip (since everyone basically knew everyone in the town), there wasn’t much room to express yourself, and most of the people had conservative views. You were tired of living like this and you wanted to go somewhere you could feel liberated. You wanted a change of scenery, new friends, and a new life, and the city was the perfect opportunity for you. 

You were nervous out of your mind on your way to the new university. You had no real expectations other than to be as far away from your shitty hometown as possible, 8 hours should be sufficient enough for that. However, now realizing you’ll know absolutely no one there terrified you. 

Living in the big city was intimidating yet exciting, you wanted to experience something new for the first time in your life. It took everything in you to get your parents to agree, let alone even consider transferring to a university 8 hours away. They thought you were ludicrous and couldn’t see why you’d want to be that far away from them. You also have 2 siblings and they were both really upset but tried to be happy for you in the process. Of course, you’ll miss everyone but you wanted to do something for yourself for a change.

On the first day of moving into your new dorm, you couldn’t believe how huge your room was. The university compared to the one in your hometown was basically a castle. You were arranging everything on your side of the room and that’s when you heard the door swing wide open.

“Oh hi, you must be my new roommate!” A girl with long pink hair suddenly spoke,

That’s when you met Sana, your now roommate, and very close friend.

You weren’t expecting to become so close with Sana but it just happened. You guys were practically inseparable, that was until she joined a sorority. Once she joined she became busy more frequently, she didn’t have much time to spend with you anymore. You had other friends but they weren’t as fun and witty as Sana. You sometimes wished you had listened to her and tried joining the same sorority as her, but it was one of the most difficult sororities to get into and you have to know people in order to basically get in. See the thing is, you aren't popular, but she is. She knew almost everyone at that university. She has success right in the palm of her hands and she uses it to her advantage. 

Although she's busy more often now, she still tries to squeeze time into her busy schedule for you. You went out to get boba one day and she asks you if you wanted to come to one of the parties that she’s helping host at her sorority house. Now, usually, you turn her down but this time she really tries to convince you to go.

“Come on y/n, wasn’t your whole goal of transferring schools was to let loose? Have some fun? You’re starting to resort back to your old ways” Sana says to you. 

She’s right, and it pains you to listen to her. You’ve only gone to about 2 or 3 parties and it’s already the second semester. You needed to spice up your life just a little bit.

“I promise you’ll have fun honey, my brother frat is gonna be there too and they’re buying all the alcohol for us!” She continues. It doesn’t entice you that you’ll be meeting them since you don’t have much luck with men to begin with. Your insecurities always get in the way of everything causing you to either not see the red flags in a person or just downright end up getting dumped for someone else. You did however, want to get your mind off things and a party will definitely do just that. 

“Okay, fine.” You agree, Sana starts jumping up and down on the bed and claps her hands, she’s the most adorable thing ever.

“Yay! I promise you won't regret it, babe” 

As you’re looking for something to wear, you see Sana try on different shirts. You notice how good she looked in everything and how pretty she was. You hated comparing yourself to other girls but you couldn’t help doing that with Sana, she was charismatic, funny, always got guys and girl’s attention, everything you thought you were not. She’s from a big city so she has a lot more experience with certain things in life unlike you, she basically taught you all the street smarts you know now. You wish you could be more extroverted like her so you often try to copy the way she acts sometimes but you feel foolish doing it. You don’t think she notices though since she still thinks you’re a goody two-shoes that’s always studying.

You look in the mirror and analyze the outfit you picked out, it had a subtle amount of sexy but not too much. You thought it was the perfect balance. 

“Nice tits,” Sana says to you flirtatiously as she passes by to get something, you look down at your shirt again and think to yourself if you’re showing too much cleavage. 

“Calm down babe, I’m only joking, you look adorable” She retorts.

You sigh, “Sorry if I’m a little on edge, I’m just not sure how I feel in this outfit” it was a bit out of your comfort zone but this is what you wanted, you wanted to push your own personal boundaries. You wanted to show a new side of yourself, the one that you’ve been longing for since you got here. 

“Well, as I said, you look adorable and there’s nothing to worry about” She says, “I’ll probably have to control the boys from drooling all over you though!” 

You sway your hand towards her, “No way, I’ll be doing that for you instead!” 

“Anyways, are you almost ready to go?” She says as she’s tying her platform boots. 

“Yeah, I think so” You say, you can’t stop looking in the mirror, you just don’t feel confident in your outfit and it shows. 

"This party is going to be fucking amazing!" Sana says as she wraps her arm around you leading the way. You gave a fake smile to her trying to act somewhat excited. Part of you wanted to just turn back and say that you want to stay in but the other half of you wants to finally shed your good girl image. You took a deep breath as you were getting into the uber, Sana insisted on you not driving since she wanted to take shots with you, even though you don’t really want to drink.

“My sorority sisters are so nice you’ll love them,” Sana says to you during the car ride “they may get a little wild but they’re still sweet and down to earth”

You nod, “I just hope everyone will like me..” 

“Why wouldn’t they?” She tilted her head.

“I don’t know..” You really couldn’t think of a reason but the thought was still on your mind. 

“Exactly, you’re thinking about all the wrong things right now. Think about just having fun and getting to meet new people.”

She’s always able to say the right things to you and that's why you love her.

As you guys get closer to the destination you have this weird feeling in your stomach, as if you’re going to throw up. You know its your anxiety so you just breathe in and out and try to stop overthinking. 

"We're here!" She says, “my second home” 

You look out the window and see the house in front of you. You thought you were imagining things. The house is huge. It could pass off as a celebrity mansion. It had a large balcony in the front with tons of people drinking and dancing. You saw strobe lights from the inside and you heard the splashing of water. 

“Oh yeah we have a pool, by the way, we’ve got extra bathing suits if you want one!” She exclaims.

You get out of the car and you’re holding hands with Sana. As you walk in you see tons of people that you don’t know and have never seen in your life. Almost everyone has a drink in their hand and everyone looks like they're having a good time. Sana kept getting stopped every 2 seconds since she knew literally every person at school and it annoyed you since she was the only person you knew and came with. She was also the host so she was obligated to greet and talk to everyone. At one point you looked around and she was nowhere in sight. You just sigh and decide to walk around the 3 story house with your second drink in your hand, wondering why you even came here in the first place. You see people getting blackout drunk, making out, dancing, smoking, or knocked out. You decide to just go upstairs and sit down in a room or something. You open the closest door and end up walking in on two people. 

The girl screamed.

"Close the fucking door idiot!" The guy yelled at you.

You closed it right away and ran to the next room still stunned by how fast that all went down.

The next room you went to was thankfully empty so you sat on the bed, pulled your phone out, and texted Sana to ask where she is.

As you were staring at your phone waiting for a response you hear a strange rattling noise coming from the closet.

You stare at the door not sure if it was just you hearing things or if something was actually in there. You hear another loud bang coming from inside the closet and that’s when you start to get up. You didn’t know if you wanted to run or see what was in there. Then the door abruptly  opens, almost giving you a heart attack. You screamed and throw your empty can of beer at whatever was coming out of there.

"What the fuck!" You hear a man’s voice say.

"Who are you?!" You say, looking at the person coming out of the closet, now approaching you.

He was tall, wearing tight black jeans, and a gray hoodie, what stood out to you the most though was his bright red hair.

"No. Who the fuck are you?!" He says to you, in a harsh tone. His eyes are red, you can tell he’s clearly stoned.

"Well if you must know my name is y/n. But to be honest, that’s not important, why were you in a closet?" You ask him.

"I don’t need to explain shit to you." He snaps back.

You frown, not really appreciating his dickhead attitude, so you get off the bed and begin to leave.

"Wait, don't leave." He says before you could reach the door handle. 

You don’t know why you halted once he said that but you did and turned around.

"Why not?" You ask politely.

"I don't know. You're kinda cute." He said.

You blush, you weren’t expecting him to say that of all things. He may have been rude to you a few seconds ago but he has one of the most attractive faces you’ve ever seen.

"Thanks?" You say back to him, you can never just accept a compliment without questioning it.

"You enjoying my party?" The boy asks, now sitting on the bed.

"This is your party?" You ask him.

"Yep." He proudly boasts.

"This is your house?" 

"Yep."

"Really?"

"Yep."

You chuckle to yourself, “No it’s not, my roommate literally is part of this sorority and you don’t look like a girl to me”

He loses his arrogant facade realizing you caught him in a lie.

“Who’s your roommate?! He asks.

“Sana” 

“Seriously?!”

“Yup, shocker right?” You say to him, wondering how he will think of you now.

“Well.. how come I’ve never seen you around?” He says.

“I guess I’m not really the party type”

"Then why the fuck are you here?" He says bluntly.

“I just wanted to” You say back but this time using more bass in your voice.

"Alright fine" He says, “But if you’re going to be here you need to let loose more, you seem very uptight”

“Whatever.” You tell him, taking slight offense towards what he's saying to you right now.

"Wait, what was your name again?" He asks.

"Y/n." 

"Cool, I'm Hyunjin." He reaches his hand out to give you a hand shake “nice to meet you I guess”

"Sure." You say back, reluctantly taking his hand to shake it.

"Cute outfit." Hyunjin says as he pokes your stomach which was exposed because of the crop top you were wearing. You push his hand away and glare at him, 

"Stop." 

"You're no fun." He pouts. He towers over you with his tall and slender physique, you think you might stop breathing because of how beautiful he was.

"Whatever, anyways it was nice knowing you but I'm leaving."

 You grab the door handle but Hyunjin grabs your arm in the process. You start to feel dizzy yet you dont know why. Was it from the alcohol? Definitely not, you weren't that much of a lightweight.

"Can I at least get your number?" He asks.

"No." You say as you shook your head, he may have been very attractive yet his attitude put a sour taste in your mouth. You left the party without Sana as you were ready to go and weren’t in the mood for that kind of night anymore. ‘So much for going out and trying new things’ you say to yourself as you head up to your room. As you lye on your bed and look at the ceiling you keep replaying that same scene over and over again. You can’t get the image of Hyunjin’s face out of your brain, everything about him made you want to melt, besides the way he acted of course. 

As you get ready for bed and put on your pjs, you come out the bathroom and get a text from Sana. You had already told her you came back to the dorm so she knows you’re safe.

'Omg im sorry y/n i got so wrapped up in everything! i love you girl!' 

You just look at it and roll your eyes. You know she’s extremely intoxicated right now so you just text her back saying it’s okay but in reality it wasn't.

-

"So, did you meet any hot guys?" Sana asked you, taking a sip of her boba drink.

You were chewing on your fries and trying to think of what to say, you weren’t sure if you wanted to bring up the Hyunjin situation.

"No.. But I did meet some weirdo." You say.

"Who?" She asked.

"His name was Hyunjin, I think" You definitely knew his name you were just trying to play it cool.

"Oh him? Really?” She says, “that’s my bro from the frat, he’s such a player but he’s really nice to me." 

"Oh." 

"He's actually really nice though, he's not weird at all."

"He's a douche bag."

"Well he's nice to me."

"Every guy is nice to you Sana."

She laughs at that, she knows she could have any guy drop to their knees for her. That’s just the kind of girl she was, you were not though.

As you play with the fries on your plate you hear a voice calling your name.

A strikingly familiar voice.

The one from last night.

"Ohh y/n! I'm still waiting for that number!" You hear from behind you.

You knew exactly who it was.

"What do you want Hyunjin?" You turn around.

"You know what I want." He says.

All this time you’ve never seen this man before, yet somehow today he comes to the same exact place as you. Is this the world seeking revenge on you?

You roll your eyes, you say your phone number super quickly and try to escape from him by coming out of the booth. You must’ve stood up to fast and you bumped your arm on the table, causing your drink to spill all over Hyunjin’s pants. 

You froze for a second and profusely apologize to him.

“I- Oh god I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to do that!” 

“But you did,” He says looking at the damage done to his pants “So is this how you treat people you just met huh?” He replies.

“Come on y/n let’s head to class, really sorry this had to happen to you buddy” She says to Hyunjin as you both head out.

"Oh my god y/n, not gonna lie that was pretty funny!" Sana says laughing on the way back to the car.

"It was an honest accident." You say, “now he’s really going to hate me”

You actually didn’t have a class to go to it was just Sana’s quick thinking that got you out of that situation. You were sitting at your desk in the corner of your room and going over some quick vocabulary for your exam coming up. You felt your phone vibrate and see that you have a text from a number that you don’t have saved. 

This couldn’t be who you think it is.

'Heyyy, i memorized ur number’ the text read.

You don't know if you should respond back or not. You just look at it for a while. He must really want to talk to you that bad if he’ll go as far as remembering the number you blurted out. You got interrupted by your thoughts with another message.

‘Why’d u spill ur drink on me babe?’ 

You scoffed. You hated this guy’s grammar and he’s already pissing you off. Yet you decide to reply anyway.

'Go away Hyunjin.' 

'How about we go on a date tomorrow?' 

You can't believe he just asked you that. After everything that just went down.

'Why?' You genuinely want to know why.

'Idk cuz ur cute'

'Whatever I guess' You don’t even know why you agreed. It’s like your brain was saying no but your hands were typing a completely different response.

Now you’re stuck and have a date tomorrow at 6:30 with him. You end up telling Sana everything.

"Oh my god are you serious?!" She said.

"Yeah." You say back nonchalantly, as if you’ve been asked on a multitude of dates before. But in actuality, you’ve only been on about three in total. 

"Well you sound enthused." Sana said sarcastically.

You just shrug, you don't even know if you should be excited or not. It’s no secret that Hyunjin is one of the most attractive guys at school but it’s also no secret that he’s a ladies man. Not only that but his attitude can be so reckless. He doesn't think before he says anything so he just comes off as a major prick. But hey, look on the bright side, at least you have something do tomorrow rather than eating cheese curls and watching Netflix.

-

Today is the day. It’s 4:31 and you were getting ready for your date with Hyunjin. You were actually pretty excited at this point, even anticipating it. 

You were both texting each other throughout the day and he didn't seem like the jerk you were talking to at the party. He was softer, had a more sweet side to him. He even said good morning and that you looked beautiful the other day. Although this nice side of him was starting to come out, he did still have some traits about him that you didn’t particularly enjoy. He did like to party, a lot. He enjoyed doing drugs, going out, getting into trouble and just being well..reckless. He had girls lining up to be with him and here he is just casually going on a date with you. The nobody that just happens to have a lively roommate.

You were getting dressed for the date and decided on a cropped cardigan with a mini skirt. It was simple and you can’t go wrong with simple. You finish doing your hair, makeup, the whole shabang, you were finally ready. You looked in the mirror and actually thought to yourself for once, ‘Wow I actually look good.’

You then get a text from Hyunjin.

'Hey r u ready?'

You really hate how this man texts.

You reply back saying that you are and he tells you good because he's outside waiting. You quickly gather all your things and start heading towards the door. As you walk outside and you see a black range rover in the driveway.

Hyunjin is just standing in front of the car, leaning on it, looking as if he’s been waiting for an eternity.

“Hey sweetie” He says to you, pulling you in for a hug.

“Hello.” You say shyly, as you analyze his car, you couldn’t believe he drove something so lavish.

"There's no way this is your car." You say to him.

"Well it is." He says.

"I refuse to believe it." You say back. If he can lie so easily to you at the party saying Sana’s sorority house was his what would make you think this car is his as well?

"It was a birthday gift from my parents." He said.

"Are your parents loaded or something..?"

"Sure, that’s unimportant just get in." He quickly dismisses the conversation and opens the door for you.

You get in and as Hyunjin begins driving you ask him where exactly you guys are going.

“One of the best spots in the city” He simply replies and continues driving. Deciding not to question anything else you just enjoy the ride and try to relax.

You’re suddenly brought to a halt and you realize that you’ve finally reached your destination. The place he is taking you for your date. It looked like some fancy tower but it was just a restaurant. Hyunjin quickly got out of the car and proceeded to open the car door on your side.

"Thank you." You say politely.

"You're welcome gorgeous." He says back sweetly.

You walk into the place and it looks stunning in here. Beautiful artwork decorated the walls, classical music was playing, it looked like a place where only the wealthy and well-established get to experience. You were in awe.

Hyunjin must already have reservations since you both got seated right away, it was near the water fountain and a man was playing the piano nearby. It was actually quite romantic and nothing like you were expecting coming from someone like him. 

"How'd you get a reservation here on such short notice?" You ask him, "It looks so busy here." 

"My uncle is the owner." He says.

"Oh wow." You say, you were definitely not expecting that answer.

"Yep. My mom is a neurosurgeon and my dad owns a bunch of companies." He says while taking a sip of his water. 

"Jeez," You say, "You’ve never struggled a day in your life have you?"

"Look, you think I asked for this lifestyle? I could care less what people think of me." 

You stare at your shoes underneath the table, not able to face him when he talks sternly to you like that.

"So you don’t like having this life?" You ask.

He shakes his head, "No, not really actually."

You look up at him and proceed to ask him why not.

"Because all these bitches try and use me for my money."

"Oh." You say quietly, not sure what else to say after that.

"Don’t tell me you’re one of those." He says.

"No, not at all." You shake your head profusely.

"Good." 

Then there was pure silence.

The waiter finally comes and you order drinks and food. You went with a chicken caesar salad and water, not really understanding why you want to eat like some delicate flower around Hyunjin. You could eat the entire fridge if you could, and you have numerous times at your dorm.

"Are you on a diet or something?" He asks chuckling at you eating your salad.

You simply roll your eyes and continue eating,

"No, oh my god shut up." You say.

"You know, if you keep rolling your eyes they'll fall out." He slyly remarks.

"Good, now leave me be and let me enjoy my food” You say.

He chuckled, "You're so fucking adorable you know that?"

You blushed at that comment, most men don't compliment you and if they do it’s just to get into your pants. You’re enjoying this attention from Hyunjin though for some reason. You couldn’t take your eyes off him the whole night.

Your date with Hyunjin went surprisingly well. He opened up about a lot of things with you and you learned so much about him. He's 21 years old, he’s an only child, he’s studying biology and minors in photography, he’s also part of two clubs at school. His favorite color is green, he has two dogs, he grew up in a strict household like you but deviated at a young age, trying to shy away from his rich boy image when he was younger. He smokes a lot of weed, his favorite types of alcohol are vodka and whiskey. He hates people that use him and he hates eggplants and caviar. He enjoys skateboarding, he listens to heavy metal, and his favorite food is instant ramen. He's actually not so bad as you get to know him. 

Once you get home you couldn’t help but feel sad. You wanted to spend more time with him but not in the way he wanted to. He asked you if you wanted to go to this party with him that same night but you declined, saying that you were gonna hit the books instead. He huffed and just accepted the fact that you weren’t budging and asked if you could hang out again tomorrow and you agreed.

"Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow then beautiful." He kissed your cheek and walked back to his car.

You smile to yourself, “Goodbye Hyunjin.”

Now you’re sitting here on the edge your bed at 2 am with a dumb smile on your face. Your mind filled with only thoughts of him. His scent, his laugh, his smile, his energy, everything about him was just so sexy. You didn’t realize he had a tattoo of a snake on the side of his neck and that made you even more intrigued by his look. He stands out from the crowd yet he doesn’t care. He’s unapologetically himself and his aura is only growing stronger on you.

You can’t wait to share everything with Sana and your heart is racing. You’re going to sleep so good tonight.

-

You and Hyunjin have grown a lot closer these past couple of weeks. Once you got to know him more you realize he’s much more of a gentleman than you thought he was in the beginning. Sana is also really happy for you and she couldn’t believe you actually gave one of her fraternity brothers a chance. You’ve gone on a few more dates with him and you just love every bit of it, you love every bit of him. Although you are both complete opposites, it kind of worked out in the end. He doesn't force his crazy lifestyle on you and he’s even chose to stay in to chill with you at times instead of going to a party. You kind of enjoy how he sacrifices those things for you and it makes you feel as though you have a certain power over him. A secret weapon that no one else but you could use on him. It made you feel special.

Hyunjin texted you earlier asking if he could come over to your dorm and you were nervous since this was the first time he’d be seeing it. You spent all day trying to clean up and make it look the least bit of presentable. Sana was at the sorority house so she won’t even know anyone was here. Once he arrives, you open the door for him to come in and he immediately picks you up from the ground, hugging you tightly.

“Please put me down!” You shout to him.

“No, I love carrying you” He says as he continues to walk inside with you in his arms analyzing everything all at once. Your living room, the tiny kitchen, random plushies scattered on the couch, and then there’s your room on the left.

He steps into your room and looks at the brick walls, there were a couple posters hanging up and the fairy lights added a nice touch to everything.

"Your rooms pretty girly." He says to you chuckling.

"What'd you except?" You asked him.

"Honestly, I’m not even sure." He told you.

He sat on your bed and you sat next to him.

"Sit on my lap." He says, patting his thigh.

You turn to him giving him an odd look, "Why?" you start to giggle.

"I don't know, just do it." He says in that stern voice that you remember from when you first met him. You’ve never done this kind of thing before so you were a bit hesitate at first but then you get up and sit on his lap.

‘How bad could it be?’ You thought to yourself.

"Hey." You say as you comfortable sit on top of him. 

"Hi." He says back, but in a low husky voice. He sounds so sexy when he talks like that and it makes you feel dizzy. He cups your face with his right hand and turns your head to face his. He looks at you, just staring into your soul like a hungry lion ready to catch it’s prey.

And that’s when it happens.

He leans in to kiss you, his lips almost crashing into yours. He kisses you as if he’s gone feral. He starts to bite on your lower lip and you gasp letting his tongue slip into your mouth with ease. He’s grabbing your face with both of hands at this point and he continues kissing you as if he’s been starved for decades. You try your best to keep up with his pace but you feel like you’re about to lose oxygen with the way he’s smothering you. The kiss was very passionate and everytime you pull back he just grabs your face again and continues like nothing ever happened. You’ve been sitting on his lap making out for what seemed like hours. Sweat builds up on Hyunjin’s forehead and he starts panting. His bright red locks hiding his face, making you brush it out the way. He’s so pretty everytime you look at him, you feel like you’re dreaming at this point. All of a sudden he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you more onto the bed, he’s just holding you. As if you truly mean something to him. You can feel his irregular breathing on your neck. You look over at him and you finally realize how red his eyes were.

"Have you been smoking?" You ask him.

"Yeah." He admits.

You roll your eyes. You don't have a problem with him smoking, it's just he doesn't look good with those beet red eyes.

"Babe, you should really come to this party with me tonight." He says, hugging you tighter. 

"Noo. You know I dont like going to parties," You bury your face in his chest “Plus I have more homework to do” you mumble into his pecks wondering if he even heard that.

"Pleeease y/n," He says, “You look so hot right now, I just want to show you off” his hands begin roaming your body, his large veiny hands ran down to your thighs.

"Stop." You pull his hand away subconciously, you really aren’t used to men touching you like this.

"Come with me y/n." He pleads.

"No." You instantly shut down his offer.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

And the debate went on and on until he had finally won.

"Ugh fine you win,” You shout in defeat “but we’re leaving immediately if I feel uncomfortable”

“You got it babe.” He gives you lazy smile.

You turn your head facing the window.

"Y/n." He says.

"Yes?" You ask him.

"I really like you." He says. 

"Is this the weed that's talking?" You say to him, reluctant of his true feelings towards you.

"No baby. It's all me..." He says sincerely, "I really like you y/n. Like a lot. You’re a really cool person. I like you more than I like going out." He says.

Your eyes grow wide. Could he really be telling the truth?

"Really?" You ask, now regretting it since you’re ruining a really cute moment.

"Yes y/n. You're really beautiful and I just... Ugh... Be mine already." He pulls you closer to him once again. You smell the weed on his clothes but you don’t even mind it anymore. You just let him continue cuddling with you.

"Okay Hyunjin." You come out from his arms and get on top of him. You lower yourself and kiss him once again. He kisses you back immediately letting you have some of the control this time. Everything just felt so perfect right now at this very moment. 

“So does this make you my girlfriend or what?” He says after you pull away from the kiss.

“Yeah, I suppose so” You grin at him saying that term and you just can’t help but kiss him passionately again.

“You’re not the good girl I thought you were, look at you being so needy for me already” He says stroking the side of your chin. You’re still the same girl he met a few weeks ago, it’s just that he was the right person to unlock your true self.

You’re not the girl that’s scared of everything anymore, you’ve become much more confident with him around. This is what you needed, what you were looking for the whole time, and here he is. Hyunjin may be completely different from you but that’s how you come together, it’s as if you were meant for each other and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

End <3

(yes, i WILL be making a part 2 of this so stay tuned for that within the next couple of days hehe, hope you enjoyed and feedback is much appreciated. Take care & stay safe everyone!)

[willalove75]

the way you CLAPPED back at that person >>>

honestly though.. where did they find the bloody audacity - and to do it anonymously too?!?

the audacity to say that a bisexual has no right to be in the community if they are/have been with men is actually absurd. are we going to start excluding every lesbian, bisexual etc who’s ever had a male relationship in the past now?!

like god fucking forbid a bisexual writes fan wIw fiction and has a husband?!? (i think it's epic your husband supports u btw) and idk where i’d be without your wlw writinggggg

in the most non respectful way possible i hope they get what's coming to them because that's the most conservative (capital c) shit i've read in a while. some people need to take the stick out their arse and feel the breeze up there just for a damn reality check

and in my honest opinion lady d would probs devour a woman who’s had previous male relationships just to prove that she's better

Hahahah thank you so much!!!💕💕

Right?! Like if you're gonna be so loud with such a horrible opinion, at least have the balls and not hide behind the anon button!

And that's what I'm saying!! Like if you're reallyyyy gonna go there the only members that they'll consider to be "valid" LGBTQ+ at the end of the day are the gold star gays and lesbians and that's wrong both morally and literally on so many different levels I can't even begin to count.

Who someone has been with, dates or marries should (and at the end of the day does, thankfully) have absolutely NO bearing on what fics they write!! Because that truthfully doesn't matter!! And thank you! It continues to amaze me that I was lucky enough to marry someone who is so incredibly supportive, especially because there are definitely guys who would feel threatened or something by their wives writing stuff like that. (They shouldn't, but it does happen) And I'm so grateful to have his support all the time💕

Hahah thank youuuu!!! It really means so much when people say how much they enjoy what I write. It definitely helps give me the confidence to keep going!

But me too!!! Honestly if they didn't mention the "lesbian/sapphic spaces" part I would almost be convinced that a straight dude wrote it to be a mega troll bc that's 100% the kind of energy it gives off. Conservative (with a capital C) is SO ACCURATE! (Also, I haven't heard the term "knocked up" be used that much since like, 2007 LOL)

NO BUT YOU'RE SO RIGHT LMAOOOO she would 100% be like "a man thing? Really? Let me show you what real pleasure is supposed to feel like" and fucking GO TO TOWN😂😂😂

[thesubtextis]

Skakdkakkd I wanna know about ALL of them help

Okay let's not pull a Jelly 😂 talk to me about Wilson sandwich (cause I love a good Wilson Sandwich indeed :)) and I'm also interested in Courting and Contestation!

I think Jelly has the right idea lol. My evil plan is to just slowly work my way down your WIP list one at a time  😈. 

Wilson Sandwich is still in the early stages of development-- I don't know how it's going to end, and honestly I'm a little muddled on the start, too. Very much a porn without plot that I will probably accidentally end up adding plot to, bc I can't help myself. 

But it's omegaverse, with Omega Dick and Alpha all of the Wilsons. Basically Slade decides that he wants Dick and claims him, takes him home, and is like, hey (adult or nearly adult) kids, here's your new Mommy. (Who even knows where Adeline is. She might be an alpha too, but gtfo at some point. The omegaverse elements here have muddled the timeline, bc pack bonds don't allow Slade, the dominant alpha, to abandon his family for any kind of significant duration. Maybe Grant tries to go do his Ravager thing and stealing Dick is how Slade stops it? Idk.) Obviously, lots of noncon. I'm picturing the setting to be one of those worlds where, at least in some cultures, the pack omega is expected to be sexually available to all alphas in the pack (with very specific limitations. For example, breeding rights might be exclusive to the alpha that claimed them). I don't think that is necessarily the prevailing attitude in Gotham, especially among the comparatively prudish Bats, but I'm picturing it to be more common in the south, where Slade is from. Omega aren't owned outright, but there is a lot of sexism, even without the kind of direct sexual exploitation that would be common among more conservative groups. 

In any case, Slade's fucked up family embodies much of the worst of this, because they just don't know any better. I'm picturing Grant, Joey, and Rose. None of them are actively violent with Dick, given how easy it is to overpower him by sheer force of numbers, but I'm going for that line between horny and horror where they think what they're doing is normal. Slade gets Dick pregnant as soon as possible, and then proceeds to do his version of doting/wooing, but of course this is tainted by all of the kidnapping, and noncon, and handing Dick out to his kids. Joey is sympathetic, wants Dick to be happy and recognizes that this isn't gonna make that happen, but also, when in Rome, you know? He wants Dick too. Basically he just eats Dick out all the time and convinces himself that, because he's not getting off on it, he's not as bad as the others. All of them have a breastfeeding kink, but Rose takes it to an extreme. She also leans hard into the whole Mommy element, which Slade finds darling and Dick does not like. Picture Slade holding Dick down, maybe knotted on his lap, while Rose sucks on Dick's tits and rides him. And Slade is just praising them both, pleased as punch to finally be making a happy family. Of all of them, Grant is the most cruel-- he's tried to rebel, to find his own identity outside the pack, and Daddy Dearest cut his efforts off at the knees and brought him Dick instead. He constantly pushes the boundaries of what is acceptable, even in a household like this. If things ever get better for Dick, it's because Grant takes things too far and it forces everyone else to have a wake-up call and start actually listening to what Dick is saying about his own needs and boundaries (at least a little). 

Obviously, Dick is doing his best to escape at any given point, but once he gets pregnant, things get harder. Slade has bonded him, and he feels himself slowly succumbing to the bond's influence. This isn't what he's used to, but is it really so bad? Etc etc. I don't tend to write full mindbreak scenarios, so I don't think it would end that way, but who knows? Not me!

Courting and Contestation!!!

This is my take on your classic Will-figures-it-out-early scenario. Hannibal isn't at the stage of the relationship where he's ready to go to jail for Will, but also he doesn't want to kill him, so, naturally, he decides to kidnap Will and keep him in his basement. It's a lot of Hannibal wanting Will (his body, his mind, his eternal devotion, etc etc), and Will wanting his freedom. 

Historically, I have gotten frustrated with some fics with this premise because of the way Will becomes content with his imprisonment, because it means he gets to be with Hannibal. He and Hannibal are both people who can live rich lives within only their imaginations, but neither of them would be content with that for Will (imo). Hannibal wouldn't like that Will is escaping into his mind (where Hannibal can't follow), and Will has higher expectations of Hannibal as a partner than to treat him as, functionally, a beloved pet. 

So instead, they start negotiating. Will knows he can't get away with lying to Hannibal outright, to he has to really consider what Hannibal would need to do in order for him to be willing to not just enter into a relationship with him, but to become complicit in his crimes by not turning him in, if freed. Hannibal has to consider what it would take for him to actually trust that Will won't turn him in the second he lets his guard down. 

This includes reasonable things like "let's not lie to each other anymore" and less reasonable things, like "I'll let you fuck me, but only if you hunt me down in the woods and I have a real chance of getting away." 

[avi17]

This started off as a reblog of @hellfiredm 's post about the Duffer bros shitty interview [here], but I thought it got too long for a reblog so-

My only disagreement with OP is that I don't think Eddie didn't want to graduate- it sounds like he very much wants to, both talking at school and mentioning in the RV that he swore to make something of himself and not to turn out like his dad (who we can guess from context is a criminal, my guess is that he's in prison). Also the fact that he's repeating senior year for a THIRD time- he's already got some income from dealing and I'm sure whatever Wayne does at the plant doesn't require a high school diploma. He could just drop out, especially after the second fail, but he didn't, he wants it.

Might be me projecting but he has MAJOR adhd energy to me- partly just in his mannerisms and how he talks, but also because of the exact things you've mentioned. He is smart, but only in the things he can actually focus on. He can devour thousands of pages of books, can learn complicated music by ear in a short time, can plot out dnd campaigns and make maps and do at least enough on the fly math to run a game (if you've never played, dnd involves a lot more math than you might expect 😂). But then he's bad enough in classes about similar things- math, literature, history- to be unable to even scrape a passing grade? That's exactly adhd, where you are smart but you hyperfixate on the things that interest you and absolutely can't focus on the stuff that doesn't. And he lives in a trailer park 40 years ago, nobody is taking him in to get this diagnosed or getting him on meds. They just assume he's stupid or doesn't care. But nobody is gonna voluntarily do that shit THREE times if they don't care. He probably doesn't even understand why he can't just fucking get it together in class. Underneath all the bitching about conformity and shit, he probably feels like he's stupid and that breaks my heart. I feel like he absolutely could have graduated with the help of someone who understood what was going on and why he was struggling, and I really love the fics where that actually happens.

But yeah, those are remarkably shitty things to say about a character who more viewers have seen themselves in than maybe any other on the show. I feel like the Duffers were Mike once- they think they've been outsiders because they had nerdy interests, and maybe they were to a degree, but that's made them think they understand what it's like to be a true outsider and they don't. They've been Mike, but they've never been Will or Lucas or Robin or Eddie. That's why they've got these views that are more conservative and shitty than you'd expect, that's why this show does great with making lots of nostalgic nerdy references but then handles things like race and queerness and neurodivergency so badly.

And yeah, after Barb's "chemical toxin" and the "mall fire" and all the other craziness, you can't convince me that they couldn't have come up with a cover for this. Especially with Hopper back, and especially since the town is fucking split in half by a giant interdimensional hell crater that Eddie obviously didn't cause (even if some people thought he did with some kind of Satanic magic, that's not something you can even remotely prove in court.) He might still be guilty in the eyes of too many residents of Hawkins to stay there safely, but if he was cleared legally he could leave and have a life somewhere else. In no way was him having absolutely no future inevitable.

I'm just. They conceived him as a "tragic figure" but it's not a tragedy that he gave his life if he had no future. It's not a tragedy that he gave his life if his life didn't have worth. Fucking hell.

Let's be real, they conceived him as a sacrificial lamb for a couple minutes of tearjerking like they do every season and he totally got away from them and now they're in a dilemma because they absolutely had no plans to bring him back but they didn't realize he would be THIS loved. I think it would fuck up their preconceived story for s5 too much to have him just come back, but I am hoping for at least some cameos in one form or another. Though honestly, if they think this poorly of him, maybe they should just let him rest. :/

[bright-eyed]

yesterday my mom called me into her room and asked me if I wanted to cook and clean the kitchen or go to the store and I was like “why don’t we ask dad to clean” and she said “he doesn’t do it right” and I was like “that’s not a good reason for him to never do work at all” and she threw up her hands and said “I’ll just do it all myself” and I was like “are you really so against asking dad to help that you would do three times as much work” and she said “yes” and I was like fuck that whatever so I just asked him myself if he would clean with me and he said “I’ll just clean it by myself.” So she went to the store he cleaned and I cooked dinner and everyone was happy!!

And like…. my dad is not a feminist he’s a vaguely conservative white guy from texas so he didn’t do it because of a secret political consciousness. I think that just like any lazy housemate he glides by without doing housework because his housemates are hesitant to ask him to do it, or they don’t feel they have the right to ask. And because he’s a man he doesn’t think to do it without being asked, so his lack of acceptance of his responsibility for his share of the housework means his housemates (wife and daughter) pick up his slack, and he doesn’t see it, and hardly ever does anyone tell him where to look or that he should be lookinh at all, except me because I’m a fucking seething tempest and I’d literally boil over if I let him get away with it without even attempting to make him feel bad about it

Anyway the whole situation just bothered me because yeah sometimes he does put up a fight, I can maybe understand given my mother’s upbringing why she expects a fight, but if even half the time he responds like that then to me it’s worth a quick fight for the long term benefit of having a husband who isn’t also your child. Like I wonder how much work my mom has given herself (and to me and my sister, from the time we were tall enough to reach the sink or strong enough to push a vacuum) just because she was too afraid to ask her husband for help, because deep down she knows that there’s a power imbalance between them that neither of them can recognize let alone reckon with, and she fears or has learned over decades that every request she makes has a small chance of costing her something that matters more to her than whether she does the dishes or he does — her security, her peace, her sense of self, avoiding a fight, accepting these established unwritten rules to avoid the responsibility and strife of writing and enforcing new rules, etc.

I’m not saying “women are overburdened by housework because they don’t ask” because frankly they shouldn’t have to ask — and having to think about what needs to be done all the time is half the burden of housework, and the part that is most often completely unshared, which takes a greater psychological toll — but I think the only way anything ever changes is if we change them, and that means raising issues we’ve let lie so long they’ve grown roots, and facing the consequences of uprooting them. The alternative is what? Like. We’re just gonna live like this forever until we can’t stand to look at each other? Ok.

I think we often avoid the immediate conflict of addressing the issue and forcing change, and we think we’re saving ourselves trouble and pain in doing so, but really what happens is the older, deeper tension grows the longer the issue goes unaddressed and the changes aren’t made, and becomes exponentially harder to absolve. We consistently underestimate the effect that the deeper tension can have on our happiness and on our relationships, so when we choose short-term relief over long-term justice, we don’t understand that injustice wears us down in its more insidious way, and then we don’t understand the stress or anger we feel. One day we might wake up feeling more resentment than love, and not understand why.

We burrow in fear and cowardice — which isn’t an easy place to live in either, even if you could convince yourself the injustice is just and the tension is natural. We think we’re safe because we’re not looking at the problem directly. But we don’t actually avoid the struggle, we just fight it badly, ineffectually, and futilely. Weaponless and with our eyes closed. And then we still fucking suffer. Like …. Consistently get slaughtered. You can’t opt out so you might as well do something. Fight, save yourself, whatever. Just don’t wither away with your head in the sand cuz it’s not helping and it’s not gonna help. Ask for things to change. Bring it up even if it feels like starting a fight over nothing because it’s not as nothing as it seems. Don’t teach your kids that the world is unfair and there’s nothing you can do about it for them because they see right through that and they know it’s not that you can’t it’s that you don’t want to. Anyway

[neonponders]

As bad as the writing on st is I really thought that the intention behind Billy's line to max about Lucas was incredibly clear. We learn later that max living up to Neil's rulebook decides when Billy is abused. Neil doesn't take her misbehavior out on her yet. But Billy knows Neil's rules and consequences more than anyone. As much as Billy takes his anger and resentment out on her, I genuinely can't see that line as anything but a warning. Not about how black people are bad so you need to stay away from them. It's about how Neil is racist and Billy knows he's violent. Lucas and Max could be in physical danger if Neil found out about them. If Neil throws around the f slur you can't convince me he doesn't throw around the n word too. The line is so specific- there are some people in this world that you learn to stay away from. The given circumstances point directly to Neil as that teacher.

You could call it a headcanon but if I was playing Billy I would have come up with this backstory for him anyway. Lines like that imply history. It could be that Billy has had to listen to Neil's racist comments in general his whole life, or maybe he tried having black friends in California as a kid. Neil would have been furious and the lesson was probably punctuated with violence. (I find it even more interesting if the incident that brought them to Indiana involved Billy being caught with another boy. Maybe that boy was white, maybe he wasn't. It all makes for a more fleshed out story either way.)

So I genuinely don't think that Billy pushing Lucas against the wall was racially motivated. It is entirely valid for Lucas and the rest of the kids to have perceived it that way. I probably would too. So anyway, you're totally right. There's no way Neil knows who Lucas is, but I think Billy was very clearly trying to keep it that way for all of their sakes.

Sorry for the million word character analysis. I just think Billy is so interesting and he had so much potential if he was written better. One day I'm gonna shake dacres hand and thank him for loving Billy as much as we do.

(I deleted my story post because I delete everything nowadays, but I think you're right in that Billy was trying to stop Max x Lucas from happening before it could blow up into a real issue.)

But yeah, I've been really looking back on my life and realizing that the racial stuff in this show is so careless and really shows a lack of actual experience.

The thing that really gets my cylinders firing is that no one talks about Billy being the Oldest Sibling™ and Max being the Youngest Sibling™.

(For anyone who missed my story from last night, it was when my best friend had a crush on a Black boy and had to break up with him because she discovered her father and brother were a threat to him.)

But this brings me to my own brother, who had to learn racial stuff the hard way. That's what Oldest Siblings do, they face the world alone and get the worst of everything. My brother was making friends with two black boys in my grandparents' neighborhood, and as soon as my white, Christian/conservative grandmother got wind of it, she unveiled some really nasty character traits to my brother.

But not to me. I'm the baby of the family. I'm the precious baby girl (she/they) who could do no wrong (jokes on her because I've dated Black people lol).

Clearly, this entire issue isn't just racial, it's also sexist, because girls are treated differently than boys. That's a different rant entirely.

Billy Hargrove is such an accidental love letter to eldest siblings who get super messed up because of the adult figures in their life, and Max is the poster child for younger siblings who get to watch all the mistakes and promptly avoid them.

It infuriates me how this show manages to create very real and complex characters, only to then write the plot around them so carelessly and shitty.

[vldkeith]

(i have read the faqs don’t worry!! )

why is it that you don’t like the dirty laundry fanfic? is it just not your type of ff or?

gonna copy and paste my answers from some older posts bc i mostly still agree with what i said then!

from one post i made before:

the whole fanfic was written by a white person, so their intense focus on portraying lance’s family as homophobic is….kind of racist? like just because it’s something that actually happens doesn’t mean white people get a pass to write an entire story centering around it, a story that is honestly just angst porn wrt lance’s family. like. it’s one thing for a hispanic person to write a story like this, but quite another for a white person who has not experienced it to do so, because they’re kind of just working off of stereotypes. i dont think the person who wrote it is racist at ALL but i do think that what they chose to write and how they chose to write it kind of exemplifies the racist dynamic of america & how many white liberals view hispanic people as hopelessly conservative wrt things like homosexuality. it’s really not their place to comment on it. there are also hispanic people who agree that it is racist, so it’s not like im going against the grain here. 

and from another, earlier post:

 i read this like….back in 2017 when it was still semi-new (and was there to see it replaced with the bee movie script after it got so much flack, and then when it was deleted altogether) and i have to say…as literally the FIRST klance fanfic i read (i always sort by hits/kudos) it was such a BAD INTRO TO THE KLANCE DYNAMIC!! like! god ok i don’t remember it being written that horribly but the plot points were just WHACK like. kenzie mentioned yesterday the like car fight thing?!?! what the hell was that??? and lance’s family being homophobic?? lance not rly accepting keith’s “love letter” (writing the words “keith’s love letter” was painful bc keith would never DO THAT) but then trying to make up for it by like…serenading him in a mcdonalds or smth?! idk if im remembering right and tbh the most i remember from the fic was like, the roadtrip and even THAT i don’t remember a lot bc it was kind of boring and bad characterization but tbh it was just so overhyped. ppl were like “wow this is the klance fanfic this is what the fandom is founded upon” and i just don’t see it and even back then i don’t think i saw it, though i acted like i did bc i was 17 and just wanted to fit in. again it was also one of my first experiences with klance so i didnt rly have a strong frame of reference yet but man….idkidk i dont think it deserved the intense hate it got but the vaguely racist(?) (stereotypical might be a better word? racist seems a bit intense but i cant think of another word rn) undertones of how lance’s hispanic family was portrayed definitely rubs me the wrong way thinking back on it now and i just dont think the author was equipped to handle such widespread popularity given that. 

i think i was actually too easy on it with this answer ^ from 2020 lmao.

it just plays into soooo many racist stereotypes about hispanic families/people and about the "drama" of gay male relationships (they get out of the car just to physically fight each other at one point like i mentioned up there) and if that wasn't enough to convince people it's just not a good fanfiction, the characterization of both keith and lance is very Off imo again as i outlined above. overall just a product of early klance fandom that is best left in the dark shadows of history, only to be resurrected as a demonstration of what you probably should not do when youre writing a mlm relationship between poc

[idledreams-burninghearts]

I don't think there is productive conversation going on between the non-conservative groups (in the usa at least)

There's the "vote blue no matter who" people

There's the "I guess I'll vote, if I have to" crowd

There's the "voting 3rd party" folks

There's the "not voting at all because my vote doesn't matter" population

(I am one or more of these, not really gonna say because it doesn't exactly matter)

Anyways, there isn't really a productive conversation. I do think people try but it's not really happening. I don't know. I was just reading a post where "vote blue no matter who" folk were complaining about the "I guess *disdain* I'll vote blue" folk. And. I'm not saying either group is wrong. I understand both. But a point they said that I often see is "go register people to vote" (which yes, if you can please do) while complaining about 3rd party and non voters need for instant gratification.

They also don't give tips on how to get other people to vote, at least not that I've seen

And idk. I know someone who refuses to vote. And it takes a while to try and convince people to vote. Some people are really stubborn. People just think differently from you. Even if you have really good points doesn't really negate their way of thinking. Sometimes you gotta start small. I suggested he vote for literally everything else but the president, that his vote would definitely matter on other things (not that his vote for president doesn't matter but if someone really feels that way it's kinda hard to change their opinion, imo. Feelings aren't always logical and you gotta come from it at a different angle) and he said he would definitely think about it. I'm not gonna bring it up again for a while because some people gotta stew in it. Changing people's minds isn't an instant thing.

But isn't it so us american to say that someone else wants instant gratification without realizing that you also want instant gratification? Idk, it's like everyone is trying to get people to understand their point of view without actually trying to understand the other points of view.

Like every side is trying to get everyone to be on their side, the "correct side" while being so dismissive of the other sides. We're all trying to be understood without being understanding

and so they end up divisive. And I know I'm singling out the vote blue no matter who crowd(its just because i just saw a post from that perspective), but each group does this (and I will not deny doing this at some point/sometimes, feelings are hard to overcome and not logical and it's hard not to take politics personally when it is so very personal and we all have our own experiences that inform our decisions and thoughts (and I do think we all need to analyze our feelings and thoughts and why we think the things we think and do the things we do) )

And I'm not saying that these groups shouldn't be able to vent about their frustration with other sides either. It just feels so much like we're all screaming into the void but no one is actually being heard. And I do agree with different groups when they say that conservatives/fascists will win because we are so divided

I don't really have any ideas on how to get people to actually be able to have discussions and hear the other sides and how to get people to come together. All I know how to do is listen to people and try to understand them even if my opinion is different.

[niccymo]

The ‘Spice of Life’✨ Legacy Challenge

Sometimes playing the sims can get a little stale, and somewhat repetitive, especially The Sims 4. I know I can get stuck playing the same stories over and over again, so I decided to create this challenge to add a little excitement and variety to my, and hopefully your, game-play!

After all, variety is the spice of life!

Gen 1: The Wild Child

You’re a sim who loves to get down, go on adventures and spend time with other sims! You can be a bit of a handful for some sims, but that’s okay! You’ve been wild since the day you were born and you wouldn’t want to be any other way. You have about a million things you want to do in your life time and you’re gonna do them all!

Aspiration: Friend of the Animals

Traits: Dance Machine, Adventurous, Outgoing

Generation rules / goals:

Join the secret agent career and get to the top of it before your sim becomes an elder

Once your sim is an elder have them start a new job, keep them on their toes!

Complete the Friend of the Animals aspiration

Master the Dance & Pet training skills throughout your sims lifetime

Have five animals in your sims house-hold at one time (these should be cats, dogs, raccoon, foxes, etc.) - you don’t always have to have five but you should at some point

Have you sim have at least 10 friends and having a falling out with one of them and become enemies

Have a best-friend that is NOT your partner / spouse

Have your sim go out at least once every weekend to either the club, the bar or somewhere else they can dance! They’re a dance machine remember!

Your sim can have as many children as you like, but keep in mind that they have a lot of animals in the house

You must have at least one child in order for them to become heir, they can be adopted or biological, it doesn’t matter!

Go on at least two family vacations, one of these must be to Mt. Komorebi

Have your sim be a very relaxed parent, no rules, no pressure to get good grades, etc. (Parenthood is needed for this but if you don’t have it that’s okay just do your best without it!) 

Gen 2: The Money Maker

Your parent was the coolest! but you always wished there was more structure in your life. You’re a perfectionist, and truth be told a little materialistic, but that doesn’t make you a bad person! You love to hangout with friends, playing video games and chatting about the latest Sci-Fi movies. From the time you were a child you knew you wanted the best things in life and were determined to work your butt off to get them! 

Aspiration: Mansion Baron

Traits: Perfectionist, Geek, Materialistic

Generation rules / goals:

Have your sim start working as a teenager to save up for their future house

Complete the Mansion Baron inspiration

Reach the max level of the Business Career in either the Investor or Management branch (although the Investor branch makes a bit more money!)

Master the video gaming skill throughout your sims lifetime

Have your sim start their own club once in their teens with ‘Play video games’ as the main activity. Keep this club going throughout your sims life and try to have a club meeting once a week 

Make your sim go to GeekCon whenever they can, once they have kids bring them along as well!

Have a hobby that can make you money - kind of like a side job. Whatever skill you choose (painting, flower arranging, etc.) master it

Once your sim completes their Mansion Baron aspiration have dinner parties once a week - Your sim is materialistic and they want to show off the nice house they’ve worked so hard for!

Once your sim becomes an elder have them retire and focus only on hobbies and relaxation (only once they’re reached the max level in their career though)

Gen 3: The Tree Hugger

You grew up in a wealthy household with pretty much everything you could have wanted. You had a great childhood and your admired your parents work ethic, although you knew that when you grew up you wanted to do something more meaningful for the world than investing. So you packed up your bags as soon as you hit young adulthood and moved to Evergreen Harbour

Aspiration: Eco Innovator

Traits: Green Fiend, Vegetarian, Good

Generation rules / goals:

Your sim should be a vegetarian as soon as they hit their teenage years

As a teen your sims should also start their own garden and begin working on their gardening skill

Your sim should complete the Eco Innovator aspiration within their lifetime

Master the Gardening skill throughout your sims lifetime

Master the Juice Fizzing skill throughout your sims lifetime

Join and reach the max level of the Civil Designer career

Your sim should live as sustainably as possible for this generation, this includes owning a bee box, having a dew collector and recycling with the home recycling machine

Have your sim marry someone as Eco-friendly as you bonus points if it’s Knox lol

Have an at home, eco friendly wedding in your sims backyard / yard. Having the wedding cake be a honey cake, get creative with it!

Adopt an animal that’s not a typical pet (raccoon, fox, etc.) your sim found this little buddy while dumpster diving and bonded instantly

Gen 4: The Undecided

You grew up with a parent and grandparent who accomplished great things; they were sims who worked hard and stuck to their guns. You have always been..well a bit different. You can’t even decide what you want for breakfast, let alone pick a career or spouse. This makes you jealous of others like your parent and grandparent who you believe have their life together.

Aspiration: You must change your sims aspiration 3 times during their life but never complete one, not even their childhood one.

Traits: Non-committal, Jealous, Erratic

Generation rules / goals: 

Join and quit scouts as a kid; get about halfway through before you quit

Have your sim join at least two jobs as a teenager. They can join and quit more if you like

Get your sim to level 5 of at least three skill during their lifetime before they quit those as well

Change your sims career multiple times, making sure they never reach the top of any career

Get your sim married, and divorced...twice. It’s up to you whether you sim ends up finding someone to stay with. However, your sim must have only have one child from all of their relationships.

Have your sim have an affair during one of their relationships. It’s up to you whether the partner finds out about this or not

Your sim must lose their relationship with the Gen 3 sim (their parent) after a big fight over Gen 4′s jealousy issue. Your sim should never speak to that parent again

Your sim must never be best friends or true lovers with anyone; they are non-committal and that means no matter how much they care for another sim they feel somewhat unsure about every relationship

Gen 5: The Vampire Groupie

Your childhood was less than ideal, although your parent loved you they had a lot of their own problems and that left you pretty lonely at times. Your solace was a particular vampire movie about a sim who falls in love with a vampire. “That could be me,” you though, “That WILL be me.” So when you become a young adult you take everything you have and leave in search of your dream life in Forgotten Hollow, the only problem with your plan is that you’re just a bit squeamish... okay a lot

Aspiration: Master Vampire

Traits: Romantic, Family Oriented, Squeamish 

Generation rules / goals: 

Your sim should watch a lot of movies as a child and teen. Of course your sim loves that particular vampire movie that definitely doesn’t rhyme with Highlight, but really they love all movies

As soon as your sim becomes a young adult move them into Forgotten Hollow

Meet and start a relationship with a vampire of your choice; you can put a sim from the gallery in your game or date Caleb Vatore, Lilith Vatore, or even Vlad Straud if you want!

I think this goes without saying but your sim should be turned into a vampire for this generation lol

Complete the Master Vampire Aspiration

You can have any career for this generation, it doesn’t matter!

Master the Vampire Lore skill throughout your sims lifetime

Master the Pipe Organ skill throughout your sims lifetime

Start a ‘Vampire Club’ with only other vampires present, you can use this club to do any kind of vampire activity - however, since you left your old life behind, these sims are your only friends

Your sim is squeamish so they personally choose not to drink other sims blood unless absolutely necessary, this means your sim must grow and sustain a garden full of plasma plants

Once your sim obtains a plasma fruit (and two garlic) they can prepare a Sunlight Reversal Cocktail if they like, that way they can go into the sun during the day; this isn’t required though

Your sim must have at least three kids. One of these children should NOT be a vampire. This will be the heir. If all of your children are born vampires you can use a mods to make them human. I recommend MC Command Center, which you can find here: https://deaderpool-mccc.com/#/releases

I also recommend this mod: https://modthesims.info/d/589300/child-vampire-manifestation-v1-9.html which basically makes it so that child vampires can perform any vampire actions, just like teens, young adults, etc.

Gen 6: The Beach Bum

Your parents are absolutely wonderful, but are weird. In fact, you’re convinced that you’re the only sane one out of your whole family. You love them but who in the right mind would want to live the life of a vampire? You knew early on that the vampire life was not for you, and thank goodness you just so happened to be the only sibling born human! I guess you can thank those recessive genes. You want to live the Beach Life, spending your days out in the sun and working to conserve the beautiful island of Sulani!

Aspiration: Beach Life

Traits: Child of the Ocean, Loves the Outdoors, Free Trait / You can pick your sims third trait!

Generation rules / goals:

Your sim must move to Sulani as a young adult and spend their whole life there

Reach the max level of the Conservationist Career

Complete the Beach Life aspiration

Befriend as least one mermaid - your sim can become a mermaid to if they want but it’s not necessary

Marry someone who already lives on Sulani as well

Have your sim live in a house on the beach at least once during your their life

Complete the sea shell collection

Spend ALOT of time outside; fish, ski-do, tan on the beach - your sim loves the outdoors and the Sulani sun, anything they can do outside they will

Keep a close relationship between your sim and their parents & siblings - even though they don’t love the vampire life they love their family

Gen 7: The Tinkerer

You’ve always been a homebody, hanging out in your house on the computer and tinkering with things in the home. Your parent was always nagging you to go outside and play as a kid. As soon as you were old enough to hold a wrench you were fixing things. You knew when you became a young adult you wanted to go to Foxbury Institute and learn to program and create robots!

Aspiration: Computer Whiz

Traits: Genius, The other two traits can be anything you choose!

Generation rules / goals:

* For this generation I ABSOLUTELY recommend this mod which shortens university. It just makes it sooo much easier to complete a degree: https://modthesims.info/d/646803/shorter-university-degrees.html *

Your sim should spend a lot of time inside as a kid, using the computer, reading books, playing video games

Have your sim complete the Whiz Kid aspiration as a child

Master the Logic skill throughout your sims lifetime

Master the Robotics skill throughout your sims lifetime

Master the Handiness skill throughout your sims lifetime

Once your sim becomes a teenager they should be the one who fixes ANYTHING broken within the household

In order for your sim to attend Foxbury Institute for a Computer Science degree your sim must have certain skills (such as computer programming, robotics, etc.) since it is a distinguished degree. You’ll need to work on these skills as a teen to have a chance to be excepted there. If you don’t feel like having your sim work on those skills as a teen your sim can attend Britechester University but they should still work on the robotics skill!

Complete the Computer Whiz aspiration

Graduate university with a degree in Computer Science

Live in a modern style house in any world

Gen 8: The Believer

Your parent has always been a technological genius, creating artificial intelligence. But you’ve always known that science wasn’t needed for there to be fantastical things in this world. No one else in your family believes your crazy ideas about alien but hey, you once heard that your great grandparents were vampires, so it could be possible! Sure you’re a little erratic but you’re determined to prove the existence of aliens, and befriend them. How will you do this? Well by becoming an iron pumping, rocket building astronaut of course!

Aspiration: Bodybuilder

Traits: Athletic, Self-Assured, You can pick your sims third trait!

Generation rules / goals:

You sim must join and reach the top of the Astronaut career

Your sim must live in Oasis Springs

Have your sim complete the Body Builder aspiration - astronauts have to be strong after all!

Master the Rocket Science skill

Your sim will unlock a rocket when they reach level 10 of their career (the rocket can either be the Apollo Rocket - unlocked though the Space Ranger branch of the astronaut career, or the Retro Rocket - unlocked through the Interstellar Smuggler branch. You can choose which rocket you want)  but honestly who wants to wait for that, so as soon as your sim gets to level 5 of their career use cheats to unlock the rocket and start building!

Once your sim has completed their rocket you must level up their Rocket Science skill to level 10 and then install the Wormhole Generator upgrade. This will allow you to travel to Sixam and meet aliens!

Your sim must befriend and marry an alien they meet on Sixam. If you don’t like that particular alien you can either come back to Sixam or open CAS and edit them, either is fine.

Have your sim have a baby with their new alien spouse. Only have ONE baby.

If your sims baby is born NOT an alien you can use cheats to make them one. MC Command Center can be used for this and is linked above for Generation 5

Gen 9: The Star of Sixam

You’re an alien and you’ve proud of it! You loved listening to your alien parent tell stories of your home world and knew that when you grew up you wanted to make your relatives on Sixam proud. The best way to do this is of course to become the most famous alien musician the Sim world has ever seen!

Aspiration: Musical Genius

Traits: Self-Assured, Perfectionist, Music Lover

Generation rules / goals: 

Your sim must NEVER wear their disguise unless absolutely necessary - they are very proud to be an alien and they don’t see any reason to hide that

As a child your sim should complete the Artistic Prodigy aspiration

Master the Violin skill throughout your sims lifetime

Master the Piano skill throughout your sims lifetime

Your can have your sim master the Singing skill throughout their lifetime if you want, but it isn’t necessary

When your sim becomes a young adult move them to San Myshuno, where their musical dreams can really take off!

Have your sim busk for money in San Myshuno at least 5 times

Have your sim reach the max level in the Musician branch of the Entertainer career

Your sim should marry or be with someone who is also musically interested - you can enter CAS and cheat this or create your sims partner

It doesn't matter how many children your sim has for this generation, but the heir should NOT be an alien - you can use MC Command Center to make them human if you need to

Gen 10: The Apprehensive Actress / Actor  AKA the Final Generation!

You grew up in a VERY artistic household, with parents who were both interested in music and one parent who made a huge career of it. You love acting and knew your parent was ecstatic when you started showing interest in acting as a teen. Unfortunately you don’t really like the idea of being famous...

Aspiration: Master Actress / Actor

Traits: Loner, Good, Creative

Generation rules / goals:

Your sim is an artistic child, however we aren’t gonna worry about completing the Artistic Prodigy aspiration as a child because we did that last generation - you can do it if you want though!

When your sim becomes a teen they should begin working on their acting skills

Your sim should reach the max level of the Acting career

Have your sim master the Acting skill

Your sim should marry someone non-famous in a private ceremony with only those sims (or family and close friends if you like) present

Your sim should maintain as good a reputation as possible - they are still a good sim, they are just a bit anti-social

Once your sim finished the acting career and has achieved the Global Superstar rank they should retire

Your sim, now retired from acting moves to one of two lots in Brindleton Bay that have NO neighbours

They should spend the rest of their life making money off of artistic projects such as knitting, painting, etc.

Have your sim leave the house only when necessary to avoid the paparazzi, and if they do go out they must wear a disguise

Your sims spouse can have any career, but they should NOT be famous in anyway

It is up to you whether you decide to have your sim have children and continue the family :)

Well we’ve come to the end of the challenge!! I just wanted to say if you decide to play this challenge or even have taken the time to read it, THANK YOU SO MUCH! It means the world to me to be apart of this sims community ❤️

If you decide to play this challenge on your tumblr pleaseee use the tags #spicechallenge or #spice of life challenge. That way I can see what you do with this challenge, that would be amazing 😊❤️

[tricktster]

the twilight series suddenly makes 100% more sense if you read them under a specific premise that, i contend, is heavily supported by the text:

Much like Amy’s diary in Gone Girl, the books in the Twilight Saga are verbatim reproductions of in-universe diary entries carefully and deliberately created and curated by badass unreliable narrator Bella Swan as a means to achieve immortality.

Prerequisite assumptions:

1) Bella actively and persistently wants to become a vampire, both diagetically and (I contend) non-diagetically. The average vampire novel format often fails to capture realistic human behavior in one highly specific area: the protagonists are frequently mortals who grapple with the choice of whether to become a vampire. This is stupid, because being a vampire would obviously be dope as hell; particularly in the Twilight Universe, where vampires are not required to take a human life to survive, and indeed, have the capacity to live full and rewarding lives while integrated* into the human community.

(*integrated-ish; see Assumption 6)

2. There are too many coincidences for Bella to have encountered the Cullens by sheer chance, only to be the ONE person that Edward can’t live without (due largely to the novelty factor of not being able to read her ding-dang thoughts.)

3. Diagetically, the Volturi don’t even know Bella’s psyonic gifts until New Moon, but we also know that the Volturi scour the globe for recruits to enlist into the protection of their governing body.

4. Nobody wants to be a voiceless cog in a bureaucracy.

5. Nobody, and especially nobody in high school, wants to be a high school student forever.

6. Vampires in twilight are, as a group, cartoonishly terrible at disguising their true nature.

7. Forks is a backwater town approximately 3.5 hours away from the biotech hub of Seattle.

7. George W. Bush and Dick Cheney can eat my farts and they deserve to be preserved in this snapshot of an innocent author’s mind slowly unraveling.

Proposed timeline:

In 1993, there is a key system meltdown at a improvised biohacking startup in Seattle, rendering all innovative genetic modification experiments into a puddle of brown sludge that nobody can figure out how to dispose of per Federal regs, since they don’t even know what it is.

The broke founder of the startup, who for the purposes of this timeline I will call Jeff Bezos because that’s who it was, eventually grows tired of all the discussion about what to do, and just pops it in a barrel, drives a few hours out of town, and dumps it in a pond.

Bella Swan, a small child, is hanging out at a park with her family friend Jacob Black (and a ton of his friends) when they all decide to wade in a slightly murky pond. Thereafter, they are transformed.

Bella grows up as a normal, highly powerful mutant with a +20 to deception checks and wisdom saves. She lives in Arizona, but up until 2002, summers in Forks. While in Forks, she picks up on the local lore about a family of vampires who don’t eat people.

Because Forks (population: 17 + Charlie’s mustache) is boring, Bella bones up on the only interesting thing about it, i.e. Vampire Hometown baybeeeee.

In 2000, George W. Bush gets elected president, and his evangelical politics and general bumbling ineptitude informs Bella’s opinions on authoritative governmental entities.

In 2001, the Cullens make their intention to move back to Forks known, but they take a while because they need to pack all their stupid graduation hats and volvos, etc.

Later in 2001, a psychic Volturi scout rolls through Forks to ensure that nobody within living memory recalls the Cullens, and notices an anomaly in the psychic field.

The scout goes to confront Bella about joining the Volturi, and Bella immediately clocks him as a vampire, because vampires in the Twilight Universe fucking suck at looking/acting human. This leaves the scout in a bind: she’s too valuable to kill, but she’s a pre-teen, and therefore too young to be transformed per Volturi authority.

The scout warns her he’ll have to kill her if she discusses the existence of vampires with any human. He then tells her he’ll be back in five years, and begins to sweet talk her on how good life will be when she’s a vampire, beautiful, immortal, powerful, etc. Bella asks if she has to kill, and dude says “nah, actually there’s a bunch of vegetarian vampires who are moving back here soon. Fucking nerds, but otherwise they’re doing well.” Bella is all about becoming a vampire, because Bella is a rational actor.

Bella moves to Arizona, and as the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq are unjustifiedly initiated, she recognizes that while she DOES want to be a vampire, she does NOT want to be a foot soldier in any war that she can’t support. She needs a plan.

In 2004, Bella is watching her step-dad’s minor league baseball game when it occurs to her. On her own, she’s a target for the Volturi, but if she had some people to watch her back, she might be okay. Of course, nobody fucks with the Volturi on behalf of some rando human. She’ll need to con her way into a coven who’ll have her back and also give her that +10 to constitution via vampiric transformation, which she desperately wants because she’s a rational actor. And where are the non-volturi vampires that might have her back? Fucking Forks.

Bella moves to Forks in 2004, and upon seeing the Cullens, she immediately clocks them as vampires even though they left their “we’re all vampires” booty shorts at home, because, as previously discussed, vampires in the Twilight Universe fucking suck at looking/acting human.

Bella notes that all the vampires but one are paired off in heterosexual bliss, and takes note of the straggler as a potential vehicle to vampyrdom.

Bella figures out that Eddie can read everyone’s mind but hers, because Edward Cullen fucking sucks at looking/acting like a human who can’t read minds. Bella further observes that Eddie has a huge undead boner for her.

She’s found her mark. Now she just needs to convince him that she’s better off as part of the coven than on her own. Problem: Eddie’s a self-pitying insufferably guilt-striken perpetual adolescent who keeps himself busy by feeling sorry for himself because he’s a vampire, angst angst angst etc etc. Also, I think he’s Catholic, so add some more guilt in. She’ll have to win him over by convincing him that they’re destined to be soulmates.

What does a vampire used to having complete insight into everyone’s mind but his crush’s want? A method to know what she really thinks of him. Bella begins writing a “diary” knowing that there’s no way in hell Eddie won’t sneak in and read it. So she Gone Girls it, and begins to lay a trap to lure him in. That first diary? Twilight.

This was just in the movie but a stoner chases her around with a worm on a stick. Nothing to do with this theory, I just like that part of the movie. Where’s my spinoff about that guy?

Eddie won’t give Bella what she wants (eternal life) by the end of book 1, even though she asks him to EXTREMELY POLITELY. Time to hit the diary with some more promises of undying love.

Bella reconnects with her old friend Jacob and the rest of the Mutated By Jeff Bezos Boys. Alas, they cannot turn her into a physically powerful sexy immortal with a bite, so she’s still stuck with plan A) win over a whole family of vampires with big Mormon energy. It’s the long con.

Edward’s angst abruptly takes a swing towards terminal. He’s absolutely your classic sadboy, perhaps because Bella now has one (1) friend that he knows about.

When Eddie begins to drift away on account of Angst, Bella conjurs up a secondary love interest who, coincidentally, is ALSO a sexy supernatural entity, and is much less coincidentally just Jacob.

We should establish here that Edward is like a 107 year old white dude and so even though Diary!Bella pretends not to see it, Metatextual Frame Story!Bella knows that dude is super racist.

Jacob Black is three things: 1. Like Bella, a mutant (although one with shapeshifting abilities), 2.one of Bella’s oldest and most trusted confidants, and 3. down to clown on an elderly teenage vampire who keeps stereotyping him. Sure, says Jacob, I’ll take the form of a werewolf. He seriously thinks we’re all just beastmen, huh? Hey look at me now, I’m Regis Philbin because this is 2005 and Who Wants to be a Millionaire is still sort of relevant. Sick.

Edward does not like that Bella has one (1) other friend. Bella and Jacob plot to use this to their advantage and lure Edward back on the wings of jealousy.

Eddie gets himself into trouble on account of Angst and poor communication, so Bella has to go rescue him from himself/the Volturi.

Aro finally meets her and gets to test her powers, which impress him. Now she’s back on the fucking radar.

I forget everything that happens in Eclipse, so i have chosen to omit that part.

Eventually she extracts a quid pro quo from Eddie; i’ll marry you if you turn me into a dracula.

We don’t really call ourselves that, Wet Blanket Cullen replies, entirely earnestly.

Bella gets married at 18 in 2006, and Eddie starts to backtrack his promise about changing her. This won’t stand.

Well, look, he’s an elderly guilty catholic/mormon teen who probably still uses super racist terms, but she’s stuck on honeymoon island, he has certain angles that work for him, and seriously what are they gonna do but fuck? Bella’s alternative is listening to her “husband” drone on about his interests, which are almost certainly Car, How Do I Post a Minion Picture on Facebook, and Licorice Used To Be a Lot Cheaper in the Good Old Days.

Whoops a fetus.

Bella recognizes that she’s GOT to have this baby: time’s running out, and Bella knows that at least two of the Vamps in her coven will cut ties if she terminates or otherwise fails to carry this baby to term because of the conservative religious subtext. She’s going to have to stick it out for 9 months, even though it’s a risky call.

Bella gets what she wants after giving birth. “My time as a human is over, but I've never felt more alive. I was born to be a vampire.” That’s a direct quote. Except now she’s got a (pretty cute and easy) baby that she desperately wants to protect from Turning Into A Vaguely Religious Cullen Dressed Head To Toe In Cream Colored Wool.

Bella decides to fake her own death and escape with the kid and Jake so they can form i guess a detective agency. Bella will get “killed” by the Volturi, move to Sydney, and open up shop, and Jake will take the kid after her a few months later.

They’re gonna need a reason why Jake gets the kid though, and there’s only one reason to do anything amongst the Cullens: a heterosexual love interest with a super problematic age gap.

Jesus, Jake sighs, is Eddie really going to believe I’m in romantic love with your actual infant? Does he really think that little of me?

Yup.

Bella tries to draw the Volturi’s attention.

Works too well.

The Cullens call up all their vague acquaintances, who are at least kind of fun. Particularly that one dude who keeps getting angry about British conduct during the American Revolution.

Well, fuck, now the Volturi are bringing an army to fight their ragtag army of Vampires Who Are Cool And Interesting Enough That We Can Safely Presume They Are All Definitely Gay. Bella can’t let those guys die, they’re the first actually compelling vampires she’s ever talked to.

Bella saves the day because she’s OP.

All the Cool Vamps start packing up to leave and Bellz almost goes with them, but the Cullens would just keep sending missionaries after her if they knew.

Bella finishes her fourth journal with the vague warning that the Volturi are still out there somewhere and they miiiight just try and get her.

Two days later, she stages a scuffle and gets the fork out of Fucks. Her journals are the only clue.

Sirius Black and baby nessie follow once edward has stopped sobbing into his cream colored sweater and moved on to Extended Power Pouting.

Bella recruits her own army of fledglings.

Bella stages a coup against the Volturi and succeeds.

Bella sits on the iron throne with a hot lady vampire on each knee and they all kiss and stuff.

Nessie I guess forms a post punk band?

Edward dies from aspiration of a brussel sprout that he ate because he just wanted to feel something.

Charlie and Billy get married.

Charlie’s mustache develops a cult instagram following, providing them with a modest retirement income.

Jacob shapeshifts into Bill Murray and is always crashing weddings.

Bella’s stepdad is off in the B plot this whole time winning the world series with the help of a kooky angel.

There. Fixed. My soul is at rest.

[doubleca5t]

i know you’re not a fan of the citrus anime, but is the manga any good?

short answer: no

long answer:

if you spend any amount of time in the yuri fandom, you will eventually have to contend with Citrus. It’s one of the most popular manga in the genre, so it’s kind of unavoidable. And whenever Citrus comes up, you’ll usually hear from a lot of people telling you not to read it because the core premise of Citrus is two girls, Mei and Yuzu, falling in love shortly after becoming STEP-SISTERS, and the first few chapters involve Mei repeatedly sexually assaulting Yuzu (this actually goes the other way around at one point as well, though that doesn’t exactly make things any better). I am here to tell you that those people are wrong.

Let me explain.

Citrus is an infuriating 10 volume cocktease of a manga. What I mean by this is that reading Citrus, it gives you the impression that it could get really good like any chapter now, and then it just never does. The art is good, the main character, Yuzu, is super compelling and entertaining (and imo I think she’s the reason this manga has such a massive fanbase because she can be a Mood And A Half sometimes), it’s got some pretty strong emotional moments and a lot of good comedy here and there. But this is a situation where the whole is very much less than the sum of its parts. This manga has a lot of elements that are individually satisfying, but they don’t come together into a compelling narrative. I think there are two big overarching reasons why.

1) Citrus does not create and resolve conflicts in a satisfying way

A romance manga like Citrus is very much about the journey, not the destination. You know Mei and Yuzu are going to get together, it’s just a matter of how they get together and what sort of obstacles keep that from happening until the very end. This is why so many romance manga rely on tsundere/enemies-to-lovers scenarios. The harder it is for the characters to admit their true feelings for each other, the more you can stretch out the narrative and the more chapters of manga you can get out of it. A good example of this in the yuri world is Bloom into You, where the main characters have done so many mental gymnastics to convince themselves they either can’t love or can’t be loved that as the audience you’re like “shit, I know these two are gonna get together eventually but how the fuck are they gonna get out from this nonsense?”

Citrus has no goddamn idea how to do this.

A huge chunk of the first four volumes is spent introducing side characters who appear to be potential romantic rivals for either Mei or Yuzu. These characters  can be pretty entertaining in their own right, but all the dramatic tension around them falls consistently flat. The solution to every problem presented by these rivals is just talking to whichever girl they were interested in, because said girl (either Mei or Yuzu) was never interested in the rival to begin with. These arcs feel unsatisfying because the way the problem is resolved would suggest, on some level, that these were never problems in the first place. All of this could have been avoided if the characters had just talked to each other.

And this same problem rears its head near the end of the series as well, the worst example being the ending. Mei separates from Yuzu suddenly and in dramatic fashion because her grandfather is forcing her into what is essentially an arranged marriage. The chapter where we learn about this is legitimately emotionally affecting, with the slow build-up to Yuzu learning that Mei never wants to see her again. It gets you in a way that nothing else in this series really does. But then the solution to all of this is just Yuzu proposing to Mei? And the whole family just goes along with this?? Despite them being step sisters???? Like you’d think the problem here is that Mei’s grandfather is very traditional and conservative. Like he doesn’t just want her to get married before she took over the academy, he wants her to marry a specific person from a rich family that he chose. But no, apparently the step sister marriage is a-ok! which means the only real problem here is that Mei didn’t tell Yuzu about any of this shit until it was already in motion, which brings us to the second core issue:

2) Mei does not change or improve

Mei causes a huge percentage of the conflict in this series. And not only does she cause it, she causes it in exactly the same way over and over again. Mei’s big, defining character flaw is that she’s emotionally distant and bad at communicating. Because of this, Mei repeatedly conceals information from Yuzu for, at least as far as the audience can tell, no discernible reason, creating conflict that never needed to be there. This takes the form of the previously mentioned final chapters, the first volume or so where Mei forces herself onto Yuzu rather than just telling her how she feels, that whole nonsense with Sara, and so, so much more. Citrus runs on the logic of a corny 90s sitcom. Every problem is based on a misunderstanding or a miscommunication, so everything can be resolved if the characters just fucking talked to each other. This sort of storytelling can work if you’re writing a farce (like every other Shakespeare comedy was based on a case of mistaken identity) but in a drama it’s fucking infuriating.

It would be one thing if there was an arc where the core problem was that Mei doesn’t know how to communicate, and at the end of that arc, she realizes what the problem is and spends the rest of the series actively trying to improve. That would be fine. But instead, no matter how many times Mei is shown that failing to talk to her step-sister/gf causes nothing but trouble, she just... keeps doing it, either because Saburouta thinks that’s such an important element of her character that it’s not possible to change it, or because it’s a cheap and easy way to add conflict to a relationship where none would exist otherwise.

I think the final straw for me was when I tried reading Citrus+, which takes place after Yuzu’s proposal in the final chapter of Citrus. Within the first volume, Mei goes right back to her old tricks of being moody and evasive and leaving Yuzu to guess at what might be wrong. THESE TWO ARE FUCKING ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED, BUT THEIR RELATIONSHIP HAS BEEN STUCK IN THE SAME PLACE SINCE VOLUME 5 BECAUSE MEI CAN’T IMPROVE! At some point, it starts to feel like that line about the definition of insanity from Far Cry 3. You’re just doing the same shit over and over again expecting different results.

So to put it bluntly, it would be inaccurate to say that you shouldn’t read Citrus because it’s about a pair of step-sisters taking turns sexually assaulting each other.

You shouldn’t read Citrus because it sucks.

[house-of-no-regrets]

No Regrets [in the wee hours]

Took a bit longer than expected, but I’ve finished the next little story! Hopefully I’ll be able to keep a decent pace on these. No overarching plot, just little stories in the same universe with the same characters. Warning for ~*murder*~ in this one!

-------------

I've been all-too-easy to wake up since I was a child; I'd often needed to go from dead asleep to functional, if groggy, as soon as I heard my father demanding action or attention. While I no longer need that reaction time, the old man long since locked up to rot, my brain is set in its ways and very convinced that I need to be able to bolt out of bed and fight God if a dust bunny moves too quickly in my vicinity.

Which is how I found myself waking up in the middle of the night, the sudden shift in the atmosphere bringing on consciousness with all the subtlety of a foghorn.

My room was silent, still, but I knew without opening my eyes that there was a spirit somewhere, and I didn't even give them a chance to speak before I pointed at the sign posted on my wall, barely shifting from my comfortable snuggle in my blanket and not even opening my eyes. Yes, this happens more often than I care to admit. No, I do not enjoy it. At all.

"Resurrection hours are noon to eight. I'm still alive and still need sleep to function."

There was silence, but the presence didn't leave, so I groaned and raised my head, finally opening my eyes to see the translucent, vaguely glowing, and unfortunately blurry spirit at the foot of my bed.

It did finally speak in a bewildered voice.

"Um, I'm being murdered."

Ah, fuck.

I grabbed my glasses from the bedside table and put them on. The spirit at the foot of my bed was tallish -- I've always been bad at estimating height, maybe half a foot shorter than Yvette? Five-nine... ish? -- and seemed to be in his twenties. There was a considerable dark stain on his chest and belly; likely blood, and the cause of his death. The newly-dead tend to show things like that, as they haven't had the time to get used to modifying their form.

I really hate it when brand new ones find me. I'm not sure how it started, but it seems like more and more often, now, the dead are drawn to No Regrets before they even realize they're dead, at least if they're the type to need my help. Wish I wasn't the one who had to break it to him. I'm not great with people.

"Sorry, bro, but I'm afraid they succeeded. Where was it? I'll get the police over there."

"Uhh... my house. I think. It's a little..."

I sighed. Right.

"You're probably a little out of it still... fresh dead usually are. C'mon, I'll take you around until things look familiar."

Climbing out of bed, I headed over to grab my hoodie from the back of the chair. I learned the hard way that sleeping is not a tits out sort of occasion when you're liable to get the dead dropping in at all hours of the night, so I sleep in pajama pants and a tank top. Little too chilly for tank tops outside, though. I shoved my phone in my hoodie and my feet into loafers, then started heading out of my room and down the hall.

"You remember your name?" I asked, trying to make conversation and learn what I could.

"Uh, Davis. Craig? Craig Davis."

"Well, Craig Davis, I'm sorry to hear about your passing. You're gonna need to possess me for this little adventure, by the way, but I'll walk you through it once we're outside."

"I- what?"

Considering how often I find myself lost in normal conversations, dealing with confused new spirits is especially difficult. Still shaking off my body's angry demands for More Sleep was not helping matters in the slightest, either.

"Possession. I'll explain it in just a minute." I rubbed an eye and yawned as I stopped in the foyer to pull a set of keys off one of the hooks on the wall.

Usually, I've got a driver. Not for vanity reasons, but after three or four near-misses caused by Sudden Spirits appearing in the car with me, I elected to hire someone to drive me into and around town as needed. But it was Fuck-This-Shit O'Clock in the morning, and Graves deserved their rest. The dead don't need to sleep, but they can if they so choose -- and it does, after all, conserve energy. The same goes for Yvette and Ashby; it was too early in the morning for most people to be out and searching for a necromancer to kill, so I wasn't gonna disturb them. I could handle a simple spirit chauffeur and 911 call on my own.

The keys were to the motor scooter; it was the better choice in this situation, allowing for more mobility and no passenger seat for any extra ghosts to drop into. That did, though, mean that Craig would need to ride shotgun in my body.

When I got out to the green scooter in the driveway, I paused and looked over at Craig.

"Hey, I know you're probably still a little out of it, so Possession 101." Script time. At least having this stuff memorized made it easier to do while dozy. "Our bodies need to take up the same space, so c'mere." I beckoned Craig over.

"So like… step into you?" He asked. Good, seemed like his head was clearing up some.

"Yeah, that's part 1."

He nodded and complied, crossing the space between us and settling in the same location, the two of us clipped into each other like bugged NPCs. It always felt so weird, those moments before a spirit actually possesses you. A sort of wobbly, in-and-out feeling like physics is trying to crush you and the spirit together, or, failing that, just kick your ass to the ground so you're not both in the same place at the same time.

"A'ight, now turn around and face the direction I’m facing, and overlay your hands onto mine as best you can." It was just a moment for him to obey, and I continued. "I'm not resisting, so you're gonna start feeling like you're being pulled in and pushed out at the same time. Space is trying to equalize. Let yourself be pulled in. It's gonna feel a bit like-"

The whirlpool effect kicked in before I could finish, the sudden snap and release of tension as Craig's spirit sank into my body. I wobbled a bit and grabbed the handlebar in front of me, then shivered at the sudden chill and dizziness. I'm pretty good at taking on passengers like this, but that didn't make it any more pleasant.

"You in there, buddy?" I asked out loud. Especially with new spirits, trying to think at each other was more trouble than it was worth. My lips moved to answer, though it wasn't my voice coming out.

"Uh- yeah. Yeah I'm here."

I grabbed the helmet hanging on the other handlebar and snapped it on, kicking the stand up and plopping heavily onto the seat.

"Great. Let's go."

"Wait, why am I not in control?" came Craig's confused voice. He felt almost frustrated, an undercurrent of emotion that wasn't mine despite being in my mind and body.

"Because this is my body, and I let you in willingly. Easier to keep control when you're letting someone in. Plus," I gave a little snort. "You just died, dude. I've been letting spirits possess me since middle school."

I felt his frustration turn to grumpiness, and then the pressure in my head, like a storm rolling in, that I knew from experience was him trying to take control. I froze and let out an irritated huff.

"You stop that. I'm not dealing with you doing some dumb shit with my body. Either chill out or get out."

"Oh- uh. Just wanted to see if I could…"

"Uh-huh. Anyhow, now that you're together enough to try joyriding, do you remember much about where you were before you were killed?"

I started up the scooter as emotions rolled through my mind, detached and distant, almost like the muffled dissociation I was used to mid-shutdown. Possessing spirits' emotions always felt weird like that, both mine and not mine, held at arm's length. Craig's was especially turbulent for a new death, but given that he had been murdered… I didn't fault him for being a little confused and angry. Even if it did put me a little on edge. 

"Uh- South Pine Street, Dogwood Acres housing development."

"Baller. That's not far from here. Once we get close to your body, you should be able to feel where it is, so I'll have a house number for the police. Don't want to have them scream in all blue lights and loud sirens and have your killer go to ground before they know which house, y'know?"

The muffled flare of anger that I felt was definitely not my own. I took a deep breath, hoped that the killer had panicked and tried to clean up instead of get rid of the body first, and puttered off towards Dogwood.

The housing development was quiet, lines upon lines of identical suburban boxes lit by flickering street lights that cast the sidewalks and yards in harsh white light. The occasional house had the glow of yellow within, but most of them were dormant. Weaving my way through the maze of streets, each one absolutely indistinguishable from the one before and the one to come, I felt terribly exposed -- and alone despite the spirit currently hitching along in my body.

I turned onto South Pine and brought my scooter to a puttering stop, stabilizing it with both feet on the ground. I couldn't help but bounce my legs to replace the vibration of driving; the sudden lack of sensation would ratchet my anxiety up even if I wasn't currently letting a frustrated dead man hang out in my head to catch his murderer.

...I should be more than a little anxious, really, but half-asleep Tabby once again wrote a check that more-awake Tabby is having to cash, and more-awake Tabby is very used to having to deal with the consequences of her idiot decisions. It occurred to me that normal peoples' consequences didn't usually involve murder, but when you live with the dead, you're bound to meet a few killers.

Two houses down, I could feel- not a tug so much as a presence, an echo of Craig's spirit reacting to his body. It was the only one on the street with its lights on and its garage, while not lit, was open. There was a car in the garage, another in the driveway, and a pickup at the curb in front.

"258?" I asked Craig, though I knew the answer already. His anger flared and I felt the oncoming storm again. I snapped at him. "That's two strikes, Craig. I'm sorry for your death, but if you end up driving my body into a crime scene or, god forbid, getting me killed next, I will kick your ass to whatever afterlife you're headed for and stay there to keep kicking it for eternity."

Big words for a short fat lady, but this is, in fact, my body on the line right now. I probably wouldn't be able to follow through on any ass-kicking, but dammit, I would try.

Craig was silent, and I could feel him steaming, petulant like a child denied a toy but with the power of a grown man behind it. With my stomach tying itself in knots and my hands starting to tremble, I dialed 911, hoping it would help quell the rising panic.

"258 South Pine Street. I think there's been a murder. I don't know the state of the crime scene or if the perp is still there, but you might be able to catch them if you hurry. The victim is Craig Davis, white adult male, either shot or stabbed in the chest, likely multiple times-"

"Wait, is this Tabby? The necro girl?"

Oh god I hope that isn't what the operators call me regularly-- I know I'm a bit of a 911 cryptid, since the usual intruder calls are to the non-emergency line, but if I get known as the necro girl I might have to move to a different state.

"Yeah, uh, necromancer, yeah-" I couldn't help but stumble over my words, now, with my train of thought derailed by the interruption. "-uh, murder?"

"Right! I'll send someone."

I murmured a thanks and hung up before she could ask me to stay on the line. I already had to stay around for the cops so Craig could give a statement, and making small talk with the 911 operator was not in the spoons tonight.

I don't like cops much, but in my line of work, they're kind of a necessity. I need to stay on the police force's good side because I need them to remove attempted murderers from my property on the regular. ...and also because graverobbing is still technically illegal, even if I do have the body owner's permission to dig them up.

At least most of the locals who know of me and my employees are chill about it. It took a bit of effort to get to that point, but now at least people don't run screaming from the less-presentable of my employees…

The blue lights of the police showed up fairly quickly, followed almost immediately by the red flashing of EMS. I puttered up slowly and parked my scooter just out of range as the officers set to work surrounding the house, then hung my helmet on a handlebar and walked up the rest of the way to watch the impending train wreck. I could feel Craig's anger boiling higher and tried my best to ignore it; Craig himself seemed to have fallen silent and sullen after I called him out.

"Tabby!"

I was standing just off to the side of the ambulance when someone stepped up behind me and called my name, making me jump and cringe.

"Oh- oh dear, I'm sorry, Tabs. I thought I heard you were the one who called this in!"

I straightened up immediately, face burning. I recognized that voice, bright and smooth and kind and--

"J-Jenna!" My voice was barely a squeak as I turned to face her, looking up at the round, dark face of one of the EMTs. She was a good six feet tall, maybe more, towering above me even in her uniform flats, with a brilliant smile and full lips and gorgeous natural hair pulled through the back of her uniform cap, the streetlight illuminating her from behind like a halogen angel.

Jenna had shown up to one of my early calls for assistance at No Regrets, and then she kept turning up, not every time I was in a situation where I'd be around EMTs, but often.

Concern showed on her face as she leaned to look me over.

"Are you okay? Did you see it happen, or-"

I shook my head, buying time to sort out words by tapping my temple with a finger.

"N-no, I uh- the victim woke me up, he's in here, uh, in case the cops need somethin' from him."

"Oh… are you getting enough sleep, dear? You sound exhausted. Do you want to sit in the back of the truck?"

It took me a second or two to recover from the way she called me dear, my face burning bright red. I couldn't make eye contact even for the second or two I can usually manage so that people don't immediately think I'm being dishonest.

"I- uh- um- w-well, it's, uh, it is like 4am--" I stammered, trying desperately to find words. "I-I guess 'm sleepin' okay, uh, how're… you doing??"

I have never been a great orator and the list of why that is gets a bit longer with every um and stutter.

Jenna's face bloomed into a gorgeous, open grin.

"I'm on 12-hour overnights right now, so I'm basically at least 60 percent Red Bull at any given time. Everyone okay up there at the House? Last I heard y'all were digging up half the lawn.”

I nodded, unable to keep from grinning. At least this was a subject I could talk to her about without making an absolute ass of myself--

"Yeah! The new girl, Chris, she's gotten Daryl and Roy to help her get the vegetable garden going! It's plenty big enough to take care of all of us, and I worked out a deal with the soup kitchen so that they get any of our excess, once things are running smoothly, and I can use their account to buy from that bulk food program that's usually only open to chari- oop-!" I bit my tongue and cringed. Right. I'm pretty sure that's technically fraud and I just admitted to it in front of-

There was a commotion from the house that snapped me back to attention, and the cops were leading a man out in handcuffs. He looked pale and shaken, spattered in blood, and not quite… present, like he had just checked out of reality for his own good. That… was a familiar look. I furrowed my brow. He certainly didn't look like a maniacal killer-

"He caught me with his wife," I said. Well. Craig said. I jumped. Jenna jumped. I flushed and covered my mouth reflexively.

"N-no that was him! The victim!" I squeaked. Jenna laughed, a hearty belly laugh, and covered her own mouth, though she was doing a terrible job of hiding her grin.

"I figured! If he caught you with his wife, it would be an upgrade!"

At this point, you could probably fry an egg on my face. Hell, my glasses were starting to fog up-- I stammered for a few moments, trying desperately to find something to say, and it was Craig who saved me, if you could call it that. I was too caught up in my embarrassment and awkwardness to realize how much anger and frustration he was radiating.

"Motherfucker told me he'd have my job! Son of a bitch thinks he can get away with doing this to me, he's gonna fucking pay--"

The oncoming storm crashed over me before I could get a grip on it, and all of a sudden I was lumbering forward, snarling words that weren't my own, and dragging a gardening pickaxe out of my truck -- Craig's truck -- on my way to the man and the cops--

I let out a shriek, in my own voice, feeling the sound cutting my throat raw. I wrested control of my body back with a lurch, falling on my ass in the yard with the force of it while the silvery-blue form of Craig was ejected from my body, screaming obscenities.

I threw my hand forward, fighting for whatever thoughts and words I could find to fix this. I saw Craig right himself and move back towards me, and the first incantation -- if you could call it that -- that my brain grasped left my lips in a single desperate breath, with a dizzying rush of power--

"INTHENAMEOFTHEMOONIBANISHYOU--!!"

The force of the hurried exorcism rushed outward like a sonic boom, strong enough for even the mundanes around me to feel, and Craig's spirit let out a yowl of rage for a brief second before twisting around itself and collapsing in with a sickening crunch, crushing smaller and smaller until it was gone.

I winced -- not my best exorcism. At all.

As the flare of adrenaline dropped almost immediately and I came back to myself properly, I realized -- blurrily, as my glasses had gotten thrown off somewhere -- at least two officers had their weapons half-drawn at me, though they were looking over at where Craig's spirit had disappeared.

I collapsed the rest of the way onto the grass, shaking, and covered my face with my hands, trying with everything within me not to start crying. I should have realized he'd try something like that, why hadn't I been paying attention- I could have been attacked, I could have been arrested, I could have had to watch myself beat a man to death and I- fuck--

The sob that came out was squeaky and pained, and I pressed my hands harder against my face, like that would stop anything else from going wrong. I should have brought someone-- I shouldn't have let him possess me-- I should have been paying more attention--

Warm tears ran from the corners of my eyes, down my cheeks, to pool in my ears, making my already-trembling body shiver harder with the unpleasant sensation. I'd let myself get complacent, hadn't lost control of a possession like that in years, and- I'd almost- fuck--

"Honey, honey, sit up for me. Tabby? C'mon, let's get you up--"

Numbly, I let Jenna help me into a sitting position, where she wrapped a blanket around me and pressed an open bottle of water into my hands.

"Take slow sips. Are you okay? Just shaken?"

I nodded, some part of me grateful that I couldn't quite see her face properly without my glasses, because I didn't want to see what she thought about me after that. She sighed, though, and sounded relieved when she murmured "Good."

My whole body felt like jelly, trembling so hard I could feel the water in the bottle sloshing around, and I kept flashing from too hot to too cold to too hot again, and I couldn't even sort out my thoughts--

Jenna sat down beside me and rubbed my back. If I wasn't having a complete breakdown, I might have enjoyed it.

I don't know how long it took for me to calm down and clear my head, but the car with the other man had left, and the other EMTs had loaded Craig's body into the ambulance while Jenna sat next to me and made sure I was doing okay.

After a while, though, I blinked and shifted my torso, then opened the blanket more and cursed at the bloom of red on my hoodie.

I heard Jenna curse as well as she stood up, but I grabbed her pants leg.

"N-no, 'm okay," I mumbled, and instead of trying to speak more, I reached to pull my hoodie and tank up my stomach to show bruised, but completely unbroken skin, covered in blood, rivulets following my stretch marks and making it look even worse despite my being otherwise completely uninjured. "See, 'm okay." This was not the first time I've had a possession lead to the dead's cause of death showing on my own body. It wasn't even the bloodiest.

Jenna sat back down, and I could see her leaning in a bit.

"Well damn. Magic ghost stuff, huh?"

I nodded.

"Magic ghost stuff."

I could see the flash of white against dark skin as she grinned.

"So that exorcism… Artemis or Usagi?"

It took me a moment to parse her.question, but all of a sudden I was completely back to myself, just in time to absolutely die of embarrassment.

"L-listen, I- y-you can exorcise i-in anyone's name, i-it's the power and conviction that counts--!!"

"Usagi, then." I could hear the laughter in her voice, laughter that bubbled out moments later. I wanted to crawl in a hole in embarrassment, but- it didn't feel like condescending laughter. I knew what that felt like. She seemed just genuinely amused. "I grew up with Sailor Moon, too."

I couldn't stop the squeak that eaked out, and I covered my face again.

"G-god I hope word about this doesn't get out, people already think I-I'm weird enough, and to- to fall back on anime for magic i-in a pinch is just--"

"Cute," Jenna finished.

I squeaked.

Jenna moved away for a moment, and then she settled my glasses on my nose. I couldn't make eye contact, but I did glance over at her and sheepishly murmur my thanks.

"The officers still want a statement from you, since you made the call and tried to go after the perp, but I don't think they're looking at any charges, given…" Jenna trailed off and looked over at where Craig had disappeared. "...yeah."

I nodded, slowly, and then found myself yawning, the adrenaline drop setting in especially hard.

"...d'you think it can wait 'til tomorrow… 've kinda had a rough night."

"I think they'll be okay with that."

[loversandantiheroes]

Hotel Hobbies - Part 2

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x f!Reader Author’s Note: This was not going to be a multi-chapter thing, but then people liked it and Whiskey wouldn’t shut the hell up so here we are, folks.  I no longer know where this is going so strap the fuck in I guess.  This is so long and I am so sorry. Edited for a cleanup 10/5/2020 Summary:  A co-worker gives the Reader a little nudge, which backfires just a bit when Whiskey runs unexpectedly late. Warnings: Public sex, exhibitionism, angry sex, mild choking/breath play, oral sex (f! receiving), fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, spitting, spanking, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex (do as I say not as I fictionalize), creampies, come eating, vague allusions to Whiskey’s job and all the dangers contained therein, Whiskey is a service top and I do not take criticism, very brief mention of Whiskey’s past, exactly one (1) use of Spanish that I hope I didn’t fuck up too badly. Rating: Explicit / NSFW / 18+ / How much clearer can I make this? Word Count: 12k+ (oh GOD do not look at me I have no idea what happened) Previous: Prelude / Part 1 / Interlude Taglist: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa @oloreaa @the-feckless-wonder @sarcasmisakindofmagic

The conference drags on into its fourth day in a parade of excessively bored people in suits and pencil skirts toting stale danishes and overpriced coffee; the only comforts provided to distract you from the mobius circle-jerk of tedious corporate bullshit. Most of the assembly hall does little more than nod blandly as yet another guest speaker goes through their presentation, the topic of which you forget at least six times throughout the course of it. Half of the attendees aren't even bothering to take notes anymore. The company could've filled the room with potted plants in cheap suits and gotten a better result.  At least the plants would provide a little oxygen to the atmosphere.

It certainly doesn't help your case that half of your brain is circling endlessly around Whiskey. You scribble down a set of shorthand bullet points in your notes and try to blink away the image of his arms straining against taut ropes.  You sip your coffee and remember the heat of his tongue chasing the taste of his namesake in your mouth. When you cross your legs and feel the deep, pleasant twinge between them, for a split second all you can think about is the way he felt sinking down into you with his teeth against your neck.

The time absolutely crawls by. There's moments when you half expect to look up at the old analog clock on the wall and see the hands start running backward. Of course this would be the day the presentations run long, wouldn't it?  Restless and fidgety, you eventually give up on your notes completely and just resign your attention to the clock and whatever obscenity your brain wants to conjure up from the night before.

Claudia, one of your only work friends that actually opted to attend this fiasco, gives you increasingly amused looks throughout the morning, glancing up at you over her phone (on which, you can't help but notice, she has been playing Bejeweled for the past hour with the brightness turned down). After you check the clock for the fifth time in twenty minutes, unable to really keep yourself from sighing angrily through your nose, she shakes her head at you, laughing quietly.

"So what's his name?" she whispers, leaning over conspiratorially.

You give her a glare, but she only raises her eyebrows expectantly. Goddamn it, why does the entire universe find it so funny when you're irritated?

"Whiskey," you mutter back, glowering.

She has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop a snorting giggle from being loud enough to cause a disruption. "Oh my god," she sputters. "Are you fucking a biker?"

And okay, maybe that is a little funny. You shake your head, mutter back, "Cowboy."

Claudia grins so wide her shoulders pull up with it. "Save a horse," she whispers, trying to dodge out of the way when you elbow her to cut off the rest of the joke. Three people behind you simultaneously shush the two of you, and you toss a dirty look over your shoulder, settling back into your seat.

A few seconds go by before Claudia's leaning back over to quietly add, "The dick must be good to get you this distracted."

"Shut up," you shoot back, but you're already smiling.

When the presentation ends, the entire auditorium raising up on creaking knees to shuffle out to break for lunch, Claudia's hand clamps down on your arm.

"I'm buying lunch and you're going to tell me everything."

So you do.  Parked in her conservative little hybrid over styrofoam boxes of take out, you tell her. Damn near everything, too. She listens with rapt attention, this not being the first time she's poked you for details of your love life, such as it is, but judging by the look on her face it's possibly taken the top spot as the most memorable.

"So you're gonna see him again," she says finally as you tell her about Whiskey's invitation before slipping out the door this morning.

You settle back, trying to make yourself look suitably apathetic before answering in the hopes of not being completely transparent. "I dunno. Maybe."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh please. You're gonna see him again. You've been spaced out with dickbrain all day, there's no way you're turning down that invitation."

You wave the end of your plastic fork threateningly. "I will stab you, I swear."

"Not with this many witnesses," she says with a wave at the horde of pedestrians outside on the sidewalk, blatantly ignoring the shanking motions you make in warning.  

When she doesn't drop that annoying, knowing look, you start jabbing at your food, rolling a piece of cucumber around the styrofoam. "I mean...ok yeah I thought about it."

"All morning," Claudia provides.

"Fuck you," you counter lightly, and resist the urge to fling the chunk of cucumber at her. "I just...I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea."

"Oh my god, why not?" she cries, head thrown back in exasperation.

"Well it's not exactly fucking sensible, is it?"

"Honey if you were worried about being sensible you wouldn't have fucked a cowboy you picked up at a hotel bar," she says with a shake of her head.

"Did you miss the part where he tried to convince me he was James fucking Bond?  I mean c'mon Claudia.  That's gotta be...I dunno, some kinda red flag."

She scoffs, flapping a dismissive hand. "Oh please, when the bullshit's that obvious I don't even think it counts. It’s not like you bought it anyway.  Besides, honesty is the backbone of a solid relationship, if you're just poking fun it's more like a bonus.  As long as he's not married and not a serial killer, who gives a shit?  You’re overthinking the shit outta this, hon.”

That’s...well that’s not wrong.  It’s honestly irritating how not wrong that is.

When you don’t give a response save for the idle sounds of plastic scratching on your takeout box, Claudia groans. “God are you really gonna make me talk you into getting yourself laid? Okay, if you wanna be rational about it, fine, here's some rational thought for you." She pops out her thumb, ticking off digits as she lists. "He's hot. He likes to eat pussy. He's a fuckin' sub, which - holy shit, girl. Holy actual fucking shit. Plus he's packing and he actually knows what to do with it.  Oh, and he bought you fuckin' breakfast!" She wiggles her fingers as she thrusts her hands out towards you. "Seven outta ten, babe! My god, if you don't fuck him I'll do it for you just so I don't have to eat another shitty continental breakfast."

You laugh, but there's a hot flush creeping up your face, and you have to stare out the window for a minute until it starts to wind back. It's almost successful, until you think of Whiskey again. This time, though, all you think of is him outlined in the door, looking back at you with his face too shaded to see.  And then your cheeks flare hot again, not with that lingering sense of want, but with a flighty kind of panic.

And just like that you pin it down, your stomach twisting on itself as you finally put words to that moment of apprehension.  Whiskey doesn't scare you.  His lines don't scare you.  The way he fucks you doesn't even scare you.  But that moment that he lingered does. It scares you because you think maybe what was going through his head is the same thing that's been going through yours, a fine little thread looped around every remembered pleasure: the worry that you're about to develop a taste for something that you'll never have the chance to get again.  

Maybe it's better to leave it.  To chalk it up as a fluke and not risk finding out that he'd feel just as good the second time as he did the first.  Cut it off now before that lingering taste turns into a full-blown craving.

Claudia sighs, closing her takeaway box.  "Look, hon.  I'm not trying to tell you what to do. It just sounds to me like you're overthinking this. You don't need to be fucking sensible all the goddamn time. So what if you're thinking with your pussy right now? You had fun. He was fun. You have the option to have more fun. You are entitled to have some fun. So, hey: fuck sensibility and have some fucking fun."

You nod. It's reflex at first, but slowly becomes more deliberate. More sure.  "Okay. Yeah. You're probably right."

"I am always right, thank-you-very-much," she corrects, and then promptly shrieks as you launch a slice of cucumber into her hair.

                                                           ⁂

The trick of it all, you remind yourself that evening as you cross the hotel lobby for the elevator, is not to think about it.  Because if you think about it, really think about it, you will find a way to talk yourself out it. Sensibility is as much of a hindrance as a help at times.  But you've decided now: the absolute last thing you want to be tonight is sensible. You've been bored out of your mind all week, and as much as you're loathe to admit it, Whiskey has been the only bright spot in the whole affair.  At least he's given you something to look forward to, even if it is just the prospect of getting railed until you forget your own name.  

You take the time to change when you make it to your room.  Grab yourself a short, but blisteringly hot shower, and conveniently forget your panties when you redress.  Eventually you make your way down to the bar with your heart almost strangling you with the way it's seemingly lodged itself in your throat.   Whiskey's nowhere to be seen, which isn't a complete surprise.  He always seemed to turn up a little late in the evening before.  Not wanting to deviate too far from your own habits, if only to make yourself a little easier to spot, you take your familiar place at the far end where you've been set up for so many nights in a row. You order your drink, make friends with the closest basket of pretzels, and you wait.

And wait...and wait.

Your eyes are half on the clock and half on the door, flicking back to that last at every sign of movement.  Despite the fact that you're practically nursing your drink, the bartender refills your glass twice over the course of the night. When he offers a third, you shake your head.  Your face feels like it's burning. The bartender nods and wanders away, either oblivious to the growing anger on your face or determined not to end up the recipient of it.

It's nearly midnight when you finally push yourself off the bar stool, throwing down enough bills to cover your tab and storming off.  He stood you up.  You cannot fucking believe it.  What's worse is you feel like you should believe it.  Should've expected it.  As if a man that strutted around like a preening rooster and fed you a bullshit James Bond story would have a streak of honesty.

You punch the elevator button hard enough to make your hand tingle, pushing your way through the doors as they open and hitting the button for your floor. The walls of the elevator are mirrored, and you duck your head, not wanting to know what your face looks like just now, twisted up in anger and more than a little shame. The doors hang for a moment before sliding closed.  At the last possible second a hand darts in, stopping them. Broad. Tanned. Tattooed. The man of the hour leans through the doors as they retreat, and gives you a grin.

"Room for one more?"

Your stomach does a back flip, blood rushing in so many directions you're not sure if you've got enough left to power a response. If this little scenario had played out even half an hour earlier, you might've laughed. Might've fallen back into that easy bitchy banter the two of you seemed so good at. Might've even kissed him. But not now.  Now you've built up too much steam, and every little ounce of anger – earned or not – that you'd had percolating for this man since you first laid eyes on him bursts out of your mouth in two words, laced with as much venom as you can muster.

"Fuck you."

You can practically hear the record scratch in his head.  The smile falls, eyebrows ratchet up so high you can't see them for the brim of his hat.  It's satisfying in an awful sort of way.  Like scratching an itch hard enough to draw blood.  Too late to take it back now, though.  You lash out at the elevator panel, punching the button marked CLOSE DOORS, and Whiskey side-steps neatly inside.

"All right," he says slowly.  "That is not exactly the reaction I was hoping for."

"Yeah, well tough shit, cowboy," you all but spit, raking a hand through your hair. You keep your eyes down.  Forward.  Anywhere but on him.  It's hard, too many reflections.  Even the distorted shape of his  silhouette in the door makes your blood boil.

"I know I'm late," he starts, hands raised, and the low and placating tone of his voice hits you like lighter fluid on a match.

"You don't fucking say?"

His hands drop. "Can I at least explain myself?"

Laughing too loud and too sharp, you shrug, shoulders pulling up hard.  "Yeah, sure, why not? Let me guess, rough day at Spy HQ? Assassination appointment run over? Or were you just hiding behind the fucking dieffenbachia to see how long I'd stick around before I came to my fucking senses?" 

The shrill sound of your own voice almost makes you wince.  You're overreacting. It's not like you're unaware of it. But you're pissed off, and worse now, you've committed to being pissed off. Backing down now is damn near impossible, never mind actually apologizing.

Whiskey takes a step forward, his eyes gone all puppy dog again; wide and imploring under twisted brows. "Look, I don't blame you for thinkin' the worst. I know I left you waitin', and I apologize for that -"

You roll your eyes, mouth twisting into a smile that shows too much teeth to be kind. "Christ, y'know what, don't flatter yourself.  I like that bar.  The pretzels are nice and they don't water down the liquor.  I didn't show up for you."

"Oh horseshit," he snaps. He doesn't raise his voice, but there is a whip crack of impatience in it. "If you didn't want to see me tonight you wouldn't have turned up at all. You and I both know that."

Fuming, you jam your hand into your purse, fishing out his flask and tossing it at him hard enough that it hits him square in the chest. He catches it on the rebound.

"Here. You forgot this."

Whiskey turns it over in his hands, thumping the metal against his palm. "Right.  I see," he says slowly, slipping the flask into his pocket. Under that thick drawl, there's a twinge of something that might be disappointment. "Just came to do the decent thing and return a man's property."

"Yes." Part of you sinks, screaming in frustration.  But it's like you're a spectator now, just watching yourself sabotage the only thing that'd brought you a shred of joy all week just because your pride and temper won't allow any other option.

One hand falls to his hip, the other rubs idly across his mouth. He's scowling now, quite spectacularly at that, and for a second you think you've finally dealt enough of a blow to his pride to piss him off. Then he steps in close, jaw set. The way his eyes travel up and down you sends a flush through your body, and you're not sure if you want to slap him hard enough to knock the mustache off his face or kiss him until his lips bleed. His gaze lingers at your hip, your curves quite plainly displayed under the tight skirt. He reaches out. The back of his fingernails barely brush the fabric.

"Do you always make returns without any panties on?"

You try to swallow, but find your mouth has gone suddenly bone dry, your throat sticking with a sharp and painful click.  "Fuck off," you try to tell him, but it comes out a croak.

"You know what I think?" Whiskey continues, and the tone would nearly be conversational if it weren't for the way he's looking at you, eyes perfectly black and hungry under the shade of his hat.  "I don't think you're just mad because I'm late.  I think you're mad because I can get a rise outta you. Part of you kinda likes it. Enough to wanna come back for a little more of it. And you don't know what to do about that.  Bet you can't even decide if you wanna throttle me or ride me 'til you can't come anymore. Bit of both, maybe, huh?"

Oh fuck you very much, Mister Perceptive.  "Christ, you and your fucking ego-"

"Oh to hell with my fucking ego, and yours too." He leans in close enough that you can smell aftershave and a fainter, acrid smell that, if you weren't so fucking preoccupied, you might recognize as spent gunpowder. "If you want me to go, just fuckin' say it. But don't bullshit a bullshitter.  If you wanted rid of me that bad you would've tossed me out on my ass last night before I'd even finished coming."

Your jaw works, and you push yourself a little harder against the handrail just to keep from slapping him. How dare he-

How dare he what, exactly? Be right?  Again?

You clench your jaw, gripping the handrail on the wall tight enough that the corners dig into your fingers. Glare at him like you're trying to light him on fire. He doesn't flinch.

"What you did last night...that made for a hell of a first impression," he says slowly, and the low rasp of his voice almost curls your toes.  "One I don't expect I'm liable to forget this side of fuckin' doomsday. Shit, I don't even know your fucking name and I ain't been able to shake the thought of you all damn day.  Now you can believe that or not, and I wouldn't blame you if you didn't.  But the only thing I'm asking from you right now is to be fucking straight with me.  If you want me to go, you fucking tell me, and I'm gone.  But if you want me to stay, honeybee I swear I will make up for every second you had to wait."

"Fuck you, Whiskey," you breathe.  It's all you've got left, all you can even think to say, but it's too soft. It's too hard not to believe him when he's looking at you like that.  Even if he's still got your teeth on edge, ready to bite, the fire in your belly is sinking lower every second. And there's no way to mistake the low rasp of your voice for anger.

He leans in, hovering barely an inch away from you, and tips your chin up with his knuckle. "That ain't an answer, honeybee."

His lip curls into a smirk and for a second all you can think about is running your tongue out to follow the curve of it.

"You can punish me if you like," he offers in a low, darkly sweet voice. The fingers on your chin trace a path along your jaw, up to your ear, and down the side of your neck as he talks; a three-point constellation drawn in goosebumps. "Lord knows I deserve it. Tie me up again. Ride my tongue until you've had your fill and never lay a finger on me.  I don't mind a bit.  I'll probably come in my fucking jeans like a goddamn high school virgin while you do it, too."

Oh god. It's too hot. It's too hot and he's too close and it feels like there's no air left.  Those words took the last of it and left you with nothing. And then your lungs finally unlock, hitching in air so pitifully loud that for a second his eyes drop first to your mouth and then lower to watch the buttons strain on your blouse.

His tongue brushes up against the back of his bottom lip, a strange gesture, but one you can't drag your eyes away from.  And the bastard just keeps talking.  

"Then again, maybe the way you've been acting up you'd be more inclined for a little punishment yourself. I could take you upstairs. Turn you over my knee and put my hand to that pretty little ass until it blushes like a ripe summer peach. I'd bet you'd drip just as much and twice as sweet, too. I'd kill for a taste of you right now. Fuck, if you really want I could just hike that skirt up and fuck you right here and now.  I am a flexible man and I am willing to take you any way you'd see fit to let me. But only if you let me.  I ain't here to play bullshit games, and I will not take anything you don't want to give.  So I need you to tell me, honeybee.  Do you want this? Yes or no?"

Everything inside you burns and twists.  Fuck, you want that.  All of that.  And all you have to do to get it is unstick your stubborn, too-sharp tongue and admit that you want it. That even without the excuse of three shots of tequila on top of a few too many cocktails, you still want it.

You're burning up.  There's sweat on your palms.  It squeaks as you twist your hands over the railing.  He hasn't just turned the tables on you, he's flipped the whole fucking room and cornered you with it. And God help you, it's infuriating how much you like it.

"Hate you. So much."

"Hm." His hand falls away, and you miss the touch instantly. "So you keep sayin'. Decision time, honeybee. You pick or I'm picking for you and we're both gonna be disappointed in that result."

There is a long long beat where that threat hangs between you.  Any hope that he might just push forward and take you anyway – push you into the wall and fuck you ragged right here and now without another word – bleeds away as you stare him down, your wordless challenge going unanswered. His gaze is iron; hard and unyielding, and you know if you wait even one more second, this...whatever the hell this is, will be over. Permanently.

Swallowing the last of your pride like so much cheap liquor, you seize the front of his shirt, dragging him forward even as he starts to back away.

"Yes. Fucking goddamn it.  Yes, I want this."

"Yeah?" He leans in, nose brushing your cheek.  Somehow it's that little gesture that sets off a bomb's worth of butterflies in your stomach.

"Yes."

The heat of his hand is almost shocking as it glides up your thigh and underneath your skirt, his thumb stroking up and finding only bare skin. Whiskey grins. "Knew it."

You choke back a sigh.  "Smug bastard."

"Yes ma'am."  His thumb brushes up and down your slit idly, slow and considering.  He glances around, quirks an eyebrow, and offers: "Here?"

Following his glance, you spot the hunk of plastic mounted in the top corner of the elevator.  "Camera. Fuck."

"Sure enough," he drawls, still grinning.  "You want to give the boys 'n' girls in the security booth a show, or d'you want to go someplace a little more sensible?"

Sensible. God, If he'd chosen any other word, you might've agreed. Private. Safe. Anything but fucking sensible.  

"Fuck sensibility. Fuck security, too. Just shut up and fuck me."

He laughs through your kiss, the touch of his lips too gentle by miles.  The last thing you want right now is gentle. You don't fucking deserve gentleness after all that.  And so you rake your teeth across his bottom lip, roll your tongue against his. When you nip at his tongue, Whiskey breaks off, cupping your sex with a warm, calloused hand.

"You're gonna eat me alive, honeybee," he growls.  He parts you with a thick finger, drawing the pad of it from your entrance to your clit and back again. "Mm, I have been thinkin' about this all day," he murmurs before his finger sinks into you.

Sighing, you curl your arms around his neck, knocking his hat off to run your fingers through his hair and muss up that razor-clean side part. His hand works unhurried between your legs.  You rock against it, listening to the obscene smacking sound as he works you open.

"All that fuss and you're wet for me already, darlin'," Whiskey says wonderingly.

All you can do is groan, chasing the sensation of the heel of his hand pressing against your clit.  "Shut up and kiss me."

You tug at his hair, try to urge him forward, but he doesn't budge.  He sinks down to his knees instead, right hand never leaving the wet heat of your cunt.

"I'll kiss you, baby," he says, pushing up your skirt and lifting your right leg over his shoulder.  "Don't you worry."

And he kisses you: a warm, wet slide of lips and tongue where he's got you spread. Gasping, you grab the back of his head. He looks up at you, only the crinkles at the corner of his eyes proof of his smile, and his eyes slip closed like a man savoring his favorite meal.

"Jesus." The word comes out in a squeak as his mouth works on you, your throat tightening in an effort to keep quiet.  A second finger joins the first and you whimper, tightening reflexively against the stretch.  Christ those fingers are thick. Shuddering, you work your fingers in his hair and pull him closer, your eyes wandering up to the reflection in the far wall.  The view is mesmerizing: your back arched, skirt hiked up to your waist, with Whiskey's head buried in between your legs like a man trying to slake an ungodly thirst. The view on the left is even better.  From there you can watch his mouth work against you, catching a glimpse of his tongue, wet and shining as it slips between your folds. He sways forward on his knees like a charmed snake, a growing bulge straining against the dark blue denim of his jeans.

There's a gentle ding, and for a moment you're so scrambled you think maybe your phone's going off.  And then the elevator doors slide open. An older looking gent with a battered briefcase stands frozen on the other side, eyes wide as dinner plates as he takes in the same view you've been admiring in the mirrored walls of the elevator.  

For a single spaced-out second the only thing you can think is, Going down?, which makes you erupt into a fit of breathless, senseless giggles.

The newcomer's mouth hangs, flapping uselessly over words he can't quite formulate.  He might be trying to apologize for the intrusion or insist you repent and turn to Jesus.  You don't know and you don't care.

Whiskey looks up at him over the line of your thigh, lips glistening.  "Get the next one," he snarls, and punches the CLOSE DOORS button.

He plants a rough, sucking kiss at the top of your cleft as the doors close again, utterly unperturbed.  "Penthouse, darlin', if you please."

Oh he would be in the fucking penthouse, wouldn't he?  Panting, you fumble a hand out trying to find the button just as Whiskey slides in a third finger and you cry out, almost swiping every button in the center row by accident.

The elevator hums to life and begins to move.  The red light on the security camera flashes benignly and you stare at it for a long beat while Whiskey gets right back to work, moaning hungrily between your legs.  Someone's watching this.  The thought excites you more than it should, adding fuel to the already roaring fire Whiskey is so eagerly stoking with his tongue.  You roll your hips, swearing roundly.  It's not enough.  It's fucking glorious, but it's not enough.  You know what you need.

"Fuck me," you gasp.  "Goddamn it, Whiskey, gimme your cock."

He glances up at you through thick lashes, eyebrows raised.  "Is that what you want, honeybee?" he asks.

You bear down on his fingers hard as if to answer and he clenches right back, thumb and pinky giving him leverage against your pubic bone as he grips you tight, fingers stroking along your walls. It's only by virtue of the handrail and the support of his shoulder that you don't sink straight to the floor.  Christ that backfired.

You nod fervently, head spinning.

A roll of his shoulder unseats your leg, and he stands.  His left hand wraps around your throat, thumb against your jawline, and that's so fucking perfect you can't stop yourself from whimpering. In a flare of desperation you grasp his wrist, urging him to grip your neck just a little tighter. Chuckling, he brushes his lips against yours – soft and strangely tender – while he fucks you steadily with his fingers.

"Shoulda known you'd like that.  Well?  Cat got your tongue?  Come on, darlin', lemme hear it."

"Yes."

"Louder. Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"Oh god-d-d-damn it!"

He chuckles darkly, fingers coaxing inside you.  "You can do it, honeybee.  I know you want it. I just need hear you say it."

You bare your teeth.  "I want you to fuck me."

"Good girl."  He grins down at you, wide and wolfish.  "Now: ask me nicely."

Oh he would, wouldn't he?

"B-bastard," you snarl, then begin to laugh.

"Oh come on now," he croons, eyes darting between your lips and your own heavy-lidded stare. "I'm sure you can get along without your pride for an hour or two. It ain't so bad.  And I promise I'll make it worth your while. C'mon."

You groan, grit your teeth, and hiss out: "Please."

He crooks his fingers and you gasp like you've been burned.  "'Please' what?"

"Please fuck me.  Please fuck me."

He slots your trembling thigh between his legs, pressing the clothed, solid length of his cock against you.  "With this?  Hm?"

"Fuck, yes."  You writhe, feel it twitch, and he rolls against you in response.  

"Come for me first, honeybee.  Then I'll fill you up good and proper. Cross my heart."

His fingers press into you harder, spreading gently as he draws them back. Your legs begin to shake so badly that he has to pin you to the wall to hold you up.  The rail digs into your back.  You'll bruise tomorrow, but you're not sure you've ever cared less in your life.  

"You gonna come, for me?" he asks, rutting a little more enthusiastically against you when he feels you begin to tense and flutter around his fingers.

Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you nod, feeling the drag of his lips on your cheek.  

"Uh-uh. Talk to me, darlin', I wanna hear it. I want you to tell me every single time you're gonna come, you understand me? Count them out.  Let's see just how many you got in you tonight."

"Oh you ass!"  You moan and laugh all in the same breath.  

"You like it," he says simply.  

He kisses you, warm and deep, and you bite his lip for the audacity.  "Don't stop.  Fuck, I'm close."

He turns your head, slides his hand around to cup the back of your neck. "Open your eyes, honeybee.  Watch yourself."

You try.  Everything's a blur; inside and out.  Fuzzy and disconnected and hot. Blinking to clear the fog, you can see your reflection caught between the wall and Whiskey's body. Your eyes are dazed, unfocused. His cheek is against yours, a look of utterly indecent hunger on his face, lips red and swollen where you've bitten him. He's pressed up against you too tightly to get a good view, but you can see his arm pinned between your bodies, and the flex of muscles working underneath his jacket.

There is, you note with a fuzzy sort of disconnect, a small, ragged hole in the arm of his jacket.

But before you can put any more thought to this discovery he presses his thumb down against your clit – no friction, only a firm, rolling pressure – and that's all you need. If it wasn't for the his body against yours, you'd buckle.  As it is, trapped between him and the wall, all you can do is quake and cry out, arms tightening around his shoulders as you come.

He hums indulgently, kissing your cheek.  "Count it out."

Panting, you pull hard on his hair until he groans.  "One."

"Good girl," he murmurs.  Slowly his hand withdraws, giving one last slow swirl over your folds before he sucks you greedily off his fingers.

There's the muffled sound of a zipper and you could almost laugh – finally! But then the elevator slows and stops, doors sliding open with a soft ding.  Whiskey glances sidelong at the open door, corner of his mouth pulling up in a half-cocked grin.  The disappointed whine you give as you hear him zip himself right back up is wholly involuntary.

"Well wouldn't you know it," he says, pulling away from you and stooping for his hat. It's all you can do not to whack him on the back of the head – or on the ass – as he turns away, wiggling your skirt back down over your hips instead.

He gives a ridiculous wink towards the security camera with his hat held to his chest. Your stomach gives a neat little flip as you look up at that blinking red light – god, you'd forgotten it was even there.  

"Sorry to blue-ball ya and run, fellas." He gets an arm around your waist, tugging you into the hall at an easy, languid pace, as if nothing had happened. As if your legs weren't still quivering, with the evidence of your orgasm running in sticky trails down the inside of your thighs.

"Betcha money, marbles, or chalk they'll be jerkin' off over that for weeks," he says jovially, pulling you to his hip when he feels you start to wobble. "C'mon. Let me get you in a bed before I say to hell with it all and fuck you out here on the goddamn floor."

Your knees tremble again; at least one part of you has full support of that particular idea. As the door opens you pull him back to your mouth, kissing him hard even as he steers you by the hips through the suite.  You barely see any of it. Recessed halogen lights.  The sparkle of painstakingly cleaned glass and marble.  Little else. A grunt escapes you as you fetch up hard against the wall and Whiskey crashes into you.  The sudden pressure against his groin leaves him winded, rocking forward against you with a shuddering groan.

"Tell me how you want it," he says, words mangled against your mouth. The salt-musk taste of you still clings to his tongue, sharp against some faint remnant of sweet mint.

One hand slips down, squeezing your breast through the material of your blouse.  The room spins giddily like a tilt-a-whirl, still riding the coattails of your last orgasm. "Hard," you breathe.  The skirt you chose is too fucking tight, and you have to reach down to drag it back up your thigh just to hook a leg around him.  "Don't you dare be gentle."

He chuckles as you press into him. "How hard is hard? I can be a little rough if you let me off the leash."

Frustrated, you slip your hands under his sports coat, nails biting into his shoulders through his dress shirt.  "Fuck, do I have to spell it out for you?"

"Yeah," he says, and his voice has reached that breathy, sonorous pitch that sends a hot-cold shiver rocketing down your spine.  "Yeah you do.  A little honesty would be appreciated tonight."

One good shove and his jacket slips to the floor.  "That's funny coming from Double-O-Cowpoke."

"Not my fault you don't believe me."  It's pitched like a joke, light and breezy, but there's something in his eyes.  Sharp and peculiar and gone almost before you can be sure it was really there, but makes your stomach clench with a sudden surety that the next words out of his mouth are completely genuine.  "I ain't lied to you yet, honeybee."

And that almost brings you to a halt.  Your hands splay out on his shoulders, pushing back to look at him more clearly.  If that's true. If that's true...oh god, why would he have told you?

The question is halfway to your lips before he surges his way forward again, his mouth crashing into yours and kissing you hard and urgent and bruising. A faint sound of protest rises in your throat and you push back a little, not wanting him to stop but wanting him to wait because...because....

And the rest of that thought flutters away. He doesn't stop kissing you.  He just doesn't stop.  And he's moaning as his tongue licks into your mouth and his teeth scrape over your lips like it's the most decadent thing in the world.  You grasp at his face, wrists caging in his neck, feeling his pulse race along next to your at such a frantic speed it's almost alarming.  Your last little shred of rational thought all but begs you to push him back a little harder, to make him look at you and ask him what's wrong...and then it just flutters away because God this is what you want.  This.  This, this, this.

"You want it hard?" he rasps into your mouth, rutting up against you hard enough to drive you back into the wall.

Breathless, you nod.  Work your fingers through the mess you've made of his hair. "Ruined you last night, didn't I?"  You tighten your grip, use your knuckles for leverage and pull.

Whiskey groans, slipping his hands under the bunched hem of your skirt to grip your ass and grind you down against him.  "Goddamn right you did, honeybee."

"So ruin me back."  The thick denim that covers his fly is rough, but you rub against it all the same, shuddering at the coarseness against your tender skin.  "Fair is fair.  Right?"

His eyes slip closed and he buries his face against your neck for a moment, breathing unsteady.  "Jesus, girl, you're gonna soak straight through my jeans," he mutters. "All right, honeybee.  All right.  I only got one rule.  If I do anything you don't want, you tell me. 'Cause I ain't stopping unless you do. Not tonight. Got it?"

"Whiskey-"

He gets a grip on your chin, levels your eyes on his.  "You tell me 'no' or you tell me 'stop.'  Got it?"

"Yes." Patience exhausted, you wrench his belt open. "Now come on."

Buttons patter to the floor as he tears open your blouse.  And that's good. That's fair. And what's even better is the rough way he puts his hands on you, yanking your bra down to knead and squeeze your bare breasts.  When you finally free his cock there's only a brief moment to savor the warm, solid length in your grip before his fingers clamp down on your nipples.  The sensation is so sharp and bright and sudden that you yelp, arching up on your tip-toes.

"Hands off, honeybee," he warns.

Whimpering, you flatten your hands against the wall.

"Too much?" he asks softly, that funny little furrow deepening between his eyebrows.

A groaning laugh slips out of you, and you arch your back, pushing your breasts against his hands.  "Not enough."

"Fuck, ain't you just the sweetest, dirtiest thing." He twists and you cry out, hips bucking forward.  His cock drags against your hip and you chase it, trying to pin it between you.

"Oh, c'mon.  You promised," you whine.

"Oh I'm gonna keep my promise, baby, don't you fret. I want you just as fucked-out as you had me. Wanna see you so goddamn cock dumb your eyes roll back. Bet you've been thinking about this all day, too, haven't you?"

The wall warms under your hands as you fight not to push back more.  And maybe that's what does it.  A little mental-short circuit.  Because God knows you haven't been able to think of a single fucking thing other than this.  But the denial is on your lips so fast it must be involuntary, a reflexive need to find his buttons and push: "You wish."  

Whiskey raises an eyebrow, lip curling.  For a second he's amused, seeing the game you want to play. And then it's like a switch flips. Suddenly this isn't the man who'd begged for the privilege of fucking you last night. This isn't even the man who'd put his grateful mouth to your cunt in the elevator. This is the man he'd pretended to be right up until you got his hands tied. The cowboy get up wasn't the costume – this is. This smile. This infuriating swagger.  

"Oh, really?" he says, and for the first time you realize just how much that drawl had begun to soften around you, because now that dial's ramped right back up to 11.  "You turn up tonight without any goddamn panties on, ride my fingers like a coin-op pony, beggin' to get fucked all the while, and then you try and tell me you ain't been thinkin' about me?  I felt how hard you came. How fucking wet you were."  His hand darts between your legs as quick a snake-strike, fingers carding through your folds. "Are.  Ain't no face left to save, darlin'."

He's in your space, radiating heat, his fingers stroking against your swollen sex, stoking your own fire all over again. But the fire those words kindle burns a little quicker and a little hotter. Without a second thought you strike out, palm tingling as it finds its target against his cheek.

For a moment Whiskey doesn't even seem to breathe. He just stands there leaning heavy against you with his eyes closed and his nostrils flaring. Redness blooms against his cheek.  When his eyes open again, the way they bore into you, glittering and eager takes your own breath away.

He hums, that low, pleased sound.  But now it slips lower and lower into a breathy rumble that lances straight through you.  "Do it again."

Swallowing hard, you slap him again.  Harder this time.  For a moment the only reaction he gives is the way his cock bobs sharply, slapping against your thigh.

Then he growls, seizing the back of your neck and crushing you to him.  You crane up, half expecting a kiss, but his thumb snags the corner of your mouth.  He drags it open until your jaw hangs, tilting your head back.  A choked sound that's a little too plaintive to be a protest slips from your open mouth a second before Whiskey spits into it.

"Swallow."

You do, sucking hard on his thumb for good measure.

"You nasty little thing," Whiskey says, his voice slow and dark as molasses. His eyes glaze over a little as he works the ball of his thumb against your tongue, watching the way your lips purse around it. "Maybe you are the one that needs the punishin'."

He leans against you, breathing hard as he considers this thought. You frown a little, catching his thumb with your teeth, hoping he'll get the hint and give you something better to put in your mouth. But then his grip loosens, one hand disappearing behind you. Hints, it appears, are completely off the table tonight.

"In," he growls, throwing open the bedroom door. "Now."

Whiskey leads you inside, hitting the lights with his elbow.  The room is furnished in that same drab but sparkling minimal style, an impressively large bed swallowing up the majority of the space.  One wall is nothing but windows behind drawn shades, a sliding door leading out to a small, isolated balcony.

He steers you directly to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling you across his lap to straddle his knee.  You let out an indignant little yelp at the treatment, but then he shifts his leg under you and the indignance crumbles. It presses against your mound just right, urging you open, and you grind down with a gasp, trying to find a little relief.

Whiskey tuts.  "Oh now look at that. Try to tell me you ain't been thinkin' about takin' my dick and then rub on me like a goddamn cat in heat."  

There's the sound of a zipper – not his this time, but your own – and then a little tickle at your hip as he undoes the skirt and wrestles it down your legs. He pushes your blouse up, bunching the material up around your shoulder blades.  For a second you think he means to pull it off, but then he twists the fabric around his hand.  The garment draws up tight, leaving your arms, still in the sleeves, pinned to your sides.  

You moan a little when you feel his hand slide across your ass. He bends over you, and you feel the wet heat of his mouth against your ass cheek.  A sweet, languid swirl of his tongue before he bites down.  You jerk hard enough that your clit drags against the rough weave of his jeans and you cry out, the sound muted by the bedspread.

The pressure of his knee aches beautifully against your cunt, your breathing so shallow and quick it makes you lightheaded.  You know what's coming, and you know what you asked for.  The last thing you wanted was to be sensible.  And this – well this might be the least sensible thing you've ever done.  

You buck your hips up sharply. Searching for his hand.  "Do it."

The first strikes are quick and brisk.  They tingle, warming your skin, but don't hurt. Not yet.  This is just a tease of the real thing.  A warm up. The tips of his fingers trace the first reddening outline of his hand against your skin, a match for the not-yet faded print against his cheek.  Crooning, he kneads your buttocks, spreading them apart, making the slick folds of your pussy slide against each other.

"Sweet Jesus will you look at that.  Open that up, baby.  Lemme see just how fuckin' wet that gorgeous little pussy is."

You gasp, grinding down again, and then first real slap lands across your ass, unexpected and jarring.  The sting is enough to make your eyes water, but the impact drives you forward, almost encouraging your hips to grind into him.  A second strike lands on the other cheek, then back to the first, alternating each time.  You rock with it, caught between the hot stinging slap of skin on skin and the building heat between your legs.

"This what you wanted?"  Crack.

"Fuck!"

"Is it?" he demands.  His hand descends again.  Crack.

"Yes!" You kick out, struggling not because you want to, but because you have to. And it only makes it worse. Or better, or – God, you don't even know now. It's more. It's just more. His knee digs in harder and your poor neglected cunt throbs with a misplaced ache and you swear you have never needed to feel yourself filled up more than you do right now.

"You gonna behave?" Crack. "You gonna stop lyin' to me now?"  CRACK.

"Yes!" The word leaves you in a shuddering sob, thighs clamping down around Whiskey's leg.  One more, God help you, one more and you'll tip over, you'll come all over his knee, you're so close.

And then he stops, rubbing and kneading the hot flushed skin, and you whine in desperate frustration as your orgasm begins to retreat.

"Goddamn. Prettier than a Georgia peach," Whiskey says thickly. His hand strays, slips down between your cheeks and presses against the splayed lips of your pussy. You writhe under the sudden attention, feeling the tips of his fingers slide around your clit. "And damned if you don't drip twice as sweet."

"Please." Warmth trickles from the corner of your eyes, blooming against the bedspread.

The swirl of his hand is lazy, almost soothing but for the way it keeps you so frighteningly close to the edge. "Truth first, honeybee. C'mon. You know what I wanna hear."

"Ye-yes," you mutter.  "Goddamn it yes.  I've been thinking about fucking you all day.  All goddamned day...God, Jesus, fuck, and then you didn't show. Thought you'd ditched me.  Made me want - want it and then ditch me."

You bury your face in the quilt. It's a fucking cop out and you know it. You don't just want it.  You want him.  Fuck, what is happening?

Again you feel his mouth against your ass cheek, open and wet, but this time his tongue is almost cool by comparison. "There now. I didn't ditch you, baby. Wouldn't fuckin' dream of it."  His voice is low now, placating, nearly apologetic. And then his fingers are slipping inside you again, stroking and curling. "I'm right here here, baby. Right here. Just a little late, is all."

You whine, trying to wriggle back to drive him in deeper. Those thick fingers are like fucking magic but you need more than they can provide. Desperate now, you clutch your fingers back towards him, find his shirttail and tug at it. "Jack. Please."

It doesn't even register to you that you've called him by his name – God, you didn't even think you remembered his name – until the fingers inside you still. If it wasn't for the hammering of your heart in your ears you might've heard his breath catch.

Slowly he twists his fingers inside you, pressing down until you shudder. "What is it, honeybee?" he mutters. The hoarseness in his voice is familiar. You wish you could see his face. "Tell me what you want."

"Please fuck me.  Please.  I waited all fucking night."

He rolls you off his lap, leaving you dangling half off the bed and folds over you, cock nestled against the heat of your reddened ass. There's a sticky slide to it; you're not the only one that's wet.

"Hand to God, baby, I'll make it worth every minute. On my fuckin' life." The pained edge in his voice sets the room spinning, and for one mad moment you find yourself trying to grab onto the bedspread to keep from rolling away. Whiskey leaves a kiss against the back of your neck before he draws back, the hand fisted in your shirt tugging you along just a bit.

There's a long, wavering moment when his touch leaves you entirely and you almost protest before you hear him frantically shedding his clothes behind you. Then his hands return, his left winding back into your shirt, his right warm and strong against your back. The blunt, weeping head of his cock nudges between the swollen lips of your pussy. He stays there for an infuriatingly long moment, enough that you cry out your frustration into the bedclothes.  

And then he finally makes good on his promise.

You go up on your toes, legs straining as he breaches you. After all the hours you spent thinking about it, all the hours you waited, it's bliss. But the pure, unadulterated stretch of it laces that bliss with a white-hot line of fire that only serves to make it all the more urgent. Maybe it's the angle, bent in half with your ass up and your legs closed. Maybe it's just how overwrought you are already. Maybe...fuck, you don't know, maybe somehow he's even harder than the night before.  All you do know is that he feels so big you can't hardly stand it. It's so much, bridging the gap between pleasure and pain until it's just an overwhelming sense of pressure and fullness that has you clenching and fluttering around him. As if your body can't make up its mind if it wants to expel the intrusion or welcome it deeper.

He has no right to feel this good. None. But goddamn it you're so glad he does.

"Fuck," he mutters shakily, fingers biting into your hip. "This what you wanted, honeybee? Huh? This what you been waiting for?"

You can't find the air to give him an answer.  Whiskey's still moving forward, you're not even sure how. Christ how much more of him is there? He leans forward, pushing you into the mattress, pushing down into you until you start to shake, until he hits that buried junction inside you that sends a flare of heat rocketing clear down to your toes and your stalled orgasm rears up again so sudden and so close that it's startling.

Every muscle in your body tenses, straining. The whine that breaks out of your gaping mouth is pitiful. "Shit, oh shit, Jesus fuck, Jesus fuck-fuck-fuck-"

He feels it. He must. There's no way he can't. "Oh fuck, that's it honeybee," he croons, working his free hand under you to circle your clit as he sinks that last broad inch into you. "Come on. Come all fuckin' over me."

For a second everything shorts out, all senses lost in a white-out. The only tenuous connection you have to your body lies in the grounding pressure of his cock inside you and the faint but rapid fluttering of his pulse in it. And then you're slamming back to yourself with a ragged cry, blood roaring in your ears and coming so hard that you nearly buck off of him entirely. Your arms flex, bend, bunched cloth digging deeply into your skin until you feel rather than hear the seams rip. And then the tightness is gone, Whiskey's hand unwinding immediately from your shirt to stroke up and down your back.

There's a lump in your throat when you finally find enough air to speak: "T-t-two."

Whiskey groans. "Beautiful.  Fuck, you shake so pretty when you come for me. I could watch you do that all night. Might just, at that."  He drags the torn wreck of your blouse off you, popping the clasp on your bra and bending to place an open, humid kiss in the valley along your spine.

He rocks forward and back, one hand clamped into soft flesh at your hip, humming tunelessly. "Been wantin' to bury myself back in this sweet pussy from the minute I woke up.  Ain't been able to think of nothin' else. Just this," he says, drawing back slowly before burying himself to the hilt and rolling his hips against you.

You clamp your teeth down on your lip, fighting the haze. It's hard to swallow. Hard to breathe. But he's rolling into you slow, far too fucking slow.  And that isn't what you need. You try to push yourself up on your elbows, but he thrusts forward, a little more force in it this time, and your arms give out.  

"Ha-harder," you pant, voice thick and muffled by the quilt. You turn your head, claw the hair out of your face. "F-fuck me harder, god-d-d-damn it. Make me fuckin' feel it tomorrow. Big-dicked b-bastard, oh my God, don't you stop."

He breathes out a laugh, folding over your back. The pressure against your tender ass stings like hell, and you hitch in a hissing gasp as Whiskey's mouth finds your cheek. He kisses you, or does his best to. The angle is strange and your face is half-smashed against the bed, but his mouth slants over the side of yours, tongue dragging against your lips until you open for him, letting him lick against the sharp points of your teeth.  

"Careful what you wish for, honeybee," he whispers, grinding forward in a maddening circle. "Words like that will get you in a whole mess of trouble."

The air leaves you in a whooping rush as he stands, dragging you up against his chest, your back bowing to try and keep the searing length of him pressed where you need it. And then – ah god – his hand is around your throat and his teeth are sinking into your shoulder, and you're suddenly glad he can't see the way your eyes flutter and roll back.  

Not that he even needs to see it, because just then Whiskey groans into your skin as a rush of wetness courses down his cock.

"Fuck, is it that good, baby? Hm?" His voice quavers as his body impacts yours like a sledgehammer. "My dick finding all the sweet spots in that pretty little pussy for you?"

You grapple at him, find where he clings to you and grip his hands, inadvertently encouraging him to press his hand just a little harder against your throat. And there goes the room again, looping and floating as he starts to move, really move, driving forward harder and harder. You stumble, going up on your toes, some choked and desperate noise caught in your throat somewhere under his hand. Sparks pop behind your eyes, faint and wavering like fireworks reflected on choppy waters. And then the pressure eases, air rushing into your lungs once again. The fire in your belly flares up at it like a backdraft.  

"M-more," you grate out. "Oh f-fucking God please more.  D-don't...d-d-don't-"

"Don't you worry, baby.  Ain't gonna stop," he mutters harshly against your ear.  "I'll give you all you want. Ain't stopping 'til you tell me to stop."

You shake your head, or at least try to, the movement restricted by his hand. "N-no. Never. Fuck, never-never stop. Right there f-fuck-"

Whiskey growls out something low and broken and unintelligible as you clamp down on him, your body chasing that bright, blazing heat whether you want it to or not.

"Oh fuck, are you comin' again for me already, angel? Shit, you are, aren't you? Got yourself all riled up today and now you just can't stop. C'mon then, baby. Come on my dick. You feel like fuckin' heaven when you come. Pussy's so good it oughtta be fuckin' blasphemy. C'mon, honeybee, do it for me, come like you fuckin' mean it-"

Before you can breathe a word it hits you and it hits you hard, muscles seizing up so tight it's like they're trying to wring the pleasure out of you. You ride through maybe three or four near-blinding shocks of it and then your knees, traitorous things, finally give out underneath you. The only thing that keeps you up is Whiskey's arms wrapped tight around you, clutching you to him, suspending you on his dick as it grinds up brutally against your g-spot.

"Got you, honeybee," he grunts, rhythm never faltering. "I got you.  Keep comin' for me, baby, keep comin'."

And god help you, you are. You're still quivering, still coming, and then his hand falls away from your neck to cup against your sex, palm flat against the rigid little knot of your clit. He doesn't even rub, it's just a heat and a pressure and it's like your whole body stutters upward, launching towards a second, higher peak. Whiskey lets out a broken groan against your neck as you bear down on him so hard it nearly hurts and you wail at the unexpected, overwhelming force of it.

Everything spins off and away in the aftermath, senses blown out like a bad circuit. Sounds are swallowed up in a high, persistent ringing. You haven't got the strength to force your eyes back open. There's a shift and a feeling of soft cloth beneath you and when the haze starts to lift you find you're on your knees on the bed, shoulders down and ass up with Whiskey draped over your back. He murmurs things against your cheek, your ear, your neck.  You can't hear a word of it over the ringing in your ears.

You turn your head, knocking your forehead against his by accident. "Thr- I- f-four?"  Your voice jumps in your throat, but you can't quite make it steadier. "I...I don't-"

"Honeybee," he drawls, his cock giving a hard, desperate twitch inside you. He grins at you indulgently, gathering your hair up in one broad hand and pulling. "Good girl."

A shudder goes through you as you realize he's still fucking you. Deep, swift strokes that send tingles sparking through you. He drags his cock out of you and drives it back in, pulling it over your blazingly sensitive nerve endings like a bow over violin strings. Like it's a privilege to do it. Like it'd be a fucking crime to stop.

He drags two more orgasms out of you like this. Shuddering, slow-building things that overtake you like flood waters, rising up with an aching, consuming crawl unmindful of the pounding pace Whiskey holds to like a clockwork battering ram. It's only when you gasp out a broken cry of "S-sih-s-six!" that Whiskey's hips finally begin to falter, stuttering and slowing at the feeling of your overworked pussy milking his cock again. His grip on you tightens as he tries to steady himself, tries to hold on, groaning his own restrained pleasure through gritted teeth.

"Tight - fuck!  Goddamn it girl you get so fucking tight when you come. So fuckin' wet. Sweet Jesus. I don't know how m-much more of that I can fuckin' take."

"God, fuck, do it, just do it," you whine, reaching back for him with hands that can't stop shaking. "C'mon Jack."

He laughs at that, but it's a little frayed and frantic at the edges. He brushes the hair out of your face, working his fingers into it and giving it a tug. "I – ungh! Oh s-shit – I got... your p-permission this time, honeybee?"

You hum, nodding, and hitch in a breath as he grinds in particularly deep. "Please."

His rhythm falters again, hips canting suddenly at a hard angle. "W-where? Fuck, fuck, where do you want me, baby? Hurry."

"In-inside. Inside me. 'S what you wanted last night?  Right?"

Whiskey makes a broken sound, lurching against you. "Y-yeah. Oh shit, yes. Jesus fucking Christ, honeybee."

Growling, he flips you over and slides in deep, pushing your knees up almost to your shoulders and staring raptly down at your face even as his own contorts. The length of him inside you stiffens even more, pushing in so deep his hipbones grind painfully against your own.

And then he breaks with a cry, his whole body locking up with the force of his climax.  His head drops between your breasts and his back arches high, fists punching deep divots into the mattress on either side of you. He rocks through it, jerking at every pulse and spasm, and you can't help but shiver at the warmth that pools inside you as he comes.

"Fuck, fuck. Nngh, ho-holy shit." He almost says more, but another tremor wracks his body and it chokes off into a broken mess of Spanish - "¿Que chingas me estás haciendo a mi mujer?"

Winded and boneless, you scratch your nails weakly across his scalp, working your fingers down his neck to his shoulders.  "Better be a compliment."

"You have no idea," he pants open-mouthed against your skin.  Instead of elaborating he just eases himself out of you and crawls his way down, trailing his mouth over your skin until he's settled between your legs, staring at whatever disaster he's made of you and groaning softly in appreciation.

Take a picture, you almost say, it'll last longer. But before you can work up the air and energy to put breath to the quip he's drawing his tongue against you, cleaning up the mess he's made with a desperate, greedy reverence that sets your knees trembling on either side of his head.

Whimpering, you clamp your lower lip in your teeth, shuddering up against the warm heat of Whiskey's mouth.  "Careful," you warn.  "Oh, G-God, careful."

The only answer you get is a low moan and the feeling of his fingers sinking diligently back into your cunt, coaxing out the trickling remnants of his orgasm.

A high, lazy heat begins to build again, over-sensitivity easing back into something warm and sweet and giddily aching.  Your hands cradle the back of Whiskey's head, carding through his sweat-soaked hair as he licks his own come out of you. It's not a thing you've ever really given much thought before – bodily fluids were always more an incidental part of sex for you than anything else – and you're not sure if he's enjoying the act itself or just the strange submissive edge of it.  Curiosity gets the better of you and you glance down at him, expecting to see him staring intently up at you over the rise of your mons, gloating over the state he's put you in.  Fuck, he's made you come so many times you're sure he'll never let you forget it.

Only he isn't.  His eyes are closed, face lax with a blissful intoxication as he tastes himself inside you, holding your thighs up and apart to let him work his tongue and fingers in deeper.  The sight of him so clearly lost in the moment, not goading or gloating, just rapturously gone is maybe the single most erotic thing you've seen in your whole life. And that sweet, lazy heat suddenly licks up to a blaze.

The sudden clench you give is impossible to miss from Whiskey's vantage point, and he groans against you.  "One more, honeybee," he almost pleads, breaking away from you with a sucking pop just long enough to gasp air.  "You can gimme one more, can't you? I know you can. C'mon baby. Lucky seven."

He lowers his head once more with a decadent hum and you throw yours back as he sets to more deliberate work, hooking his arms around your thighs to keep you right where he wants you.  

"God, you greedy b-bastard," you rasp out.  The stimulation to your worn nerves leaves you quaking, wriggling underneath him.  You're not sure you can stand another one, but a deep, hungry part of you is desperate to find out.  

He growls at that, more in agreement than in offense, and when your hands scrabble at his he parries them without even glancing up, seizing your wrists and yanking you down even tighter against his mouth.

You nearly kick him in the ribs when you come.  It's not your fault. Honestly it's his for working you up to this point.  To this high, nervous overload that's barely left you any control over your body.  It doesn't seem to faze him, though.  Your heel glances off his side as your shaking legs lock around his back and he just keeps going, like he hasn't even noticed, like he isn't even here.  Like the world has spun down smaller and smaller and the only thing left is his mouth and your cunt and leaving that would mean the end of everything.

But it's too much.  Goddamn it, it's too much.

You sob, wrench your hands out of his grip and push at his head. "S-s-seven.  Sev-seven.  F-f-fuck, Jack.  No more, n-no more, please, stop, I can't, I can't– "

He's pulling away before you even finish, pressing one last biting kiss against your thigh before crawling shakily over you to put his mouth to yours with a surprising gentleness. The taste on his lips is heady, musky and sharp. His arms tremble at the strain of keeping himself from slumping over on top of you, gasping raggedly between each kiss like they’re just as necessary as air.

For the longest time you can’t even move, you’re far too wrung out and exhausted to even try.  All you can do is lie underneath him and do your best to remember how to breathe between slow, lazy kisses.  Eventually you work up enough breath to speak. "'M sorry," you whisper hoarsely.

Whiskey shakes his head, trying to focus his eyes.  "What for?"

"'Two minutes and a cigarette.'" You bring up a hand, patting his cheek with an awkward bonk. "I stand corrected"

A look of comical confusion takes over his face, brows knitting together, until he finally remembers the jab you'd made after you'd tied him up the night before. "Shit," is all he says before he dissolves into giddy laughter.  His arms finally give out on him and he rolls to keep from toppling onto you.  

You roll with him, tucking your head into his shoulder and giggling. It aches. The muscles in your abdomen so overworked that even laughing hurts, but somehow that just makes it funnier.

You’ve nearly composed yourselves when Whiskey tries to prop himself up on an elbow that immediately slides out from under him and almost smacks you in the head, and that just sets you both off all over again.  Giving up entirely, you just lay there, shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing like a couple of punch-drunk loons.

"You hungry, honeybee?” Whiskey asks breathlessly when he’s got himself back under some semblance of control. “I could eat a goddamn horse."

Now that he mentions it you realize just how long ago lunch was, and your appetite, which had so far taken a backseat to both your temper and libido, roars back to life. "God yeah, actually.  'M fuckin' starving."

So for the second time today, you get room service on Whiskey's dime. Or his employer’s dime, he insists.  You're not sure if that's better or worse.  It's a little ridiculous.  Even more so when you think to look for a clock and realize just how late it is, but you're absolutely famished and the second he's on the phone asking in a pleasantly fuck-drunk voice for a couple hamburgers and french fries you're stomach's growling so insistently you're almost certain the staff on the other end of the line heard it.

He's chuckling as he hangs up the phone, draping over you to nuzzle into your neck.  For the first time you notice just how much his mustache tickles, and you squirm under him, giggling all over again.

"Love me a woman with an appetite," he mumbles, nipping playfully at you.

"God, what the fuck are we doing?" you stutter out through your giggles.  It's not meant to be a real question. You’re practically a space cadet right now, and you can’t remember the last time you were this giddy after sex. But Whiskey shifts a little, pulling back to look down at you, and you can't quite parse the look on his face. "Never had a one-night-stand like this before.”

"Hm." He drops his head a bit, tapping an idle finger against your collarbone. "Think the repeat offense kinda cancels out the one-night-stand idea, honeybee."

"You didn't strike me as the repeating kind."

"Mm. Didn't strike you as the kind who could hold his dick up for longer'n a minute, either.  So I'll try not to take offense at your continued misjudgment of my character."  His eyes wander away from yours, pulling up his well-worn crooked smile with some degree of effort. "But if you're looking for a polite way to tell this old man you've had your fill, there ain't no need to beat around the bush about it."

You might've appreciated the easy out once.  After tonight, though, you're almost offended at it. You're not in the habit of begging for things you only have a mind to dispose of. A little of that flighty panic starts to take hold, and you tamp it down. Fun. This is just for fun. Even if you do want a little more. Fuck, don’t start overthinking it now.

"Is that what you want?" you ask, and it's only the curiosity in your voice that keeps it from sharpening into an accusation.

Whiskey shakes his head, a bit of incredulity in his eyes. "What I want...shit, what I want is to get me somethin' nice an' artery-clogging to eat and then get some fuckin' sleep. Preferably next to the woman who has fucked me ragged two nights running, if she happens to be amenable to that kind of thing. That's as far as my wants go right this second."

The deflection is so clumsy it’s almost funny. “Chickenshit,” you mutter.

Whiskey blinks down at you, shocked for a moment before you give him a teasing smile. “Fuckin’ comedian,” Whiskey says, snorting laughter.  “Ain’t no softening that tongue of yours, is there?”

“You never know.” You shift a little, heart hammering as you consider your next words. "How much longer are you going to be here?"

The crooked smile slips, becoming softer.  "Well.  That sorta depends on you, honeybee.  My work's all wrapped up.  But if you're gonna be around a bit longer and are lookin' for a bit of company I might be convinced to stay a bit longer."

You feel the smile creep up on your face before you can stop it.  "I wouldn’t mind a little continued reprieve from corporate hell. Under one condition," you insist, waving a finger at him.

Schooling his face into a parody of gravitas, he nods expectantly. Proceed.

"I need to know something first.  Some things. Plural."

He cocks an eyebrow.  "How many is plural?"

You consider for a second, squinting.  "Three."

"All right," he says, resting his chin against your shoulder.  "Fire away."

You pop out your thumb.  "Are you a serial killer?"

He stares at you for a long, silent beat before his eyes slip closed and he shakes his head, his chest hitching with stifled laughter. "No, honeybee, I am not now nor have I ever been a serial killer."

You nod, grinning. "Okay, one down.” You pop out your pointer finger. “Are you married?"

The levity bleeds out of his face with a swiftness that makes you regret the question instantly, sure he's about to drop a bombshell directly on your head that's going to leave you hating him and yourself.  But he shakes his head, holds up his ringless left hand as if in proof, as though nobody having an affair would've ever thought to slip a ring off beforehand.  But then, very quietly, he adds: "Was. But not for a long time."

You nod dumbly, mutter, "Okay.”

For a second you wonder if you should apologize – you’ve clearly tripped on something raw by accident – but then he's poking you in the ribs and drawing in a sharp breath.  "And number three?"

A little grateful, you pop out your middle finger ask your last question: "What do you do?  What do you really do?"

The corner of his mouth gives a twitch.  "Shit, is that all?  Well.  Officially, I'm a businessman.  I own a sizable amount of shares in the Statesman distillery company. Which, incidentally, is where that fine stock of bourbon whiskey came from," he adds.

You lean back, eyeing him carefully.  You don't think he's lying.  And yet....

Your fingers find the catch of a scar against his ribs.  "You're scarred to shit for a liquor tycoon, cowboy."

The twitch turns into a grin.  "I have been known to get a little rough-and-tumble once in a while."

"I don't know if I believe that story any more than I did the James Bond bullshit."

Whiskey huffs a laugh.  His jeans are in a puddle at the end of the bed and he drags them up, pulling out a thick leather wallet out of the back pocket.  From one of the compartments he pulls a business card embossed in gold and black and hands it to you.  

Jack "Whiskey" Daniels, Statesman Distillery, Kentucky.

You blink at it, giggling a little.  "Jesus Christ that is actually your name?"

"More or less.  Been Anglicized for flavor, among other things."

"What was it before?"

There's an odd sharpness in his eyes when he looks at you, a shrewdness you'd never have expected from the costume cowboy you'd met down in the bar.  For a moment you're sure that not only is he not going to answer, but that you've overstepped a line you weren't even aware existed.

"That's four questions," he says, "not three."

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," you add with a tilt of your head.

The corner of his mouth curls slightly, and the sharpness fades.  "Well now, how can I resist that a bargain like that?" He pauses a moment, as if reconsidering, then adds: "It was Joaquin."

"Joaquin?"

"Mm." He nods. There's only a moment of quiet before he tilts his hips to the side, jostling you. "C'mon, darlin. A deal's a deal."

You roll your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. And you tell him your name.  He repeats it back, and you don't need to see his face to know he's smiling.

"Pleasure to meet you," he says.  "Literally."

"Jackass."

[kanmom51]

Ah I love reading your reactions and anons’ one KanMom! But it’s funny to me because it seems I’m part of the very few who were not really surprised about that hickey situation? I completely understand people questioning why it was in the dvd and how the heck editors and all those people allowed such a bold moment to be seen but for me it’s just the logical continuation of what BH and Jikook have been doing for years now and esp in the last year imo. I’m pretty convinced we’re going to see loud moments like this again in the future, it’s like they’re working their way up to make Jikook’s relationship obvious without directly labeling it, am I making any sense here? What I mean is I’m surely not expecting them to clearly say they’re dating, but I feel they are going to keep pushing the boundaries over and over again until therés no much doubt left. Sure there will always be people denying it, we’re seeing this now again with the fanservice/skinship/bros/they’re lying excuses. But more and more armys who aren’t shippers in the first place, who usually would have ring the delulu bell are now even admitting that okay, it’s a lot, Jikook are indeed suspicious. Guys I truly think Jikook are well aware of what they’re doing, and yes they’re taking risks, SK is indeed a conservative country but they are more and more lgbt people who are deciding to live their life without hiding there. Jikook are also part of a huge company that have their back and it seems they want to take advantage of their privileged position to help change the mentalities. Again I don’t expect them to come out (to be really honest I could almost see that happening in a few years) but I’m not surprised by what’s happening, they’re telling their truth as much as they can and I bet they will continue doing so. Maybe I’m too optimistic but I think they’re gonna get a large part of the fandom support (ofc the homophobes and the y/n etc are still gonna be here unfortunately), it may sound very solemn or cheesy but in a way I think they’re making history in that regards. Ah sorry for this long ass rant I’m very bad at going straight to the point as you can see kkkk

Hey anon, I hear you.

I too, end of 2020, thought that from here on things are only going to progress, get louder, but 2021 felt different, and I felt there was a bit of a pull back, possibly (my thoughts) due to the impending enlistment. There is a bit more to it, which I don't really want to go into, but the feeling I got was that the boundary pushing we got at the end of 2020 was kind of put on hold for the time being.

That is why memories, but more so the MOTS ONE dvd took me by surprise. Then there was the ambassador appointment. I do think these are all connected somehow, but still I don't want to get into it too much. It's speculation on my behalf, and I want to see how things progress a bit more before I share my thoughts on the matter.