#do i hate that my new hobby costs more money than no hobby? and all the fucking guilt and stuff that comes with

[pom-seedss]

Old art, new format!

Made a paint by numbers for myself to keep track of which colour goes where because I know I would have messed it up otherwise.

Fun to see how this turns out.... I custom mixed the blues. I think 2 and 3 may end up being too similar, but it should still get the effect I wanted for the most part.

[maddies-chronicles]

abby.

elizabeth nichole bourgeois (she/her)

chloe's little sister, julian's best friend, later recipient of the rooster miraculous

pansexual

probably an aries

as kids abby and i HATE each other lmao

actually not really. our beef is sooo one-sided

we were friends for a bit when she first move to paris (she was born in new york) and then mateo decided he hated her and i wasn't allowed to be friends with her so he makes sum shit up about her being evil and uses chloe as an example of the kind of person she'll inevitably turn out to be

after that i hate her because i trust mateo and she just thinks i'm kinda nutty (but is also convinced that mateo stole me, which, to an extent, is true, since i haven't really developed my own sense of agency yet- this will unfortunately take about seven more years)

anyways, post-mateo we're like best friends. she's completely a girl's girl (despite her best friend being a boy lol) and teaches me how to do all the stuff mateo hated (hair dye, makeup, slutty fashion, piercings, etc)

can you tell i have a type

anyways, abby, much like her older sister chloe, is very much your typical popular girl

although they definitely differ in athletic ability... abby is on the swim team, the soccer (football) team, and the track team whereas chloe would actually rather die than break a sweat (think haley from sdv but before the farmer befriends/romances her)

abby is a golden hour girl through and through- loves beaches and sunsets and listening to softboy indie music

loves to braid hair and make friendship bracelets out of embroidery thread- was probably really big on rainbow loom as a kid

oh, another difference between sisters- chloe knows she's rich. abby (somehow) has no fucking clue

she's literally just that out-of-touch

also abby is actually really nice. she's kind of like that popular girl you really, really want to hate, but you just can't because she's so goshdarn nice (can you tell i have unresolved issues)

she's really into skincare, shopping, and other hobbies that cost money

she's also really into reading, knitting, and embroidering! wants to learn to sew and get into fashion design like her mom (not that her mom stuck around...) so once we become friends, marinette takes her under her wing <3

[princessproductivity]

These two mistakes are stealing your time... (They were stealing mine too!)

It can feel so disappointing to have a plan for your long-term goals written out and still feel like you are unable to achieve everything. I promise I've been there. There were two key mistakes I was making that were leaving me feeling overworked, and underproductive.

Mistake #1: Sleeping in.

I love being awake early... but I hate the act of actually waking up early. The relief that comes with knowing I'm up hours ahead of time, with plenty of wiggle room in my morning to get a head start on the day is amazing. All of a sudden, I realize my morning rush out the door doesn't need to be so stressful.

Sadly, that relief never makes the 5:00 AM alarm any easier.

The problem is that late nights lead to late mornings, and all too often I found myself rushing out the door unprepared for the day as the result of the previous night's pleasures and an extra hour of sleep. Don't get me wrong, it can feel great to sleep in on the weekend, but as my day has become less structured around a set "day job" schedule and more self-directed, I realized just how harmful the habit of sleeping in can be for an entrepreneurial lifestyle.

Many studies have led to the conclusion that our best ideas occur early in the morning and that we miss out on our most critical growth opportunities when we sleep in. I'm not saying that the early mornings are fun... I am saying that they are worth it.

Mistake #2: The cost of sacrificing high amounts of time into low-reward ventures.

As an entrepreneur, I understand the importance of casting one's net far and seeking new opportunities to learn and grow. However, sometimes your time is more valuable than what that opportunity itself may have to offer.

I recently accepted a minimum wage position (my first in years) on Saturdays, helping the owners of a small-town thrift shop set up their online sales channels. I didn't need the money, but I figured it was a great opportunity to explore online sales further as I had some experience with it already, and I loved the idea of helping another small business get off on the right track.

Unfortunately, I quickly learned that the two women who co-owned the business were not on the same terms about what they wanted long-term from the venture. Both had their own successful businesses on the side, and this little thrift shop was more of a hobby venture than one they truly wanted to see succeed.

Ultimately, it came to be that neither of them truly knew if they wanted an online sales channel at all! The six hours I spent there every Saturday was valuable time that I couldn't get back. While the idea of helping another business kick off was appealing upon a first impression, I realized that my time wasn't worth minimum wage in a place that clung to stagnation instead of capitalizing on new growth opportunities.

There will always be more opportunities than we can take — make sure the ones you do take are worth the time you will never get back.

What is the 12 week year? 7 ways to organize your life... 7 ways to reduce your screen time...

[hairstevington]

15 questions, 15 mutuals

I was tagged by @tartarusfairy (thank you for thinking of me!! I love these!)

Are you named after anyone? Depending on which parent you ask, I was either named after a famous album OR a random dead person.

When was the last time you cried? I am a triple water sign. All I do is cry lmao. I actually do hold it together quite well most of the time now, other than the week of my period but you can't fault me for that.

Do you have kids? I do not! But I am a pretty damn good babysitter ;)

Do you use sarcasm a lot? I think I do? I tend to do this thing where I make a ridiculous joke/observation but my delivery is super flat so people think I'm being serious lol. Generally though I've gotten a lot less sarcastic over the years.

What sports do you play/have you played? Currently nothing, I am an un-coordinated queen. But growing up I was a huge tomboy so I played baseball and danced. I went to a bunch of camps for sports too (baseball, basketball, golf, dance). And then puberty hit and I was like oh no I actually hate sports I think I'm gonna start a band instead. The rest is history!

What's the first thing you notice about people? Okay, I don't know if this makes any sense but...the vibes?

What's your eye color? Blue/grey. A lot more on the grey side of the spectrum these days. Sometimes they look kinda green.

Scary movies or happy endings? I love both! I had a huge scary movie phase in college (I still like them), but even then I prefer the ones that aren't soul-crushingly devastating. Recently I've been a lot more into wholesome content because I don't have the energy for super emotional/heartbreaking content. Thus why Season 4 Volume 2 broke me.

Any special talents? I can solve a rubick’s cube!

Where were you born? New Jersey, technically.

What are your hobbies? It's been music my whole life. Like, I AM music lol. It wasn't until recently where I started writing stories over songs, but obviously now I write fanfic all the time so it's my main hobby.

Do you have pets? Yes I do! My ESA <3

How tall are you? 5'10''(178cm) - I am super tall and I don't like being this tall a lot of the time. But! I'm only a little bit shorter than Joe Quinn, which meant we were ~eye to eye~ when I met him a few weeks ago. Love that for us.

Favorite subject in school? It was math, I think. I was always really good at it and ended up teaching calculus right out of high school, which is wild in hindsight. Then I realized I was gay and lost my abilities (just kidding! It wasn’t because of that. But the timeline does match up...suspicious...)

Dream job? I was an actor when I was a teenager and nearly moved to California to pursue it, but then I...didn't. Sometimes I still wonder about that other life, but I'm equally if not more passionate about my current career path (therapy and writing). Also, being a musician would be the coolest thing ever, but man oh man does getting started cost a lot of money. If I win the lottery though, that's what I'd put my winnings toward!

This was....long-winded. Oops. But hopefully interesting? Thank you so much for tagging me!!! <3

You're up, friends (if you're comfortable)! @steviesbicrisis @eddielives1986 @satan-is-obsessed @goodolefashionedloverboi

[kxowledge]

Haven’t done a proper update in ages and truthfully I’ve been neglecting this blog, but here it is:

Went to Glendalough for my birthday, which I enjoyed immensely. There’s some advantages to living in the British Isles, but I doubt I’ll be back in Ireland anytime soon. So far, it’s the worst country I’ve lived in and I will not miss it. There’s job aplenty, but the cost of living and the housing situation are not worth it. I know mine was a limited experience, but I also feel like Ireland has lost a lot of its cultural identity. Except for their accent, someone from Dublin and someone from England would not differ much, from what I could see. This of course is more accentuated in Dublin compared to rural places, but even those are losing so much of their heritage – their crafts, their cuisine, but also the natural landscape (which is stunning, but suffering and changing significantly). I’d recommend THIS series of documentaries and THIS cookbook if interested. It’s strange to think about the fact that someone of the people I’ve met have lived through the Troubles, yet now any sort of distinction with the UK seems to be non-existent. I am generalizing and really, I shouldn’t because I’ve also see inspiring local efforts at preserving biodiversity and bees and the Irish language and a connection with nature and art and crafts and so much more. And as much as I can complain about costs of living and housing, I know this sentiment is common. There’s potential for the future and it will be interesting to see how things will evolve.

Finally, finally!, done with the exam session. I’ve been enjoying hiking and swimming and being in the sun and now I also reading, beyond coursework. At least to a certain extent, because I still have two exams in September for theology and I need to start preparing for my Master’s degree. I’m excited for the latter, but also I wish I had more time so I could brush up on various topics in advance (econometrics, strategy, microeconomics).

Taking a gap year (turned into multiple years) was a good decision. [I know I promised various posts on this topic, and I will! I will! write them, but this is not it.] Very unexpectedly, one of the main positive things to come out of it is that… I have interests. All my time during my (first) BSc was geared towards survival – internships, jobs, what I learned, how I spent my free time. Either it was for basic necessities (money to buy food, building basic habits, etc) or in order to break into finance or find out what I was interested in when I realized I hated working in finance. It’s not that I didn’t have interests per se, but any interest was confined to that and never went beyond a simple ‘I would like to’. Doing new things is not always easy, true, but it was mostly that I didn’t have either time or money for any sort of hobby. Hobby being the wrong word, but also the only one available: by no means my chosen career is more important than these. And now I’m into wines and permaculture and gardening and bees and pottery and bouldering and botany and theology and philosophy and perfumes and embroidery – and there’s much more to explore! I enjoy a great variety of activities and make sure my life is filled with different interests, because it is enriched by it. Beyond simply the joy that all of these bring me (and will continue bringing me in the future), I also feel calmer about wanting to go into academia. It is my chosen field and I will try hard to make it my career, but if it doesn’t work out, I know I’ll still be okay, because beyond that there’s so much more.

Anyway, what brough the above stream of thought is that I’ve been really, really into perfumes lately. Love everything about them (except the prices). This June I attended a Frederic Malle event which gave me a deeper appreciation of some of their fragrances. I’ve also bought a Floraiku discovery set, which I’m excited about. Desperately want to sample some Carner Barcelona fragrances (I love Palo Santo and want to try Tardes and Latin Lover!). And so, so many more. I’m having such fun.

I guess that as a general update, I should talk also about faith, but I don’t really want to. I don’t like black/white distinctions and this is where I landed. Faith is fluid, faith is a path and a spectrum. I don’t believe God exists, but I want to and that is enough. Doubt is part of the Christian existence. I find value in religion and that is enough. I don’t know what this means in practice, but I’ll keep reading the Scriptures and I’ll keep attending mass (hopefully more regularly, still at distance for now, maybe in presence at one point). I’ll figure out things eventually, for now, this is enough. Faith can be a journey too.

As I mentioned before, I still have two exams to prepare before September, one on St Augustine, one on Practical Theology (I’ve chosen to focus on the baptism ritual in early Christian communities and on the Eucharist for the nonbaptised). A v busy summer indeed!

[chaosnightmare]

so these are going to be split up by location because different dimensions have different cultures that affect some of these answers

Characters from Initial (our dimension)

What is the characters go-to drink order?

Yka: milk. give Yka glass of milk

c_sharp: xe will not order xerself you have to do it for xer

Samie: pink lemonade at restaraunts that have it, soda of some kind otherwise

Rem: iced tea

808: white claw. hipster

What is their grooming routine?

Yka: she doesn't have much of one. its kind of redundant because of the. bleeding

c_sharp: shower, wash hair 3 times in 10 minutes, get out of shower and slather self in hand sanitizer, repeat several times a day

Samie: nothing fancy but does use face cleanser and lotion

Rem: rem takes no care of herself whatsoever

808: 808 also takes no care of themself whatsoever

Where does their disposable income go?

Yka: you could put yka in a sensory deprivation tank and she'd literally be fine. she spends nothing on anything

c_sharp: xe likes to buy rare beyblades but doesn't like the sound they make so never uses them. xe likes to buy lots of quality of life items but then hates the change and never uses them. xe buys new clothes and hates the texture so xe gives them away. do you see my vision

Samie: berrys room is filled with plush toy projects where berry buys a cheap plush toy from a drugstore or something and then frankensteins monster style transforms it using other toy parts like sid from that one movie. the biggest one has so far cost 100+ dollars and is a teddy bear with the most arms and legs physically possible, berry has to keep expanding the bear to fit more legs on it

Rem: she makes too little money to be able to blow income often. maybe a book or two sometimes

808: what does 808 even do besides play on the computer and be strange. no hobbies kind of guy

Do they have any scars or tattoos?

Yka: well theres the uh. blood

c_sharp: no

Samie: no

Rem: rem has a tattoo of a sun with a face on her right ankle actually. was inspired by a tattoo my mom had idk what it means

808: they do have a tattoo sleeve but i've yet to fully design it. scar on their lip and nose though from a skateboarding accident

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances?

Yka: she just doesn't cry

c_sharp: oh yesterday. now. currently. any reason

Samie: berry had to leave home a while back and leave berrys friends in the process. lots of tears but berry never told anyone why or where berry was going. there's a whole story to this but its less related to the crying thing

Rem: so a big part of rem's story is being socially outcasted and how that history helps her communicate with nonhuman entities far better than humans can, obviously that outcasting comes with a lot of grief and heartache. i have a vivid scene in my head where its revealed that the guy she liked was playing an elaborate prank on her as a dare and he breaks up with her in the rain and she weeps and its very disney channel original movie but you get me

808: saw a video about a dog rescue yesterday and cried about it for 3 hours

Oldest, middle, youngest, or only child?

Yka: we don't even know if she has parents. she's never mentioned them

c_sharp: only :( fail!

Samie: younger sibling, berry has an older sister

Rem: only also

808: middle child of 6 kids

Describe the shoes they're wearing.

Yka: sneakers. ratty. look broken and sad and yet vibrant in color

c_sharp: barefoot

Samie: cute little pink creepers with flowery patterns on the front and glittery laces

Rem: braid style sandals like she's a costume of jesus

808: deeply scene lace up canvas boots with my little pony stickers on the sides

Describe the place where they sleep.

Yka: yka does have a bedroom but its minimalistic and takes up her entire house. up to the wall there's a small bed with no blanket that she sleeps on posed like a dead person

c_sharp: huge bed in tiny bedroom, lots of comforters and feather pillows, all of it pure white. on the ceiling above there are glowing star stickers

Samie: since berry is usually travelling and can't come to the room often, berry uses a sleeping bag and sleeps under the seats on trains. it's a simple sleeping bag, light blue and pink, nothing too special

Rem: her corner of the dorm room she stays in is pretty empty with the exception of some books, clothes laying around, and a computer. her bed is shitty, no sheets on metal bedframe with a weighted blanket and like 5 pillows

808: in the back trunk area of a van covered in band posters and alien sighting newspaper clippings on two dog beds

What is their favorite holiday?

Yka: don't have one

c_sharp: christmas but xe only likes it for the spirit

Samie: valentines day

Rem: barrier transition lockdown day, which is an emergency nationwide lockdown day marking the biannual time that the space between dimensions shifts and they all have direct communication with eachother, that she treats like a holiday

808: halloween

What objects do they always carry around with them?

Yka: nothing. literally nothing

c_sharp: pocket knife for self defense hope that goes normal for xer and nothing bad happens

Samie: backback seemingly filled with everything berry could possibly need, gimmick of berry's design to have cute pink versions of literally any item at berrys disposal

Rem: modified walkie-talkie. she talks to several other dimensional characters this way, particularly the nonhuman ones

808: ipod

Characters from Heaven

What is the characters go-to drink order?

LibreVeil: no thing☺

Honoa: cloud froth (fictional)

What is their grooming routine?

characters in heaven do not sleep or wake and do not get clean or dirty

that said if Honoa was human she'd have the patrick bateman skincare routine

Where does their disposable income go?

heaven has no currency

Do they have any scars or tattoos?

no ♡

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances?

LibreVeil: so. libre is hiding something very serious about herself and its taking a major toll on her emotional health so she cries regularly. she's being contacted, and in fact is the only citizen of heaven capable of being contacted by spirits in hell. this would be taboo in heaven since the two are at war and she'd be accused of being a spy. very sad for her

Honoa: ewww tears gross ewwwwww

Oldest, middle, youngest, or only child?

everyone in heaven is siblings

Describe the shoes they're wearing.

LibreVeil: white metallic sandal-like shoes shaped like vines that snake up around the legs

Honoa: rarely wears shoes in the first place unless traveling

Describe the place where they sleep.

so everyone in heaven sleeps on a floor of the gated part of heaven dedicated entirely to being a bed. its made out of clouds so they all look like those cute little drawings of animals sleeping on clouds

What is their favorite holiday?

heaven has no holidays they think time is a ridiculous invention by people who die, which nobody in heaven is capable of to their knowledge

What objects do they always carry around with them?

LibreVeil: gauntlet that allows her to cast protective shielding magic with like 80 other people. she's frontline during dimensional shifts in case hell invades (they never do) or humans from initial get in (they always do)

Characters from Hell

What is the characters go-to drink order?

no drinks in hell unless you want to start seeing the scary evil skulls

What is their grooming routine?

same rules as heaven

Where does their disposable income go?

same rules as heaven

Do they have any scars or tattoos?

Hasamin: no but he has these permanent orange blush marks on his cheeks. nothing important about them however as he's always had those

Deltrax Vvezranikha: he does have markings sort of like tattoos up his arms legs and neck yeah. again though he's always had those

Cathode: no

PANOPTICO: no

@ KINZ: no they are slime

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances?

Hasamin: he fake cries all the time in order to get his way but i don't think he has ever legitimately cried before

Deltrax Vvezranikha: he's old enough to recall the separation between heaven and hell, which brought him to tears for a multitude of reasons, mostly guilt for having any responsibility in it (he was close to the person who was accused of starting the whole mess with the spread of their ideology) but also a sense of relief

Cathode: too young to experience true sadness, cried the first time she cut herself on accident

PANOPTICO: was also there during the separation, vividly remembers having to tell someone she loved deeply goodbye as the dimensions walled themselves away from eachother and the memory makes her emotional when the war is brought up

@ KINZ: they were once human and died in a way that sent them across dimensions and landed them in hell. sometimes that happens. they cried in their last living moments because their cause of death was, like, excruciatingly painful

Oldest, middle, youngest, or only child?

same rules as heaven

Describe the shoes they're wearing.

Hasamin: no shoes idiot

Deltrax Vvezranikha: huge plate armor boots that come up to his waist, colored white and blue as is the rest of his outfit. they are heavy as Fuck

Cathode: cute widdle black loafers with little bat wings on the ends

PANOPTICO: she has no shoes her legs fray off into fleshlike spaghetti before the feet would start

@ KINZ: no shoes they are slime

Describe the place where they sleep.

same rules as heaven except everyone sleeps on the floor and they are allowed to have their own corners provided they can make their own walls or curtains and no fights break about about whos spot is where. they do

What is their favorite holiday?

everyones favorite is halloween any time it lands on a dimensional shift because they can come into initial without immediately being recognized as Creatures. very touristy

What objects do they always carry around with them?

Hasamin: his spirit of goodwill :D

Deltrax Vvezranikha: enormous gun. he drags it around with him. he says its for protection but the truth is clear- he thinks it looks cool

Cathode: satchel for collecting items and trinkets aplenty to trade with other item and trinket enthusiasts

PANOPTICO: nothing

@ KINZ: can't even if they wanted to... slime

Characters from Point 4

What is the characters go-to drink order?

Eihazard: robots cannot drink

M!m!a: robots can't drink

Seiris-maximal: ghost robots can't drink either

Lunade: she'd get like a water but then put one of those disgusting flavor packets in there cause she can't drink the water on its own but she's concerned about staying hydrated

//y: girls made out of sentient mercury cannot drink anything but more mercury i guess

Median: dog boys can't drink anything but water anyways

infectious: weird germ girls cannot drink

What is their grooming routine?

Eihazard, M!m!a, Seiris-maximal, //y, infectious: N/A

Lunade: warm bath with bath salts then full body scrub then skincare then nail care then

Median: roll in dirt

Where does their disposable income go?

the economy in most parts of point 4 is in shambles but Lunade's part of town is still intact because they get benefits for their work so she sometimes pays for her friends living expenses

Do they have any scars or tattoos?

no to all except seiris who has a full face "tattoo" she got from touching a meteor and it exploding on her

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances?

Eihazard, M!m!a, Seiris-maximal: N/A

Lunade: so lunade and her general neighborhood all work in the sky during night time keeping the stars and moons working. one time she got into a play fight and threw a star at someone and it shattered and she felt so bad about it she cried so hard she frew up

//y: not emotional but sometimes it has to cry to get rid of excess mercury buildup

Median: got hit by a car and cried once. he got better

infectious: don't know if she can cry??

Oldest, middle, youngest, or only child?

Eihazard: youngest

M!m!a: oldest

Seiris-maximal: middle

^ all 3 are siblings

Lunade: only

//y: N/A

Median: only

infectious: she has thousands of siblings and will have thousands more she knows none of them and its fine

Describe the shoes they're wearing.

Eihazard: no shoes technically but her feet are colored diffrently in a way that makes it look like shoes

M!m!a: no shoes again but she does have boosters on her feet

Seiris-maximal: long shiny blue boots that come to a point near the knee and at the feet, crosses on the back

Lunade: none

//y: none

Median: sketchers style light up sneakers that glow purple when he stomps

infectious: neon orange mary janes with biohazard symbols on the front, covered slightly by black legwarmers

Describe the place where they sleep.

the robots: so robots don't sleep they just recharge. there are charging stations everywhere in point 4

Lunade: her bed is a hammock sort of thing that hangs from a corner in her room, its made with golden rope and has star decorations hanging from the bottom

//y: doesn't sleep

Median: sometimes sleeps on lunades roof like snoopy

infectious: has never slept a day in her life she doesn't plan to start now

What is their favorite holiday?

they don't have holidays in point 4! time is only measured in years and they're all given unique names. this one is Timbre

What objects do they always carry around with them?

Eihazard: combat is culturally important in point 4 so everyone has to have some way to fight on hand. Eihazard has a spinning blade modified into the pole of an iv bag

M!m!a: double lazer powered gun connected by an energy cable to transfer from gun to gun in case one malfunctions

Seiris-maximal: cross shaped thing that extends into blue light beams (sort of like a lightsaber) that is used sort of like if you tried to use a pickaxe as a weapon

Lunade: star shaped tambourine that is designed to emit a frequency so painful to the ear that it stuns opponents. more for self defense than anything else. robots are immune to this

//y: can't carry anything for similar reasons to @ kinz

Median: his phone. normal

infectious: large solar powered canon set that extends out from her hairclips and latches itsself onto her back. it has a tally count scratched into its side of all of the people she's beaten with it because she's an egomaniac

[adhdvane]

Okay but the new gbf event, literally going to cry. I stayed up to read it last night (er this morning at 3 am), bc I was excited about it being a sequel to Together In Song. I loved Together in Song, that event fucking crushed my hear (also shipping Elta with Caro). This new event was SO GOOD. I LOVE CANTATE. WHAT THE FCUK WHAT A BABY. HER PASSION AND ANGER AND FRUSTRATION AND STRUGGLE AND LOVE. What a wonderful character. I really wanted to start crying when she was so happily and excitedly info dumping about violins and Selfira was genuinely interested and enjoying listening. I need to ship this so bad. Like, I usually don’t go to hard for ships that seem mostly wholesome, but god. You can’t tell me not to hc Cantate as autistic, like there is no way I won’t. I want Selfira to meet Cantate again and for them to make music together and fall in love and ;ojlhkgjhfdghjhjgfdsfgh

more under the cut because i take issue with some of the ending of the event and started ranting about it lol

The only issue I had with the story was the ending with the “see the price is important so your instruments will be bought by professionals who can play well and bring joy to listeners.” Like whoa, I’m sorry lol, hold the fuck up. Please tell me why conflating wealth with skill (and talent as much as I hate the word talent, bc it’s often used to overlook the hard work people have put in to honing their skill lol) is a good and accurate idea. Like people who are poorer are incapable of being extremely skilled in music, what the fck gbf? Like I get the issue of don’t price your skill so slow because you put so much work into your ability. Your skill’s have value and unfortunately in a capitalistic society money is required to survive. It is her profession. In a perfect world it could just be a hobby and I think there should be zero issue letting her give instruments away for as cheap as possible. Let her do what she wants. And it was important for her to learn that letting someone thank you with materials things is not a bad thing, and it can be insulting or hurtful to refuse their gift (and explaining that there’s a cultural barrier here too that’s causing the conflict, which was great). I feel for Caro about not being sure if pushing her in the direction to leave the island and sell her instruments will make her happy. It did selfish to think of it like but all that waisted talent. Like cool, but maybe just let her do want she wants? I guess the idea was supposed to be like, well she wants to give more people a voice and doing that and helping her reach her goal means spreading her work beyond the island. I guess there was some level of, she also really needs to price higher for the sake of not being taken advantage of??? But the story insisted she was really good judge of character??? So like I guess in the end I think the only reasonable reason that I think should of been why she should price her instruments higher is that leaving the island means leaving her apprenticeship, means needing money to support herself, and the prices she was trying to charge before did not accurately reflect the hours of labor she was putting into each instrument. Like the island mentions that price of material sometimes affects the cost but did not say anything about the time that is put into making an item. I think the first part of the argument that she should value her ability more was a better argument than, you need to make your instruments more expensive so random people who cannot play them to their full potential don’t buy them all. Because professionals only care about the monetary value of an instrument. And also only professionals should play her instruments that’s literally not what she wanted. Idk that last bit came off really elitist/classist. Like let her make beautiful instruments for anybody who wants them, like fucking boo-hoo people who aren’t professional are playing them which means its a waist of such a good quality instrument, like fuck off with that. Low supply and high demand meaning only wealthy people get nice things is fucking messed up, lets not pretend it’s a good thing. Especially when the person suppling wants to let anyone be able to play. It’s fine to put value on the experiencing of listening to music but trying to gatekeep people out of playing via price is still shitty, you know. I’d rather we didn’t frame that as a “good” thing. So yeah, I agree that she should consider pricing higher because she needs desperately needs to value her own work more (and just value a lot of herself more, sob). But I don’t agree we should just pretend it’s totally good thing that society believes that high quality = most expensive and that the people who can afford them are the people that deserve them the most. :\\\\\ It’s a complicated subject and I think gbf fumbled on the end in that respect but I give them props for the, please value your work, bc there are a lot of young artists who underprice themselves because they don’t think about the amount of time they put into a piece and the amount of time they spent honing their craft. (obv the real solution lies in paying people more, a reasonable fucking wage, so people can fucking afford shit. and not letting .01% hoard money and not put it back into the fucking economy because they underpay their workers and [froths at the mouth]. anyways... it’s more complicated then that but I’m not here to have the discussion, it’s just relevant to mention with the topic of this event.)

[cmoroneybooks]

How do you write with a full-time job - Part two

Okay so on from my post ranting a little bit about people asking this question and being furious when the answer they get is ‘sacrifice your personal time mostly’ here is a concrete list of ways to write around a full time job. Please note, I don’t have kids and while some of this advice will be useful to parents with full-time jobs some of it just doesn’t apply. 

Finding Additional Time

This is about finding time in your day/week that goes to waste and using it for writing. The first part of this is deciding which way(s) you’ll write on the go. The options I suggest are:

Download the Microsoft Word or Google Docs app to your phone (both are free on GooglePlay, I assume it’s the same for Apple,) and use your phone to write in these free, wasted moments. The notes app your phone comes with is another option, as is drafting emails to yourself. 

Use voice-to-text features to dictate writing when your hands are occupied. Buying a specific device results in the least editing time later, but Google Docs and Microsoft Word both have this function built in.

Buying a small, portable notebook and bringing the notebook and a pen everywhere with you. 

I personally use Microsoft Word on my phone and after recently being offered the idea of using voice-to-text dictation I’ve been trialing using it in the car. I don’t have to commute to my job but unfortunately I do have to commute to my friends. So far I find it better for plotting and planning than actual writing but it’s getting easier to add punctuation by voice. Practice makes perfect. 

So, onto the wasted time examples.

1. Your commute

If you don’t work from home, then chances are there are 15+ minutes you spend in a car or on a train twice a day. If you’re driving give dictation a go. If you’re on the train bust out your notes app or notebook.

2. Your lunchbreak

That blessed 30mins to 1 hour where you don’t have to think about your job. Use it wisely. 

3. Waiting

Sitting in the waiting room for an appointment? Write. ‘Watching’ your kid’s sport practice? Write. Stuck in a ridiculously long queue? Write. 

4. Cooking and cleaning

‘What the fuck,’ I hear you mutter. ‘I need to cook and clean.’ Yes you do, but do you need to think about washing dishes or cooking one of the five-fifteen meals i your usual rotation that you’ve cooked a hundred times before? Probably not. So why not, dictate to your phone and get some writing in. Hate the idea of being overheard? Me too, I live alone it’s the best. But even just thinking about your book will help. I actually find having my hands occupied in some mundane task I don’t need to pay attention to can be some of the best thinking time. The solution to plotholes, the revolutionary new idea, the character’s secret that is so secret you’ve yet to think of it, all that comes out when I’m cleaning. Give it a try. 

Finding Ways To Save Time

In this I have two major categories. 

One is the much hated personal sacrifices. But let’s be honest, you’re trying to do another job while you have a job. Writing takes a lot of time and unfortunately you have a finite amount of that. There are certain things you must do. You have to sleep, eat, work, do household chores, and care for your own personal hygiene. The things that you can choose to do are the only ones you can replace with writing, and those are usually the things you want to do. 

The other, which you’ll much prefer, is efficiency. It’s all down to ways you can more quickly do those things you must do to make more space for writing. Be warned, some of them cost money.

Personal Sacrifices

Too Many Hobbies

This one is going to be controversial, but you only have 168 hours in a week. You’re supposed to sleep for 7-10 hours. The average workday is 8 hours. If you sleep 7 hours and work 5 days a week, you have 87 hours a week to do everything else.

That’s getting ready for work, commuting to work, coming home from work, cooking, cleaning, showering, going grocery shopping, caring for children, eating, any appointments you have to attend, spending time with family and friends, resting, and of course, writing. 

If you want to write a book, you need to commit serious time to doing that and if you don’t want to burn out, you still need to do the restful activities that don’t drain your creative or mental energy. It might sound strange, but sometimes prioritising the 2 hours of Netflix with your partner of an evening over a second hobby is the best choice you can make. 

If you’re trying to be a leather worker, painter, writer, competitive fps player, and potter, you’re just going to end up being just okay at all of those things. You’re also not going to write very much.

Too Much Rest Time

There’s a big difference between watching 2 hours of Netflix to let your brain log off and watching Netflix from the time you get home from work until the time you go to sleep. It’s okay to do that sometimes, of course, but as part of your regular after work routine? Write for a few hours before you sit down to Netflix (or after, whatever works for you.) 

Choose Reading

So reading is a writer’s apprenticeship. Reading books helps make you a better writer. You’ll only have limited hours of downtime in a week and reading is the only downtime activity that is also making you a better writer. 

Don’t Overbook Social Activities

Going to hang out with friends will drain your spare hours quickly. You have to get ready to go, make the trip to wherever you’re meeting (or perhaps clean the house in anticipation) actually spend time with them and then make the trip home. I dedicate one weekend day to myself every week. No plans with friends or family. I write, I mealprep, I grocery shop, and I clean, but mostly I write. I also recommend you’re careful with after-work socialisation. Save at least 3/5 nights for yourself to write and rest. I’m excluding people you live with in this, but you want to hang out with them in a way that lets you rest. Watch a movie together. Chat while eating dinner. Play on the same Minecraft server. Build lego together. Whatever it is. 

Efficency

Clean As You Go

This is a phrase that was repeated to me over and over at McDonald’s when I worked there as a teenager. McDonalds are nothing if not efficient. Put your dishes straight in the dishwasher or sink when you’re done with them. Don’t drop your clothes on the floor when changing, put them in the laundry basket. When you are finished with an activity, clean up the mess you’ve made doing it before moving on to something else. You’d be amazed at how much less tidying up you will need to do if you clean up after yourself in day-to-day life.

Meal Prep

I’m not talking about the insanely beautiful meal prep you see on TikTok and Instagram. I mean cooking a week’s worth of dinners on Sunday night. Every dinner I eat for the week is cooked on Sunday. All my lunches are prepared on Sunday. I don’t do a high effort breakfast; I eat toast and yoghurt with strawberries but if I wanted something more interesting, I would cook it on Sunday. 

Outsoucing

Pay for someone else to do the work for you in order to claw back time in your busy week.

Get your groceries delivered,

Buy pre-made meals and freezer food that require no meal prep,

Subscribe to a meal delivery box to save time grocery shopping, 

Pay someone to clean your house, 

Pay your kids to do extra household chores (it’s good for them) 

Use a laundry service,

Hire a gardener,

Hire a babysitter and go write in a cafe.

If anyone has any additional tips, add them on! 

[polite-pandemonium]

Thoughts from an exhausted 30-something

I have been at my job nearly two years and still, sometimes I look around and see someone walk by and just think to myself, wow, I have never seen you before in my life. This honestly happens a lot more than I would like.

I need to go to the pharmacy before it closes and pick up my prescriptions, but I just need like, five minutes to think about what a bad mood I am in and wait to see if I am going to get indigestion from basically INHALING my dinner.

I also inhaled a bunch of Skittles as soon as I got in the door, what is wrong with me?

Speaking of what is wrong with me, spent a good fifteen minutes going back and forth from the kitchen to the mirror by my front door looking at my throat and thinking, "Is that part by my tonsils always red? Have I just never noticed before or am I getting sick?" like a fucking WEIRDO - my health anxiety is so much better than it was before but EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE, I stare at my throat like a WEIRDO.

I ended up saying to my reflection, "ARE YOU OKAY?"

I am SO SICK AND TIRED of the amount of admin life requires. Like I don't want to go to the pharmacy? I don't want to put my dinner away and pack my lunch for tomorrow and run the dish washer and fold laundry. I WANT TO REST.

I read a post on Reddit recently where the poster was lamenting the amount of life admin tasks that make her too exhausted for hobbies and I just...felt that so deeply. I haven't completed any writing in almost four years and I think while a huge part of it is work, the other part is life admin. I just spend so much time cooking and cleaning and feeding myself and book appointments and steaming my clothes and figuring out what to wear to work and putting on make up and washing and drying my hair that I just feel depleted.

But also, I was reading something a bit of writing i was working on yesterday and I just hate it! I think it's so bad! Maybe my best writing days are just behind me! Maybe I just don't got it! Maybe it's not work or life admin, but my talent! Maybe I'm the problem!

It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me.

Taylor Swift has released two new albums (evermore, Midnights) and will probably release a new one (TTPD) before I get around to updating my fic.

Taylor Swift is a year older than me (because she is born so late in 1989 and I was born so early in 1991) and I sometimes feel incredibly close in age to her and also incredibly far away.

Recently, for the first time in years, I just feel incredibly behind my peers. It's a wild feeling but I am accepting that I am kind of stagnating in my career and I'm kind of in a place where I can't do anything about it. I feel like I maybe wrote about this, but I don't think I am worthy of a promotion, but I want one and I want more money. And since I have such great insurance and medication that costs $3,000 a month, I can't really just comfortably move.

God, I regret spending FIVE FUCKING YEARS at a company that bled me dry and wouldn't promote me when I didn't need insurance and wasn't chronically ill.

I guess you can't know you are making mistakes until after you have made them, though.

I also never really care about being single, but I'm so tired lately, that all I want is a partner who can clean the kitchen and make dinner and pick up my prescriptions sometimes. If I didn't have to make dinner or clean up tonight, I could have done so much more! I could even go pick up my prescriptions and still have spare time.

But no, instead I have a messy kitchen and pasta sauce on my shirt.

Oh, to be 33 and hopelessly tired.

Oh, to be 33 and hopelessly alone.

I, for the most part, like being alone. I'm good at alone! I love living alone. I don't really feel like I *need* something or someone to feel less alone. It's just being alone just means that you only have yourself to depend on for everything and it's just a lot.

I am feeling TIRED IN MY BONES.

OK, my time is up, I really gotta go get my prescriptions now.

Which means I have to put on real pants and bundle up and get my travel cooler and ice packs from the freezer to transport one prescription.

Which feels like too much work.

Ugh.

Wait, also, I was in the elevator alone with our CEO today and he brought up my recent trip to Asia and then he mentioned that someone on accounts is going to Tokyo next week and I just felt SILLY saying, "Oh, I am headed back to Tokyo next week, too!" so I just DIDN'T and now he's probably gonna find out I'm going back from my boss and be like, oh that's weird why didn't she say anything? I JUST FEEL A LITTLE SILLY SAYING I'M GOING BACK SO SOON TO MOST PEOPLE.

The more I think about this, he probably won't think that cause he probably WILL NOT REMEMBER we chatted given the conversation started with him saying, "Sorry, I can't remember, have you gone on your trip yet?" And I was like, oh yes, I went in November.

I don't mean this as a slight to him, I just mean he's a busy man and has a lot to think about other than conversations in passing and all of the vacation dates of the many staff.

Also all to say, he's not thinking about me, I'm just placing too much importance on this conversation.

[peachyteabuck]

Hey lukis I hope its okay to ask I was wondering if you have any tips/advice for moving out for the very first time from living with your parents cause I've been working and saving up to move out on my own (cause I hate it here everyday istg) and im so happy now im old enough too I'm just lowkey so nervous to move out on my own because well it's all so new and all but I just really have to leave this home (hell) I'm stuck in

Like I just want my apartment and to be happier living there even if I'm alone because at least I'll be way happier than living with my own family who are well transphobic assholes and I just hate it here so much:(( it sucks.

full disclosure i am answering this on my floor because i don't want to go into another part of my apartment lol

biggest thing: i don't think you'll be living alone for a long while. at least in the U.S., living alone is expensive as hell, and landlords might raise standards for approving your apartment. plan on having roommate(s)

there are larger, more comprehensive lists but here's 10 things i wish someone told me before i moved out at 18:

1. adulting takes up way more time than everyone told you. trash & laundry & dishes accumulate quicker, something always needs to be cleaned.

2. everything costs so much fucking money. when you're moving out, you're started from SCRATCH. best advice is to not spend too much. ask around, people usually have extras of stuff they're willing to give away. also, dumpster diving/trash picking is usually worth it. it's where i got my tv AND tv stand. also local no buy groups on facebook

3. have copies of everything. birth certificate, social security card, any other necessary paperwork. keep originals in one place (ideally secure fireproof box), and keep copies in another place. this includes your leases, too.

4. you're going to need to relearn how to do things. did you know you can do dishes SITTING DOWN? or do laundry at the couch while watching tv? or buy a giant pack of paper plates to keep urself with because dishes are hard? i didn't.

5. set boundaries. & stick to them. i have an easy time expressing boundaries with others but the hardest time setting them for myself

6. make friends with people who are smarter than you. keeps you humble and they're the ones to make sure you're on the right track.

7. getting involved with stuff is the best way to make friends. this is easier if you're at school, but there's always stuff around cities and towns.

8. get a hobby you don't intend on monetizing. you do in fact need something to think about besides money

9. if you want a pet, keep at least $3,000 in an emergency fund. some people say $1,500 is ideal but honestly double it

10. daily walks are good for your health. sometimes you gotta put on a silly little podcast and walk aimlessly around your city and buy yourself a little treat from a grocery store with a cat for a manager. personally i'm listening to american scandal and love jarritos.

[writing-good-vibes]

brad dourif characters x reader headcanons: birthdays (fluff and smut)

requested by anon !! what do our beloveds do for your birthday (spoiler, they (pretty much) all spoil you) warning for smut. more notes in tags

charles lee ray

avoids his own birthday but goes all out for yours

buys (or steals, don't ask) you a lot of presents

i mean a lot !!

new tv (stolen)

a lot of lingerie (classy)

you have a very late night the night before (takes you to a very rough bar)

lazy morning

expect a very happy birthday fuck to start the day

doesn't make you breakfast because he hates cooking

but does go out for coffee and your takeout breakfast of choice to bring home for you

has a cake professionally made/decorated

(because you made one for his birthday)

the message on top is something v horny like "your pussy tastier than this"

or it's like one word like "whore <3"

either way it is both hilarious and embarrassing that some poor bakery worker had to frost those words

takes you out for dinner (very fancy restaurant)

or to the movies

another happy birthday fuck when you get home

("how old are you again? guess that's how many rounds we've gotta get through tonight")

billy bibbit

billy doesn't much like his own birthday (his mom was too overbearing for him to ever properly enjoy himself)

but he is great at organising yours

lazy morning

as many kisses as years you are old

makes you breakfast in bed because he is a sweetheart

he makes you a present !!

he's actually really good at drawing and he fills a notebook with little drawings and pictures

(drawings of you and of things you love and one at the end of himself that he's embarrassed about but you love it)

then immediately thinks it isn't good enough and that he should of just bought you something

but you kiss him and reassure him that it's beautiful

the best present you've ever been given

you stay in that night to cook dinner together

he's definitely made you a cake !!

is it very aesthetic and the frosting is your favourite colour/flavour

sitting outside to watch the sunset !!

sheriff brackett

does everything in his power to make the day extra special for you

(has told his deputy not to bother him unless something really important happens)

buys you a sentimental/thoughtful gift

like some fancy thing related to your favourite hobby (e.g. expensive art supplies if you're an artist, etc.)

breakfast in bed !!

in your underwear, sun coming in through the windows

definitely the kind of guy to get ballons and banners to decorate the house with

(which is embarrassing but also wholesome)

takes you out to dinner at a very tasteful restaurant

you are birthday girl and he won't let you forget it

he's set the bar pretty high sex wise so has to pull out all the stops to make it extra special

clear your diary for the next 3 to 5 hours

("daddy's allowed to treat the birthday girl")

jack dante

forgets your birthday every time

its not that he doesnt care

but he has a lot going on

and keeping track of time whilst he's down in that basement is easier said than done

when you remind him that it is your birthday he gets more excited than you

sends you out to get cake and jelly and ice cream

which you begrudgingly go and get because you really think he might cry if you dont

sex is abundant but when is it not with jack

as it is your birthday he might be kind enough to give you a reach around whilst he rails you

when he actually gets you a present

(usually like a week late)

its either something actually brilliant (like the latest futurist technology (idk what they had in fake-future-2003))

or its something real fucking sleazy like a weirdo dildo ("so you don't get lonely when i'm not around")

doc cochran

would rather die than celebrate his own birthday

but he wants you to be happy on yours

(and every day)

gets you the best present

(where from? he has his ways)

definitely like some first edition copy of a niche book you like (poe, shakespeare, homer, that kind of thing)

makes sure he has no scheduled visits that day and wants to spend as much time with you as possible

(will personally beat Al's ass if he sends for him for no reason)

you spend the day talking about this and that

and he reads to you from the books he got you because goddamn does he have a beautiful voice

gets jewel to bake you a cake !!

gives you some special loving on your special day

this man knows how to take his time

usually he is busy and feels like he doesn't pay enough attention to you

so he makes up for it ten fold on your birthday

grima wormtongue

for a long while your relationship is pretty casual so he doesnt even know when your birthday is

once he actually figures out when your birthday is he wants to do something special

even if he isn't the most... emotionally open person

grima has sticky fingers so he tends to be able to get a hold of things that others cant

gets you something exotic, something you might not of ever even seen before

(think, pineapples or some other middle earth equivalent delicacy)

you appreciate him going out of his way for you

makes an excuse for you to leave meduseld with him

you go up to the fields and look out at the horizon

tommy ludlow

you both bunk off work to spend the day together

he is excellent at buying present(s)

knows exactly what to get you because he's a good listener

definitely gets you a record or new clothes

neither of you have much money so all your plans are always simple

but tommy is the perfect person to just hang out with, he's so mellow when he's with you

has no plans for the day except letting you do whatever you want

you drive around the city

end up going by the natural history museum

(because both of you are actually secretly soft and love holding hands and wandering around the exhibits)

or the met (because you both know your fair share about art, working around fashion shoots all day)

that night you go to some shady dive bar

(and drink too much, if that is your thing)

tumbling in through your front door, you two were never going to make it to the bedroom

"happy birthday" he smirks against you as you both lay, tired, on the living room floor

leo nova

spends so much money on you

mostly because he likes to show off his money

("when can i treat my girl to all that she deserves if not on her birthday?")

but partly because gift giving is his love language, or at least the only way he feels comfortable showing that he cares

a new dress that costs more than the rent on your old apartment, shoes that cost twice as much

takes you to the fanciest restaurant possible

and then fucks you in the dirtiest way possible when you get home

and he can go all night long

*wink wink*

tucker cleveland

hasnt celebrated his own birthday in years so has kind of forgot that birthdays are a thing

remembers yours like 3 days before and kicks himself for leaving it so late to get you a present

(you help him out by giving hint to what you want in the run up to your birthday)

keeps the whole thing very lowkey

which you don't mind, you're not into big celebrations anyway

he does get you a gift in time, thanks to your hints

he's probably at work during the day

but after he gets home and you have dinner together, he hands over his present

although you sort of already knew what it'd be, its definitely the thought that counts with tucker

"and the best is yet to come, don't you worry" he says smiling

of course, the real present is him pounding you over the table

(because who has the time to go up to bed)

[fanfiction-inc]

“It Takes Two to Win a Race.” Chapter II

[Previous Chapter] / [Next Chapter]

Verse: Falcon And The Winter Soldier / Captain America And The Winter Soldier / Captain America: Civil War/ Marvel Alternate Universe

Characters/Pairings: Baron Zemo/ Reader, Baron Zemo/ Female Reader, John Walker

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8971

Warnings/Tags: Drinking, smut, m/f, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, drunk sex, Google translated translations, Walker is an asshole and just keeps getting worse.

Summary: Baron Helmut Zemo, world renowned racer and your sworn enemy on the track. You two have been going at it for years now, but now you two must join forces to fight back against John Walker, a new up and coming racer who is proving to beat both of you. Will you two survive the other or meet your demise on the track?

Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32606833/chapters/81176392?view_adult=true

This is a mess. An absolute, blazing mess that sits before you in the middle of your workshop. The chassis was dented all to Hell, a new one having to be rebuilt and delivered to fix your custom car. The engine had parts missing that were left at the crash sight when it was towed away. One car to your name, and it was fucked up. Maybe you should have taken Stark’s sponsorship and invested in a backup. Sitting on the cement floor of the workshop, screwdriver in hand as you pry out bits and pieces of parts from the engine, taking note of the parts and working on the budget you had set out for this year's series of races, you dreaded the moment you’d see the total cost. This repair would take a nice chunk, but you still had money left over after to make sure your car was at its best. That was the thing about working with your car, it was just you and this beast of metal and speed, working as one to reach the end of the line. The screwdriver is set down at your side when you struggled too long on getting the broken interconnecting rod that links the turbine from the compressor, a sigh following as you sit back. A slow sense of dread fills you as you look at the broken parts scattering the ground, the missing parts on your list, and the purple paint that still streaks the busted carbon fiber chassis. 

Working with Zemo was a dangerous game, which you recognized even before you shook on the arrangement he had proposed. He was wicked on the course, predictable at times but at others a ticking time bomb of what his next move may be. He was dangerous, but that is what made him damn good. He took far more risk than you usually would when it came to advancement in the race. Where you held back, he pushed forward. No wonder the man infuriated you. But this plan was the only thing you had to get things back to normal, back to the way they were where you hated Zemo with a passion and fought tooth and nail to stay better than him. You would never admit it, but without your rival, what fun was the race? See, it's not only the thrill of the chase between the driver and death, inching closer and closer with each hairpin turn and the risk of the other driver's moves. No, it’s also the thrill of having someone who wants to win just as bad as you, who is just as good and will do anything to try and progress further than you. It sets a standard, something to surpass, something to stay on level ground with when you catch yourself falling. Zemo was your equal, no matter how much you hated him. And equals like you two don’t have room for a third party to jump in and surpass. The game isn’t any fun when someone fucks with the rules. He had a point when it came to beating Walker down, especially since the man was already fighting you both with molotov cocktails and rocket fire in the form of playing dirty on the track. He was bringing a war to a battle just to see if he could come out on top. Despite everything telling you to stay away from Zemo and not get involved in this scheme, that it could end badly for one or both of you, you couldn’t stand the idea of having Walker walk all over you like some doormat. You couldn’t let him walk in as if he owned the place and could rule as he pleased. 

He needed a reality check. 

Your form pops and cracks as you stand, stiff from sitting on the solid ground and stretching to relieve your body of the tension. Everything felt so wrong, and you knew you had to make it right...But was this the right way to do it? “Jesus, you sound like that rice cereal with the little elves. You know, snap, crackle, and pop?” You laugh lightly when your friend comes into the workshop, food in hand and dressed down from the usual luxury attire he wore when visiting. No suit and tie in sight, just the oil stained wife beater you had seen him in when pursuing your education in the states as he worked tirelessly on his little toys as you liked to call them. He sets the bag down, the scent of the food causing your stomach to growl and pinch with a hint of pain. Have you really forgotten to eat today? You hadn’t noticed. “Got your favorite. Do you know how hard it is to find a restaurant that speaks English? I had to have Friday translate for me.”

“Maybe you should take a new hobby and learn the French language.” You retorted with a grin, the man shaking his head as he sets everything out. “Maybe I want you as my teacher, but you’re always busy with driving around in your fast little car and getting famous for fighting a Sokovian asshole.” 

“And you’re too busy tinkering away with your toys in your little workshop in New York. Truly Tony, don’t tell me you actually want me as your teacher when your toys can teach you for me.” You pause as he rolled his eyes, watching the man for a brief moment as he turned to unwrap his burger. “Speaking of said Sokovian connard, he came to the bar I was at last night.” The man paused mid bite on the thick patty before speaking with his mouth full. “Okay, spill, what did he want?”

“Well originally I thought he was going to cuss me and try to blame me for the failure to complete the race yesterday, but he showed me something. You know the young man who won the race yesterday, corriger? John Walker?” 

“Yeah, I know the guy. Races for the American McLaren team and came straight from F3 to F1. What’d he do?” 

He raises a brow when you sigh, taking a seat beside him on the desk he had set the food down on and stealing the dish he had brought you. “Zemo showed me proof that Walker hit his car and sent him flying into mine. And I believe he did it on purpose.” You explain, taking a bite of the food your companion got for you. You pause for a moment to chew before returning to your theory. “On my way to the car bay, he smirked at me, and it wasn’t a “I won” smirk- well, it kinda was, but it was rather a “I did this to you” kind of smirk. Not necessarily an evil one but one that showed he knew exactly what he had done and was proud of it. Pride in an unfair act.”

“And no flags were thrown up?” 

“Non, not a one. As our friend the Baron said,” you cringe at the term friend, “the ones watching the race possibly couldn’t tell if he had done such on purpose or by accident. I believe him about such. And I suppose that brings me to what I’m about to say next.” You take a breath, gaze conflicted and downcast to your food as you speak. “The Baron offered a temporary truce of our rivalry to take down this John Walker, thus allowing us to return to what we do best after Walker is taken down.” He listened intently before his nose scrunched at the idea of such. You two working together? Ha! That’d never work! “And you said yes to this crazy idea? What the Hell are you thinking, (first name)?” Your hands shoot up in defense, gaze rising to meet his own. “I know, I know! It’s a crazy idea, but you know as well as I do that if Zemo and I want things back to normal, back to the rivalry, we have to do this together so Walker is met with further resistance. If I could avoid it and deal with this American scum, no offense, then I would.” 

“Some taken, but I get it. I just wonder if you two will go back to the way things are after all of this. Who knows, maybe you’ll become that dreaded word you hate to associate with him in any capacity-”

“Ne t'avise pas de le dire, Anthony.”

“Friendssss.” He draws it out, causing you to roll your eyes at his antics and slap his arm with the back of your grimey hand. He pretended to show a hurt expression before chuckling when another slap came, this time to his chest. “Oh hush, we will never be friends.” 

“I guess time will tell.” A shrug followed as Stark finished the last bite of his burger, crumbling the wrapper and lining up the shot with the waste bin in the corner. “He shoots,” the paper lands in the bin, his arms going up in the air. “He scores!”

“Stop goofing around, ma amie. I asked for your help with this and now I need it.”

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Three weeks have passed, and the Germany race is upon you. The Nürburgring, a beast of a track that many racers to this day in Formula 1 fear like a plague sweeping the track. Your mind has been racing as you pieced your car back together and got it ready for racing. What happens if something wasn’t installed in the engine right? What if you didn’t get the intake vents lined up just right? You were a perfectionist with your car, and you know deep down that it was ready for race day but it made your head sing with pain as a migraine sets in. That wasn’t the only thing that made it throb and bring you to lean against the chassis of your car. Zemo’s deal, it worried you sick. But you didn’t have time to think about it much today. You couldn’t dwell on it. You had a race to win. 

Your eyes flick up at the speakers, listening to the message. It was press conference time. You take your seat where your name tag and flag set, giving a nod of acknowledgement to the crowd of reporters sitting and waiting to open up questioning. To your left, Walker seats himself with a boyish, charming smile that didn’t quite meet those dark eyes. He looked your way, hand held out to you. “Hey, I hate that we didn’t get to meet earlier on. I’m John Walker.” You glance at his hand before looking back up at him. He played a good game, acting innocent like the boy scout he tried to be. You wouldn’t fall for his games, but you shook his hand briefly. “(First name) (Last name).” He grinned. “Oh, I know who you are. I’ve been watching you race for years now! I hate that you crashed a couple weeks ago, would have loved to have been standing on that podium with you.” 

“Oui, such a shame that was. But today is a new day, Mr. Walker.” Your gaze flickered to your right, startled by your rival taking his seat and looking directly at the pair of you. The Baron never sat beside you, even going as far as to request a seat change from the press conference coordinators. Some learned to keep you two separate, others knew it would incur drama, and drama made money. 

“Alright everyone, please take your seats and the conference will begin in one moment!” 

“Say, did you get your car all fixed up? Must have cost a pretty penny since you don’t have any sponsors.” Walker continued on, this time his gaze looking at the reporters as he gave a brief wave to the ones he recognized from the states. “Oui.” He gave a huff of a laugh. “Not much of a talker, are you?” You wanted to bite back, to say something and throw hands with this man, but you would be escorted out and disqualified in a snap. “Non.” A leg bumped yours under the table and you glance at Zemo who met your gaze briefly. Those dark brown eyes questioned if you were okay, a silent question that only you understood. The slightest nod was sent his way before looking at the reporters who got things settled and ready. 

“Questions are now open-” The announcer was startled with the amount of questions directed in the direction of you three, clearing his throat as he nodded to your little trio at the table. Mr. Walker!” He gestured to the reporter, watching him stand and adjust his microphone and camera. “Mr. Walker, this question is open to the three of you. Under allegations from the previous race at The Circuit Paul Ricard, many are wondering if you had caused the accident involving Zemo and (Last name). How do you feel about these accusations?” The man had the audacity to laugh and throw that boyish smile to the camera, rubbing at his face. “Look, that was not supposed to happen once so ever. As many of my fellow racers can attest, one wrong slip of the hand on your wheel and your car will eventually go off track. I got nervous, twitched, and just so happened to bump the Baron’s car into Ms. (Last name)’s car. I feel terrible, I truly do, but it could have happened to anyone with any driver. So I refute these accusations and continue to say this is an accident.” 

“And you, Baron, Ms. (Last name). How do you feel about the accusations?” The reporter gestured his question to you two now. “I respect your opinion, Mr. Walker,” Zemo began, the man smiling and sending a nod his way. “But I call, as the Americans say, bullshit.” His smile fell, darkened gaze questioning the man on what the Hell he was going on about. The reporters erupted in questioning, trying to get the attention of the two racers who stare each other down around you. You lean back a bit for them to have a better view-line, One of the American reporters calling your name. You use this moment to break the tension. “Oui?” 

“Do you believe you stand a chance as a woman against these two leading men now that John  Walker is starting to gain points and nearing your total?” You blink at his question before taking a deep breath, holding it to calm your throbbing head, and releasing it slowly. “Oui, I do. I believe I can keep up just as well as any racer. Take my racing career with Zemo. I have kept up with his old extrémité arrière.” The French reporters in the room resound in a fit of chuckles, bringing a smile to your face. “And against Walker?” You meet his gaze as he stares at you expectantly for an answer, forcing that smile he tried to use on you earlier. “I believe I stand quite a good chance, but que le meilleur coureur gagne.” You shrug, listening as the smaller drivers get asked their questions. The whole time there are eyes burning into the left side of your head, waiting until the racers are dismissed. Walker watches you as you walk out, watching the way Zemo comes up in tow as you make your way to the car bay. Something was up, and he could feel that there were clearly doubts in your mind about the accident in France. He would just have to deal with you later. “(First name), wait!” Zemo followed you into the bay, slowing from his jog to keep up with you to a stop near the desk holding your notes about the race and your vehicle. “I haven’t had a chance to talk with you in person since the bar.” He paused, looking into those eyes of yours that gaze at him curiously. “Are you ready for this, fräulein?” 

“Aussi prêt que possible, Baron.” You busy yourself with inspecting your car for any last minute changes, the man watching you as you inspect and work. “Good, good. And we are still a go, yes?” 

“Oui, we are still, as you said, a go.” He grinned at you, gaze flickering down your back as he looked over your uniform. Of course he had noticed you in all aspects before, talent and skill being the top, but never had he been this close like the night at the bar and now to really see you. Maybe after all of this, even with the rivalry, you could be friends, dare he say anything more than such. “You’re staring.” You quip, breaking him from his trance to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of color lingered on your cheeks. He coughed, trying to clear away the embarrassment lingering in his form. Why was he getting embarrassed? “Just thinking about what will be left behind when I pass you on the track, mein liebe.” Your eye roll doesn’t go unnoticed, the man relaxing due to how calm you are around him. No biting his head off, no anger, just chill. You stand and give a playful shove to his shoulder, smiling at the Sokovian. “In your dreams, Sokovian. Now, get the fuck out of my car bay.” He smiled to himself as he walked away, mind now clouded by the smile that lingered on your lips. He liked when you smiled, and he had to make sure this plan worked. 

The race was gearing up to start, the same process as before coming into play. Car, balaclava, wheel. You take your moment to breathe, today your speed has placed you in second, just as the plan entailed. Zemo took the first position. He glanced your way, sending a nod in your direction, only to smirk beneath the balaclava when you flip him off like usual. The rivalry was still on, no matter what he would still have that after dealing with Walker. Still have you in one sense or another. Your glance focused in on the man across the way in the pole position opposite of you, his eyes locked on the two of you before meeting your gaze. There he stares you down, even as his helmet slipped on. The visor was flipped down at the one minute warning, eliminating the final clarifying view of his gaze. It was clear he was cautious of you, maybe even lingering with hate. 

“Fahrer! Starten...sie ihre....Motoren!

That familiar purr settles into your chest, spreading through your body like a dam breaking and flooding the valley below. It stirs up the motivation to win once more, removing any doubt from your mind as you rev your engine. Zemo was right, Walker had to be stopped. With this attitude about racing, playing his little mind games and wrecking racers, he’d get someone killed just for first place. You couldn’t allow that...but you also couldn’t allow the rivalry you have established with Zemo to be broken because of someone else. There was too much there to be lost. Your fingers tighten around the wheel, licking your lips beneath the helmet as you prepare yourself for takeoff. The lights start counting down the race. Five seconds away, one green and two red lights. You watch them count down until the bottom lines of red are fully lit, then they flash off. You’re off, following Zemo right on the tail of his car as you start into the track. This track was a beast, your mind racing as it remembers every nook and cranny of it. Seventy three corners, eleven danger points, hair pin turns, all on a 12.8 mile long course that was deadly in the onset of any weather and people who get careless with their moves. Lucky enough, the sky was only overcast. No rain, little wind to interfere with the aerodynamics and mobility of the chassis, just the perfect chill in the air to remind you where you were in this moment. You take your turns with ease, avoiding the group of cars that began to follow suit on the track behind your own. Your eyes remained locked in on every shift to your side, Walker keeping close by within each turn and danger point you went through. 

As you drive, Walker gets up past you within one of the speed trap areas, the stretch of road allowing him to be up beside Zemo and leave you on the back of their tires. Zemo had a plan, you believed in this plan… but had he just been toying with you to get closer to Walker? Doubt clouded your mind, even as you sped up in an attempt to join the boys directly in the front. Perhaps you shouldn’t have followed this plan, even as you get through the first twenty five laps, then the next twenty five. Each turn brought your tyres closer to Walkers who eyed you cautiously from time to time, as if silently daring you to pull a move like he did. Maybe you’d be caught and black flagged. Hell, that would make his fucking day if that happened. As he watched you, he had failed to notice on the wider strip of the track how Zemo began to drift further and further ahead. Then he was side tracked, Zemo slowing abruptly and stealing the attention of the young American driver. “What the Hell!?” He yelled over the roar of multiple motors, watching your car join Zemo’s side and the original speed be resumed. Now you sat beside Zemo on the track, pedal to the floorboard as you two kept your lead and basically walled Walker in. Each time he tried to drift around, one of you would shift your car just enough to keep him locked in. A grin met your lips as you drove, the energy of the race taking a whole new shift as you got closer and closer to the last lap with your rival right at your side. Tips of the chassis lined up perfectly, rear aerodynamic fins aligned like a well oiled machine. You two were in perfect sync as you put Zemo’s plan into action. Create a wall of impenetrable magnitude. If Walker tried anything, all three of you would go down. If he tried to get around, he would be blocked. There was no getting out from behind you two. 

The checkered flag waved in the quickly approaching distance, your gaze for a moment looking at your rival. The blur of purple was steady, lined with yours like that of an air jet's flight coordination. Perfectly straight, and running at full throttle like you are. As your cars pass the finish line, debate begins to rise. It was too close in the end to call, at least not right away. You slow, allowing the purple beast to pass by and enter the pit before you, a silent gesture of courtesy to the man you worked with. He sent a small nod your way when he watched you get out of your car, helmet removed along with his balaclava and revealing the joyful grin resting on his lips. Anyone else would mistaken it for cockiness, but the look in his eyes said it all. You two did it, you beat Walker in the race! He must be furious! A breath is held on your end, helmet and the fabric covering your face discarded as you turn your gaze away from the arriving racers and the man you drove along with. You were locked in on that score board, curiosity eating at you for who may have won the race. You were neck in neck with the man, the smallest push forward could earn either of you the points for the day. No names shown yet, and you anxiously leaned on the hot surface of the carbon fiber vehicle as you waited. Each noise around you from the slow dwindle of engines to low, fading purrs to the pit crews of your respective teams surrounding you, your rival, and the newcomer were drowned out by the pounding of your heart as it flooded your ear drums. It felt like hours passed as you kept your gaze locked on, ignoring the happy clamour of your crew, the clasp of hands on your shoulder and pats on your back, even down to the ruffling of your hair in glee. Then it flashed up. 

1st: (First initial). (Last name) 

1st: H. Zemo 

2nd: J. Walker

The press goes crazy over the news, each respective country reporting their amazement over the finishing results.

“Ein fehlerfreier, aber überraschender Sieg für Baron Helmut Zemo, der mit (First name) (Last name) gleichauf den ersten Platz belegt!”

“Victoire pour la championne de France (First name) (Last name) alors qu'elle rejoint le Baron Helmut Zemo dans une rare égalité!”

“In a remarkable and truly unprecedented event in The Nürburgring F1 race! Baron Helmet Zemo and (First name) (Last name) tied in a photo finish for first place, a rare occurrence that has set back American racer John Walker from the potential for first place!”

Your breath comes out shaky, slowly slipping out as reality hits you like a wrecking ball to a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs as a happy noise rings out from your lips, joining your crew in the celebration as they hug and surround you. You placed first. Zemo placed first. Curiosity met you, your gaze looking to the man who celebrated with his own crew before allowing himself a chance to settle his gaze on you in turn. There he sent a wink, a silent congratulations that made you shake your head at his antics before refocusing on the celebration. You would be standing with the man in first place on that podium, both sharing the victory wreath and spraying champagne all over the crowd of fans and your respective pit crews who were basking in the glory just as much as you two were. You couldn’t help the glee bubbling up in your form, even as you make your way not too far from your rival. For a second, just a split second, you let the rivalry go and let your smile be seen in accompaniment with his gleeful grin, shoulders bumping when you’re positioned at the podium by the F1 management crew. Press swarm to the area like flies to a summer barbecue, wanting to catch a glimpse of the rivals standing together, being on the podium and sharing first place. “Not so bad working with my, as you put it earlier, old extrémité arrière, hm?” He questioned as you two stood together, the closeness you two were forced into for the photographers far more comfortable than it would have been under any other circumstances. He blamed the feelings he had at this moment on the victory over Walker, over the rest of the racers, not even thinking that perhaps this was beyond the fact that he won but that you, his favorite rival, won alongside him. “Non, not the worst.” You joked lightly, forcing a serious face for the cameras when they began to picture you two side by side on the first place stand. He accepted the bottle of champagne before you could, holding it out. “You may have the honor, (First name).” Your fingers brush his own as you grasp the bottle with him, popping the cork and sending the bubbly to decorate the crowd. Flash after flash met you as you stood alongside Zemo and basked in the glory of the win. “How about drinks to celebrate? Even as rivals, I believe a drink wouldn’t hurt.” He whispered the question, causing your gaze to lock on his own in brief surprise. Was he serious!? “I um..Oui, sure. Meet you in town?” He nods, gaze seeming to glimmer ever so brighter as he takes his leave. Even when you separate to get cleaned of the alcohol and switch to “civilian clothing”, your smile doesn’t falter. Maybe it would be good for you to drink the night away with company that didn’t seem as bad as you once had thought before. 

As you begin to peel away the racing suit, the flame resistant material bunching at your waist and revealing the open expanses of your back, the simplistic bra strap over the back the only material seen, you fail to hear the seething man enter your car bay. “Do you know what you just did, Ms. (Last name)? Who you fucked with?” Walker puts his hands on your shoulders, spinning you around to face him, his face inches away from yours. “You went and fucked with the wrong man. You could have just accepted your loss, licked your wounds, and we would have been just fine. But oh no, you had to go and fuck with my winning streak with that Sokovian piece of shit.” He huffed when you shove him back, gaze narrowed and arms crossing over your bra covered chest out of annoyance. You could care less what he saw. “I don’t see why you’re so mad, Mr. Walker. You got a taste of your own medicine after that stunt you pulled back in France. You and I both know that was no accident.” 

“You know what? Yeah, I did that. But I see you are working with Zemo now, which is also a big no-no in Formula 1. Seems we’re both sinners of the race. The greed of it.” His tone was a hushed, harsh whisper. There was no need to alert anyone that he was in your private quarters harassing you. “I’m nothing like you.” Your tone came out in a hiss, his downturned lips curving up into a grin at your response. “Oh sweetheart, I beg to differ.” He chuckled at the narrowed gaze he was met with. “You and your Sokovian boy toy need to back off. Let this happen like it should or you’ll not like what happens next.”

“And just what do you think you’ll do, John? Because all I’m hearing right now is a lot of talking with no proof of any big execution.” Your lazy grin and scoff of annoyance at his presence left him to raise his hands in mock defeat, hands coming to rest on your shoulders once more with a harsh grip that made your body tense and hold you there. He leaned in, even as you tried to lean away, his lips moving in close near your ear. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” His tone alone makes your body betray you, the calm, cool, and collected front slipping as a shiver ran up your spine at his warning. And with that, he leaves you to get dressed for the night. 

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

Zemo texts you an address for a bar off the beaten path in Cologne, Germany, further than you had anticipated in going from the track but a welcomed change of scenery. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Frenchie. I will do anything to win. You best remember that.” The words stick with you, even as you drive the main road into the big city, looking for the bar Zemo had invited you to. It was connected to a hotel, a fancy hotel at that, with old architecture and lavish exterior. You could only imagine the interior! A nervous breath is taken as you get out of the car, gaze meeting the man you had just won with. He smiled at you, clothing casual and the air around him feeling far more comforting now than ever. The incident with Walker had left you rattled, sending your nerve endings to buzz and let your body know that you aren’t okay. Even though you felt off, you force a smile to the man who wrapped a friendly arm around your shoulders and led you in to sit at the quiet bar. “So, did I not tell you the plan would work?”

“I just thought it was your cockiness talking, but I will admit, though it physically pains me to do so…” You pause, biting your lip. “Well?” You sigh. “You were right.” The words come out struggled and forced, the man's grin growing at such. “Ah~, I don’t believe I caught that.” “Oh va te faire foutre!” He chuckled at your words, hand raised towards the bartender to get you drinks. “What are you ordering?”

“Shots. We deserve something to toast our victory to, and I don’t believe champagne is your drink of choice.” He offered you one of the smaller glasses, his own raised before him as he locks those bright brown eyes with your own. “Ein Prost! To us, and our victory over John Walker. May that American schwein taste defeat again.” You raise your glass, hoping to drink away any thoughts about Walker's warning and leave it for the next day. Throwing caution to the wind, you decided right then and there that you would finally have fun and disregard the night that you sat across from your rival. Tonight you just wanted to drink. “À la vôtre!” The drink is bitter as it hits your throat and travels down your body, causing a warmth to spread soon after. Kuemmerling, a bitter concoction of herbaceous and bittersweet flavors. A drink of choice for Zemo it seemed because soon after the shots were downed, he ordered another round. 

Shot after shot after shot is taken down until your body is leaning against his own and a joke that is shaky at best from his part sends you into a roar of laughter. He holds you close, laughing right along with you. “So... It’s Barenjar?” He snorts at your piss poor pronunciation of the new liquor joining the mix, shaking his head at you as he looks on with drunken vision. “Nien, nien, Bärenjäger. Say it with me. Bä-”

“Bä-”

“Ren-”

“Ren-”

“Jäger!”

“Mick Jagger?” 

He laughs in defeat, shaking his head as he watched you. So relaxed, so calm. He hasn’t seen you like this before in his life. He’s startled by your sudden movements after downing your last shot for the night, catching you as you try to stand and stumble as your feet betray you. Your body landing against his, his arms slotting themselves around your waist as your drunken gaze catches his own. Those brown eyes of his are hypnotizing, keeping your gaze locked on his own. “I have something to confess, (First name).” He paused to wet his lips, trying to piece the words together in his hazy mind. “I have liked you since the day I met you.” He finally blurts out, fingers moving up to brush away a stray strand of hair that had fallen into your eyes. “You’re infuriating, yet calming. Stubborn and determined. Your smile is lovely and those eyes…” He trails off, leaving your hazy mind questioning what was going to come after, but you hardly have time to think about it as he pressed in closer, face inches from your own. The smell of Bärenjäger and Kuemmerling lingered on his breath as it fanned over your face, those brown eyes searching for something in your own. “Can you feel it, the connection we have? Can you see that we are not just rivals now?” His tone was just barely above a whisper, questioning you with a hint of desperation to his tone. 

“Oui.” 

That was the only answer he needed. His lips are on yours with fever and desperation, hands clinging to your form for dear life after hearing the words that sent him to fully fall into the feeling of you. You were his comfort, the one constant thing in his life. His rival...but right now you were the woman he sloppily kissed at the hotel bar as the bartender tried to catch his attention to tell you that you both were cut off for the night. His hands moved to grip at your thigh and tangle in your hair, abandoning the idea of holding anything back, the liquor giving him courage to make a move on you. He has wanted to do this for years, touch you, feel you, have you there with him in any way he could. He separated only when the threat of security was offered by the bartender, lips kiss swollen and a faint pant falling from them. “Come.” His hand takes hold of yours, leading you along to the lift and up to his room for the night. This hotel that he called home for the time being would serve well for what he had in mind to do to you. He led you inside, not even waiting for the door to close as he captured your lips once more, hands taking your rear in his grasp and hoisting you up so your legs wrapped around him, back pressed up against the closest wall he could find. He held you there, lips separating to begin trailing hungry kisses down the column of your throat and allow his hands to trace along your sides. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric of your shirt to feel the bare skin there, wanting what he has longed for since the day he met you. A noise fell from your lips as he lazily suckled a mark over your pulse point, your fingers tangling into his dark hair and tugging the locks when his hips grounded against your own. He couldn’t help the fire blooming in his body, needy for the creature that has teased him for all these years, The one he thought he would never have a chance with because of their hate for each other on the track. He needed you, and in your current state, you were willing to accept any touch he offered. He was just Helmut Zemo tonight. Not your rival, not the Baron, just Helmut. And you were his (First name). 

A groan left his lips when you pulled him by his hair away from your neck, hands working to take your shirt up and over your head. Throwing it aside, he looked at you with a gaze of admiration. It was similar to the gaze he gave when looking at the new modifications to his car, taking pride in the beauty of things that drove him to win. He dampens his lips, fingers lazily dragging up the expanses of your back from bottom to top, resting on the clasp of the garment covering your breast. “Darf ich?” Your nod was all he needed, the clasp undone with skilled fingers that knew precision, holding still on your back when your arms rose to take the garment and throw it in an unknown direction to be forgotten about for the time being. He wasted no time with taking one of your breasts in hand, fingers running over the sensitive bud of one while he took the other in his mouth, suckling and lavishing with his tongue. He took his time, drunken yet slowly sobering mind savoring each and every noise that fell from your lips as he toyed with your body. You’re barely into foreplay and he already has your panties soaked, the Baron being a creature that knows exactly what buttons to push to get you going without even knowing your body. He was skilled, that much was for sure in your mind as he switched to the other breast, paying equal attention to each. Those brown eyes of his don’t leave your face for a second, watching every reaction and trying to commit them to memory. If he could only have you tonight, he wanted to remember everything he possibly could. Every detail of your body, everything that drew a hitched breath or a low moan from your lips. Every shaky breath and the way your body would press closer to his greedy mouth and hand. He stored it all away. Maybe he’d wake up the next day and fancy this a pleasant dream...It wouldn’t be the first time he’s gotten worked up by thinking about you. 

His hand traveled downward, cupping your sex through your pants as his own grinds up against your thigh, straining through the fabric of his pants. He ached for you, for your heated skin to be pressed against his own in a delicious rut of bodies. He traced along the seam, hearing the low whine that fell from your lips as he teased you through the material. “Helmut, stop for a moment.” The man paused all actions, his gaze shifted to a worried state as he met your eyes and spoke with concern. “Are you alright, mein liebling?”

“Oui.” Your fingers trace his jaw, the man's face briefly pressing in against your palm before delivering a soft kiss to the area. A tender gesture that sent butterflies to flutter in your stomach and heart to speed further than the foreplay had already caused. “I just...Take me to the bedroom. Please?” You preferred not being right beside the door where anyone could listen in, where anyone could hold a camera up to the peephole and record the sexual pleasures of the infamous Wildcard and Baron. That would make a top headline, wouldn’t it? He gave a chuckle at your demand, nodding as he kept his grip on you, your legs wrapping just a hint tighter around him as he moved you both to the bedroom. He’s gentle with setting you down, looking down at you when you unwrap your arms and legs from his form. “Scheiße, du bist perfekt.” He slowly worked on the buttons of his shirt, working each plastic piece through the loop with fingers that were known for precision on the course. A shift in his steering, taking hold of the semi-automatic paddle-shifters as he drove, it was all well calculated and that applied on and off the track. His shirt is shrugged off his shoulders, thrown aside before focusing on the belt on his pants. He gets it off with what can only be deemed a darkening gaze, knowing he’s getting closer and closer to having you. You rose to let your hands trail his chest, roaming over the lean muscle that rested there as feather light kisses met his collarbone. A shiver met his spine, shooting up in bliss as he allowed a moment to savor the feeling of you touching his skin. Your skin was so warm, so inviting. He was getting lost in everything. 

Your fingers shift down his torso, trailing his abdomen before looping in the belt loops of his pants to pull him forward, a low growl falling from his lips when you place a kiss above the waistline of his pants. Your movements were confident, unzipping his trousers and tugging them down to reveal the tent hidden behind his underwear. He swallowed thickly as he kicked his pants off, watching your every move as you cup him through the thin fabric, thumb moving to brush over the leaking tip and cause a shaky breath to leave him. “Maus-” A groan leaves his lips when a jerk through the fabric is given, his head falling back briefly. He huffed when you repeated the motion, fingers anxious to wrap around his bare flesh and feel that hot skin in the palm of your hand. But he stops you, hand wrapping around your own and bringing it to his lips once more. “Tonight is not about me, maus.” You’re surprised when the man placed his hand on your chest, lightly pushing you back to lay on the bed as he slowly sank down onto his knees, ”Es geht nur um dich.’ His lips drag slowly across your skin, trailing light kisses and nips along your abdomen and resting at the waist of your pants. He glanced up, a silent question of courtesy offered your way as his fingers loop in the band, asking permission like a proper gentleman. “Go ahead.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, his presence making you feel like you’re floating higher and higher on this ride with him. He gave a tug, your rear lifting and back arching to aid the man as he pulled your pants down and let them fall to join the scattered articles around the room. You’d have to go on a damn scavenger hunt just to find your clothes! But none of that mattered now, not when his hot breath is fanning over your needy core and face nuzzling at your thighs. He placed a kiss to your inner thigh before another followed, then another as he began to trail inward towards your covered core. “Aufgeregt?” He purred in questioning, a low rumble of a chuckle coming from deep within his chest spilling out at the small nod he is met with, loving how he has left you damn near speechless just by being so close. Your hips jump back before he gets a grip on them, his tongue moving over the wet fabric and causing a light whine to spill from your lips. “Helmut, please.” Oh, hearing you speak his name only egged him on further, needing you. He needed to taste you, to feel you. He needed you in every way, and his drunken mind only pushed him on to pull the fabric away from your legs and stare at the glory that is you. So wet, so beautiful. He wasted no more time, bringing your legs to hook over his shoulders and delved into the intoxicating honey pot he had been offered. He started off slowly, a long lap from entrance to clit given before the motion was repeated just to hear the noise that left your lips with each swipe. Zemo was mapping you out, taking note of what areas made your thighs twitch and tense, what areas made your hips jump back at the sensitivity of his touch, and what made those oh so delicious noises spill from your mouth. 

He allows his tongue to focus in on your clit, flicking the bundle of nerves in a rhythm that sends your head to spin and moan after moan to spill from your lips. “Merde!” He smirked against your core when your hand shot down to tangle in his locks, needing stability after he took your clit between his lips and suckled. He repeats the motion, gaze locked on your own and watching the sudden shock of the feeling run through your body. You were so reactive, and just for him. A lazy lick is given to the sensitive bundle of nerves, watching your hips jerk lightly and seeing the tremble that began to settle into your thighs. “Close?” He questioned as if he was questioning about an everyday thing, totally not giving the impression he was getting you close to orgasm just with that sinful tongue and lips of his. O-Oui.” Your tone was shaky, breathy, eyes half lidded and watching his every move on you. “Gut.” A gasp fell from your lips when he sank a digit into your hot, needy core, arching along the way and searching for the sweet spot deep within. He wasn’t like the inexperienced boys who would just jab their fingers into their partner and hope it hits something. No, his fingers curled, probed, dragged and felt for that spot in a way that showed his experience. A second digit is added not too long after the first, probing the flesh within until he hears your moan and finds that spot that drives you to clamp your thighs around his head. A groan left his lips at the rush of slick is met with each probe, massaging that spot within you and only adding to the tension building in your core. Each throb he was met with only spurred him on. He was on a mission to bring you over the edge, and he would do anything to get you off. When his mouth returned to your still sensitive clit, tongue flicking of the bundle and including the occasional suckle while his fingers moved deep within, you were done for. A rough tug is given to his hair as your body convulses, thighs clamping around him and grinding your hips down against his eager tongue. He helps you ride out your orgasm, lapping at your clit until you give a light shove to his head to make him stop. A wicked smile crosses his features as he gives one final suckle, a squeak leaving your lips at the motion and shoving him back as much as your trembling body allows. He can only chuckle at the attempt, fingers removing from your throbbing core. He watched your gaze land on him when you caught sight of the digits, watching the man move his glance to them as if he was inspecting them before a quiet whimper left your lips when they were taken one by one into his mouth. He made it a show, teasing you as he cleaned each digit of your juices in a slow motion. Sinking down to the knuckle before returning and licking at whatever was left. “Tease.” You huffed, chest rising and falling steadily with your hammering heart. “Oh you know you like it.” He retorted, lazily letting his body climb up and over yours on the plush mattress. 

He pushed the final material separating you from him away, throwing the underwear away before letting himself settle in against your body. Zemo wasted no time in wrapping your legs around his waist, lips joining yours as he lined up with you, one hand taking hold of your hip while the other took hold of your hair, tugging it back enough to have access to your neck. As he begins to ease himself within you, his lips attach at a section of your neck, a harsh mark left in his wake as he sinks inch by inch within the lightly pulsing core that he toyed with before. A groan was left against your skin when he was fully settled, grip rough on your hip but movements gentle as he waited for you to adjust. He was no animal, not cruel! He knew that there was a possibility for pain if he moved too soon, and even in his drunken haze he recognized the look in your eyes, the slight twinge of pain from his size alone. The stretch wasn’t unpleasant, no, but it was an intrusion you weren’t quite used to when normally doing this. He lightly placed kisses to sooth you along the mark he left, trailing them up the underside of your chin, going along your jaw before soon connecting with your lips in a soft kiss. Something to distract you until you were ready for him to move. A shift of your hips was given when you tested the feeling of him in you, the moan that left your lips causing a low growl to fall from his own. He lifted his body to loom over yours, hand moving from your hair to cup a breast as he sets a slow, deep and even borderline sensual pace within your core. Slowly out until the tip stayed just barely in before plunging deeply into your warm, wet depths. He huffed with each push of his cock within your core, meeting your moans with a faint groan here or a soft growl there when your walls gripped him just right. He was losing composure with each faint twitch of your walls around him, pace beginning to pick up into a steady rhythm that developed the noise of slick skin hitting skin and the bed beneath to creak ever so slightly with each movement. “Verdammt!” He could tell how your walls began to tighten around him, how each noise leaving your lips grew louder and louder. His poor neighbors, hearing you both so vividly through the walls of the hotel. Yet he didn’t care who heard. As long as they knew that in this moment, you were his to take, that was all that mattered. Zemo moved his thumb to your clit, working the bundle along with the assault he laid on your sensitive spot deep within. Each clamp around him brought his own release to come closer and closer. “Cum for me, maus.” He demanded with a grunt, needing to feel you come undone to reach his own release. His words hit somewhere deep in you, the demand that was laced with a plea driving you to your second orgasm of the night. He groaned as he felt you clamp around him, the sensation alone causing him to remove himself from you and spill onto your stomach with a few quick pumps of his hand along his slick coated member. He pants, taking in the sight of you one final time for the time being. Messy, slickened by your own arousal and sweat. Your hair was messed up, your lips parted and panting. To add the cherry on top, you were coated in his release, a sight for sore eyes while you lay like this. He made you like this, and it swells his drunken ego. 

Slowly he eased down to lay at your side, bringing you in against him with an almost delicate kiss delivered to your temple. Your breathing slowly evened out, head resting against his chest as his fingers trail along your back, drawing imaginary patterns as his mind begins to blank. The alcohol was taking effect, causing him to enter a lull and for his eyes to flutter shut. As you lay there, catching your breath, you watch as he drifts away, a single question beginning to enter your sobering mind. 

“What have I done?”

Tag List: @darksxder | @mymagicsuitcase | @mischief-siriusly-managed | @alindeluce​

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

tw: pet illness, pet death

kinnie cuddled with me last night during video games, then joined me on her designated pillow when i went to bed. she even hopped in the tub while i was in the bathroom, purring away. (the photo above was taken just a couple of days ago--kinnie was never as big a fan of bathtubs as griffin was or as mellie is, so i found her sudden interest extra cute.)

she was also her usual self when leander got up and gave her insulin this morning, and they hung out together for a while. a few hours after that, mellie attacked leander’s door and meowed until they reacted...and kinnie was unresponsive when they found her.

kinnie had gotten sick all over the little couch i spend time on, and the floor where she was laying. she was still breathing, so we took her to the nearby emergency vet. they told us she was in crisis, and that while they’d gotten her blood sugar up a little, she wasn’t going to make it. 

we made the terrible decision to let her go, and said goodbye. 

i haven’t been able to stop crying for seven hours. i can take comfort in the fact that we did all we could to put her diabetes in remission, and she really was healthier and happier in the weeks since we started the insulin--it’s not like what happened to griffin. but telling myself that doesn’t help, because nothing can. 

we’d had to postpone the next phase of her treatment due to covid in our house, so we had the donated money for that procedure still in my account--but her end of life costs were still more than we had. i have to cover the rest as soon as i get paid, so we can receive her ashes. leander had to get a donation from a friend to make sure my account would be stable in the meantime.

kinnie teagan travis was the most beautiful, loyal, talkative cat. we were so lucky fourteen and a half years ago when she climbed @actuallylukedanes’s shoulder in a pet adoption center and stood there like a fluffy parrot, claiming her new home. she never stopped charming us, even turning leander’s fiance into a cat person. nothing about our lives can ever be the same after her.

she snuggled up to fred the frog behind me on the couch, or in my lap or on my legs. she tried to sneak into the garage because she knew mellie spent time there--and she snuck out onto the front porch, never sure what to do with her freedom once she got it. she had her own pillow on my bed where she slept most nights. she insisted on accompanying me to the bathroom. there’s no part of the house that isn’t full of her. 

i hate saying all of this in the past tense. 

kinnie loved fruit, especially blueberries, and she was repelled by my taste in most tv, movies and music. when i got stuck in north carolina due to flight problems and was gone for more than a week, kinnie was loudly despondent. sitting on napkins and then shredding them so they couldn’t be used was her hobby. she survived all of our worst ups and downs and only ever wanted to be near us. i know she didn’t want to leave, any more than i wanted her to. 

i want her back. 

i want to adopt a kitten off the internet and fill the house with so much life and energy and need that things don’t hurt anymore. even though i know that’s not actually how it works.

instead, mellie is wonderful and i’m glad she adopted us long before this. i feel so bad that she’s been looking for kinnie all day since we came home without her. she’s pressed against me with her whole body while i type this, because while she doesn’t always want laptime, she is an understanding sweetheart today and a comfort on purpose. 

sebastian the proud outside tabby may never want to live inside with us and be a cuddler; he just doesn’t seem like the type, but he likes seeing us and getting affection and being nearby, so hopefully we’ll adopt him too eventually. he filled the hole griffin left behind, just a bit. we love him so much. 

and bailey is a ghost, smol and cute and trusting with me. in a few months, when everyone’s more ready, she’ll get a vet visit and a proper adoption and a chance to be an indoor cat like she deserves. today a chair went where kinnie’s scratcher used to go, one that i bought partly because bailey always wants me to stay standing outside longer. maybe now she’ll get all the petting she wants, and see what she thinks of laps.

my life is not without cats, and i can’t throw myself into kitten parenting for selfish fun, when the cats i already love need me and kittens are easy to adopt. nobody could replace kinnie anyway. 

i can throw myself into distractions, though. i was working on minecraft dungeons lately, trying to get ready for a guest week that was guaranteed to include the game, and now that visit’s postponed but i can still shut my brain off with it, and other games. i also have so many shows and movies that are ready to absorb me, if i can focus on them. 

it’s a completely normal reaction to grief, for me to feel like nothing matters. i know that. grief tries to set off the worst of my bipolar depression, and medication can’t stop it because the grief is real. so all my plans and goals from lately, big and small, they got washed away today along with my obsessive budgeting around vet bills, our schedule for giving out insulin, and the things in my room that only kinnie needed. 

what i used to want, i don’t care about anymore. 

i’ll care again, eventually. i went to my first funerals before i understood death; i practiced grief before i reached double digits. i learned survival and acceptance. but i have to make it through the first one to get to the other, and that requires as little time to dwell as possible. some numbness. some avoidance. 

my brain isn’t designed to handle big feelings, because my feelings have no borders and they only grow and grow. i don’t feel bad about that anymore--at least i know what helps. at least i can survive. every time i can honestly tell a specialist that i haven’t recently thought about hurting myself or others, i acknowledge the gift of that. i’m lucky i’ve made it this far.

so, i may be very quiet on my blog for a while. i may post a lot but not respond when you talk to me. or i may be extra engaged, just to keep the thoughts at bay. i honestly don’t know. i’ve never lost a kinnie before. 

whatever happens, thank you to everyone who loved her from afar, who tried to help when we were scared of losing her. thank you in advance for riding out my blogging mania or depression or complete emotional detachment. no matter how quiet i get or how hard i spam your dash with endless liveblogs, i really love you. 

i wish you all could’ve met kinnie in person. she was one of a kind.

[honestsycrets]

What She Really Wants X: What Really Matters

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | hvitserk has a way of getting what he wants. magnus is sick of being one-upped.

❛  tags | verbal arguments, wedding oriented, referenced underage sex, referenced sexual interaction, underage relationships, original characters.

❛ sy’s notes | i've actually had this fic done for some months and totally forgot about it until i was in my drive. thank you @chibisgotovalhalla​ for making me feel good enough to post this. It’s more a connecting chapter.

What Magnus hates about Hvitserk (aside from everything) is how whatever he said, went with you. 

The world could crumble, pebbles could shake boulders on your house, and you would still have Hvitserk on your mind. Because he was your first-- and no one could beat a first. No matter how he worked or raged for a new beginning or for better for Mads. It was still Hvitserk at the end of the day. Mads’s eyes had almost popped out of his skull when Magnus joined the clustered group of friends and parents. It hadn’t gone unnoticed. 

“What did I miss?” he asks because he knows Mads by the expression slapped over his face. That boy has been like his son. He raised him. Loved him. 

“Nothing,” Mads quips quickly, snapping his head back around to the field. His coach howls something long and loud. Mads jabs his finger in that direction. “The game is about to start. C’mon Soren.” 

Despite the fact that Magnus knew there was a certain something very wrong, he didn’t speak as you returned to a very familiar set of bleachers alongside Mad’s new girlfriend. She was pretty. There was a soft and innocent glitter behind those big brown eyes that reminds him of a simpler time in yours. He makes a note to ask Mads after the game all about her when Hvitserk stops on the uppermost stair, guiding you in after Alaia. 

It’s not until they sit, and your hand is laced in Hvitserk’s, does he notice the gems glistening on your finger. 

“What’s that?” he asks, leaning over Alaia’s lap. The girl squints at the rings too, watching it glisten, and smiles when she realizes that she’s forgotten to say something. She speak words that make his stomach drop. As if someone had hauled him off to sea, strapped that very same boulder shook loose by his crumbling world, and threw him out into the deep sea. He was drowning and couldn’t find a way out.

“Oh my god! Congratulations on your engagement, mama,” she beams. “Can I see the ring?” 

Magnus sputters. He’s caught between your jovial smile and Hvitserk’s smug smirk as his eyes burned into the glittering gem. Hvitserk’s hand leaves yours, taking a drink of the metal tumbler that he brought with him as if that would draw attention away from what he’s done this time. 

“There’s two?” Alaia asks.”Papa you didn’t. You’ve gone so far!”

Hviserk chuckles and swashing alcohol between his cheeks before swallowing the spicy liquid. 

“We were engaged in high school. Hvitserk thought I should wear both.” 

“Gonna put that money to use,” Hvitserk mutters, the faint scent of yeasty alcohol on his breath kissing your cheeks. He looks out to the field and catches Mads sheepishly waving. He waves back. “Been waitin’ to get married to my old lady for years.” 

“It’s going to be so great,” she claps her hands together. “I’m happy for you.”

The field cheers through the end of the national anthem. Two dozen players jog onto the grassy stage, flicking the ball between their feet. Go Mads, go! Alaia squeals until her voice becomes high pitched, grating, and odd. She’s the kind of girl that should be on a cheerleading team, but belongs on the football team. She’s outgoing, witty, and you find you like her. 

For all that screaming, Mads’s team loses 2 to 1. Alaia beats you off the bleachers and zooms down the stairs to find your son. You’re stuck with the impending explosion that has been boiling to ahead all evening. It finally overflows as people filter out of the bleachers like a herd of stampeding cattle. Their loud chatter blocks out the bulk of conversation. 

“You really thought that was a good idea.” Magnus curls his fingers under the cold metal of the bleacher seat. “He hasn’t been back a year and you’re already going to marry him.” 

“What is with you? It is her choice,” Hvitserk interjects. 

“I wasn’t talking to you.” 

“Fuck off, rat faced motherfucker.” Hvitserk snaps. “You don’t know when to quit bitchin’.”

It’s spiraling. You know the men well enough to know when Magnus and Hvitserk are headed for trouble. Hvitserk loves a good fight. He lurches up in his seat, probably ready to chuck him down a few flights of bleacher stairs. You grasp Hvitserk’s hand, settling it on your thigh for to restrain him from doing something that you knew he’d regret. Not for his sake, but Mads. Rather than answer Magnus, you stand up and wipe your skirt down. 

“Mads is waiting. C’mon baby.”

You leave him feeling unheard. In the seventeen years that Mads had been alive, he’d not once felt this way. He had been the father figure here. The one who took the kid out to these father events that you lost with the death of your father and the disappearance of your family from Hvitserk’s clutches.

Then he came back. He gave Magnus that same, age-old shit-eating grin, and disappeared behind you. It wouldn’t have burned so much if he wasn’t at the exact same school of the past. The same one where he got his teeth knocked in-- right here. The bleachers may be different but the area is the same. It’s the same place where everything changed. He sits there long after you’ve disappeared down the steps to meet your son.

“Where’s morbror?” Mads, sweaty and panting, has his hand slung over Alaia’s shoulder.”I thought he was coming for burgers.”

You reach for Hvitserk’s hand and lace his fingers with yours. Hvitserk stands behind you with his hand latched neatly around your waist. He cradles your hip as you come up with the latest of poorly formulated excuses. 

“He has to go to work in the morning, baby.”

Better you lie than Hvitserk. 

 Alaia is way too touchy. 

You recognize it in the way she clings to his arm on one hand and punches him with the other. Whatever the cost was, she had to be touching him. All over him. Not just a little friendly kiss or holding hands, but you know for a damn fact that she strokes his thigh or trails up the taut pale muscles of his flat belly.

“They’re fucking,” you say pointedly. 

Hvitserk throws a look over his shoulder to where they were a few rows down. Alaia slips a salty-sweet strawberry candy between Mads’s lips. Alaia’s other hand is certainly not on her own lap, that’s for sure. 

“Huh?” Hvit says around a half eaten sausage. He takes a swig of his booze, “Ya think?”

You thwack him in the arm and glance at the dark aisle beside you. The movie Mads wanted to watch was old. So much so that the theatre reflected its age. “How is he not fucking her? Hvitserk!”

Hvitserk took a glance down. From what he could tell, Mads was the shy one. He glanced down to what had to be a handsy— because he had plenty of those in his day. 

“Calm down. He ain’t initiating anything.”

“So she’s a predator?” You hiss. 

“C’mon baby, they're the same age.” He says, as if that’s exclusionary, and as if that made any difference in the world. “Ain’t like he’s screamin’ for help.”

There’s a shush— the next few aisles down. 

“Aw, you poutin?” 

No reply. Hvitserk glances toward Mads and Alaia, content with his choice, and slips his hand underneath the lip of your skirt. He considers himself a rather patient man but your worries when all he wanted to do was relax? Na. 

“Hvit stop— We used to be like that. Remember?” Hvitserk cuts you off, rubbing his thumb where he shouldn’t, cutting an outrageous smile. 

“This isn’t about us.”

“Ain’t it?” 

It’s not. The soft tingles of his fingertips, caressing your thighs, runs shivers up your spine. Your hand falls on top of his wrist, holding him firmly where he was. Hvitserk glances down toward his hand, then back up. An easy fix: you loved it when he pressed his lips to your neck. 

“You’re doing it again.” 

Hvitserk’s lips part, broadening his shit eating smile. “Doing what?” 

Oh, he knew what. But he loved being called out for it.

His far isn’t bad at football.

“Fuckin’ what the fuck was that!” 

The ball whizzed into the goal behind him and Mads was left wheezing for breath. Not because he was tired. The old man might only be thirty-six but he sucked at playing against him. Hvitserk plucked up the football between his fingers and spun it over and over between his finger tips. He twisted his head from the goal to the ball in his hands.

“A goal,” Mads gestures. “You know? Or, guess you don’t since you ain’t scored all night.” 

“Shits rigged,” Hvitserk says, dropping the ball and kicking it back to Mads. 

Mads shrugs and suggests, “Should’ve picked something you’re good at. You won’t beat me at this.”

“Tch,” Hvitserk throws his arms behind his head. “I ain’ good at shit.”  

Except maybe selling drugs and chasing prostitutes. All of which his father has made exponentially clear he doesn’t want Mads doing. Mads stops with his sneaker on top of the ball, rolling it up and back, then flicks it between his feet. 

“Have to be good at something. Don’t you have a hobby or something?” 

Hvitserk peels off his white shirt sodden with sweat and uses it to wipe away the moist sweat dribbling past his eyebrow. He gestures his hand to the dark wooden wedding band that was strapped to his finger. The wedding is next week and while he’s not technically married yet, Hvitserk wore it as some sort of unspoken promise.

“My hobby was women. Not allowed to do that shit anymore. Getting married next week, yeah?” 

“Wow, well, uh.” Mads picks up the ball at his feet and searches for words. It’s always nice-- when your own son is amazed at how amazingly shitty of a person you were. Hvitserk chews his cheek, running his thumb along the drawstring at his hips to tighten it up. They walk lazily with one another to start the trek back home. 

“I...” Hvitserk starts. “Liked to paint.”

“Gang signs?” he teases. He imagines his father with a can of spray paint or something-- tagging some poor idiot’s unsuspecting business. 

“Na, women-- like Renoir.” 

“Ren who?” 

“I fuckin’ hope ya ain’t going to France like that,” he tsks his tongue, throwing his hand around Mads’s shoulder, chasing away the thought of the Wolves that were so at the forefront of his mind. “Take a class in French first.” 

“I’m taking Spanish.” 

“Spanish? Wha’s so important about-- oh wait. Fuck,” Hvitserk almost laughs, but it comes with the realization that Mads’s little girlfriend was, in fact, Hispanic. He ruffles Mads’s sweaty hair, shaking loose droplets into the air. “Tha’s my boy.” 

There are moments in which Mads feels like his father’s son.

Today was one of them. 

The date sped up on him faster than it should have.

This time, Hvitserk was insistent: the wedding had to happen as soon as possible. After all, he was thirty-six. He wasn’t going to be a man that was forty and single. No, he wasn’t. Not if he had everything he wanted; a woman and his very own grown-ass son. He had something to prove to that son. That he was serious about his family. 

“What’cha think,” Hvitserk grumbled. His hair, newly cropped short, waved in silky honey waves around the side of his face. His jaw was peppered with a new sort of scruff, worlds apart from his clean-shaven, long-haired past. The suit was slim, crisp, monochrome like you liked it. Better be like you liked it: he wasn’t the type to wear suits for just anyone. His woman? Special exception there.

His son stood back. “Yeah, looks nice.” 

“Yeah?” 

He slipped in front of the mirror and gave himself a once over. He turns the ring on his finger over and over until he has residual finger ring burn. He bites down on his lip, ripping it between his teeth. It wasn’t just saying goodbye to his single man’s life; it was the fact that his remaining brothers were coming. Bjorn, Ivar, and Ubbe. Would Mads like them?

“Where my boots?” 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious. There’s a powerful thud at the door, then another. Booming laughs fill in the hallway just outside the room. Hvitserk exhales strongly. His large hand lands on Mads’s shoulder with a clasp. 

“Those would be your uncles.”

Mads, the little baby, looks panicked as the door cracks open. Ivar knocks open the door, dressed in a deep maroon and black suit. It’s crisp and formed to his chest. You should at least like it-- given the shit that Ivar has given you this year, he looks good. Why would be expect anything less?

“Man c’mon,” Hvitserk rolls his eyes. “Could’ve waited man. My kid--” 

“Why would I wait?” Ivar hums, hobbling forward. “You’ve been keeping my nephew hostage from me. Come here boy.” 

“With good reason,” Sigurd can’t help but to comment. “You don’t really want to know him. He’s a--” 

“Would you both shut up,” Mads hears another man say. He has ruddy hair and a ruddy beard, with sharp blue eyes. He is almost considerate-- if not for the wolfish look in his eyes, he could almost be considered the most placid of the brothers. Instead, he seems to be someone who is always planning. “You’ll scare him away.” 

Hviserk settles a lily in the pocket to his suit and fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves. Strange, he thinks, how you pick lilies. They’re a bittersweet flower for him to this day. When he bought you flowers, they were roses. Whatever possessed you to chose lilies, he’s not sure. It couldn’t possibly be-- Thora. No, you couldn’t remember her.

“Far,” Mads looks over and pleads for some guidance in those soft, bright eyes of his. His eyes snap toward Ivar’s dragging feet, then the drunken stamped in from huge Bjorn and comparatively more calculated steps from Ubbe. “Help.” 

“What is there to be afraid of, hm?” 

“Go on, go to Ivar.” Hvitserk swings his hands at his hips. Mads looks up the broad body of the blond man and inches toward the darkest haired brother. Probably not the safest of brothers to be speaking to but he’s heard his name multiple times before. Uncle Ivar was scary. And safe. “They won’t hurt you. They’re my brothers.” 

“You want a drink, boy?!” 

“A dr-- drink?”

Hvitserk wonders why he ever thought he could be a Wolf.

Asta has always been supportive. Too supportive. You knew, somewhere inside, she wasn’t happy about your choice to get married to a man that had gotten her into some trouble. Her whole life could have gone down the tubes thanks to him. 

“Are you sure about this?” she said in her slim baby pink maid-of-honor dress. Your hairdresser affixed a soft baby pink pearl pin into your hair. “You can always wait like we said.” 

“Waiting…” You glanced down toward your dress, smoothing out the dress’s slim bodice, leading out into its flowy a-line tulle skirt. Your loved the crisscrossing pearls that formed the straps over your shoulder and connected front and back-- maybe a little sexy for your hypersexual husband-to-be. Everything had gone perfectly. Your make up-- a natural, gentle shimmery pink. Everything was soft and natural, and pretty-- and you were so damn happy. “I’ve been waiting long enough.” 

“I know.” 

“And I want to do it,” you held the bouquet of fresh pink lilies. “I want him.” 

“That’s too much information,” she teases.

The door creaked open behind you. While subconsciously, you knew that it wasn’t him-- you needed to know. “Magnus isn’t coming, is he?” 

“It’s just me, mor.” 

You exhale forcefully. You knew it would be a stretch to ask Magnus to give you away. After what happened to your father, Magnus had agreed to do so with whoever you chose. For sixteen years you banked on that promise. Only now, when it came down to it, he refused to do so. 

“It’s a silly tradition anyway.” 

Asta begins to protest that she can do it when your son, bless him, intervenes by kneeling down by your knee. His large hands overtook yours. Your hairdresser stepped aside after having affixed the veil to the top of your head. Everything had been going so well. Something… had to go wrong, right? That was the way that days went. They could never be absolutely perfect! 

“I’ll do it. I can give you away.”

“You’d do that?” you ask him, unbelievably. You look between Asta-- and Alaia, who looks angelic in a puffy pink dress beside your son. Mads perches kneels beside you, looking like all the man you ever hoped he could be in every sleepless night that you spent up with him as a baby-- wishing that Hvitserk was there. Knowing that your mother said he could never be. 

“But you thought I should wait.” 

“Yeah but; I love you. That’s what matters, right? That you’re happy?” 

That, more than anything, was enough for you. You press back the insistent prick of heat at the corner of your eyes and nod. As you stand up on clumsy metal heels, your boy is there with his hand encouragingly around your waist. Alaia looks for your bouquet of assorted blush and white flowers: lilies.

For a moment-- just a moment, its you and him. No one else matters in the grand scheme of things. He settles the bouquet of flowers between your fingertips, pulling the sheer veil back over your face. “You look… perfect, mor. He’s missing out.” 

“Yeah, that’s what matters, baby.” 

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke​ @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia @beyond-the-ashes @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071 @daughterofthenight117 @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound @winchesterwife27 @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer @medievalfangirl @sallydelys  @bluearchersstuff @affectionrabbitt @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage @tgrrose @cookies186 @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim @msmorganforever @destynelseclipsa @soleil-dor @strangunddurm

[nakahara-umi]

Christmas 5 – Chuuya x female reader: “The best Christmas gift is you”

Genre: Fluff, love.

Summary: It was Christmas day and you and your boyfriend were opening your gifts, then you started remembering every moment you´ve lived with him through them.

It was a warm and cozy morning in the comfort of your apartment, Chuuya and you were drinking hot chocolate it was already time to open your presents and you headed to the living room where the Christmas tree was set. You were really excited to see him open his gifts and what kind of faces he would make, you loved every one of his expressions, from happiness to anger ones, and they all are really perfect to you.

But now you wanted to see his happiness face, it was hard to know what to give this man since he already has everything he wants, so you had to put a lot of effort on choosing his gifts to make him happy,

-You wanna open your gifts first babe? – He asked you.

-No honey, I want you to open yours first. – You almost couldn´t contain your excitement, it seemed you were even more excited than him.

The first gift was a wine bottle, fancy and expensive. He loves wine and that´s something everybody knows so you thought getting him a nice bottle would make him happy. You remembered the first time he talked to you about wine and all his knowledge let you amazed, you even almost faint out of shock when knowing how much he has spent on his wine collection.

By that time you were not a couple yet but he just liked you so much that he wanted really bad to impress you, so the first time he invited you to his apartment the first thing he thought was to show off his collection.

-Whoa, these ones look so fine. - You said impressed.

-They´re. – He said with a smirk, feeling smug. – Wanna know how worth is this one? He said pointing at a bottle from a brand called Romanée-Conti.

-Hmm, I guess a lot of money.

-This one cost me 1,708,269 yen.

-What!?

The memory always made you giggle, it was really fun to remember how he talked to spend such amount of money with no problem, and despite not being able to spend as much money as him you still learned a lot from him, in order to know how to identify and buy fancy wine, even if they´re not expensive as hell like that one.

-Wow (Y/N), this one is really nice, it´s going to look pretty in my collection. – He said with a smile, admiring the bottle.

-Glad you liked it honey.

His second gift was a poetry compilation. Something almost anybody knows is that he likes poetry, he enjoys reading it and even sometimes he tries to write poems, and the first time he let you know this hobby of his was when he read you a poem he wrote about you. You were sat on the couch of his living room, cuddling, when Chuuya spoke.

-You know (Y/N), there´s something I would like you to know.

-What is it, Chuuya?

-Well, I do really like poetry and sometimes I like to write it, and I wrote a poem about you.

-Huh, really? – You asked him, your soul filled with happiness as you blushed, you looked at him, and he was blushing too.

-Yeah, and I want you to hear it.

-I´d love to hear your poem Chuuya.

He went for the poem and once the pages were in his hands he started reading it for you.

“Your beauty, as bright and unique as a star itself…”

Once he finished you were crying out of happiness, the poem was beautiful and pure, so sincere it felt like a direct door to Chuuya´s heart. You loved the poem, you love him.

-Wow, this is Old Norse poetry, this is really interesting, I´m really going to enjoy reading this, thank babe.

-It’s nothing honey. – You were happy to see him enjoying his gifts.

The third gift was a hat, more specifically a homburg hat, black decorated with a small red feather. You knew he likes hats and you also knew why he loves the one he always wears, so you thought that maybe getting him a new one would make him happy. When he talked to you about the story of his hat and how much those events affected him you could only comfort him.

-So, if my existence comes from this ancient thing, am I really a human? I can´t even control my ability properly. – He said somewhat sad.

-You are a human, Chuuya. – You told him, determined, looking at his face and caressing his cheek. – Whoever tells you otherwise is a complete idiot. You are capable to feel emotions, to do amazing things. You are loyal, hardworking, and I love you.

-… I love you too, (Y/N), more than everything.

You wanted him to know how precious he is to you, to value his life as a human, not as an ability, and confessing your love to him was the prove that he is like any other human because he is capable to feel the strongest emotion of all, love.

-Wow, what a pretty hat! – He said with a smile as he changed his usual fedora to the one you gave him. He looked really happy and satisfied with his gifts.

-It looks nice on you honey. I´m really happy you liked your gifts.

-Well, it seems it is now your turn to open your gifts, (Y/N).

-Not yet, there´s still one gift for you. – You said, then you stand up and went to one of the rooms far from the living room. This one was your favorite from all because you knew Chuuya has a warm heart and he would love to take care of another life beside his.

You opened the door and there it was, a shiba inu puppy, sleeping. A friend of you was taking care of him and the night before Christmas you hurried to take him with you to home, and you had left him sleep in that room because it was pretty silent.

You woke him up and hurriedly put a ribbon in his head, then carried him to where Chuuya was.

-What the…! – It seemed this one left him actually impressed.

-Ta da! What do you think? – You said happy, handing him the puppy, who seemed still sleepy.

-It is really cute, (Y/N).

-It is a male puppy.

The puppy was finally woken up and happily licked Chuuya´s face.

-He likes you, Chuuya.

-Hey doggo, how you doing. – Chuuya said, he looked happy with his new friend.

You knew he was going to take good care of him, and you knew he will love to annoy Dazai with the help of the puppy, since he hates dogs.

-You know, (YN), all these gifts are incredible, but the best one of all is to be here, with you. I love you. – He have you a warm and gentle smile.

-I love you too Chuuya. – You couldn´t be happier, you felt the same way.

[altheterrible]

I pay about 45% of my paycheck into taxes, or about $205 a week . And yet food stamps and Medicaid are based on pre-tax income, so I don't qualify for food stamps and barely qualify for Medicaid. I'm so thankful I do qualify for Medicaid bc my healthcare costs are astronomical and if I had to buy insulin every month, I couldn't.

My sister takes about another 30% of my paycheck for rent and bills. This amounts to $600 a month, or exactly my 1/3 of rent. So I'm not angry about it, but it still sucks.

Which means out of a $450 paycheck, I'm seeing about $110 in actual money in my bank account a week.

Is it any wonder I'm so bitter about my job? I am basically making $3.40 an hour and yet still coming home so tired that I don't have energy for fun or hobbies. I'm exhausted. And for practically no material gain. I can't save money, I can't afford new clothes even though my old clothes don't fit, and the rising cost of toothpaste is a legitimate concern. These additional burdens I have to bear on top of working a job I hate.

I miss being a pharmacist. I made $8000 a month AFTER taxes, like $8k a month in take home pay, and I came home every day with enough energy to engage in art or music, watch tv, or read. I had 3 or 4 days off a week, depending on the week. I didn't have to worry about rent, bills, food, or healthcare costs. I bought things I needed when I needed them! I brought all my pets to the vet! I got car repairs before the car was literally on fire!

Now I make $1700 a month BEFORE taxes and I'm so tired all the time that all I do is sleep. I'm constantly worried about money, I have no emergency savings, and I only get 2 days off a week to boot.

Like, capitalism is great if you're middle class or higher, but if you're in poverty working a retail job, you're getting fucked in ways rich people do not understand. Rich people like to think that if you work hard, you'll make more money. And poor people are poor because they won't work. If only poor people would work harder, they wouldn't be poor!

Ha! I work longer hours and I have less free time working my "menial" job than I did with my "hard" job. I'm working myself to death, I'm exhausted, stressed, and yet I'm somehow still broke! Despite working more hours in a more physically and mentally demanding position, I'm still broke!

And that's the thing rich people don't understand. They think we're all getting fucked by capitalism to the same extent, we're all slaves to corporations, but working in a shitty job fucks you out of time, energy, and health in a way that "professionals" don't experience. Yeah, as a pharmacist I sold 35 hours of labor a week to my employer, but as a retail worker, I'm giving all my free time, too. My peace of mind. My physical well being. I'm not compensated for these things.

Employers steal from low wage workers in ways they would never expect high wage employees to tolerate. And until high wage employees can admit the huge amount of privilege they have over low wage workers, true labor reform isn't going to happen.