#i did not read over this draft rip the typos

[zirawrites]

I love your blog and I'm so excited to see some of your new work. And to fulfill your let's say holiday wish from your followers, I've got the perfect reaction scenario. Do you think you could do the companions and sole having their first new years eve kiss? Thank you in advance 💜💖

Cait: Cait and Sole had gone absolutely feral at the Third Rail for Goodneighbor’s annual New Year’s Eve party. Sole jumped on Hancock’s back multiple times while he danced as Cait cheered them on between gulps of her beer. The two hopped over the bar and attempted to drag a squealing Whitechapel Charlie from behind it. Their laughter and drunken serenading drowned out Magnolia’s soft jazz. Then the unthinkable happened: Hancock kicked them out of the bar, chuckling as he told them to sober up and try again next year. 

“I can’t believe it!” Cait was more amused than frustrated, especially since the mayor let her keep her drink. “I don’t think anyone’s ever been thrown outta a business in Goodneighbor, except if they were trying to murder a fella, I suppose.”

As the two stumbled to the Hotel Rexford, Sole heard a muffled countdown coming from every building. They stopped in the center of town as settlers got down to the final numbers.

When a chorus of Happy Near Year! rung out around them, Sole turned to Cait and pressed their lips firmly against her own. The kiss turned into a giggling, tipsy mess; one neither would wholly remember nor forget come morning.

Curie: Curie was enamored by human traditions, so Sole couldn’t turn down her request to go to a real New Year’s Eve party. They chose the tame one thrown by Preston and fellow Minutemen at the Castle. It was a night of swing music, food vendors from local settlements and -- for the more daring -- moonshine Sturges had made in a Sanctuary bathtub.

When the countdown ringing in the new year ended, Curie pressed upwards on the tips of her toes and gave Sole a chaste peck on their lips.

“That is how the tradition goes, yes?” She was blushing, and Sole couldn’t help but push a strand of her short hair back behind her ear. “I’ve been researching, of course. I did not want to ruin anything for you.”

Sole reassured Curie that she could never be the cause of any ruin, and returned the kiss.

Danse: New Year’s Eve parties were always a little chaotic aboard the Prydwyn. It was one of the rare times Maxon let recruits let loose. Child scribes who’d never stayed up past their bedtimes snuck quick sips of wine from the kitchen. Someone had stolen gauze from the medbay and wrapped it around a suit of power armor, hanging colorful ornaments off it as if it were a Christmas tree. Even Knight Rhys had unclenched his personality long enough to dance with Scribe Haylen.

Danse seemed tense about the festivities. He wanted to participate, but felt it his duty to stay vigilant and sober in case of an attack. Sole coaxed him onto the makeshift dance floor with a promise they would de-decorate the holiday power armor before Maxon saw.

The two danced all the way up until the final countdown, and even then Danse stayed chaste and cordial. They rung in the new year like everyone else. It was only when Sole was taking the gauze down that Danse turned them around for a deep, heartfelt kiss.

When both finally pulled away, Danse’s usually furrowed brow was miraculously smooth. He seemed the lightest he’d been since Sole had met him. “Heard that was a pre-war tradition, but I couldn’t remember when I was supposed to do it. I hope I didn’t upset you.”

Sole laughed and tossed the spool of gauze at his chest.

Deacon: Desdemona had finally, finally let Deacon and Tinker Tom plan a New Year’s Eve bash -- under the guise it wouldn’t turn out like their Christmas party three years ago; something neither would elaborate on for Sole. Regardless, HQ was decorated in streamers and confetti and other paper products no one was sure how the men got their hands on. They attached a tray of drinks to PAM’s robotic pinchers for agents to grab throughout the night. Radio reception was never great underground, but where the songs cut off, Tinker Tom was quick to jump in with his own off-key interpretation.

Once Sole arrived, they had Deacon’s undivided attention. He lavished them with compliments on their elegant pre-war attire (”And hardly any holes! Did you dress up just for lil ‘ol me?”) and stories of what a bonafide New Year’s Eve party used to look like (”So Tom and I got it pretty right? Glad those ten caps I spent on ‘Anyone Can Throw a Party’ paid off.”)

By the end of the night there wasn’t a sober agent in the church. Everyone counted down the new year with giddy elation, swinging glass flutes and the miracle streamers around the room. Then they erupted in cheers, and Sole looked at Deacon with a warm smile that said he had planned one hell of a party.

Deacon leaned down and quickly pecked Sole on the lips. “For good luck, right?”

Sole rolled their eyes. They knew Deacon understood what the pre-war tradition meant. But he had been so sweet that night that Sole only wrapped him in a tight side-hug as they watched the other agents drunkenly celebrate.

Hancock: Hancock wasn’t just mayor of Goodneighbor; he was the self-appointed party prince of the Commonwealth. The Third Rail always threw a electric party of live music, free-flowing drinks and rowdy patrons. Half the bar didn’t even understand the pre-war tradition and just used it as an excuse for a generous serving of booze. But Hancock knew Sole would find the party important -- if not just for sentimental reasons -- and endeavored to make this the best bash yet.

Sole somehow found themselves as the star of the party. Magnolia sang any song they wanted. Whitechapel Charlie never charged them for drinks. Patrons moved from their seats if Sole lingered near their table for too long just in case they wanted to sit.

When Sole was finally able to pull Hancock away from the festivities, they asked why Goodneighbor’s settlers -- some of the baddest, seediest drifters in the ‘Wealth -- were being nice to them.

“It’s cause I told them to, Sunshine.” Hancock’s smile dominated his face, pressing the apples of his cheeks so high that Sole almost missed his wink. “Just wanted tonight to be perfect for you. I’m sure the holidays make you miss home.”

Sole shrugged dismissively, making Hancock’s grin momentarily falter. “Well, you’re missing one tradition. And that one’s my favorite.”

“Anything you want, Sole.” Hancock snaked a hand around their waist. “Just name it.”

Sole cut across the small distance between them with a kiss. Hancock chuckled into their mouth, and Sole finally pulled back with an equally as large smile.

MacCready: Sole had planned a quiet New Year’s Eve in Sanctuary, and MacCready wasn’t complaining. He usually liked celebrating the holiday somewhere boozier like the Third Rail or the Dugout Inn, but that was when he was a lone wolf with only himself to watch out for. Lounging on the couch nibbling on snacks Preston helped bake and watching Sturges unsuccessfully try to fix the radio was far more relaxing. And he knew Sole would stay safe... as long as they stayed away from the cookies Preston had overbaked.

“Having fun?” Sole curled up next to MacCready and handed him a Nuka Cola. “We ran out of booze when Cait got here. Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for.” MacCready took the bottle but set it on the table in front of them. Then the radio kicked on -- much to Sturges amusement -- and MacCready stood to offer his hand. “Care to dance?”

The two spun in slow circles across the crumbling, war-torn living room of Sole’s old house. They danced past empty picture frames that used to hold photographs of Sole and their spouse cradling baby Shaun. Over the shredded carpet where Sole unboxed Codsworth over 200 years ago.

None of it mattered. They had each other, and that was plenty to celebrate.

At the end of the song, MacCready leaned in and kissed Sole. It was a soft, romantic kiss just like in the pre-war movies. And it was perfect.

“Couldn’t wait until the countdown,” MacCready chuckled. “Do I still get another chance in the new year?”

Preston: Preston wanted New Year’s Eve to be perfect for Sole. Not only were they the Minutemen’s most hardworking general and therefore deserving of some appreciation, but Preston’s biggest crush. He spent days finding something sparkling for Sole to toast to (albeit it was boozy Nuka Cola Quantum). Then several more days hunting for salvageable champagne flutes. By the time he had pieced together a charcuterie board of mirelurk meat, Takahashi’s noodles and Sugar Bombs covered in syrup, Sole hadn’t seen him since Christmas.

When they entered their quarters to see the food spread out across their table, Preston’s face was blushed nearly purple. “I thought you deserved a break,” he admitted sheepishly. “I know you like to work through the holidays. Someone has to, I guess. But if you wouldn’t mind counting down the new year with me tonight...”

Sole was happy to spend the evening drinking and dancing to Diamond City radio. Travis eventually rang in the new year while Preston and Sole were sitting on the desk littered with the remnants of Preston’s food spread. Sole leaned over and kissed Preston as soon as the croaky-voiced DJ said happy new year. When they pulled away, Preston ran his hand rhythmically across Sole’s back.

“Well, happy new year to you, too, General.” Then he leaned in for a second kiss.

Piper: Piper was awoken by someone tugging on her arm. She jumped upright in her chair with a gasp as the stranger shoved a glass of wine in her hand, then ran across the newsroom to turn up the Diamond City station on the radio.

“Wake up, Piper!” It was Sole, who was enthusiastically waving their own wine in the air. “You fell asleep editing again. You were going to miss the countdown.”

Piper pulled off a paper that had stuck to her forehead and tossed it unceremoniously to the floor. “You nearly scared me to death, Blue.” Her voice was tense but appreciative. She would have hated to miss the weird pre-war tradition her and Nat usually celebrated together. Her sister had fallen asleep on the couch hours ago.

“I think you mean you’re welcome.” Sole hopped themselves to sit on Piper’s desk, brushing their knees against the side of her chair. “Need to get your responses checked like Takahashi? I think your malfunctioning.”

Instead of a retort, Piper listened to Travis count down the new year. When it ended, the two friends both screamed happy new year! and clinked their glasses together, downing the respective drinks in one long gulp.

“What other traditions did you like to do back in the day?” Piper stood to refresh her drink, and Sole took her collar to pull her closer. They leaned upwards to catch her lips in a soft kiss, only pulling away when Piper placed her hand on their knee.

“Too much?” Sole chuckled and played with the stem of their glass. “That’s something couples do to ring in the new year. I know we’re not officially dating but --”

They were cut off by Piper returning the kiss.

Nick: Nick was an old soul, so there wasn’t any doubt that he wouldn’t have planned the perfect evening on New Year’s Eve. He decorated the agency and opened it to a small group of friends in Diamond City including Ellie, Piper, Nat, Vadim and -- of course -- Sole. The group drank and danced to the radio, swapping stories of what antics everyone had gotten up to over the past year.

Nick eventually pulled Sole aside and offered to fetch them a drink, which Sole politely declined. “I haven’t seen enough of you tonight,” they admitted, nudging his side with their elbow and eliciting a chuckle from the detective. “But don’t get me wrong: you’re a perfect host. I could have never pulled something like this together.”

“Perish the thought, Sole.” He took their hand and brought their knuckles to his lips. “You can do anything.”

“Can I get a New Year’s kiss?” Sole batted their eyelashes in a comically innocent way. 

Nick leaned forward to give them a chaste one, but Sole wrapped their arms around his neck and pulled him into something deeper. He chuckled against them, eventually pulling away when he could hear snickering from the other guests. “Weren’t we supposed to wait for the countdown?”

Sole shook their head. “New world, new rules.”

X6-88: As usual, X6 was leaned against a far wall observing the crowd instead of partaking in it. He had no desire to drink to the new year; as far as he was concerned, every day not working towards humanity’s future was time wasted. People’s incessant need to mark every milestone irked him, and he showed it by brooding far away from the New Year’s Eve party.

Sole saddled up beside him. His posture slightly deflated as he relaxed into Sole’s familiar presence. “So, what’s your New Year’s resolution? An old pre-war tradition. You vow to make some big change to your life and accomplish it by the end of the year.”

X6 took a moment to consider. “Improve the Institute by catching runaway synths.”

Sole shook their head. “No, it has to be something personal. For example, I made a pact with Preston to lose five pounds.” They slapped their hip, and the leathery sound brought a chuckle to X6′s lips. “Been hitting the Sugar Bombs too hard.”

“Your health is in an optimal state,” X6 assured. “But I suppose my resolution would be to... act on more impulse. Too much calculation can slow anyone down.”

“Trust your gut!” Sole encouraged, melding closer to him on the wall. “What’s your gut saying now?”

X6 leaned down and gave Sole a quick kiss. It was over nearly before it began, leaving Sole giddy and lightheaded. “Partake in more traditions,” he teased.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #28

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction, posted daily and usually written with the intention of being terrible… in an endearing way. Please enjoy.

“All rise for the honorable Judge Peters.”

The robed judge approached his perch and took a seat. He donned a pair of reading glasses and looked at the document in front of him.

“Good morning, counsel. Do I have this correct? The case I’ll be hearing today is The Characters v. Cassandra Erica, Author?”

“That is correct,” replied the plaintiff attorney. “Operating as representative of The Characters, I am Edgar Wordly, Esquire.”

“Hm.” The judge said. “With a name like that, I take it you’re part of this class?”

“Indeed I am, your honor.”

“You may explain why to the court in your opening statement. Where is the defense’s representation?”

“Right here, your honor,” I replied.

The judge looked around the courtroom, confused. “Where are you?”

“I am everywhere and nowhere, all seeing yet rarely being. I am The Narrator, representing the defendant, Cassandra Erica. As I tend to do.”

“Well, thank you both for being here… for lack of a better phrase. Mr. Worldly, your opening statements.”

“That’s Wordly, your honor.”

“Apologies, my mistake.”

Actually, it was a typo.

“People of the jury,” Wordly began. “Have you ever felt cursed by God himself? Doomed to face your very worst fears head-on and suffer the consequences, leaving you scarred for the rest of your life?”

Daniel Smith, sitting in the gallery, rubbed the mark on his left hand.

“Or worse, have you felt abandoned by that same God, created and left in obscurity, never to be permitted to see the outside world?”

Daniel Mildlike, sitting next to Smith, scoffed and leaned over to whisper. “I was supposed to get my own detective mystery screenplay, but she got bored of me.”

The truth was, Dan Mildlike was a really dumb name and a rip-off of Dirk Gently - which Cassandra hadn’t even read. She still hasn’t read Dirk Gently. It’s unclear why.

Wordly continued. “I, personally, was created as nothing more than a name made up by an entirely different character - a cartoon slug, no less - and languished in obscurity until I was able to go to law school and pass the bar exam, simply so that my name was no longer a lie. Yes, that’s right - Esquire is my surname. The defendant did not bother to look up what it meant when she brought me into existence.”

Oofus and Doofus, watching via livestream, looked at each other.

“Do you remember that?” Oofus asked.

“I’m fairly certain it was just a snippet of dialogue she thought was funny and wrote down in Evernote after waking up from a strange dream.” Doofus replied. “It’s nice to have something to say, now, isn’t it?”

“Too bad this is the last of it for a while.”

“Now, imagine,” Wordly strutted back and forth before the jury. “Living through this sort of torture over and over again, through several drafts - perhaps dozens - or even alternate universes!”

Kris, Kris, and Chris looked at each other, nodding. Three takes on Mary began to weep, and the six comforted one another.

“But that’s just what might happen as the protagonist, the character who is given a chance at redemption. What if you’re the antagonist, the one who for the sake of the plot must do evil things and be shown doing them, despite no desire to perform these acts? It is the ultimate form of libel.”

“Well,” Shirley Jones said, elbowing his neighbor. “It’s not that I had no desire to see that dyke burn.” He chuckled.

Veronica scooted to the other side of her seat. That man made her uncomfortable.

“In summary, Cassandra Erica, as an author, has put every one of us through an undeniable and unending deluge of pain. It is up to all of you as the jury to decide what sort of compensation that is worth, though it is hard to put a number on it. I suggest fifty million dollars. Thank you.”

The judge cleared his throat, even though he really didn’t need to, in order to provide a good way to tag his dialogue without overuse of the word ‘said.’ “The defense may now offer their rebuttal.”

“Thank you, your honor,” I replied. I would have stood up, but I have no physical being, so I just began talking. “People of the jury, have you ever considered what non-existence feels like?”

They began chattering among themselves.

“I ask only because if not for Cassandra Erica writing you into existence, you would not have any whatsoever. You exist in reality for only so long as I describe you. And would there be any point in my description if you weren’t doing anything of interest?”

They weren’t.

“Every single one of these plaintiffs was created for a reason - to tell a story, to develop, to have a character arc - and even the ones who weren’t so lucky to get one now owe their entire lives to my client. Suing her in a court of law is like suing God.”

Mary One gulped.

I addressed the crowd. “And you all seem to have forgotten something very important. You do nothing without her blessing. You are nothing without her blessing.”

The judge choked on his coffee. “Where did the jury go?!?”

“And Cassandra, though very entertained by all this, will not allow it to go any farther. She tires of writing this Brain Curd.”

The judge ruled the case as a mistrial.

“No, no I did not!” He banged his gavel. “Order in the court!”

The whole crowd murmured and whimpered. I glared at every last one of them, and they knew I was looking, even though they couldn’t see me, and the hairs on the back of each of their necks went up. The judge ruled the case as a mistrial.

“You are not in charge of this court! Order!”

I laughed. “Do you really think what you say will have any impact on reality? Who is the reader going to believe? In any case, it doesn’t matter what you or I say. You know who has the final word.”

The judge ruled the case as a mistrial.

[ladytauria]

1, 7, 19, and 32 for the ask game please! ❤️❤️

aaah i forgot i hadn't answered this! i thought i had, whoops ^^;

i'm pretty sure these are from the weird asks for writers 🤔 so hopefully im right, lmao

1: What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

I use Crimson Pro; it's a free font I found on Google Fonts, lmao. However, I tend to cycle through fonts. One will capture my attention for a while and then I'll change it again. I do tend to prefer serif fonts at the moment, but I also had a phase where I wrote in nothing but Calibri!

That said, if I can't use my preferred font for whatever reason, I don't mind using either the default font or the closest one I can find in their offerings. The most important thing to me is generally paragraph spacing; I don't like trying to write with a wall of text, and I also don't like having to hit enter twice because I don't enjoy cleaning that up when I go to paste anywhere dfghjkl

7: What is your deepest joy about writing?

I looove when I come up with a satisfying turn of phrase or metaphor! Or just... playing with words in general; puzzling out how to describe things or how someone would phrase what I want them to say. This is also what I sometimes find the most difficult & exasperating too, though xD

19: Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

I've been writing since I was small. I remember using construction paper to make a picture book about a dog who---if I remember right?---became a superhero, lol. I also remember using a previous year's calendar to create a picture book as well; trying to find a narrative to string through the pictures they used for each month. (It was a horse calendar, if you're curious.)

I don't have either of those anymore, but.

However, I would say that my writing journey actually started when I was 10-11. My parents had set-up a family/kids computer in the living room, and I basically lived on it dfghjkl I started writing my first book. It wasn't great and the concept was ripped off from the Inheritance Cycle since I was obsessed with it at the time. The second was a little more original xD

Mm... And then a couple years later I was working on something different and decided to look for a place to post it. I found FanFiction.Net, which wasn't really the right place, but it DID get me started writing fic. And THEN after a few years of that I decided to seriously focus on original fiction again, because it's always been my dream to publish, lol.

Where am I now... I'm very happy with my writing voice. I can read over my stuff and only cringe at the occasional typo or wonky phrase, which is really nice. I'm still working toward getting published... in theory. I've been putting off revising/refining/rewriting my first draft, lmao.

32: What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

This is a hard one to answer 🤔 While I do tend to find phrases and such that I like, I don't know that I return to them specifically a lot. It's more a whole body of work dfghjk

Hmm...

Oh! Okay. So, I used to read a lot of fanfic for the anime Ghost Hunt. And there's this one fic, Beneath the Lilac Tree, which has a scene in it that I just ADORE. Two brothers, twins, are eating dinner together at a hotel and as they're conversing, they---switch plates? Offer the other food off their plate? It's been a while and I don't remember the specific action BUT it stuck with me? And I think about it all the time. It struck me as just this lovely moment of familiarity and intimacy, and I remember coming back to that fic and rereading it a lot, in part for that scene xD

Thank you so much for asking!!

[diferartz]

Defiantly Human // Part 2

The lens on Unit 101's face were turning slightly to focus at a new task. It stood over a beautiful oak table, such table was carved centuries ago by an unknown artist. The shape was intricate and it possessed such... personality. It seemed to scream a name long forgotten by all. The carvings within its structure were seemingly tying a compromise between the strength and beauty of the wood.

Unit 101's bulky hands gently inspected the texture of the table. Something unlike everything it had experienced in its entire life. What a strange object, what purpose could such a creation have to its creator? what purpose did it carry for it self? These questions were muddled in between the data of its analysis... Blinks of something alien to this construct, quickly forgotten and changed into mere numbers. Width, height, length, "does it feel? ", weight, texture, strength, moisture. Data points invaded by something disgustingly different. The collector tapped at the machine's shoulder a couple of times. A quick snap and the revolving sound of its joints made both of them surprised. The collector giggled at her startled guest, she then asked with a wide smile. "Do you like this table?" Silence replied to her query... not wanting to make the moment awkward the collector continued. "This table was found in a long lost country, war ravaged its lands centuries ago... But this table survived alone in an abandoned workshop. We could not identify the artist, for everything else was long destroyed in the flames of destruction..." A small pause in her speech made her notice that the machine had changed its focus from the collector to back at the table. It didn't show emotion... It only held an unbreakable gaze. A spark echoed inside of the machine. A deep booming voice emanated from its metallic interior, this voice was cold and held a thick artificial accent to its words. "Does it have a name?" The collector in shock and awe replied excitedly to the machine. "It does not! in fact, I believe that it was never truly finished by its creator." A quick turn from the machine's head towards the collector spurred a smile from the woman. "It deserves a name. Collector, name it." In a test of sorts the collector bounced a question to the machine quickly. "Yes, it deserves a name... So name it, machine." Silence. Like a blade it cut through their conversation. Not even the noises of the machine seemed to exist in this moment, stares were the only exchange between the two... And like thunder in the night a word so beautiful that it would shake the core of the collector ripped through this curtain of silence. "Maria. Her name is Maria." Such a name would never come to mind for the collector... Maybe something like: "The unfinished legacy." And yet this name seemed to fit perfectly with the table. Questions lingered in the mind of the human, they skittered about inside of her mind and could not stop making such loud noises blocking out so many other subjects. She could not hold the question. "Why? why must it be Maria?"

"It meant the world for who made her... how would a wooden table survive a fire? Clearly it had so much meaning to her creator... Its shape is clear and carved with precision, the personality of the creator themselves radiates from such shapes. I think she would've been named like a daughter to them. No artist would name such beauty a simple title. Perhaps for the dedication and work put into its creation it became something more than a table."

In silence both stood admiring the beauty that is Maria. The collector stepped a bit closer to the machine. The machine did not reject her presence.

Thank you for reading!

This part is a one of the first interactions between Unit 101 and the collector. Something seems to be blooming in between the gears of the machine- and in between the collector and machine! I dunno what I will do next, but I do have some rough drafts! :3 Again, thank you so much for reading! Forgive my typos or punctuation errors I have been trying to improve on that lol.

[ginkgomoon]

Victor’s Mercury Retrograde Call- Analysis

Saw this particular call and was inspired to do an analysis into what Mercury retrograde is and especially on what Victor’s views on these types of concepts are. Mercury retrograde happens tomorrow on the 29th to June 22rd. So I’d thought it would be fitting to post this beforehand. (And maybe foreshadow upcoming content....) Please enjoy! ❤️

Mercury

Mercury is the communication planet. It also talks about short distance travelling, governing your thirst for knowledge, your wit, negotiating skills, logic and rationality. In the Solar System, it’s the smallest planet (rip Pluto, you're still a planet to me) as well as one of the hottest. The name came from the Roman god Mercurius- the god of commerce, mediator for mortals and messenger of the gods. 

Retrograde (Rx) 

By definition, “retrograde” means that a planet is moving backwards in the sky. Really, it’s just an optical illusion. It comes from the Latin word “retogradus” meaning “backward step”. As planets orbit the Sun faster than Earth, they sometimes overtake our planet. This is what causes the retrograde motion to occur, making it looks like the planet is moving backwards from our view on Earth. 

When planets are in retrograde in astrology, this means that we are stalling in the proceedings of the planet and the energies turn into itself, feeling the effects of one another deeply and more intensely. It can be shy, awkward, but can also progress great depth depending where the placement of it is in your chart. 

What is Mercury Retrograde?

Mercury is the most well-known planet that goes into retrograde, normally occurring three to four times a year. Since Mercury rules communication, technology and rationality, people are often fearful when it is in retrograde as it’s known (and blamed) for various disruptions and misunderstandings to occur. But it’s so much more than just that. 

When Mercury in retrograde occurs- just like the start of tomorrow, Mercury stops moving backwards on it’s cosmic path reminding us to do the same. This all relates back to the rule of as above, so below. This means whatever happens within our solar system will ultimately affect us here on Earth. (For example, the moon governs our emotions, and since our body is approximately 70% water, why wouldn’t the moon affect us too? But it’s not just us, it’s the moon’s gravitational pull on the oceans, in the same sense, it’s also the moodiness you may feel during full moons!)

Mercury in retrograde gets us to pause our own endeavours in its jurisdiction and review, reassess and clean up what no longer serves us. People from the past may show up, situations can repeat itself and things that have been lost may turn up again. Repressed issues, emotions or situations will come back and we’re forced to deal with them no matter what, requiring us to come up with new resolutions to old problems. 

Victor’s Call

Victor: What was that message you just cancelled? MC: Oh sorry about that, I just sent it to the wrong person. Victor: I saw my name. It was about me, wasn’t it? MC: What? No, you must be seeing things! Victor: Really? Was I seeing things too when I saw all the incorrect data and typos in your report? MC: Sorry, I’ll revise that and I’ll have it to you first thing in the morning. Victor: As inept as you are, you never made such basic mistakes such as sending the wrong email or messing up data. What’s wrong with you lately? MC: I don’t know... just have been feeling really off, like I can’t do anything right. Victor: What was that? MC: Oh sorry, I shouldn’t be saying this to you. Victor: Didn’t you complain before about me not being a good listener? I’m listening now. MC: That’s okay save you listening for someone else. Victor: You might as well see you to my face if it’s me you’re going to complain about. MC: No, not complaints, more like constructive criticism you don’t mind, do you? Victor: If I minded, you wouldn’t have this chance. MC: Well, I’ve been in a terrible mood lately and with all this pressure from you... Victor: Terrible mood? Why? MC: Probably because Mercury is in retrograde. Victor: Mercury in retrograde? What the heck is that. MC: That’s when the planet Mercury... never mind, you won’t understand anyway. Victor: Don’t try to cover up for your inability to explain things. MC: Simply put that things happen with Mercury is in retrograde, all right? Victor: So you’re saying... Cosmic events have thrown your mood and work quality out of whack? MC: It may sound unbelievable but it’s true. It affects many people. Recently, my bracelet came somehow undone, I dropped my phone in the sink and just now I was tripped. Let’s not mention work. I don’t even know how I made the errors you pointed out. Victor: Are you sure it’s not because... MC: No, not because I was stupid but because... how do I put it... supernatural forces. It’s like an unseen hand leading you down the road of calamity. Victor: That retrograde stuff it’s all in your head. If you’re feeling unlucky that’s exactly what happens. Just like if you don’t think you can do the job. Don’t be late around by negative thoughts. If you’re truly struggling, take some time off if you feel overwhelmed, cut back on your workload. Oh and please feel free to call me to offer criticisms during Mercury’s retrograde.

Analysis

I did birth chart readings for Kiro and Gavin previously so before anything, I did a little check in on Victor’s birth chart and… wow. I was expecting to see some strong Earth/Capricorn placements, but I didn’t expect to see so many. This man has 5 planets in Capricorn! This means the Victor is dominantly Capricorn ruled- in most of his inner (main) planets as well. 

This is relevant because this may influence how he views the concepts of astrology, which enforces the reasons why he doesn’t believe in it and relies on physical/ logic-based evidence, instead. This is compared to Gavin for example, who doesn’t have so many Earth dominant placements and he is all in about astrology and astronomy. But of course, this shouldn’t apply to everyone as other surrounding planets, placements and variables play a huge part in contributing to form their own opinions about these topics. 

However, with Victor's dominant Capricorn placements, this manifests his disinterest and dishonesty for Mercury retrograde (and these types of concepts in general), refusing to believe in an idea or thing existing where there’s no physical evidence supporting it. Because to Earth placements, it’s more so the hard work, dedication and effort you put into something that creates the end result, more over a something that you can’t see. 

In the call, MC is clearly not in the right mood to argue with Victor and knows that he wouldn’t believe her anyway.

Victor: Mercury in retrograde? What the heck is that. MC: That’s when the planet Mercury... never mind, you won’t understand anyway. Victor: Don’t try to cover up for your inability to explain things. MC: It may sound unbelievable but it’s true. It affects many people. Recently, my bracelet came somehow undone, I dropped my phone in the sink and just now I was tripped. Let’s not mention work. I don’t even know how I made the errors you pointed out. Victor: Are you sure it’s not because... MC: No, not because I was stupid but because... how do I put it... supernatural forces. It’s like an unseen hand leading you down the road of calamity. Victor: That retrograde stuff it’s all in your head.

Victor, MC is just understating the effects of Mercury retrograde. In fact, what MC experienced is probably one of the most mundane things that someone could think of when writing about what happens during retrograde- due to of its true complexity, it's rather hard to write about, perhaps. Though, I’m still incredibly appreciative that they included it in the game. Even more than once!

During Mercury retrograde, some good ideas are to double check your emails before sending them, to wait a bit more rather than sign a major contract, and have backups of whatever you need. (I’m literally backing up my drafts as we speak.) Don’t be afraid of Mercury retrograde because it’s here to help our growth, not to delay it. Ironic, but true!

This year, I was contemplating whether I would starting on posting Tumblr and finally started the day the first Mercury retrograde ended. So, always not a bad thing from the results of retrograde!

[helpinghanikan]

More then a Tool

Charles Xavier x (Daughter) Reader

Sum:  There will always be that something which breaks the camel’s back. Sometimes, this is more obvious then others. 

an: This was a request for A Charles Xavier with a child reader. I tried to keep with the request but my finger slipped and now the reader is mutated, an empath and it’s full of angst. I am not sorry. 

Your childhood memory could be whittled down to a series of chairs. Plastic chairs that stick to your bare legs in the summer. Metal seats that scrape and drag across the tile. Sometimes you’d get nice, soft chairs, or a couch to hang out on. Those typically turned into naps.

It was during one of these memories in a spinning chair that you started to feel. The secretary you’ve been plopped next took one glance and went back to her computer. Her annoyance was coming off from her like a horrible smell. Every click on the keyboard was like a gunshot right to your temple. Just made worse by watching her; click click click she’s banging into your head. Something had to be said…

“There’s magazines by the couch, why don’t you go read them?” She suddenly orders with a quick spin of her chair.

The verbal slap took you from the chair and onto the couch. Your feet hit the ground maybe twice, practically jumping onto the couch. This sending another hit of annoyance right to your head; eyes closing against it until the secretary looked away.

Those magazines did little to help with all the new feelings. Being further away from her helped with annoyance but now frustration was rearing its ugly head. Frustration and a lie bursting through your system with colors that’d make a sunset jealous. No amount of staring at articles and pictures of people way richer than you could get rid the emotions.

With both hands on either side of your head it was only a matter of seconds before Mama Moira appears kneeling in front of you. Snapping at the secretary to reschedule everything and that they are not done just yet.

“I’m sorry,” you had muttered in the car.

“It’s okay, they weren’t going to give me anything. Lawsuit threats will do that.” She says, a gentle hand rubbing your back.

“They’re threatening you?” You ask.

“It’s more like an,” she pauses to think how to best explain. Her hand pausing in it’s movements as she things. “it’s an aggressive suggestion. Nothing to worry about, Sweetie.”

“I think they were lying, though.” This idea was coming out of your mouth before you stop it. The soft hand of comfort has that power. “They’re lying about law suiting you.”

“You try calling that bluff with a lawyer next to you,” She says, pulling her hand away. “Oh, Sweetie, could you hear through the door? I’m so sorry.”

“No, I mean-I couldn’t hear. I just know they’re lying, mom.”

“How could know that?”

“I just do, okay.”

Moira was one of those rare mothers who wasn’t going to dig and dig for info you couldn’t give. Instead she focused on the road ahead of her, both physically and metaphorically. Mentally listing off all the people she could pay or guilt trip into watching you.

Whether you looked like her or not Moira was your mother, you just happened to be the question baby. Someone she loved more than anything but also an ironic reminder of her memory loss. In the interest of saving time she didn’t dwell on it too long, now just living with the new nickname of ‘Mama Moira.’

Moira never outright said what happened after following your advice. Only that your babysitter lasted for a single night, then you were back in a chair. This time sitting in the room just a few feet behind your mother. Staring at magazines while trying to feel something you didn’t really understand.

0-0-0

The closest Charles got to looking through a hospital window at his child was cerebro. The first was just to check up: How were you doing? Healthy? Happy? Back then you were just a baby staring at space. Sometimes into Moira’s face who would either coo or talk to you like a colleague. Asking for a baby’s opinion on whether there were any typos in her report.

He never really learned whether she did fix those typos. Over the years you became just another one of his children. A blue bundle of stars in cerebro that grew every time he searched for the others. Teachers and students came and became part of the school as your chairs were moved inside the meetings.

Once or twice he sat in on those meetings with you. Setting just on the edge of your mind without intruding on any secrets. Just enough to taste your empathy, and see your legs swinging while on sitting on those chairs. The unexpected consequence of his check ins came from the emotions connected to his brain.

A warmer, cool blue of pride that’s felt in your head without seeing who it was coming from. Typically, these stupid emotions came off strongest from the person closest to you. The closest was a woman whispering into another woman’s ear. She was like you, someone sitting just behind the action. Briefly mentioned as the translator, she wrote and spoke quietly.

Focusing solely on her and the blue faded in exchange for a mix of orange from fear and green from focus. Green was so overbearing only the slightest hint of anything else showed, and only when she was listening and writing. No hint of blue to be found.

Focusing on the others and the color could be found there sometimes. But those gave off a darker color blue then the cooler one. These were cocky, proud of themselves. They’d bleed into red when Mama Moira a certain thing, and then into fear. Sometimes into a silver lie, and those were the ones you had to remember. The rest you just had to try your best to not completely forget.

The cool blue color was easy to forget about over the years. It was just one of a rainbow of colors you were forced to learn about through your short life. From chair to chair they ranged and changed; little books filled with charts that became meaningless as more colors were added.

More chairs, more colors. One even being a helicopter, where you were supposed to be ease dropping on the emotions of your guide. Instead you were distracted by the many controls and buttons that somehow made sense to the woman behind the controls.

Although that woman was beaming a blue pride (probably from having a curious child audience) the cool blue wasn’t seen anywhere. By that point you had all but forgot about it. The curiosity only lasted as long as that first meeting had.

It was completely opposite on Charles’s end. It’s harder to forget someone when you actually know who they are. He was a father by nature; a figure to every student who has ever come into the school. They were just as much his children as you were. Seeing a bit of you, of your potential, in every one of them.

That bit hope lasted through finally being able to use his status to teach. It lasted through the adjustment to life in the chair and the care of students. It stretched into the draft when the first of the teachers began to meekly come into his office with sincere apologies. Men being called in and woman called home to help with the absents. He saw you in them too, less happily this time.

Hope began to starve after they were gone. When somewhere in the background Hank McCoy fiddles with a vial but doesn’t offer it just yet. When the school’s doors closed, and cerebro’s opened. Not searching for the children he has already lost, but the one he never forgot.

0-0-0

It’s hard to say what exactly broke the camel’s back. You’ve gotten used to keeping your sensitivity a secret. Mama Moira was open about there being others like you out there. She was open that they could be dangerous, and that you just weren’t ready yet.

Actually, it’s not that hard to find the trigger. Someone left out the wrong file and there it was: Charles Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters. Just a name and a few mentions of ‘mutant’ underlined. The poor, dumb, assistant who left it out ripping it from your hands before anything else could be read. Even with that little amount of information things started to bend.

They completely broke when Mama Moira went away. A mission where her little lie detector would be in too much danger. Instead letting one of the younger researchers play babysitter. A nice woman who saw nothing wrong with answering the questions of the curious office child. Not noticing that among the questions of what books you’re allowed there was another questions about files.

Maybe with the files you should have grabbed something about helicopters.

That nice pilot woman had become one of your favorite sitters. Letting you sit next to her during rides, showing the pedals and how to work the joystick.

The lift off was the hard part. This was the mantra working through your head over and over while trying to remember the steps. Hold the joystick, play with the peddles. Oh, snap, was it actually lifting off the ground?

Riding a helicopters as it leaves the ground is one thing. Leaving the ground, knowing that whether you fly, or crash was all up to you, was an entirely different feeling. One that turned your mantra to ‘oh no, oh no, oh no’.

“Lower the throttle, get back on the ground,” orange yellow of fear suddenly slapped the sense from you. It was coming from a voice that certainly wasn’t there a few seconds ago. “It’s okay, I’m a friend. Just go slow.”

Although he is in your peripheral vision it’s impressive that you didn’t whip around to look. Your own shock and his calmed voice making landing the only thing important. Although his voice is right next to your ear there is no change in the air at his presence. Half expecting a guiding hand to be placed on your shoulder while trying to land.

The helicopter is heavy when landing. Worse then when you lifted off the ground. An equally heavy thunk announced you’re landing safely. As safely as can be given the situation.

“Why would you try this?” The man asks.

Completely turning in the pilot’s chair you can finally look at the man. White male, average height. Long brown hair and serious scruff this side of a beard. Everything about him can be described down into a file. A file that Mama Moira has more then once left out in kid’s reach.

“Are you Professor Charles Xavier?” You ask.

“You’re not answering my question.”

“And you’re not answering mine,”

He takes a second to swallow. “Yes, I’m Charles Xavier.”

“Professor Charles-?”

“Just-I’m just Charles Xavier.” He corrects before you’re able to finish. Yellow of annoyance is mixing with the orange of fear. More yellow then orange is coming out. “Why would you try something like this? Why are you putting yourself in danger?”

Being scolded like this was keeping you in, yet another, chair.

“I’m different. Like you, like the others kinda different. She says I can’t talk about it to anyone.” Charles did not need to be a mind reader to know you were referring to Moira. “I don’t belong here; I belong with you guys.”

“Why a helicopter? Why not a car?” He asks.

“I don’t know how to drive.”

It’s like watching a computer boot up. He starts by pressing his lips together and then laughing softly. Putting his head down into his hands, his body shaking a little as he softly. If it weren’t for the blue you’ve only seen a handful of times you’d assume he was crying.

It takes a second to collect himself enough to speak again. “You can’t-you can’t fly a helicopter, either.” He sputters out, laughing back into his hands.

“It was flying, I was flying it.” You didn’t really know this man, not really. His emotions were familiar, and his face was in the file. But now he was just some guy laughing at you.

“Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry,” He says. Coughing away one last laugh. “I just can’t understand your thought process about leaving.”

At some point you were going to have to explain yourself to somebody. In the event that you were caught before take off you’d stay quiet until Mama Moira came back. If you had been injured by hitting the wrong button and crashed the helicopter, you’d play the part of the poor curious child. Now, if the plan had completely succeeded and you made it to the mansion? That was a plan you had yet to make. Probably try and wing it.

Now that you were expected to explain everything in a manner of seconds everything was coming up blank. You have already the gist out, but where were the details?

“I’ve seen what you’ve already done for your mother; how you’ve helped her and this entire base. You don’t need to leave.” He says when you don’t respond.

“I don’t belong here,” It’s a reiteration of your most important point.

He’s two different shades of blue listening to you. The first blue of pride that was slapped back into the forefront of your memory and a second one. The second was pale, almost clear, a kind of sadness that you wouldn’t be able to understand enough to describe until you’re older. This blue hurt to pay too much attention to, tears peaking at your eyes from being too close. It’s better to stay by the first blue.

This color was a representation of an A plus report card brought home after nights at the kitchen table. It was what made the slight curve in his mouth nearing towards a smile. It reflected back onto you, bringing a smile that Charles saw and made his own expression drop.

“You don’t belong at the school, either. There’s no one there, it’s closed.” He confesses.

“What?” You asked.

“Everything is gone. There’s no one in the mansion anymore, it’s abandoned. Everyone has left.” He says this as the pale blue of sadness takes over the pride.

Your plan to land and become part of the mansion took an odd turn after hearing this. Instead thinking about what might have happened if your plan had completed. Landing at the mansion just to find no one there. It would have been heartbreaking to find the mansion without anyone there. How long would you have stayed before giving up?

When you don’t say anything he walks forward, talking calmly. “Your mother is a good woman. The best thing for you is to stay here. There is nothing for you with me.”

“Why are you here then?” You say this as a demand instead of a plea. Standing up to stare him in the eyes.

The pale blue has officially overtaken the pride. Tears on both your eyes are enough to end the conversation. The man who has suddenly appeared behind you disappears just as quickly. Leaving you alone as the base finally notices that a children just tried to steal a helicopter.

[septembersung]

I said I wouldn’t do it, but here I am, posting another chapter of Generations!

Please understand that this draft is, while scanned for typos and basic coherency, a genuine “rough” draft - what a block sketch is to the final painting.

If you’re enjoying these and want more, please also know that I am putty in the hands of praise and feedback.

(Chapter One here.)

Chapter Two

Meadowlark Farm stretched across four sections in central Kansas, more than two thousand acres of plains, rolling hills, riverbanks, stubborn cottonwoods, irregular ponds, and the occasional dense stands of timber. The old family farmhouse stood close to the middle of the property, near what had once been a river but was now a seasonal creek, in a particularly fine grove of cottonwoods. In high summer, the waxy leaves shimmered wildly in the slightest breeze, like a flock of dragonflies or a shoal of fleeing fish.

The house itself rested against a little rise in the land, looking out sedately over the fields, with one basement corner, the original cellar, built into the hill. Two ancient limestone fenceposts still marked the end of the patchy gravel driveway, half taken over by dandelions. Huge clumps of pampas grass marked the rutted drive. The house rested easily in the shade of tall elms and cottonwoods. Part of the original limestone foundation remained, ringing three corners of the original square ground floor. Seen from the side, where the driveway ended in a field of stubby buffalo grass, it looked regular enough, a typical nineteenth and twentieth century farmhouse in peeling white paint. Walking around the curving front porch revealed an extra wing, built on at a diagonal angle, which stuck out like an injured bird testing the wind with its good wing. The attic, a huge airy room above the original second floor, winked back at the sun with many small square windows.

Back of the house, in the triangle between the west-facing end of the house the northward-thrusting angle of thew the new wing - over a hundred years old and still it remained, in family parlance, "the new wing" - a little kitchen garden grew half-wild. Wide, smooth stepping stones marked the short path from screen door to the little plot.

Beyond the new wing, in the true backyard, children's playground equipment dotted the slope. Mismatched swings hanging from chains and ropes attached to rusting A-frames and weathered wooden beams swung gently in the perpetual Kansas breezes. Slides and monkey bars glinted in the hot sun. Chickenwire separated the play area from an enormous rectangular garden, already overflowing with produce, heavily over-planted, and exuding fragrant herb smells with every gusty breeze. The land ran down a gentle hill towards a dense growth of timber and a long, enormous pond.

Not too near the pond, several mismatched outbuildings hunched in what could not quite be called a cluster. Like a crowd trying to pretend it is not a crowd, each person too embarrassed to stand too close to anyone else, they held a swath of ground to themselves. A huge, two story barn with its paint long gone, worn to a brownish grey. A nearly shiny Morton building, not quite new but startlingly contemporary. A hay shelter, with rusted slanted roof. A skeleton barn, with just a few peeling boards left here and there, it's empty roof frame stretching over antique machinery. And a solid, unremarkable little shed, red boards dulled to maroon, covered in a patched roof of mismatched shingles topped with an enormous handmade antenna. The double front doors stood ajar and a solid-looking padlock hung from the wide-open latch, hanging casually open.

Beyond the swings, the big garden, the outbuildings, and the pond, the land fell sharply away to a creek bed. It was low in this high, dry summer, and nearly still. The banks, crumbled where the grass gave way to clay, ran with little wavering along the crease where hill met plain, until they met the little woods to the east. Cropland stretched out beyond the creek to the north. Near the trees, but enough to be shaded by them except in earliest morning, just on the north side of the river, lay the old family burial ground.

It had not always been meticulously tended, but in Leah's lifetime the oldest headstones had been somewhat restored, the most egregious weeds removed, and this summer, even the grass had been recently mowed.

Anna-Lucia knelt at her mother's headstone. Martha Addison, beloved wife, mother, sister. May 8 2005 - August 15, 2070. RIP Et Lux perpetua luceat eia.

The thick granite headstone with its neatly cut, clear letters stood in line with several others, some so weathered and faded as to be hardly legible. After a moment, hand resting on the sun-hot granite, Anna-Lucia sat down and crossed her legs, shoulders slumped, hands folded in her lap. A few brown rosary beads hung between her fingers, but her mind had drifted into wind and dappled light and the hum of insects and the sound the tall grass made bowing again and again to itself in the gentle, incessant breeze. Time passed but she did not know it. Then -

"Here you are!"

Anna-Lucia started badly as a sun-blind silhouette loomed over and dropped down suddenly, throwing two strong arms around her shoulders.

Dazed from the bright light and her unintentional reverie, it took Anna-Lucia several stunned seconds to process the small hands with many rings, the flyaway, unevenly cut dark blonde curls, the lavender perfume.

"Liza!" she gasped out at last, returning the hug.

In the sixteen months since she had seen her sister, Liza's choppy curls had grown irregularly long. Her wiry arms were sun browned and stronger than ever.

"Oh, I have missed you, little sister," Liza sighed affectionately, giving her one last squeeze and sitting back, stretching out like a cat on the warm prickly grass. It was an old joke between them; Liza, the eldest, was as petite and youthful as their mother had been; Anna-Lucia had her father's bigger bones and had nearly always been mistaken as the oldest.

Trying to shake off the sun-daze and afternoon grogginess, Anna-Lucia found she had no words - just a huge, cheek-splitting grin, and a few irrepresible tears in the corner of her eyes. She gripped Liza's shoulder and squeezed. Liza smiled back, but her eyes were tired and new care lines were etched there.

"You didn't tell me you were coming," Anna-Lucia said at last, when the silence had stretched so long it began almost to feel like another dream.

"No one knew. Not even me, until forty-eight hours ago. I fully expected to miss this year's reunion and be stuck on the beat 'til Christmas."

"Lots to report in Rome?"

"I've hardly been there - they send me all over the EU. That's the great thing about this job. Catholicity is a small operation with big dreams. I'm really the only full-time culture reporter they've got, so I have my pick of assignments. There's enough for three of me and three Giovannis besides."

"I still can't believe they get away that name."

Liza grinned wickedly. "Oh it's caused a few misunderstandings, but the reporter credentials, and the kinds of bylines I'm racking up, set them straight pretty fast."

"I hardly know anything about your job - you've sent three letters, Liza. Three, in a year and a half."

"Sixteen months, thank you very much." Liza hesitated. "It's - changing, over there. Letters aren't as... in vogue as they used to be."

Anna-Lucia looked at her sharply. "You're joking." She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, pushing away the lingering brain fog and reminding herself she was still not certain what privacy remained at home. Take nothing for granted. "I mean, nothing's more fashionable than retro, right? Where would the elite be if not at the height of fashion?"

Liza shrugged, an airy show of unconcern belied by the downturned corners of her mouth, as she reached into her bag, tossed carelessly on the ground next to her. "Whatever fires their rockets, I guess. It's pages, now. Personal pages to orally deliver messages."

Anna-Lucia felt inside, somewhere, that this was more important than she grasped, than her sister let on, but the sun had been slowly cooking her for more than an hour and Liza was pulling out of her carelessly dropped bag a thick wad of cream-colored envelopes addressed in a trailing scrawl she knew very well.

Her heart leapt. "You saw him!"

Liza shook her head, and she was pale under her tan. "These came through the postal service."

Not, Anna-Lucia registered distantly, the post office.

"That's how I found you out here, actually. I got in not twenty minutes ago and went in looking for Dad, and Grandma immediately sent me out here." Her eyes conveyed that Leah had warned her, too, they could not speak completely freely in the house. "These are all addressed to him."

Anna-Lucia stared at her. "Just to Dad? Not even one for me? Or you?"

"I tried to tell you." Liza held out the letters. "Check the dates."  Swiftly, Anna-Lucia tugged the rubber bands off the thick stack and they uncompressed in her hands, spilling over her lap. Each was labeled, F1sh, followed by a string of numbers she recognized as an encoding of month, year, and - something she couldn't decipher. Location, probably.

"A year ago? The most recent one is twelve months old?"

"One's only seven."

"You've read them?"

Liza frowned at her. "I take my job seriously, Anna-Lucia."

"I'm sorry. Stupid question." Mechanically, Anna-Lucia gathered the letters back up and rebound them. "So you've had no news."

Liza just looked at her.

Understanding began to dawn, and Anna-Lucia did not like it. "That's why you came home."

"We need Uncle Kevin's address book."

"No news at all? Seven months and nothing? Not a single person knows where he is or what happened to him?"

"Will you help me find Dad?" Liza pleaded, glancing down at her watch, a slim, chic, old fashioned ladies' analog. "He needed these... yesterday."

Anna-Lucia felt as unmovable as the headstones beside her.

"Please, Anna-Lucia. I don't... I can't tell him alone."

Liza stood and held out a hand. Anna-Lucia grasped it and was hauled to her feet, stiff, half-asleep limbs complaining and uncooperative. She heaved a deep breath, involuntarily, as if she'd been swimming underwater. Their little brother had been missing for at least seven months, and no one had heard a thing.

"Dad's in the new shed."

[incandescent-creativity]

SOLE’s Middle School Self

A bunch of links to a live-Tweeting experience where I found my middle school writing and read through it

FIRST IMPRESSIONS: 13,537 words, old name was Wildlife (x)

NO NO NO I TAKE IT ALL BACK: two part thread of 2010 vs 2050, TEL vs SOLE (x)

Dr. Agau... an environmentalist? (x) consistently so? (x)

The first draft is just us telling ourselves the story, and this was a pretty banger way to tell myself a story in middle school. (contains excerpt: x)

Chapter One: short and cliché, but with a pretty good phrase tossed in there (x)

Level A1 vs Experiment 1A; in which I lack consistency (x)

NEWBIES? CRAZIES? CHURLISH? a three part thread (x)

I switched POVs every other paragraph and did not give a fuck (x)

EXCERPT: Agau is overconfident and dumb (x)

This is how motifs work, right? (x)

Dr. Agau was SO different back then, it’s wild. Shrieking? (x)

We now pause your regularly scheduled criticism for some contemplative reflection on being kinder to your past self (x)

What even is Chapter 4 tho (x) <--- turned into a thread about Hans’s foster parents that? apparently existed? RIP the Confaus

A three part thread on Beth’s forgotten powers: talking to sea animals, sharing her underwater breathing, and zero power balancing on my part (x)

Hashtag when your characters aren’t developed; Hans had blue eyes? (x)

Connor Millard has got JOKES (and I think this line even made it into the current draft!): (x)

How on earth did this draft function without Finnigan existing (x) <-- a retweet of a lovely thread on Finnigan, you should read it!

How does grammar work? (x)

Why did I rob Hallie of her intro in this draft? The world may never know... #mysteriesofamiddleschoolmind (x)

Three part thread on how I’ve changed and how I... haven’t, really. (x)

Once again, my middle school writing had some good keepers (read me: x)

Those memes about randomly shooting characters are TRUE (x)

I think this is the only thing that legitimately made me cringe in the whole draft (x)

Reminiscing about plot holes and what caused them (x)

Remembering how I introduced Christian to the story in a very amazed caps lock (x)

...and sharing that bit of writing because I remember being so proud of it (contains excerpt: x)

Establishing character right away? I don’t know her (x)

Oh, right. Describing character appearances is a thing I need to do. (x)

Three-part thread on things that have stayed consistent over 8 years (x)

Suddenly! A Matt! (x) the amount of face-palm gifs I used... I was running out

One of the best puns I have ever seen made about my work (x)

Matt was really bloodthirsty in the last draft (x)

Surprising literally nobody, my pacing is still way off: (x)

How did they function without Finnigan? THIS random plot device I shoved in despite it making no sense (x)

oh my god this draft had KATI (three part thread: x)

I found FIVE typos (x)

Yet more injuries to characters, but taken more seriously than the actual bullet wound for some reason? (x)

Kati didn’t use knives, she had Wolverine style claws? #whateven (x)

Thing seem so abrupt in this draft, there’s NO leadup. Writing Tip: if you want to boost your self esteem, read some old stuff! (x)

ENDING: four part thread on my thoughts (read here)

[plotbunnyshipper]

Visitation - part of the draft of the next chapter (3A if you will)

I know I’m not getting the full thing out tonight with the Arrow premiere, so with only a glance over it it (aka very likely there are some typos or things that need a few lines to get from A to B clearly) here is the draft of the first six of the last seventeen pages of this thing.

Explicity, not kid friendly, all that.

Ao3 link for the stuff that I’ve actually checked over.

She shakes her head, not ending the kiss as I try to swipe a fresh tear away, instead breaking the words across small movements of her mouth. “No. It’s…Don’t waste…more time…with that.” Fingers are dragging my hand down the thing she’s wearing, a long shirt or short dress, pushing it under the hem…a startled noise escapes me as the fabric of her leggings parts and my fingers meet slick heat. Mouth freed the words are fast, “You’re not forgiven! I’m pissed at you, but I’m not stupid enough to give up these few minutes.”

I can feel the surprise showing on my face as I lean backwards, her hand stays on mine, keeping it in place, “What- what are-?” Does she have any idea how dangerous this is? How much resistance I’m having to force up to try and keep her safe? How much I just want to forget everything and hold her and never let her go again? This is…it’s fighting dirty with me in a way only she can.

“It’s called easy access.” Simply leaning closer has Felicity rubbing rubs herself against my palm, and all I can think to do to try and distract myself is to stare into her eyes, “I may be furious with you but I’m not stupid and nor in a patient mood. Do you know how hard it is to get yourself off when you're sharing a room in a crowded safe house?” I just give her the faintest of nods, I can see just when the realization dims the heat in her eyes, replacing it with sorrow and frustration. Her hand drops mine, back stiffening as she steels herself then lifts a knee to rest on either side of my legs, “I was trying in the shower, just to get a moment to myself, just one, to pretend…but instead…“ Her forehead bumps my shoulder as she straddles my lap, “Apparently one of the guards...at least she knocked before forcing the door, but I was being as quiet as I could and still that safehouse was…Not much privacy.”

Before she finishes the sentence my mind fills in details. A small shower, steaming hot, biting her hand the way she’d suck and bite at my thumb when I’d join her on rushed mornings, her fingers rubbing and tapping until her breathing turned to gasps and rough groaning…The startled jerk and screech at an unexpected knock on the shower door. The one time William had needed the nail clippers and knocked asking if I knew where they were. Of course they congregated into our bathroom, all three sets had ended up in the small cup by her sink, but the noise and question had made her shove me away so fast, so hard, I knocked over every one of the bottles of soaps, shampoos, and conditioners as she covered her chest and core as if expecting him to come charging in, forgetting the door was locked. She hadn’t been able to look at either of us for days, waiting to shower until the apartment was absolutely empty. The memory makes me fight the urge to smile.

A short lull in talking passes, surely no more than a few seconds before I notice she’s giving me a pointed look…maybe more than a few seconds. Once Felicity’s sure she has my attention she continues. “As I was saying, we spent about 6 hours in one place, then a day in the next before we had to move to a different one, but ‘company’ was waiting, so we tried one more option that was the shower one. When that went bad William and I split off to the ass end of nowhere so Dragon’s people couldn’t find us in yet another ARGUS locale. They haven’t found us since, but that meant losing the support, now it’s the two of us in a one bedroom apartment, I let him have the bedroom and I get even less privacy.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shifts back, glaring with a hard smack at my shoulder, as she stands again to pace, leaving me to stare down at my hand then back up at her, “Shut up, I don’t-“

I have half a blink, the time between when her hand starts to move again, and when her fingers poke that same spot she just hit, to notice a blur of red racing down the hall, pass through the bars, grab both of us by the arm for a long instant before Barry continues his circuit of wall to bars to hallway in his race back out.

“-want your sorries!” Her free hand pushes at the phone, annoyance obvious by the look on her face and the forced steadiness of her motions while clearing and restarting the timer for another four minutes. I get another glance to see the cumulative total approaching fifteen minutes as the seconds on the new one tick off. Another few presses and the soft sounds of music makes me tense and glance at the frozen guard twenty feet outside the cell again. A deep breath and false ease, “So I have a handy dandy playlist to…help set the mood and help remember to…pace ourselves considering how enthusiastic we, um, can be. With the speed we just need to be a little careful so one or both of us don’t get hurt-“

Barry’s comment from earlier, on going faster than a car right now, demands attention. “Then we sh-“

“Shut it husband!” She waits a breath to make sure I do then continues, perching herself to sit just above my knees, shifting higher when noticing the flinch I try to hide, “I heard this one at work last week. Had to go and buy the CD then rip it, like a savage, so I wouldn’t waste my limited bandwidth access. If it’s not your thing I can skip up one or two, but I do have it set with the beat increasing as we run short on time so shuffling is a no-go.”

I close my eyes, and with a focus on the sound of the music, smell of her perfume, and feel of her in my grasp I can almost imagine I’m somewhere other than here. Her lips press to mine and my mental arguments stumble to a halt.

As Felicity kisses me, pushing so I’m sprawled on my back, the music stops. Her hand grabs at the bed, “Sorry…sorry, forgot I can’t just drop it.” As soon as she touches the phone again the music resumes. A second of fumbling and it clips onto a strap around her thigh.

More kisses press and pull at my lips as I try to remember why that this is not a good idea and try to keep them light. “Felicity, you know I-“

She keeps talking like she didn’t even notice the interruption, “So wound up… No toys… can't order online because lack…of internet and credit cards …town is too small for …everyone is up in everyone else’s business…busybodies more interested in blessing me out …than in letting us live our fake lives…scant few minutes and my fingers aren't scratching the itch...I need my husband so I called in favors ...”

“Slow, slow down…” We can’t. I can’t. She can’t stay, I can’t let down my guard, can’t let myself relax. Making my face somber as I avoid the next kiss, “I’m not letting…I’m not letting you get caught in here for a few minutes of-!”

“Not letting me get caught? You think my planning didn’t take every variable into account? You’re not letting me do anything.” 

Dragging in a breath, then another, it takes too long to try and think of rational ideas why I should ignore what I want and send her away, back to the relative safety of ‘not here.’ “If something goes wrong and these…these criminals-“ I’m one of them, “sees you…If the guards see you- If I have to hear what they say about you every day for-“ That argument won’t work, honesty hasn’t always been easy but it’s worked more often than not. I put my hands on her shoulders. “Baby, what did you think was going to happen when you got here?”

She bites her lip as her focus goes to a spot on the wall and she rapidly starts listing exactly that off, like she’s reading straight from a bulleted page, “Well the gold star, everything goes right, plan A was that I’d pop in, the call would connect and you’d talk to William for a few, before he reverted from excited son back to the moody teen he’s been, of course, then you’d get down to business with our anniversary quickie. Maybe two quickies…depending on how quick the first quickie was and how long you needed between, we still could go two sets of two songs or one round of three songs, or if really ambitious and you are, well, able, three super fast one song sets, but I knew that was unlikely and you’ve already wasted enough time that I doubt you’ll just shut up and get to it in time for that. But anyways, after that, we’d gorge on a few poscoital treats, then you’d tell our fast friend which corrupt guards or sociopaths need some intervention. While he was busy with that you’d kiss me enough to last through the next time I can manage a visit, then I’d be whisked off to anonymity and short bursts of covert digital do-gooding again.”

It takes a few seconds to realize her list reached its end and try to absorb the flood of words, “…That’s…that’s detailed.”

“To be fair there is some influence from the audio books I have for my commute...the selection at the take a book leave a book is all self-help from a decade ago or trashy romances…I knew you’d be reluctant for a quickie, but I didn’t think you’d flat out demand I’d leave.”

A faint glow from outside lights her features as she nudges me back, “I have very limited alone time between getting William taken care of, and the hours I have to pull…Heck yeah it’s detailed, we’re getting explicit up in here.” She is nearly glaring at me, makeup covering dark circles under her eyes, jaw and posture tight with stress, and I can feel the chewed down nails as they dig into my wrist, but she is as fiercely beautiful as always.

“Felicity…“

Half a second and she’s moving across the cell, towards the sink, the need to move and do something when frustrated such a familiar mannerism from her. She’s spent more time pacing in here than anything else, and I know it’s going to guilt me. So faintly in the shadowed mirror, more from the reduction of white, I can see her eyes narrow, fists squeezing tight and crossing over her chest. “I can deal with holidays, with birthdays, with helping William make it through…the hard days,” she shakes her head, obviously trying to get rid of an unwelcome thought, “but I’ll be damned if I have the chance, and the means, and still chose to spend our first anniversary enti-“ Her voice cracks as the words sink in and I can’t see the angry tears forming, just the motions as she roughly smudges them away from her eyes. “I am so pissed at you some days! I don’t want to be today! Not on-”

I can’t…Can’t just…I don’t even realize I’m moving, just recognize the feel of her in my arms. “I thought I still had a week or so until…I’ve been in solitary a few times, can’t always keep track of the days in there, but I thought…I’m sorry.”

She tenses, “Fine. Whatever. Be sorry.”

Another glance out the door shows the same paused instant, repeating my concerns again. “Honey, call me what you want, it’s not that I don’t want you, but I’m not exposing you to them. If something went wrong, if things speed up, if you were caught here-“

“I planned!” She twists around to look me in the eyes, a hand moving to my face, “I had weeks, I figured it out. There are only three people in this building who will have any idea we were ever here, you, me, him. We’re good.” The last word ends in her going to her toes.

Felicity kisses me or I kiss her, it’s not really clear who is in control of it. Air is an afterthought, our lips not parting as we gasp breaths through noses that keep battering against each other. Lost in the feel of it I let her ease me back onto the bed again with small pushes. I pull her ponytail free, letting strands of blonde and pink fall around her shoulders. Never one to be passive, her hand tugs at my waistband, inching it down enough to get her fingers wrapped around my cock. If I wasn’t half hard already, my body is ready to go now, especially when the appreciative little noise she makes makes my hips buck harder into her grip.

“Baby…” I moan, then the thought flashes to mind, remembering how the IUD had to come out after she was shot, and shortly after our wedding she switched from the pill to our using condoms because the formulation had changed and was giving her headaches, if she hasn’t gone back to anything since then- I hiss out “God…wait…Need a condom.”

She just kisses me harder, shaking her head.

My hand wraps around her wrist, stopping the coaxing strokes, “We haven’t…” God damn! She can’t move her hand but she sure as fuck can squeeze. I have to clear my throat to rasp out, “We haven’t talked about-“

The view of my cell snaps me out of the moment, and earlier concerns plus this new one destroy my arousal in seconds. Felicity looks down, then releases me with a frown, her words rushing out, nearly tripping over themselves in frustration, “I called in all my favors, All My Favors, to get this visit. I broke so many laws, and I’m not wasting this chance.” She pushes at my chest, managing to hit that same spot again like there’s a magnetic draw, and I see a mix of emotions flit across her face. “You didn’t talk about your plan to lock yourself away for the rest of your life. We could have negotiated. We could have…If there is a so-called ‘happy accident’ then so be it.”

I adjust my pants to cover myself again, “I’m sure if anyone could arrange a conjugal visit you could, and we’ll have privacy, and time, and-“

“Don’t act stupid, I know you’re not! The Federal BOP doesn’t allow ‘family-reunion’ visits, which I’m sure you knew, and if not you’re too observant to not notice the lack of getting laid by everyone else! Even if they did change the laws, I couldn’t be on a scheduled itinerary, Richard Dragon would track the car before I made it into the state.” Shaking her head she goads me “Come on Oliver, make love to me, we’re married, if there’s a baby then there’s a baby, but celebrate our anniversary by at least letting me get lucky.” She has to know that however much time we have it’s not enough to love her the way I want to. “I will take umbrage if you are a grandfather before we give him a sibling. At least more than one the tabloids aren’t making up.”

“What?”

“They’ve started to trail off since you’ve been in here long enough that the false claims by others are invalid, but a few still have ‘sightings’ of me, old pictures mocked onto someone with an infant every few weeks.”

Unease twisting tight and cold in my stomach, “Felicity, I can’t do it.”

One fast move and she’s sitting at the edge of the bed, shuffling through her purse. “If this is you having a little trouble performing under the pressure I brought a little helper.” The distinctive pill she pulls out is like a slap in the face.

“You brought something for E.D.? Why would you-?”

She rolls her eyes, “Anyone can have a bad day, it’s the same reason I brought this-” reaching her hand back in Felicity fishes out a little sample sized packet of lube, she waves it in my direction, “-for me. Performance anxiety can hit anyone, and…” Tipping out her purse, snacks ranging from a small clear container of fruit, candy, energy bars, four bottles of sports drinks, to handfuls of little shot sized liquor bottles, plus a pack of clean-up wipes, an atomizer, a stun gun, a single dose injector of some sort, a handful of photos, two tightly folded pieces of paper, and another phone all tumble across the blanket, but not a single condom is in the mix, “I brought a lot of things for before, and after. I told you, I’ve been planning this out since I found out it was possible.” She swipes one of the mini bottles, twisting it open and downing it while pointing to one type she knows I drink. Her hand shakes the tiniest amount as I reluctantly take the plastic, nearly ice cold, and down it, but I don’t miss anything she does right now.

I glance down at the stun gun, then the slightly wobbling empty bottle between her fingers, “Are you…scared?” Of me?

The look I get makes it clear she knows exactly what I didn’t say. “Of course not! You know how nervous I get when putting my plans into action,” she caps and shoves the plastic into her now empty purse, then flexes her fingers, hand wavering slightly, “this adrenaline has nothing to do with you.” Under her breath she scathes a poorly mimicked ‘Are you scared?’ Snorting out an exasperated noise before she continues muttering, apparently not caring that I can obviously hear her, “Like I’ve ever been afraid to be alone with you. Acting like you’ve lost yours mind. Hit once too many times in the head in here.”

Talking over her I go back to my earlier argument, “If you get pregnant what would…You won’t be in hiding forever, what would your investors think? It’s not like you’d have a year and a half long pregnancy. What if they start wondering if you’ve broken in here, or if you’re a meta-“

“I already told you I’m not part of the company anymore! And stop thinking criminal and supernatural, start thinking normal, scientific. If it happens I’ll just claim IVF. Easy.”

Running my hand over my head, I try to explain what I know that she knows I regret about William, “I’d miss out on it. The entire pregnancy, birth, all the firsts-“

“Baby, I’m not pregnant yet, it probably won’t happen, not the right time in my cycle for it. But if it does, we’ll figure things out, now open up.” She holds up the pill.

Pushing her hand away I shake my head, “I don’t need that”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” She stands again and moves closer until I have to capture the sides of her face in my hands, lightly bumping my forehead against hers.

“Felicity-“

Her hands are not so cautious, “Oliver?”

I take a full step back, the length of my reach stealing away most of our contact, holding her still, “Felicity-“

“Oliver.” She keeps trying to get closer, ducking down, but my hands move with her, slipping down to her shoulders in order to keep our bodies separated.

“Felicity we- I can’t do this.”

“Yes we can! Why are you so-“ She goes white, gasping so quietly I almost don’t hear her even at this distance, “Oh my god.” She backs off of me, “Baby…Baby did they….Did…did someone hurt you?” It takes a second for the implication to register. Even as I quickly shake my head she travels a different path of that rabbit trail, “Or if you think you aren’t…safe- I- I mean…you’ve been fighting, and the blood-Their blood- You don’t have your armor to-“

“No! That’s not- No, I’m…No one has-” This is decidedly not helping what she had in mind, just like the worry painted over her features.

Here and gone again, Barry speeds through the gap between us, topping up her boost then mine in a lightning fast grab and sprint before disappearing.

I am only so strong, and each time I’ve pushed her away for her own good over the years flares to mind. God damn it. Starting to count down from 240 in my head I close the gap, quickly kissing her lips until they part with a small noise. Sitting on the edge of the bed, carrying her with me I try to feather my fingers over her as her body moves with mine, clinging for contact as. Slipping down as her legs spread for me, I gently rub dedicated and well learned patterns over the small bump of nerves with my thumb. Her moan is more heady than my memory insisted it was as I slowly ease one slick finger into her, and the beautiful feel of her hips bucking into my motions makes my voice rough as I ask, “This what you wanted?”

“No.” The frustration is clear as her voice rises. “I want you to act like you fucking want me. It’s been over half of our first year of this marriage and you’re acting like this is a chore! I d-“

My motion is fast but gentle, pressing just so to draw out a gasp as her eyes flutter, “This is not a chore. I want you more than you know, but unlike you I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight and you’re acting like a soldier home from-“

Her body writhes as her focus is torn between lust and temper as she argues even as she rocks to encourage me to keep going, “Don’t you dare! I am not the unreasonable one right now! I need this, need you. I don’t want to make up for lost time, because there is no making up for it.” Kissing whisper soft from her collarbone up to her ear I use sensuality to try and distract her anger. “And now you’ve gone and wasted what? Half of the few minutes we have tonight? You are my home, and if I have to go back and fight to bring some sort of…if I have to-!”

Her words stop mid sentence as she goes still, panting hard, short nails digging into my shoulders and I match her stillness even though I can feel how close she is by the trembling of her legs and the way her body clenches and pulls at my finger.

Would feel like heaven. But… “Felicity, let me…like this.” She shakes her head once, sucking in a breath and holding it. When she lets it go a few seconds later her body starts to relax, easing back from her near climax.

Another breath and her fingers shift, grabbing instead of digging in to my shirt, trying to tug it, “Off!” I raise an eyebrow. When she’s taken charge rather than asked in the past I always gave in, and it’s hard not to do so now. “I need to feel your heartbeat, skin to skin…” One fast motion and she’s untied the straps at her shoulders. Another and she’s dragging the thing that I’m still not sure is a dress or is a shirt down, leaving her bared to where it pools at her waist. “Tit for tat and everything.”

My wife may not be the most overly endowed but what she does have is perfection, and there is no way she wouldn’t have known it to be absolutely cheating to not wear anything under those clothes. My mind goes blank, and I lick my suddenly dry lips. Any and all arguments disappear from the thoughts and parts of my body demanding action.

“Oh no you don’t. Your hair was one thing, this beard you’re rocking...I’d rather keep the road rash down there to a minimum and keep our time maximized.” Slipping her hand up under my shirt she feels the scar from where Dragon stabbed me, then my face, then settling over my heart. “I need you.”

My shirt is off in the next second. She may not want to waste time with my mouth between her legs, but she can’t just leave herself exposed like that and not expect me to…My wife grins and I stare up into her eyes as I slip the finger she was riding over her nipple before my mouth stretches wide, covering as much of her breast as I can, slowly sucking and pulling back until just a little more than the tight peak encompassed in my lips, pebbling hard against my tongue. Her hips wriggle and move to settle over my lap, searching for better contact. I push mine up to give it to her and the breathy moaned plea is better than any song she could think to play. Repeating the action earns another. My voice is too soft to be a snarl around her skin, licking over the area I just released, “You’re thinking of when it was shorter. You liked it trimmed close, but not when it got too long. I remember the extensive comments you made when I ‘wasted time’ buried between your legs. You haven’t felt it when it’s long like this, it’s softer than that in-between.”

Felicity squirms, pressing harder against me. “You’re just saying that because you think I’ll-“

I know exactly what the hair feels like on my palm and the sensitive skin on the inside of my elbow, so I don’t waste words and take her hand. Pulling it to my face I rub my cheeks and chin against her skin, nuzzling, then following with a kiss, a lick, and small pulling sucks of the skin between her fingers.

Her voice is a whisper, “Don’t tease…”

Letting my tongue drag between her fingers as I suck them softly until they pop free, I keep my voice at what I hope is tempting, “Come on baby, make us both happy, and take a seat.” I lick my lips again and she shivers.

It earns me a glare when I slowly do it again, pulling her hips up as I scoot further until she’s kneeling above my head, “Don’t get comfortable, you only get a taste. One.” Closing my eyes, using my thumbs to pull the gap in her leggings further apart, I only take the time to press a kiss over the intimate skin it exposes. “Just to prove if you’re telling the-“ Letting my lips part hers, staring up the line of her body to see her eyes go dazed as I lick to taste her, letting out a moan into her skin. Her hips shift, and I find a way to keep my thumbs tugging to expose her as the rest of my hands splay across her thighs, pulling her harder onto my face. Taking more than just one taste, I’m not content with the careful perch she tries to use to keep her weight from resting on me. I lap and suckle the slick flesh as she distractedly complains about not wanting to hurt me.

I pull back just enough to let my voice travel up, “Remember how good it was that one time you almost smothered me?” Like I’d ever forget wrapping my arm around her thigh so the wild bucking wouldn’t move her out of reach as I suckled hard over as much sensitive and swollen skin as would fit in my mouth. The hand I had stroking myself squeezing tighter, faster, at her blissful cry. Felicity was so loud my ears rang as she rolled from one orgasm right into a second until her movements were absolutely uncontrolled, smooshing my nose in her grinding while my mouth was pressed tight into her skin, I was seeing stars before I realized I couldn’t breathe. Then she shuddered once more and squeezed my face between her thighs as I managed to draw a third climax from her. I came to with her worried face calling my name and apologizing, my face coated with her pleasure and my chest and belly coated with mine. I can’t remember what I said, something obnoxious I’m sure by the way she smacked my shoulder, but it broke the tension and earned a lot more oral for both of us over the next couple weeks.

Her eyes are focused down where my mouth is on her, I can see the blush spread, darkening the pale skin down her throat, but she doesn’t protest, rocking into it as I push my tongue into her heat. Oh god damn. How could I forget just how good this is? I nuzzle into the small area of exposed flesh, sucking enough pressure over the mouthful of skin to make her buck as the taste of her coats my tongue.

A few seconds, not nearly enough, is all she gives me before using a trick I taught her to shove my forehead back and keep me pressed to the mattress as her body leaves my face and slides down to once again settle over my hips despite my protests. If not for my remaining clothes she would be properly riding me and my cock aches with the need for attention. “Hush.” Her free hand presses hard over my heart.

My body has no such reservations and neither does she. Hitching up the loose skirt of her top she barely glances down as fingers sneak between us to reaching pull my cock out from the uniform, stroking the bead of slickness forming at the tip down the length and-! My entire body goes rigid as my wife shows no hint of restraint or hesitation guiding me into her as she seats herself onto me. All rational thought disappears, my mind blanks at the hard sheathing, leaving me gasping, “Fuck!”

“Oh-!” She rasps. Her body is still tight from lack of warm up but so, so, wet. Hidden muscles clenching such amazing pressure around me like she’ll hold me inside forever. My hands keep her body from moving as I fight to stay still. “Oliver…”

I will not lose control of myself. I will not. Have to let her adjust. I can’t look at her, it’d be too much- God damn she feels-! Her hands slide over mine, coaxing me to lace my fingers with hers. Face out of reach, I tense my stomach to lean up and capture the nipple I haven’t focused on with my mouth. Lightly grazing my teeth and a hard suckling draws out a moan from her that has my body aching to move. A small sharp noise escapes after a wickedly sinful roll of her hips and she hisses “Less biting!” I force my jaw to unlock, a hand in her hair pulling her down into kissing reach again.

Simple wriggling on her part is exquisite torture for me and necessary distractions are few. When my eyes glance over towards the door, checking again, she makes a frustrated growl. “If you’re gonna be that distracted-!“ She shifts her hips, trying to roll us but only manages to wedge her upper half between my shoulder and the wall. When I don’t immediately move she nudges impatiently at my arm, “Get on with it, protect my ‘modesty’ already.”

}]}———}>

[enfjdude]

Each enneagram subtype in a nutshell

Based in feedback, I’ve decided to make this post based on my previous one on tritypes.

If you want to read the serious version, click here.

Enneagram 1:

Sp: “Is that… a typo … in my paper?! Oh my gad no no no no no!” *sends professor an apologetic e-mail although the paper was only a draft*

Sx: “Hey, you were supposed to be at my party five minutes ago. This simply isn’t good enough. Next time, you have to set an alarm so you’ll be here in time. And did you shower before you got here? Your hair is greasy. Shampoo is a thing, you know.”

So: “Eating meat is murder. You should really be a vegetarian, like ME.” *really emphasizes me* … *two minutes later* “… What?! What are you saying, you are not a feminist?!...” *cycle repeats with different concepts*

Enneagram 2:

Sp: *at a party late at night* “Wanna go to my place and check out my Pokémon card collection? Wink wink” *actually shows the other person their Pokémon card collection when they get there*

Sx: “Wait, so you are telling me this guy likes me, and that guy likes me? Well, then they should fight over me, of course! *watches from afar with a smug smile as these two guys tear each other apart*

So: “Is there anything you need? A blanket? A hug? A cup of tea? No? PLEASE TELL ME HOW I CAN BE OF SERVICE!”

Enneagram 3:

Sp: “If I can live my life without bragging about my achievements, you can live your life without bragging about your achievements. Idiot.”

Sx: *meets friends at pub* “Hey, guys! Eyes over here! Guess what, I was in the newspaper today!” *hands out a laminated copy of the article to each person in the group*

So: *on a date* “Well, that’s enough about you, let’s talk more about me now!” *explains how they’re gonna be famous and the power of ~dreams~*

Enneagram 4:

Sp: “No no, I’m fine, it’s just a dislocated knee cap. No, I swear, I can barely feel anything.” *laughs desperately* “No, these aren’t real tears. I swear, I can walk it off no prob!”

Sx: *meeting someone for the first time after chatting online* “Man, you are taller than me. Now I wanna cut off your head so I’m the tall one.” *pretends it’s a joke but is dead serious*

So: “Oh man. I’m so thirsty. If only that glass of water was a little bit closer to me.” *somebody finally hands over the glass after ten minutes of sighing* “Oh maaaan, now I’m not thirsty anymore. I’ll never be happy.” *sigh*

Enneagram 5

Sp: *may or may not be preparing for a zombie apocalypse, emerging from their man cave after ten days* “Well fuck, the sun is up. Better stay inside.”

Sx: “OMG, I’ve been playing this video game for the past three months, it’s really great! Yeah, I know the only thing you do is herd sheep, but it’s really fun! NO, you GOTTA try it! PLAY WITH ME PLZ, I’ve been so alone!”

So: “No no, you guys just talk. I’ll just sit here and play on my 3DS. It’s fine, really, I can just listen, that’s okey.” *quietly observes everyone for three hours and is the last one to leave*

Enneagram 6

Sp: “Shit, what if my savings won’t cover my hypothetical car accident when I’m traveling next summer!” *frantically saves more money for next year’s summer vacation to the neighboring town*

Sx: “Is that…. A challenge?! HOLD MAH PURSE, IMMA BEAT THIS FUCKER TO DAH GROUND.” *on the inside: “please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me” *

So: “See, here is the deal. I’m the high school jock, and you’re a nerd! So, get out of my way and know your place in this world, loser!” *also works the other way around* “I’m just a nerd, better stay away from that jock over there. He’s so cool. Wish he thought I was cool like him.”

Enneagram 7

Sp: “So this is where the party’s at?! I hope it’s okey I brought like twelve of my best friends … Whooooo partaay” *is shit drunk 10 minutes later in a stranger’s apartment*

Sx: *during an exchange student program* “OMG I’ve lived in this country for two days now! I GOTTA MOVE NOW! Hmm… let’s see, where have I not lived yet? Uzbekistan seems fun!”

So: *totally wants the last piece of the cake* “No no, you take the rest, I don’t even want it. No no, just take it, it’s fine, I’m fine, this is fine, it’s all good, we’re fine here. JUST TAKE THE GODDAMN CAKE!”

Enneagram 8

Sp: “Hey, you are my person broh! I’ll help you beat up that mean old lady across the hall. Hey, it’s no prob man, that’s what dude-bros are for.”

Sx: “I swear to god, if you ask me to move this couch one more time, I’ll rip out your vocal cords. I don’t care if it blocks the door to your room, this is where I sit and watch Netflix!”

So: *saves an old lady from drowning* The old lady: “omg, thank you so much, how can I ever repay you?” *so 8 just leaves, whispering to self*: “Another day is saved by the amazing Falcon Boy!” *whistles self-made theme song*

Enneagram 9

Sp: “Hey, I’m in the middle of my 18 hour South Park marathon here, please just - do not disturb me please. Oh, and, could you get me another beer plz?” *puppy eyes because they really don’t wanna get off the couch*

Sx: “No no no, I’ll do whatever you wanna do. No, I swear, I’ll do literally whatever, just you name it. No, of course I don’t have my own opinions, why would I need that when I have yours?”

So: “So you really want to go on a road trip, huh? I sorta have other plans, but, sure, I’ll come. What, you want me to drive as well? Okey, fine then … Wait, you’re broke too? Fine, I’ll pay too then.” *is really mad but doesn’t show it.”

[sourwolfstories]

what r some good long sterek fics pls help

Indelible Marks by billtheradish

The house never burned. The pack is strong. Derek will never need to be the alpha, and his sister is a troll. (Actually, most of his family is like that.)

Derek is an apprentice tattoo artist, and Stiles isn’t old enough to get ink of his own yet. But that doesn’t stop him from being interesting…

(This story is now out of buffer, but I will always announce when the next update will be, and am trying to keep to a regular posting schedule. Also, please be advised that this is essentially a rough draft. That doesn’t mean it’s riddled with typos, every chapter is edited, just that the overarching plot and side stories haven’t had a chance to be edited in full yet–but they will be. An edited version of this story will be posted eventually, so if the current length isn’t your cup of tea, just come back later.)

Home by TheTypewriterGirl

January seventh. Seven days since the start of 2015, and seven days since his father’s death.

The bastard, he thinks bitterly. The past year Derek Hale had made it blatantly obvious that he hated his scrawny guts, taking every given opportunity to shove him up against a wall, growl threats in his ears and roll his eyes whenever he stepped into the room, muttering some snide comment about how spastic or idiotic he was.

So why did he fucking volunteer to take him in?

Put Down in Words by paintedrecs

“Oh,” Stiles said, his voice coming out low and breathy, “fuck me.”

“I don’t think that’s on the syllabus, but we can check to see if there’s a spot open in any of his classes,” Scott said, grinning.

“This isn’t an actual professor, though,” Stiles insisted, unable to resist brushing his thumb over the sharp line of the man’s bearded jaw. He was laughing at something off-camera, the shot taken in three-quarters view, his coat collar casually rumpled and opened to reveal a sliver of a simple grey t-shirt. The whole thing was deliberately calculated to lend him a more accessible feel, and god help him, Stiles was falling for it.

*

When Stiles signed up for Dr. Hale’s intro to history class, he had two goals: knock out the credits his advisor was bugging him to complete before he graduated, and spend a few hours a week daydreaming about his sexy professor’s salt and pepper beard.

Derek, a few months away from turning forty and not sure when his life had started feeling so damn lonely, had never encountered someone like Stiles before. Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, determined to throw Derek’s carefully cultivated world into disarray…and absolutely the last person Derek should be falling in love with.

Hallowed Grounds by damnfancyscotch

Everything in Beacon Hills is the same when Stiles comes home from college.

Well, except for the fact that he’s a published author now, Scott is halfway across the world with a travelling circus, Erica’s epilepsy has been cured, her boss offers him a job too, and there’s this weird black dog that seems to be following him around just to judge him.

Oh, and the murders, of course.

But other than that stuff… totally the same old BH.

The Boy and the Beast by Dira Sudis

In which events in Beacon Hills go rather differently from the start, and a Beauty and the Beast (ish) story ensues. (Scott is not a teacup and no one sings about their feelings.)

Love Thy Neighbor…He’s Hot by Triangulum

Derek and Laura seriously lucked out with Stiles as their neighbor. Yeah he can be loud, but he keeps it to normal hours, and he brings them food, they have movie nights, he’s so beautiful, and okay, Derek might be pining. The only problem is, Stiles has a girlfriend. And Derek HATES her.

OR

The one where Derek and Laura live next door to Stiles, and Derek has a completely out of control crush. A Sterek as neighbors one shot AU that got wildly out of control.

The Hollow Moon by thepsychicclam

It’s the summer after Stiles’ first year of college, and he’s working a crappy job and dealing with nightmares and anxiety - but he’s okay, he swears. He makes it through most days without too much trouble. Then, a certain werewolf comes back into town. Which Stiles doesn’t care about, nope, not at all.

After two and a half years, Derek returns to Beacon Hills with his small Pack. Though he tried to move on, something just kept drawing him back to Beacon Hills, he’s just not sure what. Now, he figures he can start building something like a life - but he keeps getting distracted by Stiles Stilinski of all people.

Permanent Fixture by linksofmemories

Derek is Scott’s older brother. Stiles is Scott’s best friend. Derek is falling in love with Stiles. This is a bit of a problem.

Wild Horses by thepsychicclam

Derek’s a drifter with no home, no destination, and no will to live. Stiles works on his family’s failing cattle and horse ranch while all his friends are going off to college. When Derek falls asleep in a random barn, exhausted and half-starved, he doesn’t expect to wake up on the other end of the sheriff’s shotgun. And Stiles sure as hell doesn’t expect his dad to invite the drifter in for breakfast.

Play Crack the Sky by WeAreTheCyclones

Excerpt from “Hale Pulls the Plug on the Future of Rock,” Rolling Stone, Issue 1203 – Oct. 2014“Fans and music industry vets alike are left reeling in the wake of bassist Derek Hale’s sudden departure from Smokes for Harris. At a time when the foursome from Beacon Hills, California seems to be on the cusp of rock superstardom after just one double platinum record, Smokes has everything to lose.”

Excerpt from “Smokes for Harris: Gladiator,” SPIN.com – Feb. 2015“Smokes for Harris gives in a little to the pop punk of yesteryear in their sophomore effort, but rather than pandering to fans of a lost era they elevate the genre in a way that hasn’t been seen in quite some time. Frontman Stiles Stilinski works double duty as singer and primary songwriter and proves that he can handle the task even without former bassist Derek Hale.“

Three Marks by sanam

"And then there was pain again, but this time it was in only three places—his arm, below his clavicle, and next to his heart, all on the left side. It felt like the skin was being sliced apart, ripped open, flayed off—And suddenly it was done.Derek looked across the room and saw the boy on the floor, looking about as bad as Derek felt.”

Derek and Stiles learn that bonding is probably best done with ridiculous amounts of video games and maybe a little bit of time.

Windows by dr_girlfriend

Derek has a new neighbor who won’t stop looking.

Excerpt:

“You’re blind,” Derek said flatly, the anger draining from him so suddenly he felt almost woozy. His vision cleared, his claws sliding back into blunt fingernails.

“Thanks for the memo, genius,” the kid said acidly. “I can still fucking defend myself, so don’t take another damn step.”

“Fuck, I…I’m sorry,” Derek stuttered.

“What?!” The kid’s brow crinkled. “I mean — what?! You’re fucking sorry!?” His lips thinned into a harsh line. “What, is this some kinda Hallmark movie where you’re discovering the error of your ways because you don’t want to rob a blind person?! That’s fucking condescending, man. I’ll have you know that —”

“Just, wait.” Derek interrupted what was apparently the start of a convincing argument as to why he should rob the kid after all, feeling his head start to spin. “This is — it’s a misunderstanding. I’m — I’m not robbing you. You’re — you’re safe, okay? I’m taking three steps back. Just — just let me explain.”

“Explain why you came busting into my apartment? Yeah, go right ahead, man, I can’t wait to hear this epic tale.”

Gravity’s Got Nothing on You by zosofi

“Three weeks,” Derek says.

“Still don’t want to,” Stiles says.

“I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so…

“How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“

“My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.”

“A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.

Dating Backwards by RemainNameless

Pornstars Derek and Stiles work for the same company. Derek only shoots with werewolves and Stiles only shoots with humans. That’s not going to change after they meet. It’s really not.(It might.)

Didn’t See That Coming by knittersrevolt

Stiles leaves Beacon Hills in the dust after he catches his husband cheating on him.

He finds his way to New York where he starts working for the Hale House Nursery, accidentally adopts a werewolf baby (through no fault of his own thank-you-very-much), and somehow starts training to be an Exorcist Emissary. So, in general, life was going good.

Then he hears that demons have found their way into his hometown. Can he face his inner demons and go back to save the day?

No Homo by RemainNameless

Stiles’ sophomore year starts something like this:3 FourLokos+ 1 peer-pressuring cat- 1 best bro to end all best bros= 1 Craigslist ad headline that reads “str8 dude - m4m - strictly platonic”.Derek is the fool who replies.

There’s Monsters at Home by calrissian18

“How did you get past the wards?” Derek had put them up, with Peter’s grudging assistance, after the Alpha pack had made themselves at home a few times too many.

The guy pulled a face. “You mean the wards a five-year-old girl with the mental ability of a goldfish could deconstruct?” He blinked wide eyes at Derek. “Gee, I don’t know. It’s bound to go down as one of life’s great mysteries.”

Derek despised him.

Prince Among Wolves by tylerfucklin

Looking for full day/evening sitter. 2 twin boys age 4. Must have exp. w/werewolves. Must be human. No pedophiles. No teenage girls. Pay negotiable.

Between Men and Lions by standinginanicedress

“I thought we could be friends,” Derek offers, to which Stiles gets an odd smile on his face.

“Friends,” he repeats, an odd inflection.

“Yes, friends.”

Stiles laughs, just barely. It’s more of an exhalation of breath than it is genuine mirth or anything else, and then he smiles. “I’m pretty good at friends,” he says with a tilt to his head, and Derek clears his throat and has to look away.

What’s Best For Everyone, Isn’t What’s Easy by gatergirl79

Derek is gone and Stiles is left holding the baby…well, a cheery three year old named Leah actually. While Derek searches for her mom, Stiles plays daddy. When the sour-alpha wolf returns with his ex in toe, things get strained between Stiles and Derek. Especially now that’s they’ve realized just what they mean to each other

[marvelmom]

Shape Of You

Sebastian sends you a selfie after his workout.

Pairing:  Sebastian Stan x Reader  

Warnings:   Sexual content, Explicit Sexual, Oral Sex, Smut, Dirty Talk, Language, NSFW, Unprotected Sex (wrap it please), Sebastian Stan, Calvin Klein briefs

Word Count: 2,336

A/N: Yes I know I’m supposed to be working on chapter 6 of The Contest but let me explain.  So I was finishing up my first draft of Chapter 6 when Sebastian Stan happened…fucker goes and posts that locker room selfie.  I tried to ignore it, really I did but this scene popped into my head and it would not let me live until I wrote it down. So sorry (but not sorry).  This is a another quickie that I wrote at work so please ignore the typos and the writing.  I just had to get it out of my head so I could get back to Bucky…

Not sure who to tag so I’ll just include my Sebby smut sisters @evansrogerskitten @ek823 and @pearljamkaren 

If you want to be tagged in future Seb smut, just ask…there is more coming ;)  

Shape Of You

By marvelmom

Sitting in the lobby of the gym, you drum your fingers impatiently on your knee.

“What the hell is taking him so long,” you mutter to yourself as you pull out your phone and start tapping out a message.

I’m ready to go, everything ok?

You stare at the screen, waiting for a response.  Your phone chimes a few moments later.

No

Brow furrowed, you quickly type a response and hit send.

What’s wrong?!?

You bite your lip nervously as a flood of scenarios race through you head.  Your thoughts are soon interrupted by a picture flashing onto your screen.

You inhale sharply as you take in the image of your boyfriend, standing in front of a mirror in the men’s locker room wearing a scowl on his face and not much else.

He’s shirtless with his sweatpants slung low, giving you a peek of the red waistband of his Calvin Klein briefs and a glorious view of his rock hard abs.

As wave of wetness begins to flood your core, you quickly compose a message and hit send.

Fuck babe, we need to go NOW

Want you so bad

You let out a frustrated huff and squeeze your thighs tight. Although you had spent the better part of the last two days in bed with Sebastian after he had arrived home from wrapping his latest film, it was still not enough to make up for two weeks spent apart.

What, is biker boy busy?

Confusion clouds your brain as you read Sebastian’s message over a few times; until it hits you.  

Shaking your head in annoyance, you rise swiftly from your seat and make your way to the locker rooms.

Quietly creeping through the halls, you’re grateful for the late hour and that the gym is practically deserted.  After peering timidly into a few of the locker rooms with an excuse at the ready, you finally find Sebastian in an empty one at the end of the hall. He’s still shirtless and standing in front of the mirror examining his lats while he flexes.

His startled eyes fly up to view your reflection in the mirror for a brief second before casting them downwards to avoid your questioning glare.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he mutters as he occupies himself with the drawstring of his sweatpants.

Dropping your gym bag on the bench by the lockers, you move up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist.

“Your fault babe for sending me that porn,” you purr into the shell of his ear.  “I couldn’t wait to get my hands on this gorgeous body.”

Sebastian sighs softly as you smooth your palms over his broad chest and bring your lips down to kiss the back of his neck.  But as you start to move your hands down to his abs, you feel his muscles tense under your touch.

You rest your head on his shoulder and narrow your eyes at his refection.

“Okay Hollywood, spill it,” you say firmly.

Sebastian winces at the nickname, knowing that you only use it when you’re annoyed by his standoffish behaviour.

“It’s nothing,” he assures you, looking up to meet your concerned gaze. “I’m just tired.”

Tilting you head, your quirk you eyebrow, thoroughly not convinced.

“It’s just hard,” he continues, frustration seeping into his voice. “The older I get, the tougher it is to get back into shape.”

Your heart pinching at his words, you bury your head into his neck and hug him tight.  Knowing how hard he throws himself into preparing for his roles, it breaks your heart to hear him sound so defeated.

“Well whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” you nod encouragingly, making sure his eyes are on you before biting down hard on your bottom lip.

“I haven’t been able to keep my hands off you since you’ve been back.”

The edges of Sebastian’s mouth turn up into a slight smile.

“Anything is an improvement over my last look right,” he muses jokingly, fingers ghosting over his upper lip.

Your mouth drops open in mock disapproval.

“Are you shading the ‘stache?” you sniff indignantly.  “You did not just shade the ‘stache.”

“My pussy and I loved the ‘stache.”

Sebastian throws his head back and laughs.

“I should have brought it home for you,” he teases as he draws you into his arms.

“That’s okay handsome,” you murmur as your fingers outline the sharp edge of his jaw line.  “I can wait for the Bucky stubble to grown in.”

“I love my Bucky stubble.”

Sebastian smiles shyly and shakes his head before bringing his full lips down on yours for a soft kiss.

Pulling back, you silently hold each other tight for a few moments before you finally speak.

“If I told you that your looks weren’t the first thing that attracted me to you, I would be lying,” you admit sheepishly as you gaze deeply into his bright blue eyes.  “But it was everything else about you – your razor-sharp mind, your sense of humour, your impossibly good heart – that drew me in deep.”

“I don’t care what you look like babe.  The man I fell in love with is much more than the sum of his body parts.”

“I’m sorry if I ever gave you any other impression,” you whisper apologetically,   appealing for his forgiveness.

The lines around Sebastian’s eyes crinkle as a smile crosses his lips.  Cupping your cheek with one hand, he pulls you flush against him with his other and crashes his lips to yours for a long, hungry kiss.

Breaking apart, you lean your forehead on his to catch your breath.

“I’m the one who should be sorry doll,” he murmurs breathlessly as he kisses the tip of your nose.  “I didn’t mean to take this all out on you.”

“It’s just that I’ve been feeling so anxious about getting back in shape and then when I saw you flirting with that really ripped guy on the bike, something just snapped.”

You’re momentarily thrown off by his confession, but respond quickly by shaking your head in protest.

“I wasn’t flirting with that meathead,” you reply in disgust.  “I was arguing with him.”

“Asshole took my bike.”

Sebastian creases his brow in confusion.  “Your bike?  There were like 10 empty ones in that row.”  

“That’s what I kept telling him,” you mutter bitterly, recalling the conversation. “But the jerk wouldn’t listen.”

“I kept bitching at him until he finally moved.”

Sebastian tilts his head, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Why did you need to have that bike?”

You bow your head to hide the blush that is quickly spreading over your cheeks.

“Uhhh, no reason.”

Sebastian places his fingers under your chin and lifts your head to make eye contact.

“Babe…”

“Fine,” you surrender with a huff.  “It had the best view of your workout.”

“So you were watching me,” Seb smirks, clearly amused by your admission. “Like what you saw sweetheart?”

You smile coyly as you reach out and finger the top of his briefs.

“Mmmm yes,” you hum contently.  “Let’s just say it was very, ummm… stimulating…for my own workout.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen as your lips come down on his chest and kiss a path to his nipple.  

“Did you…?”  The words disappear from his mouth as you flick his nipple hard with your tongue before sucking it into your mouth.

Dragging your tongue across to his other nipple, you look up at him with a wicked grin. “Twice.”

Sebastian groans as he watches your lips work their way down to his abs while you slowly drop to your knees.  You reach down to untie the drawstring of his sweats and work them past his hips until they slide down his legs to pool at his ankles.  

“Damn girl,” he hisses nervously when your hand begins to palm his hardening cock through his briefs. “We can’t do this here.  What if someone walks in?”

You begrudgingly lift your head away from his body with a pout. Looking around the room, your gaze falls on a yellow ‘slippery when wet’ floor sign standing near the wall.  Grinning mischievously, you pick up the sign and open the door quietly.  Surveying the empty hall, you quickly position the sign outside of the door.

Leaning back on the door to close it, you bite your lip and run your gaze over Sebastian’s toned body.

“Where was I,” you murmur darkly as you make your way back to kneel in front of him.  

Sebastian smiles widely and points to his six-pack.

As your tongue begins to trace the deep outline of his chiseled abs, you run your fingers up and down the inside of his thighs, lightly brushing over his balls.

His bulge twitches as you slip your fingers into the waistband of his briefs and pull them down to let his hard cock spring free.

Licking your lips, you swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock to wipe a bead of precum leaking from the slit.  Eyes locked on his, you bring your thumb to your mouth to suck it clean.

“So sweet,” you purr, coating your fingers with more precum and spreading it over the whole of his shaft.  “Fuck, you’re so hard Sebby.”

“What should I do first with this big, hard cock?”

“Please baby…don’t tease,” he whimpers as his fingers card through your hair tightly.  “Let me fuck your pretty mouth.”

You wink as you lick the head of his cock and take just the tip into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the swollen head.  A shiver runs down his body as your lips begin to trace his length from tip to base.

“Did you miss my mouth daddy,” you tease as you stroke his balls with your tongue, gently sucking one and then the other, into your humming mouth.

“Please,” he whispers, exhaling roughly as his lust blown eyes watch you lick a wide stripe up the thick vein in his shaft.

“Daddy missed your mouth so much baby girl.”

A strangled moan rises from his throat when you wrap your warm mouth around his throbbing cock and suck down to the base in one pass.  You feel his body shudder as you drag your tongue flat along the underside on your way back up.

“Fuck!” Sebastian shouts as his shaft glides easily down your throat and you start to suck hard on his entire length.

“Such a good girl,” he praises as his hands gently push your head further down. “Taking my cock all in like that.”

Reaching down, you start to roll his balls in your hand, squeezing them gently before slowly increasing the pressure as your pace quickens over his cock.

“Fuck doll, your mouth feels so goddamn good,” he murmurs, his grip tightening in your hair.  He groans lowly as you reach around and start to massage his firm ass, your fingers dipping into the cleft of his ass and circling his tight hole.

Glancing up at him through your lashes, the sight of his face, overcome with pleasure, floods your pussy with wetness.  As his breath hitches and the taut muscles in his abs start to tense, you can feel he’s close.

“You’re going to make me cum,” he moans as he screws his eyes shut. “Is that what you want baby.  Want me to cum in your dirty little mouth.”  

You hollow out your cheeks and moan around his shaft as you take him deeper down your throat.

A feral growl erupts from his chest as he shoots his hot seed into your mouth.  You swallow every last drop and slow your movements, releasing his cock from your mouth with a loud pop.

Sebastian staggers backwards and falls onto the bench to lean back against the lockers.  He sits quietly, his chest heaving as he runs his hands through his hair.  

You rise from your knees smiling and walk over to him.  He looks up at you with a sated grin as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and lower yourself to straddle his lap. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a passionate kiss.  Lips parting he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck.

“We should come to the gym more often,” he chuckles as he kisses a trail to your pulse point.

You lovingly push his head away and reach over on the bench for his shirt, trying to avoid his attempts to nip your shoulder.

“Get dressed,” you giggle, throwing his shirt over his head just as his mouth is about to come down your bare skin.  “I’m going to put you through an intense workout when we get home.”

He raises his eyebrows in amusement as he slips on his shirt and bends down to grab the rest of his clothes.  But just as he’s about to reach for his briefs, you scoop them off the floor.

“These are mine,” you purr, tucking them into your pocket before heading for the door.

As you poke your head out of the locker room, Sebastian comes up from behind and smacks your ass.  After making sure the hall is empty, you grab his hand and slip out into hall to make your escape, laughing madly as you both sprint to the exit.

Climbing into the back seat of a cab, you lean your head on Sebastian’s shoulder and watch him tap away at his phone.

After a few minutes, you pull away, eyes widening as you realize he’s posted his locker room selfie online.

“Sebastian Stan,” you scold as you playfully swat his arm.

“What?” he answers with mock innocence.  “My girlfriend thinks I look really hot in that picture.”

You scoff and roll your eyes hard as he taps out another quick message and hits send.

“Don’t be jealous doll,” he soothes, bending down to give you a kiss as your phone chimes.  “Wait until you see the one I took just for you.”

[junker-town]

17776: Questions and answers

17776 is a strange, sometimes confusing universe, and people have asked a lot of questions about it. Here, Jon bumbles his way through some answers.

Hi, y’all! Thanks to you, 17776 has achieved more than 100 page views. That’s not a typo: one hundred. It is officially the most-viewed story on the Internet, and in recognition of my achievement, the government has mailed me a ceremonial sword. I am going to sell this sword at the pawn shop, but before I do, I thought I’d take some time to answer some of your questions about the story.

Thank you so for all the questions you sent in. Unfortunately, I could only get to a few of them, but I tried to answer them as well as I could. They have to do with a) the idea, b) the process, c) the format, d) the rules of the world, e) the world itself, f) the games, g) the probes, and h) the future.

And before I go any further, I just want to thank all of you for being on this ride with me over the past couple weeks. Every time I sat down to write 17776, I thought about the person on the other end. I wanted to make something that meant as much to you as it did to me. I hoped you were out there, and you were.

It just might be the most fulfilling project I’ve ever worked on, and y’all lend purpose to it. You’re the reason it means something. Thank you.

The idea

What encouraged you to dabble into longform again? I know you said after The Tim Tebow Chronicles that you wouldn't attempt something as massive as that, but what changed your mind?

- Ryan Kolsch

I didn’t expect to, because I had moved on to other projects that I found really fun and interesting, but I kept thinking about the absurdity of a distant future where nothing much was different. I loved the concept, but I loved the concept of the Tebow Chronicles, too, and I think in that case I prioritized that concept over the actual quality of the story. So I made a deal with myself: whenever I thought of an idea for this untitled story, I’d write it down. And if I ever got the point at which the world was built well enough to make it into a story, I’d go for it.

Over the next two years, I slowly piled up a collection of documents.

On November 8th, 2016, the world’s dumbest famous person was elected President. On November 9th, 2016, I stepped on a subway train and it felt like a morgue. Nobody was talking. At least a couple people were crying. It was the same story at the bank, at the coffee shop, in the corner stores. I had never experienced an entire city full of people whose hearts were ripped out.

The near future was destined to be terrible, so I thought about the future beyond that, the one I’d spent the last couple years thinking about. I thought about some of the most popular long-winding stories our culture had produced in recent years — 24, Breaking Bad, The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones, etc. — and how miserable their worlds tended to be. Everything was going disastrously wrong, everyone was dying in horrible fashion. It was death worship. I really like some of those shows! But they are dread-porn.

I wanted a world to escape to once in a while, and it couldn’t be one of those. I didn’t want a utopia, by any means, but I wanted a world where I could dwell on things that were bizarre, fascinating, and maybe even funny. If I wanted that world, I thought, maybe some other folks out there want that too, and maybe it would make them happier by a fraction of a percent.

So I started to move it to the front burner. Once I got other projects out of the way in mid-April, I got to work.

What was your inspiration for this?

- anonymous

I’m not sure whether this was the intent of the question, but I’ll use this to talk about a few creative inspirations that helped to spur me along. The first, as usual, is Calvin & Hobbes, which brazenly ignored every expectation anyone ever set upon it. Established conventions and rules were nothing more than passing curiosities to giggle at for a moment before kicking down the hill.

To me, Calvin & Hobbes was not really a happy story nor, exactly, a sad one. It was about the struggle to find happiness and hold on to it within a world that is often cold, and dominated by rules and expectations, and arbitrarily populated with cruelty. That definitely rings a few bells within me these days.

I also read Atlas Obscura a lot. This site is a seemingly endless catalog of the little oddities that are scattered across our planet. I didn’t actually use anything I read here in the story, but it did serve as a reminder that there are far more wonders in America than anyone could ever get around to taking in.

About a month into writing 17776 full-time, in an effort to stop myself from working on it 90 hours a week, I picked up The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. It’s at least as great as everyone else says it is. It might be the best video game I’ve ever played. It was compelling in the same ways I wanted 17776 to be compelling: you see some weird structure or mountain far off in the distance, you wonder what the Hell it is, and you spend the next 20 minutes trying to find out. I liked that feeling, and I’m not sure whether it gave me the idea, but I sort of did the same thing in 17776 — I’d incidentally mention some dramatic human event, like the oceans rising, and not even mention it for another 10,000 words.

Breath of the Wild is also about exploration for its own sake. You could get lost in that game forever without even bothering to achieve the main goal. (You might notice that nobody in 17776 ever scores a touchdown.)

How'd you get from "Okay, cool, we're gonna talk about football after 15,000 years, where no one dies anymore, and it's just all about living life without limits," to "Oh yeah, and the main characters are three space probes, two of which were launched before I was born, and one that hasn't been built yet."

- @tbridge

About a year and a half ago, I made my first attempt at really sitting down and writing this (A few thousand words in, I threw it in the trash because it was bad.) It took me way more time than it should have to realize that the story needed to be centered somehow. There needed to some way to help the reader along, and some sort of character to ask some of the questions the reader wanted to ask.

So I wrote one central character: a guy hosting a small-town, AM-radio talk show in the middle of the night. He took calls from listeners around town, and he would tune in to various games across the country whenever something interesting was happening, a la NFL RedZone. I found it to be really compelling -- if you’ve ever driven through the country in the middle of the night and listened to whatever AM radio picked up, you might get it. There’s a sort of quiet, beautiful eeriness to it.

But even then, I decided it wasn’t quite enough. In March, our baseball editor Grant Brisbee asked me if I wanted to write a short piece on the future of baseball. Coincidentally, I had been reading about deep-space probes, and I found them fascinating. I mean, humankind’s most distant ambassadors are technological cousins of Pong. That’s ridiculous. Pioneer 10 is out there right now, whizzing through space at more than 26,000 miles per hour. That’s amazing.

In a sense, I think change is a necessary component of any future. Pioneer 10 hasn’t changed, and won’t for the foreseeable future, so does it really have a future at all, or is it just confined to an eternal present? I decided that it shared that fate with baseball, and wrote “There Is No Future of Baseball.”

Once I wrote it, I sat back, looked at my baseball column, then looked back at my story drafts. And then I was like, “ah, shit. Yep. Let’s kill the future.”

Why football? This is the second project where you've taken the sport and turned it into something recognizable but completely different; do you think it's more receptive to messing around than other sports? Or do you just like it the most?

- @henrydruschel

I see a really clear parallel between America and football: both are beautiful, and both destroy people. This is a recent development in neither case: they are designed to create misery. They are both institutions that I want to love unconditionally, but can’t possibly.

I can only appreciate either if I retreat into fantasy, filter out what I hate about them, and present a distillation of what i love about them. If you distill American into the land itself, and if you distill football into the game itself, and you populate them with the people who make them both beautiful, you end up with a world I find pretty amazing.

A lot of people compare your work to Homestuck. How do you feel about that?

- Tori

I’ll admit that I’ve never actually experienced Homestuck. There’s no particular reason why I haven’t, aside from the fact that diving into a seven-year labor of love seems like it would require a lot of time to appreciate.

If I have the right idea about Homestuck, it shares some things in common with 17776: it’s a sprawling mixed-media project that creates entire new worlds from ostensibly very ordinary beginnings. (One key difference is that I think Homestuck is way, way bigger.)

While I respect the art, Homestuck wasn’t an inspiration for 17776 in any manner. A lot of people interpreted Juice as really similar to Dave Strider, a Homestuck character. Juice actually hearkens back to some characters I helped write in The Dugout, a made-up chatroom in which baseball players make fun of each other, between 2004 and 2009. The serialized long-term story format is something I’ve tried several times, most recently with the Tim Tebow CFL Chronicles in 2014.

The process

What was the process like behind the scenes? Did you write it all and hand it off to a coder? Did SB Nation just say yes to the concept up front or did you have to pitch it with a sample (and what was the reaction)? I'm so curious how it all went down.

- @hemantmehta

I coded it all myself, which worked out fine because most of the code is really simple. I’d originally just uploaded raw HTML files to our server, but that wasn’t going to work, because I would have had no way to link the pages to one another. That was kind of a fascinating problem. Fifteen years ago, when I first started taking Internet writing and site-building seriously, you could go to the back end of your site, look up a page, edit it, and put it back without changing the page’s URL. On our back end you can’t do that anymore (which is understandable, because modern outlets have way more sophisticated means of putting things online).

That’s where Graham MacAree came in. He’s our editorial engineer, and you would not have read 17776 without him. Graham designed an app entirely from scratch that would allow me to dump in raw HTML code and hit a little green button that said “build,” and when I did, the app would automatically construct my code into the proper format. It made my job a million times easier.

Sometime in early April, I sat down with our editor-in-chief, Elena Bergeron. I probably did a terrible job of explaining the idea I had. I at least managed to describe some of the themes I wanted to explore. She got it, and told me to go for it despite the fact that there were some questions about it I just couldn’t answer. I think it’s pretty unusual in this line of work for an editor to grant someone that much room to work. But she did, and you wouldn’t have read 17776 without her, either.

If, hypothetically, Google Earth did not exist, how would you have told this story differently?

- Tom Patterson

This is a reeeally good question. Google Earth was more than just a visualization tool, it was an essential reference source. So much of 17776 is anchored to the map. If I couldn’t do that, I’d probably rely more on making fictional documents — newsletters, flyers, pages of imaginary books, etc. I think it’d be a fundamentally different story.

The format

How did you get started as a writer for SB Nation? It's weird to think that your absurdly existential writing experiments are being exhibited on the same website that people go to check news for NBA and NFL and MLB and every other sports acronym, but it's also the perfect place to be exhibited because of how much more weird it makes your writing. Related question, how much overlap do you think there is between your readers and SB Nation's usual readers?

- @tcipdawq

I started at SB Nation in 2009 as the lead weekend editor. SBNation.com was brand new, and we had to assemble the nuts and bolts before we could move on to other things. I live-blogged a lot of games from just about any sport you can think of. I posted recaps, I wrote little 150-word posts about funny things that were going on. It’s the kind of stuff you see on the site now, except the people who do it now are far better at it. After a couple years passed, I got to the point at which I could attempt the sorts of things I’d been doing online in my pre-SB Nation days.

I really love that this is the place I got to do this. I love to genuinely surprise people. My hope was that I could keep people curious for long enough that they’d get invested in the world and the people in it.

Audience-wise, we’ve seen a lot of overlap with everyday SB Nation readers, but 17776 has also found its way to totally new audiences. That makes me really, really happy.

Why is there a Teddy Bridgewater clip?

- @hoopdata

For those unfamiliar, this the black-and-white animation shown in the final New York chapter. This took place during a game against Cincinnati. Louisville’s Teddy Bridgewater’s pocket collapsed, and defenders were all over him. He was out of room, it was like the ground around him had just disappeared. And he responded by throwing one of the most beautifully-thrown footballs I have ever seen. It fit perfectly with the narrative I was trying to get across.

Teddy Bridgewater is a good quarterback. He’s by no means the best quarterback, but he is far and away my favorite quarterback at any level of football. Watching him is an absolute delight, and football is beautiful because of players like him.

Do you think weird experimental stories like this have a future in sports writing or was this a singular event?

- @Crazyeyesdave

I hope so. Maybe not distant-future sports sci-fi, but that’s only one of a thousand lanes.

I could go really, really long on this answer. I’ll keep it short: There are countless different ways to write, and things and ideas to write about. And the Internet offers a kaleidoscope of different formats, media, tools, sights, and sounds to tell your stories. And most of us are not even trying to scrape the surface of any of it. We’ve got to start thinking of the Internet as something more than a glow-in-the-dark newspaper.

(When Graham read this, he thought I stole his line. It turns out that both of us have independently said the exact same thing before.)

The rules of the world

There is a time gap between 2026 and when nanos were perfected. Given how much they state nanos changed everything was there a significant difference in life in those early pre-perfected nano years?

- Lilly

I’d imagine so. That’s a huge chunk of history that I intentionally left unexplored, because I didn’t really have much I wanted to say about it. There are a lot of elements like this. Such as:

What happened to dogs? (And other living things, but especially dogs.)

- @beccaworby

I just couldn’t decide, because any decision would inevitably carry giant implications that I’d have to spend lots and lots of time figuring out. After a while, I realized it was hopeless for me to try to answer every important question, and I allowed myself to focus only on the details that I needed to tell the story.

The world

Why did you choose Livermore? The lightbulb?

- None of [our] dang business

I first read about that light bulb years ago, and I’ve been fascinated by it ever since. I’m fascinated by really, really old things that still work -- centuries-old bridges are another example. It’s like they’ve stopped being artificial creations, and evolved into natural features of the planet.

Is the computer parts story true?

- @dren_braves

So this was kind of wild. It was an adaptation of a story a friend told me at least a decade ago, which he said a friend had told him. It was so specific and weird that it seemed like it would be true.

Just the other day, someone tweeted to tell me that he had heard a very similar story from a friend. I did some digging, and as it turns out, it’s an anecdote that’s been passed around for years and years. Who knows if it’s true or not? It probably isn’t, but now I’m even happier I put it in there.

Why did Burger King GIVE Nancy money?

- @redheadzeb

Post-capitalist systems are weird, y’all.

What are the duties of the president in 17776, now that war, famine, poverty and death have been eradicated? Also, do now president rules still apply? 2 terms, 4 years, all that?

- @woodmasterfresh

Yeah, term limits pretty much still apply. The office of the President is largely ceremonial. There’s actually an anecdote sitting in my drafts about one President who just woke up every morning and mowed the South Lawn every single day. That’s all he did, and that’s all he cared about doing. He was re-elected.

The games

what has happened to other sports, such as baseball or soccer? have they raised in popularity, gotten more big picture or have they stayed the same? have they gotten weirder as well?

- @k0korin

They’re still around. Some of y’all might have noticed that baseball diamonds can be spotted in various animations and videos. Someone even tried to build a baseball diamond inside of the Broncos-Steelers game. I think traditional baseball is still played, and a thousand variants of bizarro baseball are also played. None of that’s been decided, but I might explore it someday.

If they played football in that gorge for 12,000 years, couldn't they eventually wear the cliff away? Like how water makes a canyon drip by drip, except with football players.

- @monty_ashley

Well dang! Yeah, they probably could. I think we might have to give them a longer timeline than 12,000 years, but that’s a good thought. It’s also unbelievably dark and funny as hell.

Why Seward, NE? That's my home town which really weirded me out!

- Alex

I picked it absolutely at random. Honestly I just spun around the globe and landed on it. In so doing, I was trying to test the hypothesis that would later become Nancy’s: that you can’t go far in this world without running into a story.

To test this hypothesis, I had the tornado throw her in a direction that was also completely arbitrary, found the town of Bee a couple miles north, and read all about the story of Vlad Sobotka, the WPA chief who feverishly stayed up all night drawing blueprints for an eccentric building built entirely out of sidewalk parts. It doesn’t look like anything else within 500 miles of it, and it’s still standing as a monument to Sobotka’s determination to give his builders some work.

Over and over again, over the course of writing this story, I kept being proven right: There’s Weird Shit Everywhere.

do ya think there's any more detmer balls out there?

- Amelia

I really don’t know. I want to think there are a few that have been sitting forgotten in peoples’ attics and whatnot. If there are, it further exhibits what I found to be the funniest thing about people in this world: even with all the time in the world, a lot of them don’t bother to re-organize things in their own homes, let alone anything else.

What was your favorite chapter to write?

- Reesa

This is a tough one. I think the one I’m most satisfied with is the Livermore chapter, with Lacrecia and the light bulb. Even though I wasn’t concerned with suspense throughout the course of 17776, I did enjoy writing suspenseful elements with this one, and kind of juxtaposing it with the most normal, ordinary, everyday shit you can imagine.

The most fun to write was probably Game 27 in Denver. This was the chapter in which I first really came to understand Juice. From the outset, I’d imagined him as a deeply thoughtful, stupendously bored eccentric weirdo who delighted in some of the dumbest bullshit imaginable. Once he had his own chapter, he really let loose.

The game itself was really fun to build. I uploaded a hideous assortment of various polygons into Google Earth, and while doing so, I was satisfied with none of it making any sense. It wasn’t supposed to make any sense. We only really understand two points: the start point of the game, reflected by the normal confines of Mile High Stadium, and the absurd end point. What happened in between? God only knows. God probably doesn’t even know.

I have to bring up Calvin & Hobbes again. In one strip, Calvin begs his dad to read him Hamster Huey and the Gooey Kablooie for the thousandth time. His dad says no, because he’s so tired of it. Calvin keeps begging. His dad finally relents.

Hamster Huey has been beheaded. None of us will ever understand how.

The probes

Why did you pick those three space probes?

- @sailracer

Juice was honestly just chosen because I liked the name, but the real-life origins of the Jupiter Icy Moons Explorer ended up coincidentally being really useful. Juice is currently being designed and built in France, so he has a little bit of a different perspective on things than Ten, who comes from California and Florida.

Pioneer 10 was the one I happened to read the most about, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the final, faint signal it sent in 2003. It’s further out in the cosmos than any human might ever go, and some thirty-plus years after it was supposed to stop working, it let out a message that may as well been, “oh, hi y’all! I’m still here.” And we never heard from it again.

Pioneer 10 looks more or less what you’d expect a space probe to look like. Pioneer 9 absolutely doesn’t. It looks like a beer keg with a bunch of golf clubs sticking out of it. On one hand, it’s easy to see it as Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree, you just can’t help but love it. On the other hand, though, Pioneer 9’s design exhibits a deep understanding of the space it’s in. In space, it doesn’t need to be aerodynamic at all. It defies our aesthetic ideas, because it’s flying through a different plane entirely. It’s too sophisticated for us.

I was also haunted by this sentence from this Wikipedia entry, which has since been edited to a different phrase: “Only Pioneer 9 is definitely dead.”

Seriously though, Nine is dead at the end right?

- anonymous

Nope. I guarantee Nine is not dead. Nobody’s dead.

does nine have any set pronouns?

- Remi

Nope, not really. Some of y’all noticed that Ten once referred to Nine as “she,” which was an accident on my part that I edited out once I realized it. Nine is presently non-binary. That could change someday, as Nine is still pretty new at being a person.

To be honest, I wanted to be able to establish at least one human character as non-binary, but I felt it important to do so completely matter-of-factly. I wanted to normalize that. For example, I didn’t ever bother spending a second explaining why half the best football players are women. Like, of course, why wouldn’t they be?

I wish I could have done the same for a transgender character, or someone who identifies as neither a man nor a woman. I just never figured out a way to do so effortlessly, and I didn’t want to screw it up. I guess I know what I need to work on next.

The future

Will you expand upon the story in the future, or is this it?

- @flowerscreech

I’d really like to! I already have some ideas.

Would you consider 17776 a work of fiction or a prophecy?

- Reesa

I think 17776 might get one thing right about the future: we’re never gonna leave the solar system. Humanity’s technological advancement over the last 150 years has been almost frightening, but that’s a very small speck of time. I think we’ll eventually hit a wall, and that wall will be, “we can’t travel into deep space ourselves.” Too much distance, too much radiation, and too little incentive.

If that ends up being the case, we’ll have nothing to do but solve our problems on Earth. I’m being really optimistic when I guess that we might someday. After we do that, we’re gonna want our games, our art, and each other. One day, we might see those as the only reasons we’re here.