#is it because i'm white and upper-middle-class

[cosmogyros]

It's fucking weird how rude people are about immigration sometimes. And I don't just mean bigots being biased and stuff. I mean that, on a REGULAR basis, people ask me if I'm thinking about "going back to the US". And I'm just like... no? What do you mean "back to the US"? I live in Germany. I LIVE IN GERMANY.

I literally fucking started learning German and obsessing on German culture in high school, then I went to college in the US and majored in German Studies, including two study-abroad programs in Germany, then I moved to Germany for grad school and lived there for three years and worked in various German-speaking jobs while studying, then I had to temporarily return to the US but found a German-translation-based job at the US branch of a German company, and made a bunch of German or at least German-speaking friends in my new US city, and then a few years later I was able to move back to Germany, where I got a work visa sponsored by my employer and a full-time salaried job, and after a few more years I acquired my permanent residency, and soon I'll be applying for citizenship.

And people still sometimes ask me whether I'm considering "going back to the US". Like... dude? Would you ask a Mexican living in the US about their plans for "going back to Mexico"? That is rude as fuck.

Immigration is fucking hard. Why on earth would I have gone through all this shit just to throw it up in the air like "Oh well, never mind!"

[nobodywasneverhere]

i hate being disabled and queer at a time like this.

i sit during the day watching my phone, seeing news. i see my every right getting stripped away, i watch through text on my screen as people get dehoused, arrested, forced to starvation by a system i want to go out and fight, but, of course, i can't.

my muscles would give out from the stress, i would endure pain for a week afterward which would bind me to my bed. i am resigned to talking to people who already agree with me and sending out small messages to the void of the internet on platforms which continue to contribute to the destruction of my personhood in the eyes of a fascist government; what good does it do? i'm still stuck in bed, nobody and nothing has changed.

i can't vote, i can't hide myself from it, i'm lucky enough to be in a place with such people that if truly necessary, i could move to another country - but my friends would still be here, most of my family would still be here, here in the place that wants me dead, that wants to force me into the lowest caste of a system meant for extracting capital instead of providing healthcare, protecting rights, making sure i can live.

and what can i do? i can hope that someone else cares enough to do something about it, but the chances that they would? that enough people would? that enough people could even understand what i go through on a daily basis? i truly don't like pessimism but it seems unavoidable with something like this.

i would make art to show people my visceral experience, release it to fly on fragile wings into the world, make sounds and sketch lines, write and dance and be wholly a person but my neck aches even with writing this, my wrists feel that they have been crushed, and my back threatens to give out while laying on a bed.

i am being demoted to something less than human in the eyes of a horrifying amount of people in the country which promised would give me safety. i am a political problem in courtrooms, i am a pity story whispered between my teachers, i am a cautionary tale to nazis online that say i am a conniving predator and a poor confused child that only thinks they want to put their great gendered body through mutilation, i am words from a strict authority about perseverance to kids who they find annoying, i am anything but a person.

i am kid, a fucking angry and scared kid. i am a person and deserve to be treated as one.

i will scream and fight until the memory of being at peace has long since faded and until i find myself living in that memory again. even if it's just online. even if it's just anonymous text on a screen.

but still the question gnaws through the flesh of my thoughts - what good does it do when we can barely do anything?

[1863-project]

Good afternoon, apparently there was a racial hate crime at my undergraduate school and I'm pissed off but also unfortunately not as surprised as I should be

[ceaseless-rambler]

Raphaella is so Right actually. If I had immortality and a near-inability to find human life meaningful I would also perform so many fucked up experiments. There are several experiments I've already thought of that I'd perform if it weren't for time, ethics, and laws of the universe.

Plus she's arguably more ethical than many real-life scientists.

Real-life ethical violations:

"We're experimenting on this specific group of people because we see them as lesser"

"We're lying for profit"

"We know we're harming these people but they deserve to be harmed and we're using the information to help our preferred group of people"

Not to mention shitty controls, poor sample selection, general falsification of results by p-hacking or cherry picking data

Raphaella:

Will experiment on anyone

Does it for curiosity, a respectable purpose

Would actually have decent fucking controls and truly randomize her selection of subjects and would do proper statistical analysis and use a solid sample size before coming to conclusions

Wouldn't steal someone's work, win a Nobel prize off of it, and then call the person who won him a Nobel prize a moron in his memoir

[dw-flagler]

i'll be honest: i actually think haeley's fault is a clever wormfic. Almost certainly not by design, the story was definitely not supposed to be that, but whatever this is my reading

Haeley's Fault feels like something that taylor would write in-universe. That's how she thinks drug addiction works. Taylor Hebert wrote that haeley's fault one night when she was especially miserable in her first year of high school and then tore the lined paper she wrote it on into a hundred pieces and threw the pieces in the garbage. She still worries that someone will find the paper and piece it together, a full year after it was put into a landfill. She's scared that someone will find the piece of paper behind it in her 100 page lined notebook and charcoal scratch it to decipher her vent short-story.

It literally makes sense though. Like, not only is it not how anything like that works, it also fundamentally misunderstands emma in exactly the right way. Emma in that fic realizes that she's ruined taylor's life, and repents and cries and stuff. As if Emma was simply bullying taylor out of some sort of misunderstanding, or that ruining taylor's life wasn't the point. Her sort of 'redemption arc' is exactly what i'd imagine first-year-of-high-school's fantasy to be.

Taylor hits rock bottom through Drugs, a thing that we know she only really understands in the abstract and fears immensely, and then Emma sees this and realizes that she has ruined taylor's life and feels bad about it.

i'm not doing a good job of explaining this but it really feels like a story written by a bullied 14 year old where she fantasizes about her former best friend and current bully coming to a realization and becoming her friend again

[fatliberation]

hi, i'm a fat person who is just starting to learn to love and appreciate my body and i'm very new to the fat community and all that.

i was wondering if you could maybe explain the term ob*se and how it is a slur. i've never heard anything about it being a slur before(like i said, i'm very new here) and was wondering if you could tell me the origin and history of the word or mayy provide links to resources about it? i want to know more about fat history and how to support my community but i'm unsure of how to start

Welcome!

Obesity is recognized as a slur by fat communities because it's a stigmatizing term that medicalizes fat bodies, typically in the absence of disease. Aside from the word literally translating to "having eaten oneself fat" in latin, obesity (as a medical diagnosis) straight up doesn't actually exist. The only measure that we have to diagnose people with obesity is the BMI, which has been widely proven to be an ineffective measure of health.

The BMI was created in the 1800s by a statistician named Adolphe Quetelet, who did NOT sudy medicine, to gather statistics of the average height and weight of ONLY white, european, upper-middle class men to assist the government in allocating resources. It was never intended as a measure of individual body fat, build, or health. 

Quetelet is also credited with founding the field of anthropometry, including the racist pseudoscience of phrenology. Quetelet’s l’homme moyen would be used as a measurement of fitness to parent, and as a scientific justification for eugenics.

Studies have observed that about 30% of so-called "normal weight" people are "unhealthy" whereas about 50% of so-called "overweight" people are “healthy”. Thus, using the BMI as an indicator of health results in the misclassification of some 75 million people in the United States alone. "Healthy" lifestyle habits are associated with a significant decrease in mortality regardless of baseline body mass index.  

While epidemiologists use BMI to calculate national "obesity" rates, the distinctions can be arbitrary. In 1998, the National Institutes of Health lowered the overweight threshold from 27.8 to 25—branding roughly 29 million Americans as "overweight" overnight—to match international guidelines. Articles about the "obesity epidemic" often use this pseudo-statistic to create a false fear mongering rate at which the United States is becoming fatter. Critics have also noted that those guidelines were drafted in part by the International Obesity Task Force, whose two principal funders were companies making weight loss drugs. Interesting!!!

So... how can you diagnose a person with a disease (and sell them medications) solely based upon an outdated measure that was never meant to indicate health in the first place? Especially when "obesity” has no proven causative role in the onset of any chronic condition?

There is a reason as to why fatness was declared a disease by the NIH in 1998, and some of it had to do with acknowledging fatness as something that is NOT just about a lack of willpower - but that's a very complicated post for another time. You can learn more about it in the two part series of Maintenance Phase titled The Body Mass Index and The Obesity Epidemic.

Aside from being overtly incorrect as a medical tool, the BMI is used to deny certain medical treatments and gender-affirming care, as well insurance coverage. Employers still often offer bonuses to workers who lower their BMI. Although science recognizes the BMI as deeply flawed, it's going to be tough to get rid of. It has been a long standing and effective tool for the oppression of fat people and the profit of the weight loss industry.

More sources and extra reading material:

How the Use of BMI Fetishizes White Embodiment and Racializes Fat Phobia by Sabrina Strings

The Bizarre and Racist History of the BMI by Aubrey Gordon

The Racist and Problematic History of the Body Mass Index by Adele Jackson-Gibson

What's Wrong With The War on Obesity? by Lily O'Hara, et al.

Fearing The Black Body: The Racial Origins of Fat Phobia by Sabrina Strings

[nudityandnerdery]

Anyone who lives in a red state wouldn't be surprised that Dallas said fuck you to ice. But these privileged people who shit on every poor, trashy, gerrymandered "red" state citizen are surprised when poor people stand up for their mixed communities. Y'all think we're all bigots since y'all grew up in bigoted upper middle class communities with bigoted upper middle class families. Meanwhile we're out here with queer, mixed, black, white, brown, trans, gay, lesbian, male, female communities where matriarchy runs strong despite the government trying to obliterate us and managing to turn a few of us against each other and blast that minority all over the news. We've always been more diverse than y'all will ever be and because of growing up together we're also less bigoted than y'all. It's the government and like 2 old geezers that's fucking racist homophobic and misogynist. Not us. We love each other, all races and queer shit. We don't care.

Hey there, boo, I'm gonna just take a second to screen shot something I wrote on that post a few weeks back, just for some context:

So, hold your fire, okay? I grew up in a red state. I know that it's not all shitty people, okay? My surprise was literally that the COPS were saying no.

But, I also want to just take a second to gently push back a little bit on something you said:

We've always been more diverse than y'all will ever be and because of growing up together we're also less bigoted than y'all. It's the government and like 2 old geezers that's fucking racist homophobic and misogynist.

Hey. Do me a favor. Think about something for a second:

Who voted in that government? How did they get into power?

It wasn't just two old geezers, okay? You know as well as I do that there's bigots who are voting for these shitbags. And pretending that rural towns are an oasis of harmony and acceptance is the same stupid shit as pretending big cities are. I mean, let's look at recent electoral results. How did your county vote in the presidential race? Where I live right now, the county went roughly 65-35 for Trump. Hasn't gone to a Democratic candidate since LBJ.

It wasn't just two old geezers who got two votes that counted as 65% of the election here, you know? There's plenty of other people that went along with making the government more bigoted. Fucking millions across the country, rural and suburban and urban locations alike.

I'm not saying "Everyone living outside of a metropolis in a blue state is a bigot!" here, obviously, that's not what I'm going for. I'm not saying everyone living in a metropolis in a blue state is open-minded, either, of course, because shitbags gonna be shitbags wherever they're from- like the Felon who got elected, he's grown up in NYC and a racist dick for decades.

But I am saying that being blind to the flaws of places we love is incredibly dangerous, and that attacking each other over pointless shit like where we live is just feeding into the bullshit division that wealthy, powerful assholes use to keep us divided and from actually having an electorate that could support policies that would help large swathes of the nation, and take away the power that their money and control gives them.

So. Just something to think about. Assuming someone is an out-of-touch big city liberal who hates anyone living in a rural area is about as useful as assuming anyone living in a rural area is a MAGA fanatic who hates anyone living in a big city.

Aaaaaanyway. The American inability to acknowledge how class war is what will doom this country is near pathological. Sorry to the rest of the world that we're gonna drag so many of you into our bullshit.

[lesb0]

Looking forward to your statement on white women voting Trump.

52%. It's pathetic. white (and white passing) women fail feminists over and over again because they're the same as the deluded middle class who believe they are just "temporarily embarrassed millionaires" right?

white women who are completely allegiant to the patriarchy tell themselves, if I'm the obedient lapdog of men, then at least I get a seat under the table. And they do!

These are intelligent, educated, upper class women who actively choose to be a housewife maid sex servant etc to men instead of getting a life because they believe being enslaved is literally easier than making a career. and they want to make that disgusting thinly veiled bdsm lifestyle choice for every other woman, too. listen to what "tradwives" and mormons and the offshoot polysexuals are blatantly openly telling everyone online.

Servants of the patriarchy are just losers, they will never be allied with women. AND as real feminists, it is our job to take them in when they come in with a black eye (and crawl right back under his table when they feel better).

[enlitment]

Hi my name is Jean-Jacques Rousseau and I have a pretty foot, a fine leg, an easy manner, lively features, a pretty little mouth, black hair and eyebrows and sunken eyes which, however, dart vigorously when my blood is kindled. A lot of people tell me I look like Lucius Junius Brutus (AN: if u don't know who he is get da hell out of here!).

I'm not related to Mme de Warens but I wish I was because I want her to be my mommy. I'm a vampire because I seem to suck the energy of every person I interact with. I have pale white skin. I'm also a philosopher, and I live in the debauched city of Paris in France.

I embrace the rustic aesthetic (in case you couldn't tell) and I wear mostly black. I love simple cloth merchants and buy most of my clothes from them. For example today I was wearing a simple white shirt Thérèse mended for me with a black coat and a red velvet ribbon which I stole and blamed it on someone else.

It was snowing and raining so there was no sun, which I attributed to the sinfulness of the Parisian upper classes. Voltaire, Hume and some Encyclopédistes stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.

[max1461]

There are lots of people in the West to whom Western chauvinism is appealing, for a variety of reasons. And it is, in particular, I think, a more seductive ideology than racism sensu stricto for the kind of educated, upper middle class people who end up playing important decision-making roles in society. Not that plenty of them aren't racist sensu stricto as well. I'm just saying, I think one of these things has more persuasive power. These are people on whom "you can't say that, it's racist" simply does not work in a substantive way. They might outwardly display deference, but inwardly you haven't really changed their mind. They still feel that The West Is The Best, Screw (Or, Paternalistically Enlighten) All The Rest. And you should want to change their mind, because like it or not, per above, they are the stratum of society that is going to end up in decision-making roles and if they all think The West Is The Best they are going to make decisions based on The West Is The Best.

Uh, right, ok. There's a lot of defeatism on the left about the general project of convincing people of things; supposedly people's views are wholly predetermined by their material interests and nobody can ever be convinced of anything. Westerners will always think The West Is The Best because it benefits them to do so.

Well, needless to say I think this is wrong. People can indeed be convinced of things, especially on the margins; cf. gay rights as an example of a political battle that has been very successfully fought in the court of public opinion. Obviously not every political battle is perfectly analogous to this, you're not gonna be able to convince Washington people to dismantle American empire or something through words, but on the margin public opinion does matter. And, ok: real public opinion matters. Not just what people say in polite company, what they really feel in their heart of hearts. In my estimation, a lot more people are LGBT allies now, really, in their heart of hearts, than was the case in 1990 or 1960. That matters! But the deal is, I think, that a huge contingent of people are either nominally or genuinely anti-racist sensu stricto, but in their heart of hearts are still basically Western chauvinists. And that effects policy and culture, and I think you can't fix it by saying "that's racist, you can't say it". It will not work. I think rational argument is generally not sufficient to convince people of things, but it is often necessary, and in combination with the right rhetoric and social circumstances, rational argument does in fact often change people's minds (in my experience).

So, the thing is, I think there are a whole lot of good arguments against Western chauvinism, I think Western chauvinist attitudes are in fact not justified. I think we do not have to dance around this and play word games, because our opponents are actually wrong and we can tell them why they are wrong. Not everyone has to be in this business, but I am in this business, on my blog. I think it's important that arguments, not just opposition but arguments on this point actually be out there. Which is the origin of my much maligned habit of, basically, engaging with racists. I mean not that white nationalist anon; engaging with him is purely an unhealthy and probably-harmful-to-the-psychae-of-my-readers thing so I've tried to stop doing that. But, no, the exact kind of people I'm talking about here. The kind of people who become engineers and technocrats, and do not think of themselves as racist but hold these Western chauvinist views implicitly. I think it is important that they have at least seen someone, somewhere, arguing on their terms, in their language (this is the deal about rhetoric, remember) that maybe the West is not so uniquely enlightened as they suppose.

I think, based on my intuitive barometer for The Discourse, that my constant posting on this and related points has substantively changed the tone of the discussion around these issues on this part of tumblr, which, yeah, is I think something. It's really a thing. Uh. I'm not going to stop doing this because it demonstrably works, I think. I think I'm just empirically seeing the whole "don't even engage" philosophy be incorrect. You don't have to engage, but it is quite useful for someone to be engaging.

The people I'm talking about, well, they're people who often take a lot of pride in their intelligence, their ability to know stuff and be correct, etc. etc. And I have found that it actually does work to be like "look, I think you are wrong on points X, Y, and Z, I think you are factually wrong, and here is an explanation of how". When you start telling these people that they are wrong, they listen! Being right matters to them, like, personally and culturally, and so a very basic grasp of communication and rhetoric says this is the issue on which you should be engaging. Uh, that makes it sound like I think caring about being factually correct is a bad thing. No, I care about it too! It's a good thing to care about!

Right, I don't know where I'm going with this.

[deerdoegone]

⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𝄞 some geeky. some from the mid 2000s. some i'm obsessed with. town names are abbreviated.

my waiting room : not much to say about her aside from the two facts that she's where i'd like to permashift to and stay the rest of that aaliyah's life. heavily inspired by the pink palace apartments from coraline with subtleties of chilling adventures of sabrina. whimsygoth decor and things you'd find in a new orelans voodoo shop.

wstpt, new hampshire : east coast vampires in a fictional college town, inspired by twilight, life is strange one, the vampire diaries, and more. embodies late 2000s to early 2010s with emo and indie-twee influences. this reality is of my own, but was HEAVILY inspired by a non-shifting user, so all credit to her and her original work. meet aaliyah doe.

mrcv, california : 2008 ranchos palos verdes inspired coastal city known for it’s mermaid motifs and middle - upper class residents with tons of tourists for the summer and fall months, all trying to catch a real mermaid every year. cliffside homes and country clubs with new york socialites a long way from home. introduction soon.

fame, director and screenwriter : hollywood but i wanna pursue my desire to create. first big film around 2011 at age twenty-one. cult following similar to sofia coppola but not in the lana del rey tumblr girl way. be Normal. inspired by david lynch, sofia coppola, jordan peele, and catherine hardwicke. affinity for psychological horror and supernatural. introduction soon.

fame, actress : hollywood but i wanna pursue my desire to bring creations to life. first breakout role in 2009 at eighteen, probably stole the role of jennifer check. idolized by all, sweetest experiences with fans and peers. starts around 2010, can you tell i love 2000s and 2010s media and culture? paris hilton presentation with fluttershy notes. introduction soon.

fame, youtuber / streamer : dolly aesthetic before it was cool. sorta. entirely decked out in pink, starts around 2019. does a bit of everything? get ready, gaming, makeup, come file my taxes with me so the irs doesn't take my home. bit of everything like i said. introduction soon.

movie, challengers : still building this reality don't ask questions or i'll shake like an anxious sick old dog (jk just ask and i'll answer as best as i can) introduction soon.

television, common law : the final boss against my craving for old bad but fun television. homicide detective. detective work has never looked so trendy. back when beige and brown were the sexiest colors. dark honey blonde hair with platinum highlights that blends into my skin color. bangles and hoops. break room coffee and dollar store cinnamon vanilla perfume. introduction soon.

television, house m.d. : diagnostics team. if a cool teenage girl was also a distant unwell aunt. crushed on a married man. hates the australian. kinda. deserves as many smoke breaks as she wants. attachment to her oncology chew toy. scarily good at roulette and blackjack but shit at poker. introduction soon.

television, my babysitter's a vampire : had this reality before i even knew what shifting was at 14. crazy. haven't tried to shift here but adding it because it is special to me. somewhere between awkward youngest daughter in her human family and the average guilt-ridden white chapel vampire or witch. haven't decided. undead couture. something akin to hannah washington and jessica riley. introduction soon.

video games, life is strange one : indie sleeze before it was uncool. fashion designer with runway model intentions. evie zamora's closet. tragic backstory covered by extroverted party girl persona. haunts the narrative in before the storm. sortakindanotreally friendship with victoria chase. facebook icon. good student and liked by teachers. rachel amber kind of popularity. gossipy. can make really good pancakes, like i'm talking mouth melting, my god. introduction soon.

video games, watch dogs two : ummm pretty hacker girl this reality is very new still but ask questions and i'll answer as best i can!!!! introduction soon.

[jabberwockypie]

I have beef with a lady in my roommate's Weaver's Guild, and I am absolutely never allowed to meet this woman.

Apparently it's totally fine that "everything is crumbling" (her words)* because she's like totally a Buddhist** and it means we're entering our next cycle where everything's totally going to be better really soon.***

This had the effect of making me perk up like a dog who has heard the UPS man and go "CULT! That's cult shit! Cult!"

*I would like to stress that this is an upper-middle class white lady in I believe her 50s. SHE'S going to be fine.

**This should be understood to mean New Age-y yoga cult scam "Buddhist". It also mostly sounds like an excuse for why you don't have to actually do anything to try to improve the world or enact change.

***Not how Buddhism works!

I also don't like her for other reasons - she's been a dick to Other Roommate about other things - but Lynati agrees with me that I'm not allowed to meet this woman.

[blueberryarchive]

The One Were Jungkook;

more slasher!jk

𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨; slasher, 80s, psychological horror

𝙩𝙬; heavy non-con, somnophilia, horror, violence, blood

(thank you to @hoseokshobagi for helping me with this big mess, I love u, shut up)

NY, 1985

The little ol' Brew House wasn't like the bar you went to with Jimin. It was so small that you could feel the sweat running down your back, the ghost of a hand or a glance behind you with every step. There was a sour smell of old, dried beer on the rustic green furniture and freshly disinfected vomit in the corner where Jungkook motioned for you to sit.

"Sit down, don't move."

You climbed onto the cracked brown leather stool, your bare thighs sticking to it like Velcro. A band was playing Iron Man on the other side and it was so uncoordinated that it matched the people sitting there: middle-aged men in blue-collar jobs, women in black leather skirts and foreign students with little money, underworld poets and their upper class girlfriends living the fantasy of muses sitting one their boyfriend's thighs while they discussed Bob Dylan and Williams Burroughs. A green and brown amalgam of sweaty skin drinking warm beer and watered down whiskey.

You couldn't help but compare both places.

Sweaty Joe's was a bar just two corners from the university, it was bathed in colored lights and posters as old as the owners of the place themselves. Red leather sofas were distributed in the corners and those, for years, have belonged to the Maroon Knights players.

This is where you met Jimin, it was your first week and you and Bobby Joe decided to have a beer, you two were new, smiled candidly at each gentleman who offered you another drink. You had never done that in the small town where you came from.

Jimin was celebrating his first winter tournament, his crimson cheekbones and his elegant smile conquered your heart, he let you sleep in his room in the trailer where he lived with his four brothers. His hands never took yours without first asking you, never looked away. You fell asleep so quickly in that bed while the little snores of the quaterback kept you stable, safe.

At dawn, you couldn't even see his face, you spent a week avoiding the hallways where he frequented until you did what your mother did to apologize to people: you baked some cookies. Unfortunately, he was on a diet but he still accepted them, his younger brother would eat them all with pleasure, you offered him a kiss and he let himself go.

That afternoon you lost your virginity behind his secong-hand orange Pontiac, white cotton panties crumpled and drooled between your teeth as Jimin held your calves. You cried so much that he forgot to moan, but your boyfriend wiped away each tear with his wet tongue and his thumbs until his cum fell thickly onto your skirt and his uniform.

The second time was different. What you don't know is that you cooking for him lit a spark, a simple breeze in a dry forest and you were the summer sun. You were going to be his wife, he promised you, with drooping eyelids and your pelvis on top of a pillow, his hands guiding your ass until they collided with his waist.

“I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to buy you a house and a huge ring. Fuck—you’re going to have to stop me at some point because I’m going to get you pregnant every time you smile at me, love. Doesn't Ms. Park have a ring to it?" He growled grabbing your hair to pull you closer to his sweaty chest.

“What is that pretty head of yours thinking about, huh?” Jungkook snapped his fingers at you, placing a long mug of beer in front of you. The second cigarette of the afternoon dangled between his fingers as he waited for you to take a drink, his eyes darting from your chest to your hair. “I saw you look at the ring on your finger.”

“My boyfriend gave it to me a month ago.” You said fixing the thin silver ring, a promise desperate to be fulfilled.

“How very” The boy laughed, choking on the smoke, you held the beer and took a long drink.

You realized that men when they exist in a cloud of promises and anonymity are more fuckable, because now seeing the metalhead in front of you, you just wanted to hit him.

“I don't understand why you keep yapping when you're not here to hear me speak.”

“I didn't want us to move on to fucking so quickly, but if you can't wait, then we'll make a little something in the alley.” Seeing your face blush he laughed again. “I'm kidding, doll. Don’t be so rigid.”

With a whistle, Jeon effortlessly caught the eye of a man nearby. His muscles were noticeably defined, and he sported a pair of square glasses that added a touch of charm. Dressed in a casual plaid shirt, his hair styled like a military man. Spotting Jeon, his face lit up with recognition, and he quickly closed the distance between you.

“Kim, I thought you weren't coming to the meeting.” Out of the corner of your eye you caught a glimpse of the man's slight tensing as his friend spoke, but without skipping a beat, his hand gently landed on his friend's shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"You literally said-"

"No, I didn't. Gosh, give me a break."

Hoseok looked in your direction with a hint of distrust, the creases on his face sharpening with each step you took. You walked closer, his eyes traced your body from head to toe, his initial skepticism fading away the moment he reached your side. Your little shorts and Wham! t-shirt hugged your curves tightly, clinging to your tits like a sculpture of marble.

"What's this?" Hoseok pointed at you and moved his fingers up and down.

"Come, I want to introduce you to my friend. We met in…" Jungkook's smile widened as he tilted his hand. “Well, it doesn't matter. What does matter is that you have to make a place for her in the club, wouldn't you gladly have one of the sweetest pieces of meat of the whole faculty on the team, eh?”

Jungkook looked in your direction again, he knew that the way he spoke caused tremendous disgust in you and he enjoyed it. “This is Hoseok, the president of the archery club. Greet him before he hates you for some reason.”

"Shut up." Hoseok's voice cut through the air as he extended his arm to shake yours, his calloused hand brushing against your skin. His sharp eyes studied your hands intently, examining every detail. "You got weird fingers."

"Is that how you give compliments to pretty girls?"

Hoseok let out a sigh, nonchalantly plucking the cigarette from Jungkook's mouth. With a subtle gesture, he motioned for his friend to approach while bringing the cigarette to his own lips.

“If you want to fuck one of the cheerleaders, find another way, I'm not going to put her in the club, dude.” His failed attempt at whispering, which was clearly intentional, didn't escape your ears.

“Do you think I have to fuck one of you to be part of your Disney Heroe theatre team?”

Hoseok's eyebrow arched, while leaning back against the bar stool. With a confident yet subtle sway, he adjusted his posture, his pelvis shifting ever so slightly, but still managing to catch your eye. A mischievous grin formed on one side of his lips, knowing full well of the effect he had on you. “And why the hell are you looking for me if you don't need me, Barbie?"

"I'm here to let you know that I'll be waiting for you in the green area on Monday at 3, expecting you to hand me a bow and arrow," You declared, a sweet smile playing on your lips like a precious jewel shimmering beneath a cloak of innocence as you deftly snatched the cigarette from between his parted lips. "And I hope you show up with a smile that could outshine the sun and a more decent cologne."

Hoseok scoffed with raised eyebrows, clearly unimpressed by your little rebel talk as you took a drag from his stolen cigarette.

"You do realize you'll be the only woman in the group, right? The guys ain't going to like you, they tend to be very…"

"Terrified of women," Jeon chimed in, leaning against your shoulder.

"Exclusive," Hoseok added.

"They'll probably do a jerk-off circle if they see me in a skirt." You quipped, a sly smile playing on your lips.

The three of you looked at the cubicle where the a few memebers sat, all upper class kids who couldn't get into anything in their lives without Mommy opening the door for them first.

“Whatever, you're not even that hot, they'll live.”

You smiled, turning around on your stool to continue drinking your beer. “See you on Monday, four eyes.”

“Bye, Hobi-Bobby.” Jungkook rested his arm on the bar, his eyes positioned on your profile.

“Do you want to fuck now? I love women who know how to silence men, i'm already hard.”

"Why are you so fucking disgusting?"

"You're the one sitting next to me, you can go now." And he waited. You stayed there, speechless and waiting, too.

"Kim?"

"Who?"

“The dickhead called you Kim.”

“I don't know who that is, sweetheart.”

“Mm.” You nodded. You weren't too sure now. “Are you sure you're the one I talked to that night?”

"I promise you." Jungkook dragged his stool closer to your ear, the smell of nicotine and shaving cream was pleasant, manly. "Are those sugar tits as sweet as that voice of yours?"

“What time did I call you?” You ignored his nutty breath.

“Are you questioning me now?”

"Yeah."

His jaw tensed, biting the inside of his cheeks.

“I'm going to give you some advice, doll. If you want things to go well today, don't question me.”

You felt a rush cover your back, the beer felt colder on your fingers and you were more aware of his proximity. You were in his territory, you didn't know anyone there, you were screwed.

“Can you answer me just one thing and that's it?”

Jungkook moved closer and nodded, his pupils stabbing at your lips waiting for you to say something out of line so he would have an excuse to destroy you with.

“Why do people think you are weird?”

His sigh collided with your neck, a smile woven little by little; you could see stars in his eyes when he moved back. The raw desire to show you why.

He leaned close to your ear and whispered slowly, the urge to laugh drowned out by his words. Both his hands hiding his lips like a child. You swallowed as you finished listening, a long drink to finish the remaining beer.

He pulled out a new cigarette before your eyes met his again.

“So, in your room or mine?” He mumbled before lightning the tip.

“I'm- I think I'm going home.”

"Isn't your home in the middle of nowhere in Pennsylvania, you silly little bun'?"

The man in front of you pouted, nodding with a dejected face when he saw you stand up, the large mug of beer hitting your trembling anatomy. You wanted to vomit, to shed your own skin to pieces, to vanish, to crawl along the road back home like a mass of nerves and to sleep in your bed until you forgot what this psychopath had just hummed in your ear in the middle of the crowd.

But what did you expect? Wasn't this what you were looking for?

That's why curiosity ends up being the cruelest animal feeling. It takes you to the cheese on top of the trap, it makes you look at the sun and go blind, it makes you run through the grass until you fall at the bottom of nowhere. Voices like Jungkook's end up taking you to a seedy bar, at the mercy of God if he is even allowed in these parts.

“Come on, I'll take the bike down for you, then.”

You grabbed your backpack and walked in front of Jeon, stares like needles digging into your shorts.

Outside, his arms stretched out to take the bicycle, as light as a feather.

“I would've take you to college but-”

“I think this is where our journey ends, Jungkook.” Your voice was firm, elegant. You knew when to say goodbye.

He remained silent, one last smile as a gift. "If you say so." His hands opened dramatically to show you the road.

You raised your leg until you sat down and accelerated down the street, the sun hiding on the horizon. You didn't know if it was the wind hitting your cheeks and eyes, but you felt the cold stream go down to your neck. You wanted the road to get shorter in front of you and suddenly you were crying like a lost child, the sharp exhale stinging your lungs, you took all the alleys you recognized and the ones you didn't and you looked around at the desolate sides of New York.

Hiding from the sun your skin grew cold and the sobs turned to murmurs praying that you would return alive to the arms of Steph or Bobby Joe.

But oh, how angelic you looked with the halo of Jungkook's car headlights on your back. A honk chilled your blood until you couldn't do anything but grip the handlebars until your knuckles turned white.

“I changed my mind, I'll take you.” His breathing was jagged, he was sweating deeply, swallowing hard to hide the psychosis.

“It won't be long now and my boyfriend is waiting for me.”

“Don't worry, just load the bike and I'll drop you off at his house.”

'No' was not an answer and you knew that, no one ever said no to him. And if they did no woman managed to keep her tongue to say it.

"Roger that. Thank you, Jungkook, you are a gentleman.”

“Of course, get off the bike now.” He muttered as he snatched the iron from your hands and threw it behind his vehicle.

The trip was lethargic, the music faltered in the car with each curve until you reached a neighborhood of white houses and yellowish lights, the crickets chirped in the safe silence of a suburb. You thought about getting out when the car stopped and screaming until your lungs vomited.

But of course, when you arrived the garage door was open, the car slid across the smooth concrete without a sound.

“Do you mind if I look for a few things before I take you home?” His voice sounded so carefree that you almost believed you were going back to your dorm room. You shook your head as he went down to close the garage door, the darkness consuming your hope.

Your heart began to beat blood so fast that your hands began to try to open your door, Jungkook tilted his head at the noise until he saw your reflection in the side mirror.

"Why you do that? God, you’re so stupid.” Jungkook took your hair in his hands and without much effort dragged you out of the vehicle and onto the garage floor. His hand covered your mouth, his calloused and sweaty fingers undoing the button on your Levi's until they stuck to your ankles.

“It's only once, you have to reward me for the beer you had, you know?” His voice burned in your ear along with the beating of your heart, a light hum of your soul trying to get away from your dirty body.

“Mm-” You groaned as you felt the fabric of his jeans mold between your ass. Moving was in vain, fighting a mere fantasy.

“Just a quickie and then I'll drop you off, don't be so rigid.”

Your body was puppeteered to the living room with dim lights, curved and modern furniture that someone paid great attention to match with the upholstery and the carpet that decorated the floor.

And your body was thrown to the edge of the pink couch, the metal underneath the cloth digging into your stomach, your ass in the air as you felt cold hands remove your underwear. Why weren't you moving? Why did you let this happen to you? What was your mom doing right now? You thought of her chubby body moving around her room while organizing her dresses, folding the flowery pieces and tucking in it away in her closet. Peacefully humming gospel songs.

Warm spit fell onto your pussy and you closed your eyes, the last tear creating a shadow on the corrugated carpet as Jungkook slid his cock around the entrance to wet the entire area. The phone rang five, six, ten times next to you. Beep.

Hello, you are calling the sweet home of Bee, Dr. Kim and Taehyung. We are on vacation in Florida, but when we arrive we will take your message. Bye bye!

Who were the animated voices humming on the phone and why was Jungkook's voice there? You looked at the stranger loosening his grip on the sudden crackling laughter coming from the small speaker on the phone.

"Fuck." The now stranger mumbled, holding your neck with his forearm.

"You got the wrong kid, callgirl." And your eyes opened like a full moon, you looked at the closed windows of the room. “Taehyung, you have ten to hide.”

"Shit." Taehyung whimpered behind you pushing your body to the ground, instinctively you grabbed his leg causing his body to fall to the ground next to yours.

If you were going to die today, you wouldn't do it alone.

"Five, six…"

“What the fuck are you doing, you fucking whore?! I will die if he finds me.” His reddened face dragged trying to take your sudden weight and strength off of him. It was useless. Black Sabbath began to play above the house, reverberating, like thousands of wasps between the walls. “I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please. Let me go."

Taehyung's head reached the kitchen when a worn military boot stopped his movements. The muddy sole of the boot collided with Taehyung's head, making it bounce again and again and again against the wood of the kitchen. It was a hollow, wet sound, more forceful with each blow.

You leaned your body back until you collided with the sofa, your nails anchored in the carpet.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, ple-” Taehyung tried to speak until the boot took the last hit and his jaw hung from his mouth like a toy. His eyes looked back with mercy. Run, he shouted to you with his bleeding eyes, run until you die but run. A broomstick passed through his mouth until his body bounced once more. And then...

So still.

Drool was falling from the corners from having your mouth open for so long. Why didn't you run? Is it that the boot you were looking for so long? Was the cruelty of being curious true?

An excessively tall figure passed through the kitchen frame, avoiding Taehyung's lifeless body. Black was the first thing you saw: the dirty jeans, the leather jacket tied around his waist, the Motley Crue tank top pressing against his chest and shoulders. Sweat dripped from his mullet to his tattoos.

His face, soft and covered in red. His oval nose and thin lips, eyes like a dead deer. Metal surrounding the room like the choir of fallen angels.

It was him, it was Jungkook.

“Poor little thing.” He licked his lips as he held your chin so you were looking at him. “Look at you, so afraid of that fucking-” he growled under his breath, getting down to your level.

"Please don't kill me." You cried, the air was thick, like sulfur around him.

“I didn't promise you that in the call, baby. Did you forget already?"

His hands were delicate under your armpits until he lifted you up and took your body to the furniture sitting you on top of his wide thighs. Your body looking at the turned off television, the curved reflection showed the difference in size. You were a doll on top of that beast.

“Put your foot up.” He ordered as he grabbed your knee to help you put on your Levi's with the softness of a creature in feather hands. "Stop crying."

“I can't, I'm too scared, I want to go home.”

"Pity." Jungkook sighed, taking your underwear from his jeans, wet with some chemical. His tattooed fingers took the flimsy cotton to your nose. Bitter at first and then it burned in your lungs. “Don't try to fight it, it'll be worse for you, baby. Atta girl, just let go, inhale.” His voice was serious, unharmed, like an anesthetic just like the clorophorm. There was no harm in closing your eyes if you were in the great hands of a beast, a mammoth.

"I like you girls manageable, stupid." Was the last thing you heard, a smile grazing your neck.

Your body rose without permission, abrupt. The pain was immeasurable.

“Jimin, she's up!” You heard a small voice in the corner of a familiar room, the sheets rough and thick.

The silhouette of Jimin's younger brother ran to the kitchen. The other two brothers approached the door, their blond heads peeking out. Jimin pushed them until he reached you.

“Hyung-”

“Shut the door, JP. I’m sick of you, just eat your fucking breakfast and get out of the house.” Jimin shouted, looking at his brothers out of the corner of his eye.

The slow footsteps receded and Jimin turned his attention to you.

“Love, no, don't cry. I'm here.”

His name fell from your lips desperately as you squeezed his face, consuming every detail so your body knew it was real and wouldn't squirm like a worm.

“Breathe with me, come on.”

You closed your eyes hugging your boyfriend's neck.

“Come on, I've prepared a hot bath for you in the twins' room.” You shook your head frantically without breaking away. “It's just to get the mud off your body, then we'll go back to bed.”

"Mud?"

“Minjun found you outside this morning, do you know where you were last night, who did this to you?”

You grabbed the sheets and uncovered your body, bruises covering your legs and stomach. The dried mud covering the sheets of Jimin's bed. A scream choked in your throat.

“Its okay, I can change the sheets. Don’t worry about that. Let's go champ, up.” Jimin patted your injured thigh so you would chain your legs around his abdomen. With a grunt, Jimin lifted you up and carried you to a makeshift tub of hot water.

The little beds were together on one side of the small room, a metal tub emanating sweet steam covering the walls of the room in a thin web of drops.

“Raise your arms.” Jimin kissed your neck gently, the nausea returning little by little but you just let your body melt in the arms of the only person who mattered. His eyes shone with the concern of a father, he undressed you as quickly as possible so that the bruises didn't have time to hurt. Reaching your shorts, he knelt in front of you and stared at your tired face.

“I shouldn't have gone to the bar last night.” He wavered his speech for a second as he slowly lowered the zipper.

“Shh.” Your hand fell into his messy hair, he was still wearing his pajamas, what time did Jungkook throw you in front of Jimin's trailer?

The silence became strange, different. You didn't understand Jimin's sudden furrowed eyebrows when he took off your Levi's.

“Minnie?”

“Motherf-” Jimin stood up and hit the wall hard. His body turned around until he was looking at the jeans on the floor again. “That's it, I'm calling Yoongi.”

"What? Yoongi, what for? Minnie, don't leave, please."

"Don't move!"

Your boyfriend disappeared from the room before you asked him what was happening. You sighed with a heavy heart as you walked in pain to the mirror on the wall: a wide, slimy stain extended from front to back of your panties, hickies covered your stomach. The pants fell to the floor and you went to the mirror on the wall.

Your trembling finger curved until you felt the hole between your legs, the whitish and salty cum thread stretched from your entrance to your shocked face.

You don't remember Taehyung penetrating you. Was Jungkook such an animal that he came inside while you were passed out? How could he?

Tears gathered in your eyes as you laughed silently, the pain was unbearable around your waist and legs, pussy still numb and you could only remember the patterns on the carpet.

Cruel curiosity.

[ladykailitha]

Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 9

Hello! This story is moving right along. I'm not sure how much longer it will be but I've finally gotten to the competition part of the story and then we slowly ramp up to the Olympics where the real fun begins.

Some really juicy plot twists at the Olympics I can't wait for you to read. And the ending which I am vibrating to write for you.

In this we have a good therapy session, Max joins the team, and Eddie is a sweetheart. (Which we all knew).

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

~

Steve knew he should have gone to therapy after the first time he tried to get into the water and had a fucking panic attack. But he was newly off his dad’s money and having to work for the first time in his life, he just didn’t have the time or the money to do it.

But now that he was getting paid a lot more as a coach and Dr. Hughes being willing to do the sessions after hours and therefor off the clock made it easier to try.

He wasn’t sure what to expect when he walked into that neat office that Tuesday afternoon, but it certainly wasn’t a forty-something man with neat wire rimmed glasses and curly hair. He had a round face and pleasant smile. He was wearing a nice vest over a blue button up shirt.

Steve smiled and slid into one of the chairs in front of the desk Dr. Hughes was sitting behind. “I thought tweed jackets were standard issue for therapists.”

Dr. Hughes snapped his fingers. “Shucks, I knew there was something I forgot to do!”

Steve laughed and was immediately put at ease. “Eddie said you're the dad of one of his friends...”

Dr. Hughes’s eyes twinkled with mirth. “And you want to know how the son of a psychiatrist and licensed therapist is friends with the local drug dealer?” Steve blushed but nodded anyway. “I have two sons. Twins. My Gethin is everything a white, upper middle class parent could want. He’s quiet, smart, does particularly well in school, straight, dresses neatly. Popular at school, well liked by his teachers. His mother and I are very proud.”

“I’m guess your other son isn’t all that?” Steve huffed, flopping against the back of the chair. He could just picture this kid. Loud and angry and messy. A little bit like Eddie. God, he hoped the kid had some really good friends, because if he knew anything, he knew what it felt like to never be good enough in your parents eyes.

Dr. Hughes chuckled. “My son, Gareth is more like my wife. Loud, fierce, and vibrant. We got him his first drum set when was eight to help him work out his energy and it worked. He’s very good at it. He doesn’t get the grades Geth does, but we go to all his band’s shows, we celebrate his passing his classes. While doesn’t have as many friends as his brother, Gareth has a tight knit group that he can rely on for anything.”

Steve blinked at him with his mouth open.

“I do specialize in behavior analysis after all,” Dr. Hughes said with a tender smile, “I’d be a shit therapist and worse father if I didn’t at least follow what my profession says on the matter.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Steve said after snapping his jaw shut. “I guess I’ve just never seen a parent treat their kids equally before. One parent always has preference especially if one doesn’t fit inside their perfect box.”

“Ah ha!” Dr. Hughes said, leaning back in his chair and gripping the arms of his chair. “The perks about a patient one can look up on the internet is knowing a bit about them before hand. Did you not fit into the box your parents made for you?”

Steve snorted. “Tell you the truth, Dr. Hughes,” he said picking at the skin around his nails, “I don’t think they cared enough to build the fucking box in the first place. My mom was always off with her charities and her clubs and my dad was only there to make sure I made them look good. But nothing was ever enough for them.”

“Do you think that your feelings of abandonment contributed to your trauma in the pool?”

Steve stare at him for a moment, head cocked to the side. He scratched his cheek nervously. “I guess I never really thought about it. I always assumed it was just getting hurt.”

“Trauma is rarely so black and white,” Dr. Hughes said gently. “We’re not going to dive straight into what happened at the Olympics. This first session is really about getting to know each other and deciding we’re the right fit for each other.”

Steve nodded and they got to talking about sports and somehow ended up on Eddie.

“He’s a good kid,” Dr. Hughes said. “A bit rough around the edges, but that is more to due to his circumstances and less to do to his actual personality.”

“I really don’t know him that well,” Steve admitted.

“And yet you offered to train him for the Olympics,” Dr. Hughes pointed out.

Steve snorted. “What’s something you’re good at that isn’t this job?”

“I’m really good at math. Particularly complex equations. My calculus teacher thought I should have been a mathematician.”

Steve nodded again. “So imagine you’re picking one of your sons from school and you pass by the classroom being used for dentition, and the teacher isn’t there. But instead of drawing dick pics on the white board, he’s correcting the teacher’s math. Correctly, I might add. Would you not want to jump in and help him achieve greatness if you could?”

Dr. Hughes pressed his lips together tightly. “And you saw that greatness in Eddie?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said seriously. “If he had been swimming in ‘08, he would have been on the US team; no doubt.”

Dr. Hughes blinked at him for a moment. “You told me you didn’t know him very well, but I think you know him better than you think you do.”

Steve blushed.

~

He arrived at the pool to find Eddie and Robin waiting for him in front of the rec center. As soon as he stepped onto the curb, Robin threw her arms around him.

“How did your first session go?” she asked anxiously. “Was it hard, are you okay? Tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out.”

Steve laughed and spun them both around. “It was fine. It was more about getting to know each other. Testing the water as it were. It was good. He was nice.”

Eddie grinned. “I’m glad you guys got along. Dr. Hughes was telling me and Gare that not every therapist is a fit for every person and we weren’t sure what we were going to do if it didn’t work out between you.”

“Suffer.”

Robin and Eddie laughed as Steve grinned at them.

“It’s my lot in life,” Steve huffed as he let go of Robin and started walking to the door.

“It’s not a lot,” Robin said.

“But it’s my life!” Eddie finished.

Steve’s grin turned into a fond smile. Yeah, he couldn’t get in the water now and maybe not ever, but he had Robin. And if everything turned out well, maybe Eddie, too.

When they got in to the dressing rooms to change, the other coaches and athletes were conspicuously absent. When Steve asked a passing Joyce about it when they got out, she said with a smile.

“I convinced them to use the other dressing rooms on the other side,” she said brightly. “After all they are closer to the pool they were supposed to be using.”

She patted him on the shoulder and went back to where every it was she was going.

Steve rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He cocked his head back and forth. If that was the case...

He walked up to Robin and Eddie and clapped his hands, rubbing them together. “All right guys, a slight change of plans. As soon as Max gets here, we’ll be using the second main pool today.”

“Where is the goon squad today?” Robin asked.

Steve just grinned. “Not here.”

Max came running up to him in a panic. “I can’t fit my hair under the cap! I don’t want to get chlorine in it. Trust me when I say that red hair and chlorine don’t mix.”

Eddie’s eyes went wide and his hand went shakily to the top of his head. He ran his fingers through his curls nervously. “You don– they wouldn’t make me shave my head, would they?”

Steve’s jaw hardened. “If they try and make you, I will drown them personally. Shaving a man’s hair is fucking pointless because it’s going to be under the cap. If you weren’t swimming with one, then I could see it. But as you won’t, there is no need to do it. Robin will help Max do her hair, and I’ll help you do yours, okay?”

Eddie sat down on the edge of the pool and Steve began braiding Eddie’s hair and gently weaving it. He put the cap on Eddie’s head, starting from the back. Eddie adjusted it so that it sat perfectly over the tips of his ears.

Eddie turned back to thank him, but gulped when he realized how close Steve was. “Right. Um... thanks.”

Steve blushed, stepping away to let Eddie slide into the pool. Robin and Max followed close behind. Steve got up on the lifeguard chair and pulled out his clipboard.

“Since Max is going to be learning the different types of strokes,” he said brightly, “we’ll have Eddie demonstrate each one and then I’ll rate them. And while I’m talking to Eddie, Robin can help Max learn the first one.”

“Sure thing!” Eddie chirped happily. He tussled Max’s cap and she pushed him off of her. “Just you watch me, Red. I’ve got this in the bag.” He looked up at Steve. “Which one do you wanna try out first, Coach?”

“Backstroke is what you’re best at,” Steve said with a smile. “Go on, showoff. I know you want to.”

Eddie grinned and then wadded over to the second line, ducking under the floaties. He pulled his goggles over his eyes, then looked up at Steve, giving him a thumbs up. Steve blew the whistle and off Eddie went. Robin talked Max through everything Eddie was doing and the mechanics of it all. When Eddie touched the return plate he looked up at Steve.

Steve pressed the button on his stopwatch. “Not a bad time and your form was really good.” He then gave Eddie scores on his technique and style, Eddie nodding along.

“Translate!” Max snapped at Robin, causing the two men to snap their heads up to look at her.

Steve blushed in embarrassment as Eddie grinned at her.

“Sorry, Max,” Steve murmured. “It’s been so long since I’ve had a person to talk swim with since– well, since before Tommy decided to shove a stick up his ass.”

Max’s eyes went wide with gleeful surprise at Steve swearing. He wasn’t allowed swear at children so the kids had never heard his more colorful language.

“Steve!” she said in awe. “There are children present.”

Steve laughed. “Like you don’t swear the worst of them. Well, all except Dustin. That kid has the worst potty mouth.”

“Oof,” Robin said with a wince. “I’d say he swears like a sailor, but I think even sailors would blush at his language.”

Max cocked her head to side and then nodded. “Yeah okay. He’s worse than I am. But barely. Like I’m better at coming up with insults then he is. He usually just resorts to ‘your mom!’ when he can’t think of anything.”

“That’s a preeetty piss poor insult,” Eddie cackled. “Like does he even know your mom?”

“I think he does it because his mom is a literal saint,” Robin said solemnly. “Like she always brings us donuts or homemade muffins. No one would dare say it back to him lest the lose access to the most delicious baked goods in existence.”

Eddie eyes went wide. “Those triple chocolate muffins were hers?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve said, nodding. “She can’t decorate for shit, so her cakes aren’t pretty to look at but they are so good you forget the icing was starting to slip off one side a bit.”

“That’s because she gets too excited to share it,” Max said with a fond eye roll, “so she doesn’t wait for it to cool down enough before she starts frosting anything.”

“Right, right,” Eddie said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, “note to self never insult Dustin’s mom. Got it.”

Steve nodded seriously. They got back to swimming and were wrapping up when the goon squad arrived.

They were on their way out, laughing and talking. About what Steve couldn’t make out. Then someone bumped Steve’s hip sending him toward the pool. He let out a shriek of unequivocal terror and squeezed his eyes shut, fearing the absolute worst.

But the splash never came. There was no rushing of water, no feeling of enveloped and choked by the waves. All he felt was cold arms holding him tightly to a broad, flat chest. One that as very wet and very, very naked. His arms were trapped between his chest and the person holding him, but he didn’t struggle.

He leaned into the touch, his eyes still squeezed shut, his heart racing behind his ribs. The arms began moving gently to stroke his back as muttered phrases slowly brought him round again.

He opened his eyes to stare directly into the warmest brown eyes he had ever seen. It was like when he woke up from his panic attack.

“There you are, big boy,” Eddie murmured. “I’ve got you.” He brushed Steve’s hair gently out of his face.

That’s when he realized that there was screaming going on around them.

“I don’t care who your father is, Hannah,” Joyce was shouting, “until he signs my paychecks, I’m in charge here and had Steve fallen in, he could have you charged with assault.” The girl turned pale and immediately everyone shut up. “That’s right, pushing someone in a pool is so dangerous Steve would have every right to have you arrested. Now get out of here.”

After everyone made sure Steve was okay, Robin walked him to the car and shoved him into the passenger side. As she slid behind the wheel she said, “It’s a good thing Eddie had such fast reflexes.”

“Yeah.” And all the way home, Steve thought about those arms wrapped around him, keeping him safe.

~

Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Tag List: CLOSED

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10- @aol19 @eriquin @tartarusknight @gloomysoup @morallyundefined

[ihaznoclue]

Practise makes perfect

This is basically what happened at my camp while doing archery, Like I sucked at it until my friend came to help me you know to stand right and how to shoot the arrow

But in all seriousness It was quite fun but I kept missing

Camp was fun but a bit boring but HEY I'm back now!

Pairings -> Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

Warnings -> None

Note -> Basically him helping you get better at Archery

Genre -> Fluff

Katsuki Bakugo

It was chill morning, it was around fall season which is your favorite season to practise archery in, not too cold nor too hot

You got up extra early this morning to get ready for the day, you needed to practise your aiming because of a big event that was happening soon in 2 weeks and you wanted to be perfect

So you quietly got up around 5 am to begin getting dressed and getting your bow and arrows

You did have a little secret place that you practised in, a little spacious area that is perfect for your practise

You also had you own little board that had the white, black, blue, red and yellow parts the middle being the bullseye

Now all you needed to do is just go down the elevator without anyone knowing even your boyfriend Katsuki Bakugo

He was quite serious about you, always making sure you eat, drunk water and most importantly had a sleep of 10 hours

But you never did, you only had 4 hours of sleep since you were quite busy doing homework and other stuff and you weren't tired at all but later on in class you'll be sleeping

You were now in the elevator and you went down a floor, the doors opened as you quietly keep moving to go outside, opening the front doors of the dorms building as you started to run to your spot

Not knowing a certain someone was awake to go on his morning run..

Finally you were at your spot, getting everything ready as you pulled up the board, pinning it to the ground

Getting your bow and arrows ready, now it was time to practise

It has now being 30 minutes of you missing, you started to get impatient

"Oh come on! Why do I keep missing the board?!" You yelled out, making some of the birds fly away from your screaming

"Maybe because your standing wrong dumbass" A voice called out which make you go pale

You turned around to spot your boyfriend which gave you relief but still terried if he was going to yell at you, he was dressed into his uniform, his hair slight wet

Maybe he had a shower or something

He looked cozy as well with his scarf and jacket "here let me help you" He said as he walked over to you, getting behind you as he wrapped around you

"Hold the bow up, yep like that" He spoke into your ear, which gave you a slight chill on your spine

"You're standing wrong, move your feet pointing to your right and then spread them out a bit" He said, you then looked down to see your feet pointing straight forward so you moved them to point right as well as spreading them

"Now move your upper body to the right as well, but don't move your head"

You followed his instructions "There you go, now all you have to do it look forward, keep your eye on the bullseye but first get an arrow on your bow"

You took the arrow from him as you placed the arrow on the bow "Now bend your arm back but keep the one holding the bow steady, keep three fingers on back of the bow"

You took a breath in as you look forward "Now, pull your back arm back, yep just like that"

You did everything you could to kept yourself steady, keeping an eye on the board as you pull the arrow back as far as possible

"Now shoot whenever your ready"

You felt his presence leaving from behind you, the grass crackling under his shoes

A gushed of wind blew past and you then shot your shoot, releasing the arrow as it left the bow in a instant

The arrow spun a little as it went straight to the board, Hitting the yellow spot which caused you jump in joy

"Yes Finally!" You yelled out

You heard clapping behind you as Bakugo had a huge grin on his face, you ran up to him and you hugged him in surprise

"Woah Easy I might fall" He chuckled, you were repeating the word 'Thank you' over and over again

"Thank you! I can just kiss you"

"pfft oh reall-"

There you did in fact kissed him which caused him to kiss you back as he wrapped his arms around you, you felt his warm embrace comforting

Pulling back as you shivered a bit from the wind that blew past you, you totally forget your uniform jacket with you

You then felt a soft fabric on your shoulders as you look up at your boyfriend, who had a blush on his face

You smiled up at him and you stepped on your tippy toes to kiss him on the kiss

"Come on let's head back"

-A<3

[tiathecreator]

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ so american ( hobie brown ) !

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎.𖥔 ݁ ˖✎ᝰ synopsis — " he laughs at all my jokes and he says i'm so american. " blk reader.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ࿐ ࿔*:･���contains — ooc (?) hobie, fluff, swearing, atsv!hobie brown, hobie is taller than you no matter what, very very slight.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ tia speaks — because nobody told olivia to write such a cute song like my goodness. i love this song so bad ( almost as bad as i love accented men ) so i had to write a piece inspired by it ! i am also using this to be a complete feminism nerd and i almost wrote something similar with another olivia song lol. i totally recommend reading this whilst listening to 'so american' by olivia rodrigo !! happy reading !

despite his punk exterior, hobie is the best boyfriend you've ever had.

you'd first met hobie when you were selected to speak at a diversity conference in london. you were studying abroad in the middle of your second year of university, using the excuse of 'furthering your education' to read authentic european literature and cross of some of your bucket list. he was doing his usual routine when he swung by a billboard advertising the conference. he decided to check it, never one to shy away from social politic discourse. he stopped by a few panels, taking a liking to the minority in leadership panel, before stopping by the gender and intersectionality panel.

hobie's eyebrows rose as he watched you prepare yourself for your own presentation. you were dressed in business professional with the best shaped afro hobie had ever seen. his pulse quickened as you sent the moderator a ready smile before you began speaking.

and you were so american.

your charisma was enchanting, gracefully demanding the attention of the room. you engaged with the audience as you presented, throwing in small jokes here and there to keep the crowded attentive. he even imagined your expression becoming the slightest bit bashful as he caught your eye. you ended your presentation with another dazzling smile and an adorable tilt of your head at the sound of the applause filling the room.

he was even more impressed with your ability to answers questions on the fly. it was as if you thought of every possible questions and came up with perfectly calculated answers for each of them.

"i have a question for y/n. you mentioned white feminism and black feminism as two separate movements due to the lack of inclusion of marginalized women and their concerns. does that mean that you believe that white women are inherently racist?" a commentator asked. a furrow found its way in between your brow before you answered.

"no, i called it uninclusive because i meant it did not include the needs of women who were not upper class, able, educated, white women. black feminism can include women who are not black as it's an umbrella term of sorts. it serves to uplift and represent the underrepresented and unite all feminists, not imply that all white women are racist because of one social group. there are some wonderful white women who can acknowledge their privilege and use it to uplift us all as a united front rather than living in their individual comfortability. thank you for your question."

after your panel concluded, hobie found himself searching for you in the crowd of spectators. he eventually found you holding a bouquet of flowers from the moderator as you put away your things. he casually made his way to you, slipping through the ocean of bodies before standing behind you.

"would've gotten flowers if i had known someone as smart as you would be presenting here. however, i doubt i'd be able to find anything as beautiful as you, ms. america," he charmed, immediately gaining your attention as you turned to him.

"i take it that you liked my presentation," you mused, smiling up at the man before you.

"liked it so much that i'd like to hear it again. maybe over a meal some time, yeah?"

your cheeks stung from how wide you smiled as you punched your number into his phone, telling him to text you the details.

you guys hit it off as your personalities, morals, and routines meshed almost perfectly. you finished your educational responsibilities around the same time he finished his internship, leaving the two of you with enough time to see each other at least three times a week, excluding your weekend.

he's so attentive as he remembers everything about you, including things that you mentioned offhandedly. you'll expect him to pay it no mind until he says or does something that showed you that he was in fact listening to your every word.

and he's so soft with you. underneath your boyfriend's unapproachable persona was a man who was putty in your hands. he melts into your embrace, hands gently cupping your face as he laid a breathless kiss on your lips. he was always touching you when he was in your presence. he usually opted for the casual arm hooked across your front as he rested his chin on your shoulder. it was the perfect height for you to whisper all of your jokes into his ear, ensuring that he didn't miss the chance to indulge in your humor.

you actually guessed that he was the esteemed spider-punk after having rescued you from a mid-evening robbery. you noticed the stature of the hero looked familiar as you watched him swing through the air.

"what happened here?" you asked him one lazy morning, pointing to the bruise forming on his shoulder.

"i slipped in the shower," he mumbled, pulling you closer to him as he tried to go back to sleep.

"are you sure it had nothing to do with that pole the news showed you being flung into?" you mused.

"how'd you figure?" he asked, eyes now open as he looked down at you with a tired grin.

"what kind of girlfriend would i be if i didn't know my boyfriend when i saw him?" you replied, planting a kiss on the corner of his mouth. "plus i’ve tripped over your beat up sneakers enough times to recognize them."

"sneakers," he said, copying your accent. he let out an amused gruff after you painlessly slapped his arm. "you're such an american."

he made the effort to join you for your public demonstrations, only stepping in when someone got mouthed off at you too much for his liking, knowing that you could hold your own but preferring if you didn't have to. he read all of your favorite books as well as any pieces that you mentioned to him. he participates in most of your hobbies, even picking up a few and calling them his own.

he even calls your mom, asking her how she had been since the last time he had the chance to ask. she was more excited to see him the first time you visited since meeting him. she tried to treat him as a guest, but he was set on helping her around the house, taking care of any odd problems she had.

you might just have to marry him if he keeps this shit up.

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