#me in literally the last fuckin days of pride month: I DID IT A PRIDE GIFSET I DID IT ITS HERE

[defiant-firefly]

Okay so I’ve been back from Pride for a few hours now and. I’m calling it now, my voice is not gonna work tomorrow lmao I was talking to so many people for so long it was great

Like, the show was great, the acts were a bit hit and miss but honestly I feel kinda bad for some of them given how awful the wind has been but you know, they did great all things considered. It really was fuckin’ wimdy like maaaan. Loads of such nice people to talk to, and the companies that sponsored it literally did not pull punches like I know we talk about companies being performative or whatever but like. They did not half ass this holy shit?? They even made the fuckin’ lawnmowers gay whadda hell?? Oh and some of these people had the best rainbow hats like they had felt rainbow cowboy hats and fedoras, and then dresses of mixed flags, and flag capes and shit it was so fuckin’ cool.

And you know what? Everything was so fuckin’ cheap???? In a world where everything is so stupid expensive I got ten sugar donuts for £3 which is honestly ridiculous. Burgers and shit were the same and they were huge??? I only had the donuts there were too many there for me so I went around some of the cool stall holders I’d spoke to and got them to take a few from me they were so good. Speaking of stall holders, my old PE teacher from school was one???? For one of the charities there???? She was a fun teacher but I swear it was like Perry the fucking Platypus. She took her sunglasses off and suddenly I knew exactly who she was as if we hadn’t been talking for a few minutes already and then she immediately clocked onto who I was and it was just crazy that is the last place I expected to see her and the last person I expected to see at Pride of all things. She gave me free flowers because I kept losing on the tombola lmao

But yeah for reals everything was so cheap and often straight up free like I feel like I robbed some of these people what. And you know what? Two of the stalls sold phone charms despite modern phones not having a thing for those anymore. Not a problem for me though, I use an MP3 Player still and let me tell you... the audible gasp I got when I pulled it out of my pocket like ‘oh will it work on this?’. Guys people love the MP3 player apparently. Old tech for the win.

I’d say babys first Pride Event was a success that was great. Happy Pride Season and happy first day of Disability Pride month!

[dancing-to-architecture]

20 - ZZ Top - Eliminator (1983)

Ah, ZZ Top. The Houston blues-rock band known for spinning fuzzy guitars and big ass beards, except for the one guy who's last name was actually "Beard".

Having existed in America during the 80s and 90s (and having lived in Houston itself for a year and half) of course i know their hits (and i can see a few here) but I'm kinda excited to hear the deeper cuts.

Speaking of ZZ Top's deeper cuts: i got to see these guys live at Bonnaroo, but i don't think they quite got the point of Bonnaroo. Typically, if you're there, you're playing the hits. The Big Numbers. The ones you know everybody there is gonna be able to sing along to.

Over the course of 45 minutes, they didn't play a single song i could recognize.

I don't have an ounce of shame in saying that yeah, I left that set early and went to a different stage to watch The XX right as they started playing Intro.

Easily one of the better calls i made at that festival.

•Gimme All Your Lovin'-

Such a simple but effective drum beat. No frills but it doesn't need 'em.

Aggressively horny lyrics, but it feels almost campy with how straight they're delivered.

"If i blow my top, will you let it go to your head?" At the risk of sounding like John Waters for a moment, i think the world needs more barely-disguised lyrics about getting a blowjob, especially these days where it really seems like everybody's horny but nobody fucks.

"You got to pack it up, work it like a new boy should." Happy pride month, y'all.

•Got Me Under Pressure-

This girl sounds FUN AS HELL. I'm reminded of Sheryl Crow here: "are you strong enough to be my man?" (Yeah i know that's not what that song is about but play with me in the space here.)

•Sharp Dressed Man-

1000% the first song that comes to my mind when i hear "ZZ Top".

Also 1000 is likely the number of times I've heard this song in my 38ish years on this rock.

That riff still kicks all kinds of ass though.

Audience participation section: which movie's "main guy wearing a bunch of different suits for 5 seconds each" changing-room montage do YOU think of when you hear this?

(Correct answer: it's literally the background song for every. single. one. since this album came out.)

Also white gloves and looking for love...that's... certainly a look.

•I Need You Tonight-

I fucking love this song!

Oh wait, shit, no I'm thinking of INXS.

Jokes aside, i really like the echoing guitar tone.

Pretty solid bluesy "i miss my woman" song. If this album wasn't already stacked, I'd say this could have been a single.

And that solo, though!

•I Got The Six-

Before this one started, i was wondering what the six was referencing. A six pack of beer? I got your back? HAHAHAHA NOPE.

"I got the six, gimme your nine!"

Again, more songs about blowjobs! Sixty-nining, even!

And also, if you're attracted to women and you don't/won't eat pussy, know that i have lost some respect for you.

Horny as hell song, but it gets a nod of overall approval especially since the end is kinda hilarious.

•Legs-

ATTENTION META: 40 years ago, the bearded ones taught us all about the importance of having Legs and knowing how to use them. Y'all had no fuckin excuse for your floating torso mananangal-wannabe bullshit.

This song goes so fucking hard. At least 35% harder than a song about legs should go. I hate that it fades out during the solo, though. Let that man cook!

•Thug-

I know, I KNOW this album came out at least a decade before the show did, but that slap bass just feels Seinfeld-y. Funky, but Seinfeld-y.

Also, calendar check: June 21 is Thug Day, i guess. Remember to keep your machine guns and money secure, and bust your friends out of jail!

•TV Dinners-

Know what? I can appreciate that Billy and/or Dusty sings about processed microwaved slop with the same exact amount of gusto and dedication that he does about the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

Otherwise it's basically a novelty song, imo. I can't believe it was a single.

•Dirty Dog-

Ah, the flip side of aggressively horny: the creepy/gross/misogynist angle. God forbid a woman does anything.

Also this really sounds like a ZZ Top b-side. It literally sounds like 4 of their other songs put in a blender for a while.

•If I Could Only Flag Her Down-

The misogyny continues and deepens.

In lieu of a review for this song, here's a lyric:

"I just want to crash her/

I just want to trash her."

And here's the vomiting emoji 20 times:

🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮🤮

•Bad Girl-

"Praise kinks DNI": the song. I feel like i need a shower after hearing this.

Well, the second half of the album sucks some real shit, but Legs is still a banger. It's pretty easy to see why the deep cuts stay deep, though.

And, like many, many albums I've heard before: after the first 5 or so songs, it's just time to put on a new album.

Favorite Track: Gimme All Your Lovin'. 100%.

Least Favorite Track: If I Could Only Flag Her Down. I'll spare you another 20 vomit emojis.

[that-kid89]

03.26.2024

numb the pain. <- song of my day

but like a happy day for me? tbh definitely ended on more of high note, a spark of hope after being unemployed for a week now.

i feel like i could write 15 sentences at the same time right now.

madness, insanity, sickness, disturbed, panic.

ecstasy, highs, journeys, toys, wanderlust.

modest, numb, emotional, passive.

literally just writing random words that pop in my head. feels like gonzo clarity. check me if it's narcissism. too much pride.

daily average for screen time on my iphone is 3.5 hours for the 3 days this week.

read and skimmed all the back to my opener post. i initially felt bad, sad, and let down. reading my thoughts of love for heather, but more so my feelings towards my self. talking to myself in this blog, scolding him nearly. listing my needs and realizing where i sit that i made not one attempt at getting those things. were they really needs or just fantasies though.

kinda feelin like fuck all that shit. maybe its the beers and esteem boost from my first hearing back on one the applications i sent out in the last 7 days.

whats always wild to me, is how i can drift off into my dreams, when i'm awake. the rare night where i just daydream and not even sleep. its so crazy to me, and i dont recall talking about that seriously with someone. wish i did with heather. but also the stimulation i get from twist my hair into knots. sometimes it hurts so good. but i get mad when it's really knotted, and i gotta rip it apart, usually with hair being ripped out. insane.

talking about today now. woke up late, but earlier than i thought after falling asleep around 3am. tried not to drink but caved last night and had a few swigs of casamigos followed by a lovely beer. technically counts as today! well i suppose only the events beginning at 12:00am. fuck it, yeah so i woke up, and funny i keep checking my phone for all kinds of notifications. first thing i read was a message from christian on insta about the boat hitting the bridge in baltimore. this is recent to the mass shooting in russia, god damn dark news. still seeing a bunch of posts about necann. i'm glad i've been to events, but felt i had no place going this year. i don't think i've been when working in the industry, but definitely when i was younger. took a much needed shower today and trimmed up. then went to whole foods and petco. nearly bought the exact same things from each store, from i got yesterday. took the amg out though, and always get excited to drive that beast. let it warm up right, cold start was rowdy as always. deffs got some good pops and bangs. fuckin car is so quick too, and so exhilarating. however i did get this great beer as well called "termination". spent a lot of time looking at crafties to get, and ultimately chose this one although it being a triple ipa. 10% abv and damnnnn smooth. i'm on my second one tonight. sipping out the duvel big round chalice that i got from an xmas yankee swap one year. but anyway, getting a hit back on an application from only yesterday was an esteem boost. seems like a company tha could really use my help, and that they'll have a lot of work cut out for me. falling in love a bit quick as i do my homework on them. keeping in my mind that its only a teams meeting planned for next week but was still the first i've heard in a week. this last week has felt like freedom. but also emptiness. i do miss my last job, and still trying to get a good understanding of how it ended. but it feels a lot like the lat time heather and i broke up. i had reached my breaking points with them months ago, and never recovered. but they cite a recent mishandling of a heroin related customer incident at the store, which i can see how they perceive as mishandling, but damn it really felt good to get fired. i just walked out they of my term. instant relief, not much to finalize with them either. anyway

running out of steam with my writing. im glad i did. btw, song of the day came from nowhere. i somehow had the song stuck in the head, and i searched a rough idea of the lyrics with xxxtentacion and nailed it. i've had it on repeat all day since. had it on loop in the car, and had it on loop during this whole session. a classic way i've listened to my favorite x songs, a repetitive lyric design with just guitar chords or sample. feel like he's here with me, just sharing his emotions with me.

came to love his music after a distinct memory of mine, being when i shurgged off his death as i read him to be an abuser in his relationship. came to realize he had remorse in his actions, and was on a mission that i never would found out myself. this girl told me he was one of her favs, and that's when i got into him. his music still took time to grow on me, but ive now listened to most of his music, and i think all of his albums, all the way through, multiple times. 17, ?, skins, bad vibes forever, and some of his early stuff from mixtapes and singles. but yeah, quite a learning and growing experience. ending sentences on the 4 beat, or like a significant strum or beat, just feels so good.

rest in peace jahseh.

thank you for helping me open up my mind in so many ways.

here's to me, and the life i've lived and will continue to complete. excited to see where life takes me. for now, a nostalgic night of no responsibilities, weed and beer.

signing off.

[thesorrowoflizards]

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH to MAGNUS BANE

[erodasfishtacos]

Cheating!h blurb where ana asks why they dont have sex or at a party and she’s trying to pull him into a room and y/n watching him try to make excuses and then next time having sex with y/n he says anna keeps trying and she has the pride he doesnt give in... or something exploring that situation

warnings: smut, cheating, angst

“Anna, I just-“ Harry huffs as she tugs him into a spare bedroom of the party after he had put up a valiant fight to keep them in the main area.

Her hands are unbuttoning his already barely buttoned shirt, running down his bare skin, and he is cut off by a sloppy kiss to his mouth.

Fear shoots up through him, it’s not YN, he doesn’t want this with her.

“C’mon, it’s been almost six months and you still haven’t touched me. Just fuck me,” Anna complains, fed up with the lack of or more like nonexsistence of their sex life.

It was near impossible to believe, someone like Harry who oozed sex out of every pore of his body wasn’t sexually active or interested in fucking his girlfriend.

When Anna takes a different approach of going for his belt buckle, mouth trailing against his collarbone, and attempting to get to his groin - which hadn’t hardened in the slightest.

“Enough,” Harry states firmly, grasping her wrists lightly and making her look at him, “I don’t want to have sex right now, okay?”

His girlfriend’s face falters, “You never want to.”

“If you don’t like it break up with me,” He hisses, knowing YN is going to get suspicious the longer they’re in a room together.

Anna, who really did have a kind heart, frowns, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pressure you into anything. I would never force you to.”

Harry just rebuttons his shirt, “S’fine. Let’s just get back to the party and have a good time, yeah?”

She nods as Harry swings his arm around her shoulder, unlocking the door, and pausing when he sees YN a bit of the ways down the corridor - staring at the two leaving the bedroom.

“I’m going to get a drink,” He dismisses bluntly, his focus set on the girl who was visible angry with him in the kitchen.

Before he can get out a word, she steps forward and swipes her thumb against his collarbone.

It comes back with the waxy substance of Anna’s bright mauve lipstick.

“Have fun in there, did you?” YN asks, she tries to keep her tone cool and unbothered by Harry sees right through it to the insecurity.

“You know I didn’t,” He replies between gritted teeth, how could she get jealous when this was all her?

He didn’t want a girlfriend.

Well he did but he only want her and she fucking knew that.

“If you wanted me to believe you, maybe you would have wiped her lipstick marks from your neck and chest,” She chuckles and it makes Harry’s hair on the back of his neck stand up.

It was the distinct chuckle and tone she used when she was upset but wasn’t going to admit it over her dead body.

Before he can call her out, she shoulders past him, disappearing into the dancing crowd of people and out of his side.

“Fuck,” He mutters, running a hand through his hair before trudging off to find Niall and Zayn - to distract himself.

-

“Stay the night, please?” Anna asks softly when Harry pulls up to her small, quaint little house that fit her perfectly.

“M’sorry. I have a long day tomorrow.”

It was a lie. It was rarer that he told the truth to his girlfriend than fibbing.

“So? Let’s cuddle, do something,” She begs, frustrated with her emotionally and sometimes physically distant boyfriend.

Harry shakes his head, “Maybe next weekend.”

He always said that.

It never happened.

—

As soon as he drops off Anna, his next stop is a route that is ingrained in his head front and backwards, her apartment.

He has a key, doesn’t bother knocking and just barges into the dimly lit house with her shoes tossed clumsily on the floor - almost trips.

When he finds her, she’s in a towel - freshly showered, and brushing through her hair in her small walk-in closet.

She heard him come in, knew he was storming in here, and still didn’t turn around when he slammed open her bedroom door.

He’s crowding behind her, knocking the brush out of her hand, and pinning her to the wall, “You’re so bloody ridiculous. You jealous little brat.”

YN doesn’t respond, her body still wound tight with tension and a gluttonous feeling of rage for earlier in the night.

“Been fuckin’ you and only you since I was seventeen. Y’know that I didn’t fuck her, didn’t even touch her and you still have the nerve to act like a crybaby,” Harry seethes, his whole chest pressed against her back, no room to escape.

“Her lipstick was all over you,” She argues back weakly when his hands come to the knot in her towel, teasing at unraveling.

“Yeah because she was begging me to fuck her and I said ‘no’ so she tried to get in my pants and I pushed her off.”

“Why?” YN murmurs, quiet in the small space.

“You fuckin’ know why,” Harry growls with his teeth grazing across her bare shoulder blade.

“Say it.”

“I pushed her off ‘cause you’re the only person I’ve fucked since I was seventeen. My cock is yours,” He rasps, untying the knot and letting the towel drop.

He wishes she would just end all this bullshit.

Let him have her fully and completely but she was so fucking afraid of getting hurt when it wouldn’t happen.

“Go on, tell me who owns this cunt,” Harry demands, hand tucking between her thick thighs to cup her puffy mound in his hand.

“H,” She whimpers as his finger lightly slides up the wet groove of her center with a careful drag.

When she doesn’t give him the answer he wants, he gives her clit a hard pinch, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Yours, fuck - it’s yours,” YN huffs at the slight but welcome pain on her nerves - relaxing when it returns to soft strokes.

“Anna is pretty, y’know? Had her on me, kissing my neck, unbuttoning my shirt and shit,” Harry hums against her ear, two fingers sinking into the tight heat of her body.

He continues, “Didn’t even get hard when that happened. That’s how fucking trained I am for you. What a tight fucking leash you have me on.”

YN turns a bit into putty at his words, insecurity slow flooding out of her body, and feeling more like how she usually does.

“How do y’ever forget? How much I love you?” He asks in true disbelief, it literally oozes through his pores how much he adores his high school sweetheart.

“Don’t-“ She squeaks desperately.

“Why won’t you let me tell you how much I love you, baby?”

His voice like dark, sweet honey that seeps into her every nerve-ending and makes her feel lethargic, in a boneless silky way.

“Stop plea- Just touch me,” YN begs when his fingers crook into against her plushy, tight walls with focused strokes.

“You need to admit it, y’stubborn little thing. I know how in love you are with me,” Harry pushes, needing to hear validation from his favorite person on this earth.

He squats down, spreading her cheeks, and leaning in to lick from the top of clit all the way back to her other entrance.

His large palms keeping her apart, digging into the thick skin until his fingers are white - tongue finding her core and darting in to her most sensitive area.

“H, oh my god,” YN moans, head falling forward against the wall, pushing her hips backward into his mouth.

“Darling, c’mon. Show me how sweet y’can be f’me,” Harry goads encouragingly, it always took a little bit of effort to get her to break.

“I love you….s’much,” She whispers, voice cracking on the last syllable as he rewards her with a suckling kiss to her clit and slips his fingers back in.

“I know y’do, baby. You know I’d never give it to anyone but you,” Harry coos, anything to get her to soften her harsh edges, chip away at her stone wall.

Her hand reaches behind to weave through his hair, her stomach sucking in harshly as she feels her tight band snap as she releases.

“O-oh, you’re mine. Y’mine,” His love chants as she rides out her intense wave of her orgasm as he helps her through it.

“M’yours,” Harry agrees immediately, standing up and a smile breaks on his face when she turns around and wraps him into a hug.

“I love you. I know you didn’t touch her. I just hate it,” YN murmurs softly, undoing his shirt and sliding it off of his shoulders.

His smile fades at her words, “Then make it stop. The minute you tell me you’re ready to make this work, I’ll break up with her.”

“I’m no-not ready,” She stammers, eyes widening like a deer in headlights at his words.

So afraid. So fucking scared.

“Okay, okay,” He soothes when he sees her chest start to rise faster and faster with anxiety.

He doesn’t want to drop it.

He wants to shake her and ask her how the fuck she doesn’t see that they’re already in a relationship and she’s being blinded by irrational fears.

Harry waddles them over to her messy bed, pushing her back and adjusting until she’s in the center - staring at him with doe eyes.

He loves her so much it hurts to look at her for too long.

When he tugs off his jeans, taking his phone out to put on the side table - he sees an unread text from Anna.

I’m sorry about earlier. I really want to make it work with you. You’re a great guy x

Harry should feel bad. Maybe his stomach should have dropped or something at how awful he’s being to that girl.

But when his love is splayed out, pliant and malleable for him, he can’t find an ounce of fucks to give as he tosses it on the bedside table.

He had been in love with this girl since he was sixteen, never fell out of it, he was addicted to her - willing to go through all this bullshit if it meant he had her.

It always felt like the first time, crawling on top of her, and bending down to pull her puffy lips into a strong kiss as he slides in, always a pleasant stretch.

As they move together, in a familiar rhythm, she murmurs against his lips, “One day, I’ll be ready.”

“Please, make it soon, darlin’,” Harry pleas, swallowing harshly before pushing his emotions into hard, deep thrusts.

[thishintoflove]

“I Think He Knows” - A Kingsman Fanfic

TSwift Songfic Week Day 5

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x M!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Explicit (Pining, dirty talk, hand jobs, oral sex)

A/N: I feel like there’s a lack of M/M in the Pedro cinematic universe fandom, so here’s some bisexual Whiskey having a good time with a fellow male agent.

Summary: You and Agent Whiskey are paired together for an out-of-state mission. On your last night, your pining and his flirting finally come to a head.

I think he knows his hands around

A cold glass

Make me wanna know that body

Like it's mine

The mission was long but you were finally finished with it. Three weeks in Dallas were more than enough for you, and you were looking forward to getting home to your own bed and your own office in Kentucky. You were aching for the privacy it offered, after spending almost a month sharing a hotel room with your fellow agent. This time you’d been paired up with Agent Whiskey, and because of that you were glad the trip was almost over.

It’s not because Agent Whiskey- Jack - was incapable. Quite the opposite. He was extremely efficient and good at his job but he was also… extremely attractive. Which was a huge distraction.

You took pride in being a capable agent but Jack and his pretty face compromised that. You’ve never been in a situation like this before. Lusting over your coworker felt extremely unprofessional, but it was impossible to ignore him. He was an in-your-face kind of guy, always butting in with a comment or joke, always using his body as a weapon. He’d lounge around your shared hotel room in nothing but a thin towel, his wet hair draped across his forehead, and you swear he did it on purpose. The man knew how attractive he was and he obviously loved flaunting it.

He was tall and tan, with soft brown hair, a pair of beautiful round eyes that seemed to sparkle with amusement, and a smile that made your knees weak. The downside was that his smile made just about everyone weak. You were living in your own personal hell. Every single day having to watch Jack be attractive without even trying, and then watch as everyone in his vicinity tried to flirt with him. Tonight he was wearing a black leather jacket and extremely tight jeans, looking more like a movie star than an undercover agent. The man could pull off anything. It’s actually unfair.

You were out at some dive bar, celebrating the end to a successful mission before flying home tomorrow. It was Jack’s idea of course, but you’d agreed because you needed a stiff drink after these three long weeks and honestly you couldn’t say no to him.

“Another round, kid?”

You glanced up and saw him staring at you, a twinkle in his bright eyes. His hand gripped his empty whiskey glass and you eyed your own half-full drink. You couldn’t throw it back like him.

“I’m good for now,” you answered.

He nodded and slapped you on the shoulder as he stood up, “I’ll get you another one anyway. You better finish that by the time I get back.”

You sighed as you watched him walk away. His ass looked fantastic in those jeans. All the training and harsh exercise routines that Champ put the team through really worked for him. No wonder he could get any pretty thing he wanted.

Speaking of which, he seemed to have turned his affections on someone else. You groaned, your eyes never wavering from where Jack stood. He was currently making small talk with the pretty brunette bartender. He was giving her the full Whiskey treatment- gazing at her with those soft, mocha-colored puppy dog eyes and giving her a charming half-grin. Watching him flirt was simultaneously entertaining and torturous. He threw his head back, laughing at some dumb joke the bartender must have said, and you almost growled out loud as you hungrily stared at his neck.

Stupid horny bastard.

He got that boyish look that I like in a man

I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans

It's like I'm seventeen, nobody understands

No one understands

You were getting really sick of hiding your partial hard-ons and jacking off in the cold shower, but everything the man did was hot. The deep voice and accent alone were enough to get you going on most days. God, you hadn’t felt like this since high school.

If Jack noticed you staring or caught on to the fact that you took extra long showers, he didn’t say anything. You were openly out at the agency and your sexuality wasn’t a secret. When you first joined the Statesmen, you felt you had something to prove at work, as if you had to demonstrate your masculinity by keeping up with the largest members of the team. But you’ve excelled in your role for years now and you were beyond proving yourself at this point. You were just glad that Agent Whiskey wasn’t one of the people who cared that you liked men.

In fact, he treated you just like he treated everyone-- this meant he wasn’t shy about flirting and teasing you. Sometimes it seemed like he was coming onto you, but you had to remind yourself that he was like that with everyone-- you weren’t special and there was no way he was actually interested.

Before falling asleep each night, you’d listen to Jack’s soft snores and run scenarios through your head of every possible way that you could share your feelings. You thought about all of the things you could say, and all of the ways Jack could react. It was agonizing but your analytical mind couldn’t stop. You wished you had the courage to just ask him out. The worst that could happen is he’d say ‘no’ and maybe request to never work with you again, but then at least you’d be free of him.

Wanna see what's under that attitude

Like, I want you, bless my soul

And I ain't gotta tell him

I think he knows

A loud laugh suddenly interrupted your thoughts and you looked over to the bar again. The bartender was giggling and grasping at Jack’s arm. The sight made your stomach turn, and you made a quick decision to get out of there before you had to watch them start making out over the bar.

You stepped up next to Jack and finally drew his attention away from the girl.

“Hey, hold off on my drink. I’m gonna head out,” you told him.

“What? Come on now, it’s so early!”

“Yeah. I just don’t really feel like hanging out anymore. I’ll see you back there.”

Before Jack could respond, you threw down some cash on the bar and turned away. You were already across the floor and on your way out the door when a hand on your arm stopped you.

“Hey. Are you pissed at me or something?”

“No,” you muttered, trying to ignore the shot of arousal you felt when he grabbed you, “I just don’t feel like sitting in the corner, watching you flirt with some chick.”

You tried to turn away from him, but Jack let out a quiet “ohhh” of understanding. His grip on your arm tightened.

“We’ve been on this mission for weeks now, and on our last night you finally decide to say something?” Jack laughed, turning you around so you were facing him again. He invaded your personal space, ducking his head and trailing his nose along your neck and jaw.

“What?” you asked, confused because he couldn’t possibly mean...

“You're so slow, that’s what,” Jack mumbled, his lips tracing along your neck. It felt amazing, but... was Jack- your fellow agent and known womanizer- really nuzzling your neck right now?

“I'm confused, are you really into this?” you asked again, trying to hold back a moan. Jack pulled away and looked at you with huge eyes.

“God, you’re an idiot. I've been sending you obvious signs, makin’ eyes at you and showing off what I got, and now I'm literally biting your neck, and you're still asking?” Jack said incredulously. You searched his face and saw eyes that were filled with desperation and lust.

“I just assumed…”

“I like it both ways, kid. Is that clear enough for you?”

He then took one step forward and kissed you fully on the lips. There was only a moment of shock before you melted into the kiss, pressing your bodies closer and running your hands over Jack’s shoulders and back. All of your worries disappeared then. You didn't feel the terrible anxiety that constantly filled you with dread. Your mind stopped frantically thinking about every possible worst case scenario. Everything stopped. There was only Jack.

“Oh ohhhh right. Yeah I’m an idiot,” you quietly mumbled against his lips, “Want to go back to the hotel?”

“Fuckin’ finally,” he replied with a grin.

Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh

We can follow the sparks, I'll drive

So where we gonna go?

I whisper in the dark

You weren’t sure how you made it back to the hotel so quickly, but as soon as you tumbled through the door, Jack had you pinned to the bed underneath him. His hands roamed all over your torso, and he pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside before quickly doing the same to his own. The room was filled with your little whimpers every time Jack ground his hips against yours. You stared up at him, his lips swollen and red bitten and eyes blown with lust, and you were positive that you looked just as debauched. He looked just as beautiful hovering over you as you’d always imagined, and you wanted to feel him everywhere.

“More,” you whined, canting your hips up into Jack’s.

He groaned and trailed his hands down your chest, his fingers brushing against your nipples, causing a moan to slip from your mouth. He continued his journey down until he reached the fly of your jeans.

“Lift up,” Jack mumbled, leaning in to kiss your neck as he tried to tug your pants down. You obeyed and soon your pants and your boxers were off, leaving you completely exposed.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned, his fingers barely brushing over your erection, “You’re even prettier than I thought, darlin’.”

You groaned, pushing your body closer to Jack’s. As his hand slowly learned the feel of your cock, your own hands wandered all over his body. From his strong shoulders to his muscular back, to his waist, his hips, his thick thighs. You slipped one hand into his jeans to grab his ass, finally getting the chance to touch the part of Jack’s body you’d fantasized about the most. You could feel his clothed erection rubbing against your thigh as Jack continued steadily stroking your cock.

“Jack,” you whimpered, gazing into his dark, lust-filled eyes. You were barely able to control your thoughts properly since Jack’s pace was getting quicker and way too distracting. He grinned down at you.

“This good, baby? You want it a little rougher?” he asked, a groan slipping from his lips as you squeezed his ass in response.

Jack pushed forward and kissed you harder this time, moving his hand faster along your cock. Then he kissed his way down your neck, sucking and nipping all your sensitive spots. Suddenly he bit down hard on the skin between your neck and shoulder, following it up with a long lick with his wide tongue. That show of possessiveness was enough to push you right to the edge. You cried out as pleasure tore through you, coming in ropes all over Jack’s large hand. You gasped for breath, your chest rising and falling as your head lolled against the pillows.

Jack hovered over you, continuing to kiss your neck and upper chest as you came down from your high. “I’ve been told I’m good with my hands, can I get a confirmation on that, darlin'?“ he asked with a cocky grin.

Your eyes blinked open and you smirked at him. “You’ve got the confirmation all over your hand.”

“Ooooh, so he’s mouthy all of a sudden. Guess I just had to get you in bed to see the sassy side of you, huh?” Jack tutted.

“I’ll show you mouthy,” you muttered, blushing at the stupid euphemism even as you trailed a line of kisses down Jack’s sternum and belly.

When you reached the top of his jeans, you surprised your fellow agent by flipping him over and yanking his pants down in one fluid motion. Jack growled at the switch, but when you took his cock into your mouth, he gasped and surged forward. You enjoyed the desperate moan he made as you swallowed him completely, his hips bucking into your mouth. But you wanted to take your time with this. You grasped his hip bone with one hand and held him down, before pulling off his cock and moving to lightly lick his balls. Jack was making beautiful, desperate noises and you loved the idea that this strong, confident agent was falling apart because of you. You smiled against him and swiped your tongue along the bottom of his shaft before taking him fully into your mouth again.

“Holy hell, you’re fuckin’ amazing,“ Jack groaned as you bobbed up and down on his cock, “I’m so close-”

You sucked harder and reached your other hand down to fondle his balls again as Jack thrust into your mouth. Soon he was arching forward and shouting your name. You let him come in your mouth, swallowing his seed down like it was another shot at the bar.

When you looked up at Jack from between his legs, you grinned. He had his head tilted back, one hand thrown across his mouth as he stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily. When he felt your eyes on him, he looked down at you with a satisfied smile.

“Damn, that was…”

“Amazing,” you cut him off, “Even better than I imagined.”

“So you imagined it, huh?”

Unable to control the urge any longer, you leaned forward and pulled Jack into a sweet, affectionate kiss. You ran your fingers through his soft hair and you could feel him grinning the whole time. When you finally pulled back, he was still smiling but he also looked a bit confused.

“Why haven’t we done this sooner?” he asked.

“I was convinced you were straight. I’ve been a fucking mess trying to decide if I should say something or not,” you replied.

Jack hummed and reached for you, but you chuckled and pulled away.

“You need a shower,” you said, “Then we can talk some more.”

“Only if you join me, sugar...”

I want you, bless my soul

I ain't gotta tell him

I think he knows

[silkylious]

Limbo (Bakugo Katsuki x Fem!Reader)

Pairing: bakugo katsuki x female reader warnings: heavy angst, eventual tiny bit of fluff at the end

omf this request is so nice i feel so bad that my writing is literally garbage in this, but thank you sm for requesting this!! <3 and im so sorry if i didn’t do your request justice (i legit hate my writing here :’))

To say the state of your relationship was unbearable would be the euphemism of the century.

Your thoughts often ran amuck, always hopelessly crawling back to that one despaired curiosity; wondering if he shared the same sentiment about your wishy-washy “friends” status as you did. He probably didn’t. That’s the seemingly unshakable brick wall that would inevitably dead-end your lovesick daydreams, each and every time. Though when his roughed-up hands linger on your skin a millisecond too long, when his steeled stare melts, hard rubies morphing into blazing lava pits, threatening to mar your very heart and soul with their scorching intensity –you’re not exactly certain you’d mind that– that’s when a flicker of something ignites within you. Hope, longing, doubt. Whatever it is, it terrifies you. Because you’re agonizingly aware of what that entails. He’s got you hook, line and sinker, but torturously he refuses to do anything with that. Almost like pulling someone in for a hug then abruptly and without explanation stopping midway, he keeps you at arm’s length. Not too far, not too close. And how that cycle destroyed you.

Katsuki was the type to jump into action and ask questions later. Except a lot of the times when these questions pertain to his own emotions, he didn’t even try to answer them, opting to shove them to the corners of his psyche, collecting dust, steadily accumulating until they become too much to ignore and he (sometimes quite literally) explodes. It’s a vicious loop that he could never break away from, he’d even come to find a sordid comfort in it. His coping mechanism was by no means healthy, far from it, but he’d grown familiar to the toxicity.

Katsuki couldn’t make heads nor tails of his feelings for you. Whenever he impulsively threw himself into the lion’s den that was your affection, caught in the moment, in the glimmer of genuine adoration in your eyes, he never came back the same. A piece of his heart would irreversibly split off and reside in the palm of your hand, he was scared that nothing would be left of it, that he wouldn’t be able to regain his bearings until it was too late. You so effortlessly juggled with his feelings, all with a single smile, it scared him that you had so much power over the fluttery sensation in his chest and yet, in the moment, it felt good. It felt so good to indulge in whatever fucky feeling was messing with his head, to let you hold him in the depths of obscurity with all prying eyes shut and what little words exchanged hushed. It felt so alleviating to feel skin on his own (for once not in battle), gentle, comforting but not coddling. It was unspoken between you that you were both more than friends. You knew it, he knew it. Neither of you ever mentioned it. What neither of you knew, however, was how far the other’s feelings ran.

But as high as your silent love made him feel, he crashed back down into the concrete when he was left to his own devices. Without your intoxicating scent, distracting touches fogging his rationality, Katsuki had all the time in the world to overthink. And overthink he did. His pride picked apart the delicate flowering in his heart, ripping it petal by petal until nothing was left but a garden of beautifully withered leaves, a condemnation to what he considered a weakness.

Katsuki was a taker by every sense of the word. Basking in your wispy adoration, only to brush you aside in favor of focusing on academics once he’d had his fill of your love. It was sickening.

Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t outright confessed to him, maybe that’s what soothed the overbearing guilt that crawled up his throat whenever he saw that dejected face of yours, the one you made because of him. If your feelings for him ran deep, surely you would have said something by now, at least that’s what he thought. Or more precisely, that’s the excuse his mind conjured up in hopes of easing his conscious, trying to convince himself that self that yes, he was hurting you, but at least he wasn’t hurting you that bad. He was infinitely aware that this doesn’t put him in any sort of moral high ground, nor does it justify his actions, but, again, it was a last-ditch effort to relieve his anguish if just by a little bit, even if he knew that excuse was bullshit.    

Surely he knew, there’s no way in hell someone as hawk-eyed as him didn’t notice the tyranny he held over the porcelain pitter-pattering of your heart, didn’t notice the fleeting, love-filled glances you sent his way. This was getting ridiculous, you were starting to believe he was taking some twisted sense of pleasure from your heartache, but he wouldn’t do that, right? He didn’t derive some sick kick out of having you indefinitely under his thumb, at his beck and call… right? A few months ago, you would have answered those uncertainties with a resounding “No!” defending his cruel behavior till the bitter end. But now…

Now you weren’t so sure.

And yet you still found yourself in his dorm, on his bed. It was supposed to be another study gathering, but one thing was glaringly missing. Y’know… the gathering. Kirishima was out training and he hadn’t bothered to invite the rest of his brain-dead, self-proclaimed squad. And that’s how you found yourself alone. With your best friend and secret crush. Just dandy.

Your hands were restless. Pulling at the seams of his blanket, cracking your own fingers, picking up your pencil for a brief moment of concentration, answering one or two questions only to drop it back on the mattress again and fidget some more. Katsuki wasn’t fucking blind, and your unease was ticking him off. Though he surprisingly hadn’t said a thing about it just yet, he was clearly nearing his wit’s end. His silence didn’t prevail for much longer, the meek sigh and not so subtle glance you chanced his way being his tipping point.

“What.” It came out as a statement, a demand rather than a question. What was he demanding? He hadn’t thought of that yet, his temperamental limbs already taking the wheel and pressing on the gas without a destination in mind, just being short fused for the sake of it. Was it even his place to be making demands in this situation? Katsuki knew the answer to this one like the back of his hand, a solid no.

“What…?” You really had no idea what Bakugo was expecting with a question like that. He still had the audacity to roll his eyes.

“The hell’s got you so jumpy?”

“It’s nothing…” It was a lot more than nothing, that’s for sure.

“Don’t lie to me, (name). What the fuck is up with you?” Ah, there it is again. That look. His words were as cut-throat as ever, and his mouth was still pulled into that seemingly permanent scowl. But his eyes conveyed something that was whole worlds asunder from his harsh tone. Golden brows furrowed as they usually were, though unusually upturned just the slightest bit. You despised that look. It ensured that you’ll forever be caught in his grasp, forever there for him when he never spared you the time of day.

Your lungs constricted by a force of gorgeously wretched agony. Katsuki wasn’t fair when he bared his soul to you like this, it filled you with such fervent euphoria that torrefied its way through your being, singeing your veins with luminous infatuation. And it hurt. Because you knew he’d cage himself right up as soon as the moment of vulnerability perished.

A crystalline sheen permeated your vision. This wasn’t going to end well.  

“I said it’s nothing,” Your voice raised. You hadn’t meant for the words to be as frosty as they came out, but it seemed like your subconscious was utterly done with the tedium of heartbreak he keeps putting you through.

“What is fucking wrong with you? I was literally just asking why you were being so goddamn obnoxious today and then you go and make a big fuckin’ deal out of nothing!”

“Well, maybe I’m just fucking tired of giving you everything I have and getting nothing in return, Katsuki!”

Your chest rose and fell with each scalding breath that entered your lungs. The blood through your veins was pumping. Never had you been confrontational, and your sudden outburst wasn’t exactly welcome to your system. You wanted to vomit. This was not how you wanted things to turn out, you absolutely needed to leave, distance yourself from the emotional strain he was inflicting on you.  

Without taking notice of the panicked glint in the cherry red of his irises, you bolted out of the suddenly claustrophobic room, leaving Katsuki to stare at his agape door before flickering his unfocused attention to your supplies still laying on his bed.

Katsuki erupted time and time again, with you being as patient as a receiving end could ever be. It’s specifically because of your godly patience that he never considered what he would do once you erupted.

With your back sliding down your dorm room door, and little friction stopping your descent, you wondered and maybe even wished he’d call after you, come banging on your door with bristling apologies on the tip of his tongue. However, the jarring reality was very clear to you. You’d decided on that day, with your head buried in your tear-stained pillow, that these were the last tears you’d ever shed on him, that you were going to put him through the same wringing hell he’d put you through.

You were going to ignore Bakugo Katsuki’s existence just like he’d periodically ignored yours.

The following week had been bleak at best and excruciatingly bitter at its worst for the both of you. It was so strange having to adjust to the absence of the other, even if your company more often than not had been a quiet one, it was company nevertheless. The most grueling part though, was your shared friend group. They’d noticed that something was obviously awry, but since neither of you said a thing about it, they decided it would be best if they didn’t either. The awkward dead silences during lunch were still purgatory to behold. But after a few more slow paced days, the sun seemed to shine bright again. For you, that is.

You didn’t realize how much of your schedule revolved around Bakugo until he was completely out of it. How much time you spent with him, dreading him, thinking about him… him, him, him. He’d consumed your thoughts from the first sparks of dawn till the hallows of dusk. You had so much free time now that he was out of the picture, it was crazy. The more time you spent on yourself, on your hobbies, getting to know other classmates outside of your immediate friend circle, the duller the ache in your chest. Until it was but a static buzz. Yet you couldn’t deny that, with time, your fury had mellowed out, leaving behind a cold loneliness you couldn’t elude whenever your aimless stare landed on him, almost like it was drawn to him by muscle memory.

He was the exact opposite.

You’d think the throbbing within him whenever you finally gazed his way then instantaneously looked in the opposite direction would knock come modicum of sense into his stubborn head. But nope. And seeing you thrive without him only cemented what he already knew. He really was no good for you. So much so that it barely took anytime for you to readjust to the lack of him in your life, and not only did you adjust, you were the best he’s ever seen you both mentally and academically. In the first week of you ditching him completely, his bruised ego kept him for reaching out to you, but now, seeing that elated grin on your face –the one that had been gradually dwindling over the past few months– he didn’t want to take your newfound happiness away, he’d figured he’d done you more than enough harm already.

Heart heavy with reluctance, Katsuki made the decision to give up on your relationship. Deciding to wordlessly cheer you on from the sidelines and watch you bloom, flourishing into the person he robbed you of being for a chunk of your life, though whenever your spring hit, it would be without him. Until some day in the future where his pride wasn’t as suffocating, where he could genuinely, wholeheartedly repent his grievances and only hope for your forgiveness.

Kirishima never took Bakugo for a quitter, hell would freeze over before he even thought such a thing. So this was certainly a shock. What was even more shocking ­– and overwhelmingly concerning– was the fact that Katsuki had willingly, on his own accord confided in him, and he’d, in his own roundabout way, taken accountability for being a gigantic douche to you. As much as the redhead respected his friend’s decision to stay clear of you, he couldn’t help but wish you’d just talk to one another for once. Kirishima really was a saint, having to listen to two idiots ramble about how much they miss the other.

“Listen, man. I know you feel bad and all that, but maybe you should just talk to her? I’m sure she’d like some closure on this just as you do, even if that doesn’t mean things will go back to the way they were.” Eijirou tried to reason, praying to whatever higher being out there that Katsuki would just get the fuck over himself and communicate with you.

“Fuck no. That’s not fucking happening, shitty hair,” Kirishima rolled his eyes at the oh so affectionate nickname, thoroughly done with his best friend’s melodrama. Welp, I guess there’s only one thing left to try. He heaved internally, mentally and physically preparing himself for Bakugo’s tantrum.

“Well, you know that if you won’t talk to her, others will, right? I heard some guys saying they’re gonna ask her ou–”

“Shut the fuck up! I don’t give a rat’s ass who asks her out!” He definitely did. Eijirou hid his smile. Checkmate.

“Whatever you say, dude.”

Later that day, three distinctly powerful knocks woke you up. Needless to say, you didn’t think that night would end up with you and Katsuki staring each other down, seated on your bed at one in the morning. Words got stuck in his throat, so he just… noiselessly watched your face, as if trying to telepathically ram his constipated emotions into you, in hopes that you’d make sense of them. Obviously, that didn’t work.

“Did you come banging on my door at one in the morning just to stare at me, Bakugo? I mean I know I’m pretty but still–”

“Shuddup.” Not really the best thing to say to you after weeks of radio silence. You were about to make another salty remark, but he opened his mouth first.

“I fucked up,” The fact that he was acknowledging he was at fault was… something. But that wasn’t nearly enough to pay off the debt off turmoil he’d caused you.

“No shit.” You replied without missing a beat. The ice that tinged your words caught him off guard, but he really shouldn’t have been surprised. He sighed, knowing he’d have to strip himself of everything, including his pride (especially his pride) down to his very core, to have a go at a second chance.

And so, he did.

He poured his everything out for you to observe, without an ego film distorting his words. Syllables reeked of muted agony, he really had rid himself of anything and everything that wasn’t his deepest soul. He finally offered you himself just as you had done countless times before. Katsuki swore that his heart would –and always has been– explicitly yours, he’d roar that fact at the constellations above if you so wished him to. And while it would take a while to heal from coruscating blisters he’d inflicted, you were more than content mending and welting your heart with his.  

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Steve Rogers, The Man On Fire

Hey y'all, as Pride month draws to a close I would like to post this fic. It's been in my drafts for a month and I finally today found the motivation to finish it. This is special to me for many reasons, one of which being that I'm proudly a part of this community. Some of the anger written in is my own. I think a lot of people will resonate with it. I really hope you all enjoy this and happy Pride Month <3

This was based loosely off a headcannon and once I re-find it I will credit!

Synopsis: Steve is freshly thawed, queer, and pissed | A.k.a. Steve's experience in 21st Century America

Characters: Steve Rogers, Mentions of Bucky Barnes, (loosely a Stucky fic but Steve thinks he's dead here)

Warnings: Angst but not bad, Steve Rogers being volatile and chaotic (we love), poorly written accents (I literally read this with an accent in my head), literally a 2k monologue

Word count: 5.1k

Steve Rogers came out of the ice angry.

No— not angry— Steve Rogers came out of the ice fuckin’ furious.

He came out of the ice with his hands curled into two fists, with his jaw clenched so hard his teeth were liable to snap, and with a bone to pick with every damn reporter and historian and too loud opinion on this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

He came out simmering— no, erupting— like the serum in his blood couldn’t keep his body from hibernation all those years ago but it sure as hell won’t keep him from setting the entirety of New York on fire now. He’ll burn it all down if he has to and rebuild it the way he remembers it— the way Bucky would have remembered it— and at the end of it all no one— not the bigots or deniers or the homophobes that seem to be the only thing that came with him from the forties— will be able to say that Captain America can’t love whoever he wants.

No one will be able to say that Steve Rogers didn’t love James “Bucky” “the man I’ve loved since twelve years old” Barnes with everything he had and then some.

No one.

So he starts with the museums in Washington— because sure it isn’t New York but where else would a relic like himself belong more?

He still has hope when he enters the building. They didn’t make them like this when he was a kid— they had science fairs in the town hall and culture fairs in the backstreets near the docks but never anything this grand. No tall marble pillars or enough stairs to make him wonder if he would have been able to climb to the top when he was half the size he is now. It’s strange. It’s kind of wonderful. Yeah, the Smithsonian museums make Steve Rogers feel small for the first time in a very long time and that gives him hope.

That hope doesn’t last long, though, because soon he’s wandering through the halls, following the signs that say Captain America: The First Avenger— what the hell is an Avenger? Is that what they’re calling soldiers these days? Now he feels small and old.

Turning the corner is like landing on another planet, one devoted entirely to him. His picture is everywhere he looks, his name is in lights, even his damn uniform has been replicated and presented on a little stage and he hates it. The rage is back, sparking at his fingers— he’s a match and lucky for everyone this building is made of stone because if it wasn’t he’s sure it would be reduced to nothing but ash by now.

It only worsens as he begins reading through the plaques and the paragraphs flashing across screens on the walls— he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that. The more he reads, though, the more he wonders if the stone is really, truly safe from the fire in his blood. He doesn’t think it is.

He surely isn’t at least— he feels like he’s going to explode. This isn’t him— none of this is him. War hero. Martyr. Golden boy. He has to stop reading that plaque— clearly no one did their research. Clearly no one dug up his medical files— or his police records. Brawls at the pub, disorderly conduct behind Mr. De Luca’s sandwich shop, public nudity at the beach that one time— thank you Bucky for the best night of his god damn life. Golden boy— ha.

Golden nobody with the black eye and broken hand is more like it.

For a moment he thinks he’s fine— he thinks it can’t get worse than this. Then he gets to the early life section and for an even longer moment his tongue tastes like gunpowder.

Steven Grant Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his friend James Buchanan Barnes—

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence— not when they already got the most important part wrong. Friend. Friend? No, no, no. No! There are a million words in the english language that Steve could use to describe Bucky and ‘friend’ will never be the first one.

How about best friend?

How about partner in crime?

How about soulmate who loved Steve so much that every night for the past forty-eight days since he woke up in an era that Bucky doesn’t exist in he’s cried himself to sleep with the same cherry cola taste of his ‘friend’ on his tongue.

It’s the final straw— Steve loses it.

“Anyone got a marker?”

The museum is quiet before he speaks but when his voice— steadily rising and taking on that New York headiness that his troops used to jazz him about— cuts through the exhibit— his fuckin’ exhibit— it’s silent. It’s dead, almost as dead as Buck— Nobody dares move a muscle as he rips his ball cap off his head and throws it at the statue of himself. Everyone knows who he is— everyone is going to know who he is so help him god.

“I said—” he tries again— “does anyone have a marker?”

It takes a moment for the people around him to pick their jaws up off the floor and he allows them that moment with a smug grin starting to tug on the corners of his lips. Finally— they’re starting to get it.

He’s not a hero; he’s a supernova of every scrawny, queer kid who’s ever gotten beaten to a pulp for kissing who they want.

Maybe then it’s fitting that the marker— when it’s finally produced and placed in his waiting palm— comes from a teenage girl with a shaved head and a blue, pink, and purple denim jacket and a busted lip. She doesn’t say much— only a mumbled here you go— but her eyes say everything that her words don’t. Give em’ hell, Cap. For the first time since waking up he flashes a genuine grin back— yeah, this one’s for you kid.

Steve wastes no time uncapping the sharpie— he’ll look that one up later— and scratching out the error. The blasphemy to his unholy name. It takes him a little longer to decide what to write in its place. There are a million words, sure, but somehow none of them feel right at this moment. None of them are enough. That’s something he’ll have to come to terms with later, though— how much nothing feels like enough anymore without Bucky.

Finally Steve settles on a word and he scribbles it as neatly as he can given the fact that he hasn’t had to write anything in eighty years. When he takes a step back, feeling alive for the first time since waking up, he beckons over the girl with the shaved head and points to the place where he’s taken it upon himself to correct history.

“Hey kid, why don’t you go ahead and read that outloud for everyone here.”

He allows another moment— this time because she deserves the time it takes for her eyes to light up and the smile to stretch across her bruised mouth.

Steve laughs— a rusted, croaky laugh; another first in forever— when her head whips around, facing him as she loudly proclaims: “It says boyfriend. Steve Rogers grew up in the streets of Brooklyn alongside his boyfriend Bucky Barnes!”

“Damn right I did—” he mutters to the kid before taking a step towards the crowd of gaping mouths. “Did you all hear that? Don’t worry if ya’ didn’t— I’ll say it one more time. Boyfriend. Bucky was my boyfriend and if he was here today he would be my husband. If any of you have a problem with that then feel free to take it up with me. I took on half of Brooklyn for that man and I’ll do it again.”

When no one says anything Steve nods, turning to hand the girl back her marker and to thank her— he may be angry but he hasn’t lost all his manners— but when he looks at her she doesn’t look back. Instead she takes the same step forward that he had, one of her hands balled into a tiny, shaking fist at her side and the other wrapped around a cell phone that’s pointed towards the crowd. He doesn’t understand the mechanics but he thinks she’s recording.

“You hear that?” She parrots the super soldier with a wavering but fierce voice. “Captain America likes men! And none of you can deny it!”

This time it’s his mouth that drops, watching as she shakily turns the camera off and spins back around. Before Steve can say anything, though, she’s talking again, this time hastier, and he can’t help but think that she sounds so much like him. All flushed and scrawny and pissed.

“I’m sorry, I’ll delete the recording if you want but, I jus’ know these bigots are gonna’ try and cover everything up and that would be a fuckin’ shame. I don’t know if you know how many kids need to hear this. I did— and I think they should too. Only if you want, of course.”

He doesn’t answer right away— he can’t. It’s like looking at himself at fifteen. Suddenly he’s back again, his feet hanging in the water as his boyfriend paces behind him, asking if he’s ready to have him look at his knuckles yet. He didn’t get that many good punches in— the scrapes are mostly from the pavement— but Buck always worries too much so it doesn’t matter. The protective idiot.

Steve shakes his head, blinking away the sunset lingering behind his eyes. “Bucky woulda’ loved you, kid.”

The next time he loses it— the next time he turns into more flame than man— is after he saves the city he’s been trying to burn down for three months.

It isn’t long after that day in the museum when Nick Fury decides it would be best for everyone if Steve goes back into the field. Of course, no one really asks him what he wants— they pretty much just shove a new suit into his hands and tell him to get training, Captain— but what else is new?

No one really comments on his outburst besides that either. Can you really call it an outburst when you’re just trying to reclaim the parts of you that have been stolen? Sure, the press gets a hold of the story and, true to what the kid had said, tries to twist it into something more digestible, but no one actually addresses it up with Steve. Apparently when someone saves the world as good as he does no one cares that they kiss men.

Or that they don’t wanna’ to actually save the world anymore.

See, in those three months— between the training and training and even more training that Steve Rogers begrudgingly obliges— he has time to catch up on the world. More importantly, he has time to catch up on what the world thinks of him. He scours a plethora of documentaries, scholarly essays, and whole books of information about his time as Captain America. Well— his time as Captain America when it mattered. In all his scouring he learns one thing: everything written about him is wrong.

It’s all so fuckin’ wrong.

Just why the hell would he want to save a world so bent on destroying who he is?

The Smithsonian exhibition was nothing compared to what’s been written in the eighty years he spent in the ice. Better yet, nothing compared to what hasn’t been written about him. They’ve taken an eraser to every part of his life that doesn’t fit with the golden image that they constructed for him. A.k.a. every part that matters. His relationship, his past, every little thing that made him supposedly perfect for the role he was given. Gone. Erskine told him he was a good man— apparently he was the only one who thought so.

Apparently being a good man isn’t good enough.

They only wanted the perfect soldier. Yeah, well, they had one and they fucked him over too. Don’t even get him started on what they did to Bucky— Steve doesn’t want to think about what Winnifred— Winnie for short— Barnes would do if she saw the history books erasing her baby’s Jewish roots. Or his relationship. It wouldn’t be pretty, that’s for damn sure. If ever there was someone more protective than Bucky it would have been his mother. Not that there’s a damn note about her in anything either though.

Maybe that’s the final straw that does him in this time— watching the place that Mrs. Barnes loved more than almost anything else in the world crumble, while also knowing that the world no longer gives a shit about the two people she loved more.

“Mr. Rogers, this is where you grew up, is it not? Is there anything you would like to say about what took place here in your home city today?”

Maybe he pretends not to hear the last part— maybe he really does only hear up until where the reporter asks him if there is anything he wants to say. He’s been around quite his fair share of explosions; it would make sense that his hearing is a little off. Maybe he just doesn’t care anymore, though.

Scratch that— he definitely doesn’t care anymore.

And why the fuck should he? He does have something to say and propriety be damned he’s going to say it.

Steve stares into the crowd of faceless reporters and flashing cameras with a scowl on his grimey face. Around him stand the other Avengers— his ‘team’. The last time he had a team the historians screwed up the history for every single member. Dugan, Morita, Falsworth, Jones, Dernier, Sawyer, Juniper, Pinkerton. Barnes. All of them were brave men with families and sacrifices and all of them were treated like jokes by ‘reporters’ just like the ones in front of him now. He really doubts there’s a difference between old and new journalism.

The only difference is that now he’s here and this time he’s not going to let them write anything but the damn truth.

“It is—” Steve muses, brushing the sweaty hair from his forehead— “I’m surprised you know that though.”

The reporter cocks his head, clearly confused, and it makes the super soldier’s blood boil. “Come again, sir?”

“I said I’m surprised you know where I was born, kid.” This time when he says the word— kid— it’s derogatory. “Ya’ know, considering how you all seem to know nothing about me otherwise.”

Steve almost smiles at the way the crowd tenses. He actually would if it weren’t for the white hot rage coursing through his veins, mingling with the last of the adrenaline leftover in his system. It gives him an extra kick— not that he needs it. Even when he was just a runt from the wrong side of the tracks he needed nothing more than an offhand comment to raise his fists. Fighting to Steve Rogers has always been intoxicating— the aftershocks of winning the battle just makes it more thrilling now.

Who knew, right?

“Sir I asked—” The reporter sputters and Steve simply holds a hand up, silencing him before he can start again.

“Yeah I know what you asked, alright. You want me to talk about the battle here in New York today and how I am more than happy to have risked my life to save it. But I can’t do that, kid. Because I didn’t save it for you. I didn’t save it for any of you.”

Steve feels his team tense— maybe were it any other time he would stop talking. He would just leave it, let the issue go, because Bucky would tell him too. They aren’t worth it, bruiser, he would say, they aren’t worth your blood. Maybe he would listen to his boyfriend because usually he was right. Bucky was always right. So yeah, maybe he would list—

Who is he kidding; he knows he wouldn’t.

Not then and certainly not now— not when Bucky isn’t here to defend himself against everything Steve has been reading about. That’s exactly why he doesn’t stop talking. Someone has to defend him and who better of a person than him? So, yeah, he keeps going, even when he hears footsteps behind him.

“You wanna’ know who I did save it for? James Barnes, that’s who I saved it for! You see, just around that corner there is a bookstore. Rickley Books. That was my boyfriend's favourite bookstore. You know, the man who gave his life to stop a train in Austria from reaching the enemies? Yeah that was him. That train was filled with supplies. Had it reached their headquarters, who knows if we’d be standing here today. If there would be a New York at all. Not that you would know that. But who cares about that dead sergeant from the 107th, right? There’s plenty just like him.”

Steve shrugs nonchalantly— a move he picked up from the very man he’s speaking about— but he spits his words at the reporters with enough venom to cancel out any peace that the action brings. That’s his own move.

He keeps going. “You know who else I saved it for? His mother. Yeah, his mother Winnie Barnes. Wonderful lady. She used to run a soup kitchen a couple blocks from here. Kept the rift raft like myself from going hungry most nights— I was a brawler, you know.”

A couple of reporters in the crowd laugh at that and Steve flinches, his vision tinting red as he cranes his neck, seeking them out.

“Oh you think that’s funny, do you? You think I’m joking? I’m not. You ever been backed into a corner, son? Had people hurl slurs at you that I can’t even repeat today? Ever been beaten up for loving your best friend? No, I bet you haven’t. You weren’t a queer kid in the thirties. That’s hard— that’s borderline impossible actually. I only made it because of people like Winnie Barnes. That woman was a saint but nobody talks about her either.”

Steve has to take a deep breath, clearing the rasp in his voice that rises as he dwells on the woman he called his second mother for so long. She wasn’t just a saint, she was an angel. He can’t cry here though, not now. Not even as his throat begins to tighten.

“Winnie was the type of lady who didn’t let anyone walk over the little people. She used to sit me down and say Stevie you gotta’ fight for what you want because ain’t nobody gonna’ give it to you. She told me that I shouldn’t have to but that there were going to be people who would try to tear me down just for being me. And she was right— just like her son— because that was the era, you know? But now, here in the twenty-first century, you’re all still trying to tear us down.”

A hand lands on his shoulder, small fingers tugging at where his suit has begun to tear. Natasha Romanoff. He meets her gaze quickly, neck craning to stare down the red head, and in the few seconds their eyes meet it’s like Bucky is next to him. Somehow the blue in her irises catches the falling sun just like his used to. Steve can hear the gruff of his voice in the depths of his mind. Back down, bruiser. The sentiment is echoed across Nat’s face.

Steve shakes her hand off him, turning back to the reporters— don’t they know that he can’t?

“You all say you care about me, huh? That I’m a hero? You know nothing about me— you don’t want to. Before I was a soldier I was a kid. A queer kid. I said that already but let me repeat it. Queer. Did you write that down? None of you certainly did before. That’s how I know that you don’t care— because in an age where being queer is infinitely more accepted you still don’t bother to write it down.”

He pauses for another breath, shutting his eyes against the blinking red lights of the cameras. They’re like little demons, always watching his every move. Recording. Everything’s always recorded these days. Will he ever be used to that? Bucky was the technology guy, not him. Not then and not now.

When Steve picks up again— eyes open and shoulders freshly straight— it’s on a new note— a clear note.

“You don’t care about me— you certainly don’t care about the real heroes of the war because if you did you wouldn’t erase our history. Do you know how much it would have meant to Bucky to see our relationship accepted? The man who died for you? How much it would’ve meant to his mother? You can’t just pick which of our stories and our sacrifices are worthy and which aren't.”

He hasn’t spoken this much since he’s woken up, not all at once at least. Maybe he should have, though— maybe if he had then he wouldn’t feel like ripping the heads off everyone in front of him right now. Call it fight or flight. Call it revenge. Hell, call it whatever you’d like because it doesn’t really matter. Either way he feels like a kid again— again— backed into a corner behind the deli with his fists up and his teeth bared.

He feels feral again.

“So now you just want me to save the world like I did— like Bucky did— all those years ago— or maybe jus’ New York— as if that’s any better— and you don’t even bother to write a proper article about me? Hell, I never even asked for an article, let alone a whole exhibit! I’m just a soldier— and before that I was just a kid. If there’s never another article written about me I’ll be grateful. But now that I’m here, standing in front of you, I’ll say this—”

Just as Steve’s voice is cresting into a shout that would no doubt be heard regardless of whether or not the microphones were in front of him, Natasha tries one more time, her fingers slipping between his.

Her voice is a dull buzz compared to his, only reaching his ears by sheer will. “C’mon Stevie— we gotta’ go now.”

Like before he’s stunned but this time instead of seeing Buck— instead of hearing him in his head— he hears Winnie.

You fought good, honey. You fought good for us. You can rest now.

It’s jarring and it’s not lost on him the handful of awkward seconds that it takes for him to respond. That’s just the effect Winnie had on people though— still has, apparently. Steve shakes his head— I know, mama. But I gotta’ finish this fight.

“No, Nat— I’ve got to say this.” Steve mumbles— voice just beginning to waver despite how hard he clenches his jaw— before sneering at the crowd one last time.

“If I ever read an article from any of you that discredits Bucky Barnes, our relationship, or myself just know that I’ll come for you. I’ll come for this city. Don’t you ever forget who I saved it for. James Barnes, Winnie Barnes, and every queer kid who’s ever felt erased because of people like you. The bigots in the forties couldn’t stop me. The Nazis couldn’t stop me. Not even the Atlantic Ocean could stop me. So don’t think for a second that any of you could either. Have a good day.”

With that Captain America turns, marching off the impromptu stage and beginning the trek back to his apartment. He doesn’t bother looking at his team as he passes them— he can imagine their stunned faces well enough on his own. No doubt he’ll be getting another assignment from Fury soon enough to make up for this ‘outburst’ too. Still, he feels a little bit better. There’s an ache in his shoulder, and one under his ribs too, but he still smiles as he passes Rickman and Sons Books. That must mean something good.

The last time Steve Rogers burns he doesn’t burn the way he’s expecting to— he doesn’t vandalize his own name or blow up at a reporter. No, the third time— the final time— that Steve Rogers burns it’s with nostalgia— and with a damn good cup of coffee in his hand.

“I had no idea this place was even here.” The girl across from Steve muses, tiny hands shifting the steaming cup back and forth.

Her name is Ellie, he learned that back at the museum after asking for a copy of the video she took. He barely knew how to use his phone back then, let alone his email— hell, both still confuse him more often than not— but she had been patient. A little awestruck and a little riled up too but he took it in stride— easily. It’s not hard being nice to the spitting image of him.

“I’m glad I’m good for something other than making the news.” Steve chuckles and this time he means it— there’s no malice or ill intent, only humor. “O’Malley’s ‘s been here longer than I have. Looked a little different then—” he takes a moment to let his eyes wander the old coffee shop and it’s new appliances— a moment to feel his age catch up to him— “but I guess I did too.”

Ellie’s laughter joins in there and it’s strange— strange that he hasn’t laughed with another person in seven, almost eight, months; strange that her laughs sound so much like Bucky’s when they were younger; strange that Bucky isn’t here to hear. Here to laugh, too. Because he would have.

He would have called Steve an old man, would have wrapped his arm around his shoulders, would have asked— no, demanded— that Ellie try the plum cobbler. They always made the best cobbler. Bucky always had the best laugh. All grit and breath and him. Steve feels warm just thinking about it.

“Well thanks for letting me in on the secret, I’ll make sure to guard it carefully.” She even has Bucky’s warm sarcasm.

Maybe it’s not so much like looking in a mirror as it is looking at what he wishes he and his boyfriend could have been back then.

“And thanks for letting me interview you—” Ellie continues, setting the cup down but not before nodding at it, her eyes wide— “wow. You weren’t kidding about the joe, huh? Anyway— thanks for scheduling this. I know you’re probably super busy— and that there are more well established people you could have gone to.”

Steve sets his own mug down too— if he hadn’t there’s a possibility it would be more puddle than porcelain. “Well established means nothin’, kid. Not when you don’t have heart. They’re parasites, all of ‘em. The press couldn’t care less about me.”

Ellie nods, lifting the lid of her laptop. It’s a little bit dented and slathered in stickers, not quite the newest model— he would know, he has the newest one and it’s still sitting in his apartment in the box. Yet another testament to how little the people around him truly know him.

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, can I get you a side of classism with that commercialism?”

Now she sounds like Winnie too.

“Say, has anyone ever told you that you’re funny?”

She shrugs, tilting her head, a lopsided grin glued to her face. “Once or twice— I never know if they mean it or if they just want me to shut up. I never do so I guess we’ll never know.”

Steve sputters out another laugh because; “I guess we’re the same then— never give them a moment, kid. That’s the best advice I can give you.” He pauses— again— he supposes it’s going to be a day of pausing— he supposes it’s about time he pauses— before adding, “Bucky would’ve scolded me for saying that.”

Ellie’s fingers, swift and deft over the machine— Steve hadn’t even seen her begin to type— pause too as her smile softens. “What would he have said instead?”

Her question shouldn’t catch off guard— this is why he asked her to meet him; to finally, properly write his story— their story. Still he pauses— Steve’s empty hands feel hot, his shoulders warm; bare— what would he have said? It doesn’t take long to hear his boyfriend’s voice, not there but somehow loud in his ear all the same.

Just relax— they aren’t worth it. It’s too nice out to care about anything but the water— are you coming in or not? Summer doesn’t last forever, you know?

It’s impossible but Steve can feel the sun on his back and on his ears again, like he’s there— like he’s back, sixteen and on fire. Those were the days where everything made him cold. The days where his skin burned no matter the season but especially in August which was when the ocean was warm enough to swim in. It never stopped him from joining Buck— nothing could have stopped him. His cheeks warm, too, at the thought.

Steve blinks, his own smile— perhaps a little lopsided in it’s own right— shaping over his mouth. “He would have told you to relax— and to try the plum cobbler. It’s fantastic.”

With another giggle— and a reiterated comment— has anyone ever told you you’re funny, Steve?— they fall into a conversation, just a kid and a relic, about life. It’s not an easy conversation— but then again those kinds never are. It’s real, though, and unedited. Unfiltered. Just the way Erskine and Winnie and Bucky would have liked it— the only way Steve wants it. It’s not perfect but, hell, Steve has never been perfect.

He’s never wanted to be.

Maybe Steve doesn’t know everything his boyfriend would say— and maybe he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t blow up once or twice after today— but he can confidently say that he gave Brooklyn a run for her money— twice— and lived to tell the tale. He can say then when it mattered, he burned. That he still burns. That he will until he doesn’t— until he’s extinguished.

But, hey, though Summer doesn’t last forever, not even the Atlantic could extinguish the flame that is Steve Rogers.

That’s what he writes— in Sharpie— on the card he writes to Ellie— the one attached to the computer he knows he’ll never use.

[mourntheantagonist]

aaah hc: steve having shit eyesight and having to wear glasses but obviously no one knows because he always wears contacts. and then one day he runs out so he has to wear his glasses. and like billy sees him with glasses for the first time and hes so in love because steve looks so adorable. and steve is literally blushing bc :"))) and billy keeps calling him a nerd

this was sent in like two months ago!! sorry it took so long 💙

but YES steve wearing glasses makes me WEAK

steve is near sighted as fuck. he didn’t actually get his eyes checked until his eighth grade year because he was failing nearly all his classes because he could never see the board, and he didn’t really think anything of it until his history teacher had pulled him aside after weeks of seeing him not taking notes. he told her he couldn’t see what she was writing and found it difficult taking notes by just listening. so she had moved him to the front of the class, which proved just as unsuccessful. so finally he was taken to the eye doctor.

steve knew he needed glasses, but he was actively avoiding that possibility. people at school were constantly being made fun of for them, so he’d rather go out blind because steve’s reputation mattered to him.

but he was in the car with his mom on the way to the eye doctor and he knew there was no avoiding it now.

and of course they told him he needed glasses. set him up with a prescription and made him pick out a set of frames they had. his mother made him get the square black frames that just screamed “nerd”

and then he didn’t wear them. he’d put them on before he left the house and immediately put them back into their case as soon as he was out of his parents sight. he told his teacher that he didn’t need glasses which she reluctantly accepted, and he tried his best.

until he forgot to put them back on one day and his dad figured it all out. that’s when he convinced his parents to give him contact lenses, and he wore those every day and his glasses remained untouched. he wouldn’t even wear them around the house by himself.

nobody knew he needed glasses except for him and his parents. not even tommy or carol knew about it. and he successfully made it over three years without ever having a slip up.

until that one fucking morning when the world seemed to be against him. his fucking contact went down the drain and it was his last one. and it’s reached a point where he’d gotten so used to them that he couldn’t even function without them.

so he swallows his pride, and put the damn things on. and he hates it. hates the way they feel on his face and he can already hear the gasps and whispers of everyone around him as soon as they see him.

he was definitely being over dramatic. the worst he received was a couple of stares of confusion out of people. nobody gave as much of a shit as he did.

except for one person. billy. of course it would be fucking billy.

they were on better terms now, but that didn’t mean the relentless taunting came to an end. with the glasses, steve was giving billy bait on a hook. he was not surprised when billy pointed out the nerd glasses.

billy ws absolutely relentless about it all day. just constantly staring at him and greeting him with various names raging from four-eyes to specks and of course, nerd. and as much as he hated having attention drawn to him like that... he liked having billy’s attention, blue eyes glued to his brown ones that were hidden behind thick glass. it did hurt just a little bit that it was negative attention, but he just brushed the names off and went on with his day, ignoring the ache on the bridge of his nose from underuse.

but fuck, billy was literally following him around like a lost puppy. he was there behind every open locker, around every corner, or right over his shoulder and steve was getting irritated. he managed to make it through that whole day of school without completely blowing up, and instead saved the explosion for when they bumped into each other in the parking lot. because of course billy had to park the camaro directly to the left of the beemer.

all it took was the fifteenth drop of the word ‘nerd’ for steve so completely lose his shit.

“what the fuck is your deal hargrove? look I’ll come to school blind tomorrow, would that make you happy?”

before billy could protest, steve was already jumping into the drivers seat and peeling out of the parking lot, leaving a wide eyed and stunned billy left standing there.

steve tosses the glasses onto the table as soon as he gets home, his vision suddenly growing blurry and he doesn’t even care. he just drops himself onto the living room sofa and lets his eyes fall shut, massaging the bridge of his nose and the space behind his ears that had grown sore.

he has a growing headache that he’s unsure if he should attribute to the vision or just his plain bad day.

around forty minutes of being home, there’s a knock on his door, which is odd. the only person whoever came around his house was dustin and he sure as hell didn’t knock. steve begrudgingly put his glasses back on and looked out his front window to see that fucking blue Camaro parked out in front of his house.

this better be good.

steve was not at all expecting to see what he saw on the other side of that door.

billy was standing there. same clothes same ridiculous hair, but his eyes were hidden behind a pair of glasses just like his own. his were rimless and rectangular and made him look like a grandfather.

“you here to mock me some more?” steve asked, preparing to slam the door right in his face.

but billy stopped it with the slam of his hand. “I wasn’t mocking you before.”

steve scoffed. “then what do you call it?”

billy kind of just stood there for a minute. looking up and down at the ground while steve stood there impatiently waiting for an answer. billy’s shoe was digging into the concrete, wearing away the the soles of his boots and he mustered up the courage to just fucking do it.

one second, steve was on the verge of slamming the door for the second time, the next, two pairs of glasses clanked against each other and a pair of lips were on his own, cutting off his breath. steve’s hands unconsciously snaked around to billy’s hips and pulled him in closer, kissing him back the moment he gathered his bearings.

when their lips parted, faces still inches away from each other, steve could feel billy’s breath warm on his nose and cheeks.

“I call it pulling your fuckin’ pigtails harrington,” billy brought a finger up to steve’s face and pushed his glasses back up from where they had slid down his nose. “cause you look damn good in glasses pretty-boy.”

suddenly, nerd, specks, and even four-eyes didn’t bother him anymore.

and he didn’t bother ordering any more contact lenses.

[wilhelmjfink]

Daryl Dixon Drabble #6 - Part 4 (Finale)

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST BRI GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!!!

I absolutely despise how Tumblr formats these on mobile. If anybody knows how to fix this, let me know PLEASE

thnx for waiting

—

You assumed it was around high noon when you woke up, judging by the thick layer of sweat that replaced your sleeping bag in hugging your entire body. It was now sprawled across the canvas floor, forgotten, and your hair clung to the skin of your forehead. And between the heat and the events of the prior night, you felt almost feverish and sick.

It was a nice surprise that nobody had disturbed you, though — and you silently hoped that theme continued throughout the remainder of the day as you begrudgingly emerged and reveled in the cool fresh air that greeted you on the outside of the sauna that was simply a tent in the Georgia summer heat. Judging by that sun... it was going to be another miserably hot day.

Before, you had never been one for swimming in any body of water that wasn’t a clean and chlorinated pool. Maybe it was the small part of you that had been spoiled, but ponds and creeks weren’t your favorite means of cooling off until you, quite literally, had no other choice; but you would always fondly reminisce of the in-ground swimming pool at your moms house growing up as you waded into the cloudy pond water. You were only ever there one week a month, so it was a damn luxury even then, and a far-fetched dream now.

The suns reflection shimmered on the water ripples you caused as you waded in and you sighed contently, actively trying to ignore the constant lingering scent of fish and mud and algae as you scrubbed your filthy fingernails against the soap bar in your hands, lathering it up enough so that, maybe after one or two rounds, your skin might begin to feel relatively clean again. Your now-soaked tank top clung to your skin — you think maybe it was white at one point, but decided not to question the faded stains that decorated it now.

Dunking beneath the surface you rubbed your fingertips vigorously against your scalp, silently wishing you hadn’t spent years taking advantage of all of the luxurious products and fancy soaps always at your disposal. Fuck — even a new, cheap 50¢ soap bar would be like gold right now compared to the slimy old bar in your hands. Your hair was dry and coarse, and admittedly you’d be mortified at the current condition of it if you had any time to worry about anything other than not starving or getting eaten alive. You scrubbed your eyes free of the murky water and stretched, content to take your time and daydream for the moment until you had to start your day. You’d been left alone, and figured it was intentional.

Good. You could get some shit done.

So you hadn’t expected to turn towards the shore and find Daryl standing there, frozen like a deer in headlights when your eyes met — yeah, modesty had gone out the door for you months ago, but you couldn’t fight the smile that crept up on your face when Daryl instantly whipped around and threw a hand up to shield his eyes as if he had really anticipated finding you pond bathing, what, fully clothed? What was he expecting to see?

“Shit,” he stammered, “uh, ‘m sorry, I just —“

“I do have some clothes on,” you replied as you fully emerged onto dry land and doubled over to pick up your dirty towel tossed carelessly into the grass. Even in the skew of the sunlight and shadows you could see the flush creep up his neck and cheeks and turn the tips of his ears pink. But you found yourself wanting to squash any sort of relief or joy you’d first experienced upon noticing him there when last nights fiasco began to run through your mind. You had no idea what he possibly wanted with you — was he going to chew you out again? The mere notion had your stomach twisting in knots as you rung out your soaking wet hair and cast your eyes back down to the ground and away from his own piercing gaze that had returned upon hearing you weren’t completely nude.

“I thought.. I thought you were doin’ laundry,” he explained, again turning away as he spoke, quickly and sheepishly. Like a child caught red-handed, he was always fleeting and nervous and ready to escape. “Nevermind, ‘m sorry, I’ll — “

You didn’t allow him to finish because, when you saw him start to take a step forward and leave, you lunged your hand on to his shoulder. Where the sudden balls came from, you had no fucking idea. Daryl was the one notorious for his bravery when everyone else needed the strength, but situations like this? He would turn tail and run away at the very first opportunity you even hinted at that might give him some sort of escape. But the way you saw it, he had obviously sought you out for a reason; and the way that things had ended last night left a bad taste in your mouth that you, whether you admitted it to yourself or not, we’re desperate to alleviate.

“Stop.” It was a bit more forceful than you’d intended but you were so positive that he would break into a sprint just to get away from you at that moment that you didn’t try to soften it. To your surprise, he stiffened, but nonetheless halted in his tracks. “Do you need something?”

Almost as if to prove to you that you knew nothing about him the way you thought you did, he spun toward you abruptly: “M’sorry — for last night.”

The apology took you by surprise in the best way, uncoiling the anxiety that had slowly begin to twist around in your gut. He had a way of keeping you on your fucking toes, it sure seemed. Quite literally speechless, he’d blindsided you, and you shook your head to clear the swarm of thoughts and prioritize your next words knowing that you didn’t have a lot of time to voice them before he would inevitably shut you out again or take off running. “Wait,” you tried, feeling him start to pull away at your lack of an immediate response; you could see the uneasiness etched in his features and even feel it in his stance. “Wait —“

But he cut you off, just like he did when he was chewing you out back in the woods the night before. This time, however, was far different, and you couldn’t quite decide what exactly had changed.

“Jus’ listen to me for a second, alright?”

He was breathing heavily and rapidly through his nose — not from overexhetion, but in an unreliable attempt to keep his voice steady and confident. You nodded in response.

The tensity in his body, the stiffness in his muscles, it was tangible — his legs were actively trying so hard to move him away from the situation, to let him pace like the caged animal he always reminded you of, desperate to run and hide. He wanted so desperately to speak, but seemed unable to form the words.

“I didn’t... I never meant to...”

Seeing him so vulnerable and helpless, it absolutely broke your heart as you stood there watching. Waiting. Waiting for some other words to come to you because the ones that you kept drumming up inside your head just weren’t good enough to fall on his ears.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, Daryl’s head dropped, and he choked out a sob.

You felt strangled. The breath was knocked from your lungs at the sound. The guilt that followed was crippling and seized your entire body within its white-knuckled grip, but was almost instantly overshadowed with fear; fear and regret and shame and you thought you might be sick with the overwhelming emotions before you just decided to throw your arms around his broad shoulders, standing on your tiptoes, pressing your still damp body so close to his that maybe you could meld the two of your souls together.

“I’m sorry, Daryl.” Face pressed into his chest, your words were muffled and wavered unsteadily as you struggled yourself not to break down. “I never shoulda said what I said. It was fucked up, but it was a lie. I swear I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to piss you off.”

“That don’t make it okay to hurt you!”

Admittedly, you faltered at his reasoning, but your mouth kept rolling on autopilot because you knew how Daryl would take to your silence as a reply. “No, but —“

“No, it ain’t ever okay to do what I did.”

He shook you off with a violent shrug of his shoulders, your arms falling limply to your sides.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you,” you offered, not surprised when he shook his head in response and gestured wildly with his hands on either side of your head, hands clenched in fists, almost as if he was fighting some internal battle and, by the looks of it, losing miserably.

“Ya don’t get it, Y/N!” He spun on his his heels, abruptly turning away from you and replacing that distance between the two of you that you were growing to detest. “Ya don’t get it. Ya were right.”

You raised your eyebrows at him though you weren’t sure if it mattered with how he faced away from you, and you weren’t sure if you could just see his own features particularly well today or if it’d come from hours of staring at him, watching him, studying him while you simply tried to figure him the fuck out.

“I dunno why, but ya get me so.... fuckin’ mad sometimes. It’s like, ya know how to get right under my fuckin’ skin.” His voice was low now, rough with exhaustion and the scent of lingering alcohol. And while you could feel your heart drop at his admission, you had to fight the sense of pride and joy you were feeling that he even fucking admitted it.

This is what you’d been working so hard to get from him; it’s also exactly what got him so mad in the first place, and therefore the mess you were currently in that ensued. Whether or not the alcohol coursing through both your systems had anything to do with it didn’t matter to you anymore.

“When ya said that, it just...I dunno. I didn’t wanna fuckin’ believe it,” he ran an exasperated hand down his face before turning away from you, fueling your unconscious need to step forward after him again, softly, like you were trying to catch a wild animal, fearing that he would turn and break away from you at any second. “But what I did — Merle woulda done the same damn thing! He woulda done it without a second fuckin’ thought!”

His hands raked through his hair, distressed and frantic, and you reached out to grasp his wrists and steady him, your hands comically small next to his, strong and secure and familiar. At first, he flinched; tugging away from you half-heartedly before giving up and allowing you to gingerly lower his hands down in front of him, in between you, where they remained trapped in your grip.

“That’s exactly what I mean, Daryl,” you said softly, choosing your words carefully as if any wrong one would scare him off and send him fleeing again. As firmly as you held his wrists before you, one foot remained turned as you anticipated him doing just that. And the fear of watching him run again had, at some point, outweighed the fleeting fear that Daryl might actually want to hurt you — and you felt disgusted in yourself when you realized it. “You aren’t like Merle. You’re so much better.”

It was almost worth celebrating when he didn’t reply, and instead remained still as a statue, towering over you in the blazing mid-afternoon sun. The same type of heat, you thought, that burned inside of his very being; one that he’d spent so many shadowed years trying to extinguish. Thinking it was wrong. Thinking it was weak to simply care about somebody. All because of one single person.

You hated Merle Dixon, and if you ever saw him again, you swore you’d make sure he’d hate you just as much.

“You said Merle would’ve done that without a second thought — but you? Look at yourself, Daryl. You obviously feel so bad, so... guilty. Otherwise you wouldn’t be standing here. Do you think Merle ever felt this way about anything he’d ever done before? Do you think he ever apologized to anyone?”

Once again, his silence was reassuring. He was listening, considering your words... you only hoped that you wouldn’t say the wrong thing this time.

“The fact that you have so much remorse just shows that you are nothing like your brother. You are so, so much better. You are worlds away from ever being anything like him, Daryl.”

You could almost hear the gears turning behind his ocean blue eyes as he took in your words, deep and powerful though they were short. You couldn’t deny you were just content that he had stopped his angry outburst although now it was clear he was far more mad at himself instead of you.

“And I... I’m so sorry for the things that I said. I hope you can forgive me. I was drunk and angry. But I want you to know that... you can trust me. And I’m here for you.”

Now, you could almost feel his stare boring through you, the intensity behind his eyes unable to be ignored as it rose the hairs on the back of your neck and sparked goosebumps that trickled down your spine with a shiver you tried to stifle.

Now what? Daryl was unpredictable. Especially when it came to raw emotions like this, you thought to yourself. Can you stop him from turning tail and running, should that be his next move? Did he believe anything you were saying?

With one swift motion, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, warm and familiar, quick enough as to not be able to stop himself from doing so once he decided it was what he wanted to do, it seemed.

Though it was forceful, it was good. It was much more natural than the last time he’d moved that quickly toward you, you recalled. Much better actually, you realized, as you silently acknowledged that, this time, you sure as fuck didn’t flinch away and instead, hugged him back.

You looked down at the ground, sighing contently — oh. Despite your minimal clothing and every excuse to be totally naked in the cool water of your pond bath, your boots were still strapped on tight. You know... just in case.

[veliseraptor]

2020 Fanfiction Round-Up

I do one of these every year! And have since I think 2016. Can’t break a tradition even if it’s been a clusterfuck of a time and filling this out was in some ways an exercise in remembering the ways I have failed myself as a writer this year. 

But oh well!

Total Year-Long Wordcount: I’ll post the final final number tonight after I finish the writing I want to do this afternoon (and plan to do this afternoon), but it’s currently 451,803 words written this year. Guessing I’m going to land somewhere around 453,000ish. (AO3 claims a higher number than that but that’s because it is counting the entirety of fics where I posted chapters this year.

This year I wrote and posted: I wrote a fair number more than I posted (there are five fics finished but for various reasons unposted on my hard drive) but based on Tumblr I posted 78 posts in my fic tag, which, not including chapter specific updates and three sentence meme answers (but including at least two Tumblr-only longer fics), probably comes out to about 60 or so “full length” fics that saw the light of day in 2020.

Overall Thoughts

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted? 

Well, I wrote more than I did last year, which is sort of a surprise to me (all things considered) but also maybe not, because I was doing a lot less of most other things that could’ve been occupying my time, including two hours daily of commuting. 

But still less than I did in 2018. Which is fine.

What’s your own favorite story of the year? 

Lord, I don’t know. It depends on when you ask me. Lately I’ve been in a bit of a “I hate everything I’ve written ever” state of mind, so that makes it sort of hard to do any kind of...reasonable assessment. 

I know I’m proud of With Absolute Splendor but I have all these reservations about it and I can’t reread it for the most part because I always notice new things I wish I’d done differently. I feel pretty good about efforts in a common cause but something about it still makes me cringe, which I suspect has to do with my general self-consciousness. I have a hard time feeling unreservedly proud about...anything I wrote this year, really. 

I feel like the closest I get is maybe nor autumn falter which I am pretty pleased with and also which does hurt me a lot personally. Or I did end up overall pretty pleased with what came out of By Proxy.

But also the more I look at this question the more I start hating all my own work, so...guess this is kind of coming at a bad time.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

I mean, I started writing in my first non-English fandom in many years, and specifically one where I was trying to engage more with the cultural background of the setting (in a way I wasn’t with, say, Death Note, when I was writing Death Note fic). So that was a risk. And I learned that it’s very stressful and there’s so many ways to make mistakes and I am, in many ways, a coward. But also I think I’ve learned a fair amount thanks to a lot of very patient people on the internet, so...there’s that.

Otherwise...I mean, I got ambitious with a few projects this year (the Big Bang fic and With Absolute Splendor stand out), but I’m not sure how much I really tried new things. 

I feel like I had to fight myself a little on writing straight up bad sex for By Proxy - I planned on it being hot, and it really wasn’t. It was mostly just miserable. Which made for a better fic, but was a new experience for me as far as ‘I thought I was going to write porn and that isn’t what I wrote.’

From my past year of writing, what was….

My most popular story of this year: 

By far, With Absolute Splendor. In fact, it has now become my second most kudosed fic of all time, behind only fuckin Life in Reverse. So like. That’s a thing.

(It is still less than half as many as Life in Reverse, but for context Life in Reverse has been around for going on eight years.)

Most fun story to write: 

Most fics where I feel like “I’m having so much fun writing this!” also go through a “oh god I hate this it’s terrible” phase which makes this sort of hard to assess. But I did have overall a lot of fun writing Mutual Friends despite all my frustration with the canon-wrangling I had to do to make it work in my head. 

But also I feel like both Retributive Justice and Embedded were in different ways deeply iddy fics that were just fun to write. That actually goes for a lot of the Whumptober fics. That was a very self-indulgent month. Excited to do it again in February (hopefully, if I can write things in a timely manner at all).

Story with the single sexiest moment: 

I feel like the beauty of your repair might be my personal favorite smut I posted this year, but I think my personal favorite that I wrote is in the big bang fic nobody will see until January. 

I feel like most of the sexiest moments I’ve written this year are in the porn fics I’m going to start posting in January also. But just generally I feel like the beauty of your repair is the sexiest thing I wrote and posted.

Most “Holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story: 

I mean, I Come With Knives is definitely up there. It’s not that wrong or anything, but it got pretty intense in some ways I wasn’t expecting. Mostly in how much blood got involved, which was actually more than I’d had it involved in a sex thing before! Kind of surprises me that I haven’t previously done more with bloodplay stuff but. Well. First time for everything!

I don’t think this was a year that really had any “wow, what the fuck, Lise” things in it. Nothing on the level of last year’s winner. I’m almost disappointed in myself.

Abattoir was definitely the story that generated the weirdest conversation and creepiest search questions, though, so it does get points for that. 

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: 

I feel like the writing of everyone else is spring bound was a lot of...me thinking through my Jiang Cheng feelings and specifically my Jiang Cheng post-canon feelings. 

the martyr, the victim was pretty formative in shaping how I think about both Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji and their relationship with each other. It was the first fic I wrote that really dug into them in any way, I think, and definitely one that informed how I thought about writing Lan Xichen later.

Hardest story to write: 

I was thinking it was the one that I haven’t posted yet but I did technically finish, aka my Big Bang fic, the terrible threesome fic, the massive “I’m gonna keep everyone in the Yi City arc alive” AU that I started shortly after finishing The Untamed and finished in December. So I spent most of the year writing it.

But then I was like - no, I’m going to have to go with we live until we die even though it’s technically been ‘in progress’ for five years and really kicked into gear in 2019 and I just finished it and posted it this year, because that fic was like. The culmination of a big arc in an enormous verse dealing with a whole lot of balls in the air and trying to tie up a whole lot of threads. It was ambitious and the stakes were high and it was full of plot and action which are not two of my strengths...frankly I’m still amazed I pulled the damn thing off.

Biggest Disappointment: 

I think it is better if I refrain from going too in depth on this because it would just end up as me listing a bunch of my perceived failings. But I think off the top of my head I’m frustrated by the fact that I still haven’t really managed to write a XueXiao smut fic that quite hits the spot for me, myself. I’ve written two and for various reasons I don’t really like either of them. 

Biggest Surprise: 

The fact that my Jiang Cheng fic took off the way it did. Legitimately did not see that coming! At all! I mean, I’m delighted by it but it wasn’t what I saw happening as far as “niche I’d find in this fandom” or “thing I’d write that people would really enjoy reading.”

Particularly with By Proxy. That fic got a lot more attention than I would’ve expected. 

Most Unintentionally Telling Story: 

I feel like every fic I write with Xue Yang in it tells you something about me and most of those things are things that make me, on some level, deeply self-conscious, but I try not to think about that too much.  

I feel like the most telling story is maybe we all drift sometimes because I literally wrote it out of a depressive episode about a bad brain day but that wasn’t unintentional.

Favorite Opening Line(s):

1. So it turned out that if you touched the tendons of a dead person’s wrist and channeled a little bit of spiritual energy just right, it made the fingers twitch and curl like they were still alive. (Abattoir)

2. Here’s the thing: your Daozhang is glorious when he kills. (tear out all your tenderness)

3. Turned out that a sect leader’s head came off like anyone else’s. (Unnatural Selection)

4. The first hint that anything had gone awry was the letter from Lan Wangji (His Excellency Hanguang-jun, pardon me) that simply said have you heard from Wei Ying? (some good mistakes)

5. What Jiang Cheng wanted to do, more than anything, was to go home and take a nap. (everyone else is spring bound)

Favorite Line(s) from Anywhere:

I usually keep this to 10 but because I’ve been in such a :| place about my own writing I indulged myself this once.

1. Sometimes it felt like all he had done since descending the mountain was shatter his own dreams and accumulate regrets. (nor autumn falter)

**

2. It felt like she was holding all the components of a bomb in her hands, half assembled. If she moved the right way they would stay just that: components. But if she moved the wrong way… (til my judgment day)

**

3. He should have killed him. Should have been the one to strike that blow, in revenge for Jin Zixuan and their sister and everyone else dead for Wei Wuxian’s pride. Maybe then there would not be this gnawing, aching thing embedded in his chest; this itching, unfinished feeling. Maybe then he would not feel torn in two, sometimes like he should have reached out with his other hand and sometimes like he should have struck truer and sometimes both, in the same moment. (Interstitial)

**

4. He owed Wei Wuxian more than he could ever give back in this lifetime. Forgiving him felt like betraying his sister’s memory. Not forgiving him felt like trying to walk with a thorn in his foot. He was just - stuck, caught like a demon in a spiritual net.

Jiang Cheng thought of the way Wei Wuxian looked at Lan Wangji, with warmth and trust and love, and the aching, sick jealousy he had no right to feel returned. He felt a little like a child watching someone pick up a toy he’d abandoned and suddenly realizing that he wanted it back. (everyone else is spring bound)

**

5. You close your eyes and think about how he looked back in that town, Shuanghua slicing clean through a man’s neck, opening it to the spine, and think dizzily that he could open you like that and it’d be good, as long as it lasted. (tear out all your tenderness)

**

6. When Wangji loved, he loved with his whole being, without reserve. And now he had been placed between the rock of his convictions and the hard place of his devotion to Wei Wuxian. (the martyr, the victim)

**

7. He spent a week turning the idea over in his head. Studying it like a corpse he was going to dissect, poking at it, cutting it open and examining its insides. (dead reckoning)

**

8. When the world hurt you, that was the only thing to do, after all. Hurt it back, harder, worse. Spill rivers of blood for every drop it squeezed from you.

And when the end came, never go quietly. (the blood in your mouth)

**

9. I would stand with you through the end of the world, said Loki’s voice in his head, and Steve’s heart wasn’t in his chest anymore, was somewhere off on another planet where Loki was lying dead in a ruined city. (we live until we die)

**

10. Was it always going to be like this? Stumbling into traps, tripping over familiar skeletons, slicing himself open on the edges of old hurts. Was there really such a thing as leaving the past behind? He still felt stuck in it, unable to move, and every time he thought he might be finally dragging himself free something pulled him back. (With Absolute Splendor)

**

11. His chest was full of poison. His throat was full of grief. And he was still a little drunk.

Jiang Cheng went to his room, sat down on his bed, put his face in his hands, and cried until he couldn’t breathe. (By Proxy)

Top 5 Scenes from Anywhere You Would Choose to Have Illustrated:

I think the scene from nor autumn falter of Xiao Xingchen just crying his heart out over Xue Yang’s dead body would be up there.

The Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian hug from the end of With Absolute Splendor.

Okay, just gonna say it: Xue Yang and Jin Guangyao having sex by the table with Nie Mingjue’s headless corpse on it. So sue me.

The scene in the blood in your mouth where Song Lan has stabbed Xue Yang and Xiao Xingchen is following the line of Fuxue to the latter. I have a very clear visual of it in my head and if I could art I’d art it.

Xue Yang with the hallucinatory Xiao Xingchen from liberate spirits, liberate souls.

Fic-writing goals for 2021:

Finish Walking Far From Home.

Maybe I’ll finish some of these MCU WIPs? I’d kind of like to, on an abstract level if nothing else.

Become a more well-adjusted human being about the relationship between my productivity and my self-worth.

[timextoxhajima]

Playlist Feels

*SHORT SERIES

Member: ʲᵘʸᵉᵒⁿ

Genre: romantic fluff cause im fucking feeling it leave me alone + drama with chaebol/lawyer juyeon

Links to other parts:

I Never Wanna See You Again

Frustrated (light smut)

Love Somebody (light smut)

Play With Fire (smut)

Stigma

Bourbon

Highway To Heaven (smut)

~

“my love.”

A/N: there is a small time jump between the last chapter and this one so just keep that in mind :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“today, we are all gathered here in the name of the world’s craziest rookie lawyer, for winning a case that had she had nearly no chance of winning--”

“oh, for gods’ sake--” you tug on sunwoo’s sleeve, trying to get him to sit down. “can you sit your ass down--”

“no, let me speak! you’ve done enough speaking in court today--” sunwoo snatches his arm back, the soju in his other hand nearly spilling. eric and chanhee watch on with bright faces, their proud smiles gleaming. 

the private room in the barbecue eatery was filled with the entire office. the business case that you’ve been working on for the last two months had concluded this evening with you winning the case, and you couldn’t be happier.

you wish could tell colleagues that most of the quality work was done by the ceo, but he’s just told everybody that the both of you have invested equal amounts of effort into finding every loophole in the case that you could build on. 

you were in tables of four in the private room, and the smell of barbecued meat has probably become one with your clothes. you were seated at the same table as chanhee, sunwoo and eric and behind you sat your manager, lee jaehyun, the ceo and kim younghoon, another colleague whom you didn’t know was close to them. 

in fact, most of the office was close to everybody. there were only fifteen lawyers in your section, so it wasn’t difficult to form a bond with everybody. 

you haven’t seen your mother or his since the dinner about the law firm. the swavroski deal was still sitting in juyeon’s office collecting dust, and juyeon has been going over to your cozy, little apartment outside of the city on fridays and saturdays. 

to get away from city life and his responsibilities that he’s still been trying to run from. 

you weren’t sure when your parents were going to hunt you down and attempt to shove your responsibilities down your throat as well, but that was a problem to worry about when it comes. 

you could still remember the day juyeon announced to his house staff that they could take saturday off with no change in income. the looks on their faces were priceless, and when they found out where he was leaving his extravagant penthouse to, they literally got on their knees to thank you.

not for giving them a day off, but for finally getting juyeon out of the city that’s been wearing thin at his sanity. 

it only confirmed how close his house staff was to him, even if he was their boss and they could’ve been treated less than they were. no words could’ve described how proud you were when his kindness was reflected in their gratitude for taking care of him. 

“as i was fuckin’ saying...” sunwoo’s last word was garbled and his eyelids began drooping. eric and chanhee began lowering their heads in slight embarrassment, knowing that he was already part drunk. “you!” sunwoo nearly throws his soju glass at you.

“are the craziest rookie ever. three cases plus one impossible case in eight months?! sick.”

“i agree!” your manager calls out from the other table. your eyes catch a glimpse of juyeon giving you the smallest smile. “you’ve exceeded our expectations as a newbie, and i hope you’ve exceeded your own.”

lee sangyeon lifts his glass, and everybody else follows. they cheer in unison, and the attention causes you to turn red in embarrassment. the satisfaction gained from being the person you wanted to be without any repercussions from being a chaebol was sweet on your tongue, and you bask in the overwhelming feeling of pride.

“but wait!” sunwoo shouts again, taking the soju bottle and refilling his own glass. everybody turns their attention back at him after downing the shot that was for you, some of them following suit and refilling their glass as well. you shake your head at chanhee, who was sitting opposite you, casually picking up some meat to munch on. “there’s one more thing i’d like to toast you for!”

“we’ve heard you enough about that stupid bowling match, sunwoo!” one of your colleagues yell out from another table. “we know y/n trashed you!”

you give him a smirk and loudly hurl a “ha!” in his face as he looks down at you from your side. chanhee and eric burst out in laughter, as so does everybody else in the restaurant. 

“no! no,” sunwoo’s voice booms through the private room, his hands outstretched now as if asking someone to wait. you sigh, a smile refusing to leave your lips as you soak up the lively atmosphere. you fill up your own glass, ready to down the shot regardless of what he was about to say.

“i want to congratulate you on winning the biggest prize in the office--”

wait what--

“sunwoo--”

“lee. ju. yeon.”

your eyes widen and you choke on your soju, your vision barely catching chanhee and eric aggressively reaching over the table and looking like they were about to beat the fuck out of him. 

there was an expectation to be crushed by an awkward atmosphere with gasps and whispers, but there was none of it.

instead, lee jaehyun stands up with his glass and throws a fist into the air.

“I WIN!”

your heart stops.

you look across your table and over to the other, eyes scanning juyeon as he quickly yanks on jaehyun’s blazer and tries to shut him up.

“God damn it!” another colleague from another table exclaims. suddenly, the whole room start to cheer and whistle, and your table looks on with complete confusion. 

“it wasn’t me who started the bet this time! he was the only person in the office who was dumb enough to think you two weren’t already together!” lee jaehyun waves juyeon off, relaxed.

what?

“juyeon! did you really think none of us picked up on it? like yeah, sure, you’ve never hooked up with her in the office like, ever, but it was so obvious that you got happier after you worked with her on the case!” someone else calls out to the ceo. 

your brain was busy glitching, not catching the proud smiles on your colleagues’ faces. 

“why did you people let me bet with lee jaehyun?!” the colleague, who you assumed lost the bet to lee jaehyun, whines out loud. 

“nobody fucking told you to!!!!!” everybody else yells at him. 

“are you serious?” juyeon finally releases lee jaehyun and looks around his employees, who you know look at him more as their friend than their boss.

“do you treat us as a bunch of idiots?” another colleague calls out. “do you have any idea how gloomy you were every time you came around office with your father?”

“i remember he was so happy the first two years he was working here and then nearing his six months hiatus, he came in everyday with a cloud over his face!”

you watch, entertained, but also a little worried. juyeon had a shy smile pressed on his lips and you could see his ears reddening while his colleagues decoded and exposed the hell out of him. 

“ah... i thought you guys never really bothered with me because of my father...” he rubs the back of his neck, eyes now looking down at his feet. lee jaehyun has the audacity to walk over to the colleague who lost the bet, his palm reached out and his fingers asking for his prize. 

“just because your father was a shit-show, it doesn’t make you any less of a capable lawyer of your own.”

“and you!” someone yells in your direction. you were scared to listen to what she had to say, but she does it anyway. 

“when are we getting our first lee-baby?” 

everybody in the room erupts into cheers of encouragement. 

you feel the blood rush into your face and ears and your eyes nearly blacked the fuck out at the question. you were so relieved that none of your colleagues were trashing you for being in a relationship with their ceo, and you should probably thank juyeon for being such a kind and reasonable boss.

in reality, everybody didn’t have a problem with you either. 

you always tried your best to be nice to everybody in the office, so it must’ve paid off in some sense.

“ah-- ah!” juyeon waves his hands in the air, getting everybody to calm down like he was doing damage control. your table starts teasing you mercilessly, and you couldn’t decide if you were more relieved that nobody hated you, or on edge that the whole office wants a fucking baby when you’ve only been with juyeon a little more than a month. “nobody is getting a baby anytime soon!”

“but can we at least know if the two of you have gotten it on?”

oh, my god.

where is a hole when you need one?

your manager visibly has difficulty keeping his emotions and thoughts off his face, and lee jaehyun just raises a cocky brow at juyeon, a smirk threatening to show up on his lips. 

and this was the first time juyeon has frozen completely like a statue.

oh, no. 

why didn’t he just deny it--

“i fucking told you so!” a female colleague stands up and her chair slides backwards at the impact. 

so many things were happening at once, and you couldn’t believe just how close everybody was with one another for them to be making these bets about their boss behind his back.

“pay up!” she walks to other tables, hands opened up and they slam ten dollar bills into her palm. 

“this is so unfair, you obviously got the tip-off from jaehyun!” someone groans while handing her the bill.

“you were involved in the bet?!” you finally yell across the room at your desk neighbour. juyeon takes a step toward jaehyun, and the movement scares him.

“no!” he instinctively takes a step back. “that’s why i didn’t bet! because i already knew!”

you sigh loudly and slam your forehead against the table, not caring about the little specks of oil on the surface. 

your colleagues spend the next thirty minutes trying to get you to kiss for show, and so when the ceo did just that, you swore you could’ve gone deaf in that very moment.

though it wasn’t difficult to keep your relationship with the ceo under wraps when you were in the office, it sure as hell felt satisfying when he could drape his arm over your shoulders without worrying about anybody else. 

juyeon settles the bill for everybody and he sends them on their way home, thanking them for their hard work for the week and to enjoy their weekend. 

your colleagues congratulate the both of you formally, some even telling you the same things his house staff said to you when juyeon first announced his saturday getaways to your place. the both of you wait for everybody to disperse before you hook your arm on his, and you walk to the nearby carpark where his Porsche was sitting in. 

“do you need anything from home?” you wait for juyeon to sit himself in the driver’s, watching him check the gears as per routine.

“uh... i still have clothes at your place, right?” he wraps his hands around the steering wheel, and it never fails to amaze you how small his hands make it look. 

“pretty sure you have at least three sets sitting in my wardrobe,” you lean back and rest your head against the headrest, looking at him in the corner of your eye. “even if you aren’t satisfied with the amount of clothes you have at my place, we could always go to the nearest shopping mall to get more.”

juyeon thinks it over, hand reaching for the drivers’ stick after turning on the engine. “but the nearest shopping mall from your place is like a fifteen-minute drive away.”

you turn to face him and shoot him a look of disapproval. “you realise that’s literally the whole point of me living there, right? so it’s secluded and quiet and peaceful. and besides, i like going to the mall by public transport. i get to see all the views of the lake every time i’m on a bus,” you turn to look out the window as he drives off. “unlike your stinky-ass penthouse... five-minute drive from office and all you see on the way are buildings, buildings and more buildings.”

“hey--”

“tell me i’m wrong,” you snap your head to look at him, squinting your eyes at him playfully. juyeon sighs in defeat, his lips curled up in a smile. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the board quietly creaks under the weight of the both of you, the scent of the lake was the only thing in the air and the breeze does you the honour of brushing juyeon’s soft, undone hair out of his eyes and face. it gave you the perfect view of his side profile, and the stars in the sky just make it all the more worthwhile.

your favourite part about his weekend getaways to your place was watching him forget that he was a chaebol and had responsibilities back in the city. the first time he walked this boardwalk, you could’ve sworn he had tears in his eyes. 

but your ceo being a chaebol and a slightly egoistic man, you know he wouldn’t have admitted it even if you asked. 

your interlocked hands were swinging gently between the both of you, and your oversized cardigan makes you look extra tiny right next to him. no heels, no formal wear.

these walks were usually done in silence. you were already used to the tranquility of living by the lake and alone, so while it took you some time to get used to having somebody else stay in your small apartment, it took juyeon some time to fully immerse himself in a life he never knew was possible. 

you rest your head on his shoulder and let nature’s music surround you. the water gently lapping against the posts that hold up the boardwalk and the rocks near the shore behind you. the chirps of distant crickets. the rhythmic breathing you could feel with every shallow rise of his torso under your head. 

“did you ever regret running away from your family?”

you blink to yourself, allowing his question to sink in. your fingers were mindlessly drawing circles on the back of his hand.

“i worried about being self-sustainable when i first ran, but after a year of being a lawyer’s assistant in a small company and watching my bank account increase...” you smile at your own effort. “i’m not gonna lie, it felt really good.”

“i can only imagine.”

“my father was never around because his life was in another country and he only shows up like once in a few years and i was left alone with my mom. i was constantly upset with her because i never felt like she treated me like her child. she was always making me feel like i was just... a talented child. she’d never come to any of my events or whatever i had because she was always so busy... and when i was old enough to start speaking for myself at those lame-ass rich people gatherings, she started using me as a selling point. it was always ‘smart, capable daughter with a bright future’, never ‘beautiful, make-me-proud daughter’. so... running away felt like i was running away from her.”

silence. 

“even after i left, she’d find some way to try to get in touch with me and i had no choice but to make a deal with her. i’d still meet her for meals when she was in the country, but i didn’t want her meddling with my life or my finances. the swavroski ownership was supposed to be a gift for my birthday last year, and it felt more like a bribery to get me to go home and be her chaebol princess.”

“you know, if you had signed the deal and became the owner of swavroski, you wouldn’t need to work at the firm. if you signed the deal, you might’ve even met me,” he lets out a small chuckle. “my father is the bureau’s business manager, so it’s highly likely that wherever your mother goes, my father goes too, and if my memory doesn’t fail me, i first met your mother at a swavroski release event two years ago. which tells me that she’s a fan, and she’d probably throw one hell of a party and invite my family if her daughter were to become the owner of swavroski.”

a pathetic smile appears on your lips and you sit up straight, eyes looking up at the sky and you notice juyeon turning to look at you in your peripheral vision. 

“then i guess we were meant to cross paths. i was meant to go in a whole circle and end up with you.”

“well,” his voice breaks the peaceful atmosphere between you. you side-eye him, already knowing from his tone that he was going to say something that warrants a punch. “had i met you at the swavroski event, i probably wouldn’t have bothered to talk to you.”

you send a punch into his right arm. he winces with exaggeration, pouting at you and closing his eyes like he was going to cry. 

“but then again, had that case not come our way, we wouldn’t have had the chance to work together. had i not snooped around in your house and tried to kill my eyes by staring at the portraits in that dark hallway... none of this would’ve happened.”

you fix your eyes back on the sky, and you look at the faint, but visible white dots in the dark canvas. you were so used to coming here alone, never did you expect yourself to be here with another person so soon after running away, much less a chaebol from a family in the same working circle as yours. 

“life has a way of putting you in places you were meant to be... and i guess, in my case, it’s with y--”

your heart stops. 

you blink at him, who was on one knee, with a ring in a box in his hands, and his eyes shining under his hair. 

“uh--” you stammer like you always do when you’ve got no vocabulary in your head. 

“i would’ve called whatever you just said ‘bullshit’ if the last two months didn’t happen, but it did. and i meant every single thing i’ve said to you since i met you. since the first night we slept together.”

“that’s not a great thing to say in a proposal--”

“let me have my moment--” juyeon snorts in embarrassment. you suck your lips between your teeth, watching him gather his nerves. it was so strange seeing him flustered or nervous because that image of him was so far away from the man you first saw in his office. 

you remember he deprived you of your right to even ask questions. 

“i meant it when i asked you to stay with me. your mother knows me, so since i have her approval and she hasn’t hired a sniper to shoot me in the head...”

oh...

“will you marry me?”

Part 9: All Time Low

[crewhonk]

I’ve read your cockwarming with poe drabble so many times it’s basically ingrained in my mind and yet it still delights me every time 😩 any chance I can request some semi or just straight up public sex with poe? I love the thrill of possibly getting caught 👀

This isn’t good– I’m sick and tired and also drunk so YEET-- this is just a blurb rather than detailed fic! Smut (fingering, penetrative sex, exhibitionism) under the cut

Since the resistance had settled on Ajan Kloss– a small forest moon, the remaining group of resistance fighters wished to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. Which meant that only the higher ranking members of the resistance got private quarters. You, being a lower ranking officer (you’d only joined a few months before you fled D’Qar) were forced to sleep in a bunking tent with two others. And honestly, it wouldn’t be so bad if the guy above you didn’t snore as loud as he does and it wouldn’t be so bad if you had the possibility of sleeping in Poe Dameron private quarters. 

It hadn’t taken long for either of you to get involved with each other. You were both extraordinary flyers, and you had a keen sense for strategy which allowed you to become a consultant to General Organa’s strategist. Both you and Poe had clicked almost instantly, as well as Finn and Rey and found yourself sitting with them and BB-8 at most meals and fire nights. 

Then, one evening, Poe kissed you. You’d been working on your baby x-wing, your flight suit unzipped to your waist and tied around your hips. Your hair had been escaping from its ponytail tied at the nape of your neck and the fly aways were plastered to the sweat on your forehead. Your white tank was damp and clinging, and your tattoos shone in the setting sun and Poe literally walked up to you, handed you the wrench you’d asked for upon his arrival and kissed you full on the mouth (you’d dropped you wrench). 

Since then, you’d survived fleeing the first resistance and the battle following it and it was almost every day that Poe begged your o just cave and sleep with him in his tent– something you would have done if it wasn’t for the side eyed stares you got every time you were seen with him. You knew there were whispers– you sleeping with the Commander to climb ranks or to get closer to the General or the ‘Chosen One’. 

So you slept in your bunk beds and suffered the snoring and gas-passing and all the bad things that came with sharing a small ten not quite made for ten people to live in together. 

One night, when you were just about to close your eyes for the night, you heard the tent flaps opening and closing quickly. Now, you weren’t surprised this was happening- people snuck in places all the time so people could spend nights with their partners but frankly you really weren’t in the mood to listen to two people try to be quiet while they took pleasure in each others company. 

What surprised you was when two very familiar hands found your body and how a familiar weight made the corner of the mattress sink, and how two familiar lips found your cheek and jaw. 

“Can’t believe you’d rather sleep in this place than with me.” Poe grumbled, pulling you to lay on your back and kissing you on the lips. You breathed out a sigh and pulled your blanket back before wrapping it around the both of you. He shifted slightly, settling between your thighs and deepening your kiss, trying his best to pull out any noises from you that he could. His hands coasted down your torso and squeezed, sliding under your short and teasing the skin over your ribs. 

“Poe Dameron, you are not trying to get it on in a room with ten other people.” You breathed out a laugh and he snorted quietly, burying his face in your neck and kissing over your jaw to nip your ear lobe. 

“What if I am.” He whispered into your ear and you could feel your back arch into him and your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“Poe– no we can’t.” You breathed and sucked in a breath of air when his mouth found your shoulder and collar bone. 

“We can, actually– even though it’d be easier to do it in my tent if you swallowed your pride and just moved in.” He cooed and let his hand tease the waistband of your sleep pants, dipping under and pressing his fingers to your mound– touching nothing sensitive but making you writhe nevertheless. 

“You know why I can’t–” You cut yourself off as his finger slipped between your lips, gathering your juices and circling back up to press against your clit. 

“Let me convince you.” He replied. You blinked up at him, trying your best to see him in the darkness of the tent. You had both done things like this with each other– touching and foreplay, but you’d never gotten into the full act of sex, yet. There was never enough time or privacy for things like that anymore– but maybe there would never bee enough time or privacy, and with the threat of death and war just on the horizon– nothing was certain. 

“Quietly.” You whispered and you could almost feel Poe’s entire body explode with excitement. He moved immediately, gliding fingers into your core and thumbing your clit as he kissed you soundly, swallowing the threat of any moans of gasps he knew you’d let go. 

His body was hot and heavy against yours and it pressed you into the mattress– both the pressure and pleasure making it impossibly hard to breathe, and just as you though you were a goner, he curled his fingers just the right way and pressed his thumb against you just enough and your hand fisted his hair tightly, making him grunt into your mouth as you came around his fingers. 

He worked you down, slowly, languidly kissing you until your breathing regulated and slowed and he pulled away from you just enough to pull his hand from you and his pants down just enough to let himself out. Your hand wrapped itself around the base of his cock and he grunted at your touch. No matter how much you saw him, or touched him, you would never quite get over just how perfect he was. 

“Quiet, Dameron.” You hushed him and stilled when someone in the tent shifted, starting only again when the movement had stopped. You pulled at him again and his hands gripped your thighs tightly, finding your waistband and pulling your pants off entirely before settling between them again and kissing you. 

“I’ll go slow.” He whispered, and you nodded, curling your hand through his hair and gripping his bicep as he slowly entered you, splitting you I half and filling you in ways you had only ever imagined. He touched all of the right spots, eventually bottoming out and huffing hard against your neck. You were both shaking against each other, and when you wiggled your hips experimentally, he moaned. 

Loudly. 

You slapped a hand across his mouth and hissed a ‘shut up’ at him. Only when you were confident in his silence did you pull your hand away from him, and he immediately dropped his head into the pillow beside your ear. 

“You’re so fucking tight, Princess. Fuckin’ made for me.” He grunted low into your ear and pulling out of you only to slide into your once more. Eventually you both figured out a rhythm that had both of you chocking back moans and grunts, and you were sue neither of you would last long– you due to the pain and pleasure combination and previous orgasm, and him due to the first experience of being inside of you. 

“God, Sweetheart, I’m gonna–” He grunted, rutting his hips harder against yours and bringing a hand down to tease your clit and make you clench dangerously around him. 

“Me too, Poe– oh, Maker.” You whimpered into his neck, words no louder than a breath. 

He worked himself harder above you, thick arms caging you against the bed and teeth sinking into your neck. You could tell how much he wanted to be vocal– hell, he’d always been vocal all the previous times you’d gotten him off. His grip on you and the speed of his thrusts seemed to be compensating for his vocality, however, and his movements against your clit quickened and almost immediately sent you over the edge, arching into him and forcing his head down to yours so you’d have something to cover your mouth with. You squeaked pathetically into his mouth as you clenched down on him, riding out your pleasure as he came shortly after, spilling himself inside of you and warming you up in ways that made your heart flip. He bit down on your bottom lip, and wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you so tightly against him as his hips pathetically rolled against yours, dragging both of your orgasm out longer and making it just that much harder to keep quiet. 

Finally, both of you seemed to calm down enough, curling yourself around each other. He mouthed at your shoulders and neck lazily, marking you up just like he’d pictured you and you raked your fingers through his hair eyes closed and shivering at every touch he gave you. You were so damn relaxed you wouldn’t be surprised if you’d both just melted into puddles. 

You were incredibly relaxed until you realized that the guy above you wasn’t snoring. Not only him– but nobody else was either. 

“Poe.” You whispered and he grunted, determined to live out this post-sex haze as long as he could. 

“Poe, you gotta go I don’t think we were as quiet as we thought we were.” You whispered and he shrugged. 

“No, no you weren’t. Please, for the love of god move into his tent. I never want to hear those sounds for as long as I live.” Someone from across the tent piped up and there were murmurs of agreement following, and you and Poe froze, before he fell into a string of giggles. 

“Well? Did I convince you?” He asked, and you pressed the backs of your hands to your burning cheeks. He was still settled between your thighs, buried deep inside of you, and staring down at you with what you could only assume was hopeful eyes. 

“Well, I guess I should now, huh?” You groaned, amusement making your voice sound thick. Several satisfied sighed sounded across the room as you both got up from the bed. You both redressed quickly, packing your small amount of belonging and walking slowly out of your old tent and into your new one across camp– the thrill of being as loud or of taking as much time as you damn well pleased with each other making your heart stutter and stomach twist happily. Who needs privacy or time to get where you need to go?

[johnseedfanclub]

Wip Day~

Tagged by @oorah22

{This is total fucking shit but it’s whatever lmaoooo}

A month or two had gone by. Angel was driving his way towards the Henbane to get to Hope County Jail. The drive was quite long, but he did appreciate the view on the way there. God, how could you ever get tired of this place.

“You know that guy I talked to you about Miss?” Angel decided to break the silence

“Yeas?” Missy replied

“I haven’t seen him in a while... I don’t know if I should be worried...I mean something just doesn’t seem..right y’know?” though Angel couldn’t stand the self entitled man...John...he couldn’t help but realize that John was coming around less until recently. He hadn’t seen him in over three weeks.

“Well maybe it’s good you haven’t seen him” Missy offered “I mean based on what I remember, seems like he’s nun’ but trouble for you” Missy let out a hearty laugh “Wouldn’t be surprised if ya chased him off!”

Angel chuckled “Maybe, he probably got tired of my shit! Ha!” despite his reply Angel still had an off feeling about the disappearance. “Hmm...you think those people took him?”

“Eden’s Gae-t? I mean.. it’s probable. A lot of disappearances have been connected to them” Missy thought for a minute “Wouldn’t be shocked if he was taken”

“Yeah...”

———————————

The two finally arrived to the jail a few minutes after. Missy first stepped out of the car and Angel followed after, heading towards the jail.

“Thought it be much bigger than this...no wonder those Eden’s people runnin’ fucking wild.” Angel muttered to himself

“Come on, Angel! Make haste. I just wanna get this done an’ over with.” Missy called back

“Alright! Alright!...Jesus...” Angel hated to be rushed but he doesn’t blame Missy. Nothing sounds worse then getting called in for a man who thinks he’s a some god. Fucking Christ...

Angel stepped into the jail and looked around “huh...quite home-y for a jail.” Angel had no idea where to go since no one was there, and Missy went ahead of him, so he wandered through the halls.

“Hey! You there! What are you doing?!” A voice called out.

Ooooh shit...

Angel quickly turned “O-oh-! My bad! I apologize. Do you kno-“

A taller woman approached him, not quite happy to see him “You’re not supposed to be here. Who let you in? The jail’s closed.”

“Jesus Christ it’s been less than a fuckin’ minute since you saw me” Angel answered back in an annoyed tone “and now I’m being interrogated. If it’s that important I’m a fuckin’ cop.”

“I don’t see a badge?” the woman sounded suspicious

“Are you- MISSY! HELP! I’M BEING HATE CRIMED.” Angel yelled.

“For fucks sake I asked what you’re here for! What fucking cop-“

“What is going on here?” another man came in, more concerned about the yelling than seeing Angel

“Literally go pick on someone your own size- Oh. Wait a minute he’s cute- What’s your name hun?” Angel cooed at the other man

“Staci...uhm...” Staci stopped for a second and leaned in towards the woman “Joey who the fuck is this?” he quickly whispered

“I dunno but he sounds like another asshole to me” Hudson replied

“Another WHAT?”

“ANGEL!” Missy’s voice boomed “What did I TELL YOU about keeping up?!” She grit through her teeth

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN I-“ Angel tried to protest before being cut off

“ANYWAYS. I’m so sorry if he caused ya’ll any trouble.” Missy said apologetically “This is Angel, one of the other deputies that transferred from our station back in the city.”

“Really..?” Hudson questioned “I’m sorry Missy but doesn’t he seem...unfit? He’s quite....shorter than the rest of our-“

“It’s been less than ten minutes and I don’t like this bitch-“ Angel blurted out

“Angel-“ Missy sighed “He’s never like this he’s very friendly and a hard worker. And though he is shorter-“

“I ain’t short.” Angel interrupted

“Than the rest of our units HE his very skilled and professional, even in the most dire situations” Missy finished, giving Angel a reproachful look.

“Damn straight.” Angel said with Pride “I been trained like a soldier ever since I was younger”

“How old are you now?” Hudson remarked

“‘Scuse me?” Angel was about ready to pounce

“Joey please- Sorry about that she tends to not be careful with her words” Staci laughed nervously

“Yeah she better be careful because a nine millameter sounds nice right about now-“ Angel suggested

“YOU TWO-“ Missy nearly yelled but still kept her composure “Just- go to Whitehorse....he’ll tell ya’ll about the plan.” Missy snuck a quick glance at Angel before walking off. Shortly after the three headed to Whitehorse’s office.

“What plan now?” Angel asked

“You should know but I guess you were busy wandering the halls” Hudson spat in reply

“What the FUCK is with the locals here-“ Angel said aloud

“Hudson...” Staci looked at her “We’re planning to go to one of Eden’s Churches to arrest Joseph Seed”

Joseph Seed....Seed...Something about that name felt familiar...he couldn’t quite put his finger on it but he had a feeling it might have to do with that richy rich guy John he met a few months back...maybe- no...he can’t be connected right? If he was that would mean he could’ve gotten himself killed too easily right? Right?...

“We’re gonna detain him then fly him back to Missoula and hopefully it’ll be the end of that” Staci said.

“Yeah, Hopefully.” Hudson agreed

“Why you say that?” Angel tilted his head slightly

Hudson sighed “..where do I start. I mean awhile back this church, now a fucking cult, was peaceful and they actually seemed like a friendly group of people. They helped out the community, held small barbecues and events, and even helped out the less fortunate”

“Okay and...?” Angel drawled

Hudson continued “And all of a sudden they changed. They started saying this...Collapse...something about the world ending was coming or something and-“

“They went fucking nuts.” Staci finished “They started pulling people out of the road, their homes, some would even be ambushed while taking hikes and shit. Many wouldn’t make it back but those who did said that the cult was using some drug called the Bliss to turn them into the walking dead. If not, they would manipulate you into joining their fucking project.”

“Manipulate as in what? Some hypnotic shit?” They both nodded and Angel’s eyes widened “You’re fucking kidding? I thought they were just some weird ‘drink the Kool-Aid’ type of group.”

“Absolutely fucking not” Hudson barked “these fuckers torture you if you don’t listen to them or help out with their weird religious cause. Then they kill you if they find no use of you.” Hudson shaked her head “I pray for those poor folks who got tied up with Eden’s Gate...”

“Oh fuck no- Why the fuck I gotta put up with this shit?” Angel said in

“Cause all of our other deputies been taken by them.” Staci said nervously

“Staci!” Hudson spat at him

Angel stopped between them and looked at Hudson, then at Staci, then looked forward, and back Hudson.

“YOU’RE FUCKING KIDDING?” Angel yelled “WHY DID YOU CALL MORE THEN IF WE GON BE KIDNAPPED?!”

“Staci? Joey? Who’s out there?”

“Just a visitor!~” Angel starts to walk back “Ya’ll fucking funny if you think something was gonna happen. I got PTSD I shouldn’t even BE here.”

Hudson grabs his arm, pulling him into Whitehorse’s office “You are our last like of hope. You are NOT leaving.”

“Swear to god my life’s a goddamn movie” Angel said under his breath “Get off of me” Angel protested as he shook Hudson off his arm “I better get payed good for this shit”

Tagging: @oorah22 @mrspaigeomega @muse-1498 @ohfaiths @scungilliwoman @johnseedyesking @ anyone who wants to join in <3 (no pressure to those tagged its totally optional!)

[leupagus]

My Stationery Box, or: The Douche Chest, or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Being A Terrible Parody Of Myself

So I really love to write letters, and have since i was a kid — when i cleaned out my grandparents’ house I found a few I’d written in grade school, and my parents’ files are chocablock full of the weird collage type things I sent to them in college. 

I’ve also been a huge insufferable fucking snob about stationery since way too young (yes I did have a fountain pen phase, no it did not go well) and have been collecting fancy paper and cute cards and assorted weird writing paraphernalia forever. Up until recently, things were just kind of haphazardly stuffed in various drawers and shelves and I could never actually find any said fancy shit when I wanted it; but a couple of months ago I discovered an adorable little chest of my late mom’s that had previously housed, I think, her knitting and has mostly just been collecting dust since. And voila: The Douche Chest was born:

(Pictured with my elderly laptop and coffee with my coffee warmer, which I STRONGLY ENCOURAGE everyone to buy one day when we’re not under worldwide quarantine, seriously it will change your life.)

Keep Reading for some top tier stationerdery

First off, the stuff that helps me write! I still use my family address book, which was purchased sometime in the early 80s and has the name and address of everyone my parents ever cared enough about to want their name and address, which is actually not that many people. I keep it updated and have added a few people, but mostly rely on my phone’s address book. Mostly I like it because it’s got a lot of my mom’s handwriting.

My planner, which has a whole correspondence section where I keep a record of who I write to regularly, when I write to them, and what kind of stationery they usually get (because there are different types and you don’t want to give a correspondence an inconsistent letter-reading experience! Yes I know, I can’t believe I’m like this either) indicated by the m, s, x, l, b notations. That will be relevant later. Also yes the planner is where I scribble down both story ideas and my gratitude journal. This is what I’m saying in re: yikes.

At my own house, I have a whole huge box of letters I’ve gotten over the years, mostly organized by sender and date. Since I’m at my aunt’s house for quarantine, my correspondence is all being kept in my dad’s old... I dunno what to call it, basically it’s a trapper-keeper type thing that I literally never saw him go to work without. (A running theme of this tour is that a whole lot of this stuff is inherited from/given to me by my parents and grandparents.) Inside is also various labels that have come in handy when addressing packages etc, as well as our local neighborhood directory.

Next up is my pen bag, which is — I mean, it has my pens. I prefer writing with a black .5 tip rollerball type pen, and by “prefer” I mean “I cannot abide writing letters with anything else and will go to Staples and buy a new box rather than use a ballpoint pen except obv not right now, which makes the bag real important for keeping track of all my special pens.” Also pictured: my grandpa’s ancient letter opener that I’m pretty sure he stabbed multiple people with, and my blue Le Pen which I use to annotate my letters when I’m reading them through before sending. I KNOW.

This is my assorted letter-writing stuff storage box (no we’re not even at the cards yet this is TERRIBLE); please note that I sort of jerryrigged this box together myself, which will be another running theme of this tour. Glue, roller whiteout thingies, washi tape (which I don’t really use but people keep sending me?) post-its and my address stamp because no matter what I do, the fuckin’ Audubon Society refuses to send me a single donation request with cute stickers showing my address even though they’ve sent my deceased dad like three THIS YEAR. Anyway. Also please note the incredibly awesome initial stamp thing — I came up with the rough design in college and use it in place of my name a lot, but I went to leoniebunch and they transformed it into this super professional and lovely design that I want to use for the rest of my life. Not pictured: the fucking wax seal I also had made with that design, because yes, I’m like this.

WE’RE STILL NOT DONE WITH THE PARAPHERNALIA: here’s the other misc. stuff that I use on the regular. Cup with sponge because we’re not really licking envelopes these days: tons of weird stickers that I’ve collected, YET MORE PENS, including rainbow ones because one of these days I’m going to write to one of my friends with alternating rainbow colors and they’ll have to murder me. Also pictured: the letter opener which I forgot to put back in the pen bag, as well as my dog’s nail clippers and brush because that’s a handy place to keep them. Also also pictured: my dog, who does not help in any way with letter writing.

OKAY FINALLY ONTO THE STATIONERY, Jesus just writing this all out is making me both proud and ashamed.

I’m sure you noticed in the first pic how everything is meticulously, not to say monomaniacally, labeled. Some stuff might require a little bit of explanation; some stuff is pretty wysiwyg though. For example, BEAR CARDS, which:

(These are sent exclusively to my nephews, who go absolutely apeshit over them every time. Come to think of it, I have a LOT of cards/letter stock/etc that is just for one person or one set of people, which maybe I should talk to my therapist about.)

PUN CARDS are likewise exactly what you think they are; they’re the most recent addition to my hoard, having found them at Powells when I went to Portland in February. They are extremely My Kind Of Thing.

Then you’ve got things like BIRTHDAY CARDS, THANKS, POSTCARDS which like — guess what:

(Please note that of these birthday cards, all but two were actually inherited from my grandmother who passed away in 1986. See if you can guess which two are my purchases.) (Also I’m running out of thank-you cards but to be fair I am rarely grateful so this should last me another few years at least.) (Also shit, I didn’t take a picture of the postcards I don’t think? Whatever, they’re postcards that I’ve either inherited from my parents or collected over the years. There’s also a very odd collection of wolf-themed cards that SOMEONE in my family collected, and that I have been using exclusively for allighater because she’s the only one who could ever appreciate them enough.)

Then there’s the BLANK CARDS and BLANK AND WRITTEN CARDS WITH/WITHOUT ENVELOPES, because sometimes I just need to know what I’m getting into before opening the boxes. I’d say a good 50% of these were inherited from my folks, with the cutsier ones being my own purchases. The cards that these boxes originally contained are looooooooong since used up but they’re nice boxes and that meme about adulthood being an endless debate over whether or not you should keep a box because it’s a really good box is accurate as all hell. 

(There are a lot of cards in here that I bought when I was like, in college — those square ones, for example, were purchased at Faces in Northampton when I was in college and I’m probably never going to actually send them which is kind of ridiculous but see: this entire post.)

And finally, the actual letter-letter stationery! Which I also have an embarrassing amount of! First up is what’s labelled MADOC TREE CARD/LETTER because I honestly had no idea how else to describe it; it was inherited from my grandma who everyone called MaDoc (on account of her being both a ma and a doctor, go figure) and it’s really lovely. I doubt it’s the original intention, but I like to unfold the paper and use both sides of it, because I always have a lot to say. These are used only for family members on MaDoc’s side, and of those, only the ones I really like, which accounts for there still being a lot left.

Then there’s the X-LARGE paper, which isn’t actually that large — it’s just normal computer-sized — but in context is the biggest stuff I’ve got. All of this paper is from my mom, who loved using cute themed paper, and I use this stuff mostly for the friends of hers I keep in touch with (which is actually kind of a lot).

Then there’s the letterhead I use for — okay, so like, we know by now that I’m deeply weird, but this is probably just DEEPLY WEIRD, but whatever, you came this far. So I found a metric shitton of 6 3/4 envelopes in amongst my parents’ office supplies — I have literally zero idea why they had about 5 100-count boxes of these envelopes but I’m one of those people who can never, ever throw shit out, so! I gathered together all the letterhead that they’d also collected over the years from the various universities and hospitals they worked at, cut said letterhead down so that it a) didn’t have University of Tacoma or whatever still on it and b) perfectly fit a 6 3/4 envelope if folded three times. The resulting shape is a little... odd, I’ll admit, but it pleases me greatly and that’s the important thing. In fact this has been my go-to correspondence choice for a couple of months now.

(Also pictured: the cover for this hinky-ass box I made out of a Beekman 1802 box from when we went to their store for their Rose Apothecary popup shop. Zero regrets. Not pictured: the really cute pad of paper I also use for these envelopes that’s a more normal size and shape because where’s the fun in showing you normal stuff?)

And finally, my pride and joy, my Crane Stationery, some of which I have had since I was in high school and my mom bought me a box of it for my birthday (I told you, running theme). It comes in small, medium, and big; yes, I absolutely have rules as to who gets what size of these, too. The medium box kind of fell apart a few years ago so I cobbled a new one together; Crane stationery is notable for not being as exciting as that cover might imply. I’m also kind of pleased that I still have the airmail stationery that I got in college that apparently isn’t sold anymore, which I find baffling because what the fuck is the point of international correspondence if you don’t have to use special stationery? Anyway:

(In re: the lined sheets — I actually have them for every size, because I loathe lined paper but also loathe writing crooked, hence these guides that I put under each sheet as I write. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

So that’s the complete guided tour! If you aspire to have a collection as viscerally unnerving as mine, feel free to send any questions my way. You’re welcome/I’m sorry.

[charlotteu]

⟨ JENNIE KIM. CISFEMALE. SHE/HER. ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, CHARLOTTE TAN is actually a descendent of H E P H A E S T U S. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-THREE year old CIVIL ENGINEERING MAJOR from SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite PRECISE & TENSE. 

TRIGGER WARNING : death, specifically child birth death

hi i’m dana! i’m ninteen and i never fuckin learned how to read! i’m in cst timezone and i really immensely love pjo, i’ve been reading the book series since fifth grade so i’m really pumped to be here! i’m sorry if my activity is spotty over this weekend, my brain has decided to tell me to do anything and everything Right Now :) anyways

full name :

charlotte chunhwa tam

nicknames / aliases :

lottie, char, chunhwa, lola, lam / little lam

major :

civil engineering

sports :

rugby and volleyball

sexuality :

lesbian

gender idenitity / pronouns :

cis - female / she/her

age / birthday :

twenty - three, december tenth, nineteen - ninety - seven

zodiac :

sagittarius

powers : 

sensing faults in metal ores and technokenesis. / charlotte has the potential for her technokenesis powers to become stronger, she just needs someone to help her work more in depth with them. sensing faults in metal ores is the stronger of her two talents, but she thinks of this particular power more as an intuition thing versus a full “power.” she is definitely … not naturally talented when it comes to this area of her life, it’s something that she’s been trying to work on since going into college. she is prone to being easily discouraged by failure when it comes to trying to grow her powers, but that’s a trait she’s trying to work on.

personality :

charlotte is known to find literal scraps of anything and manage to make something gorgeous from it - whether it’s food, metal scraps, or a nearly - ruined picnic table - it’s a skill that she takes great pride in. she constantly tries to bring her loved ones together in one form or another, which results in quite a lot of last - minute plans and “family dinners.” because of these two traits, if someone just happened to forget to plan a birthday party or a baby shower and needed it thrown together within a day or two (maybe that is on her bucket list, maybe not,) charlotte is your perfect person. regardless of this, charlotte is still considered that friend that never has their life together and has an extensional crises every few weeks.

when it comes to school work, charlotte is perfectly organized. a well - planned and well - filled out academic calendar is always in her backpack and she has a few dozen notifications on both her phone and her laptop to remind her of class assignments. she is well - known at the tutoring center for her near constant sessions to ensure to that she is totally, a hundred percent getting the assignment. her math classes is where she thrives, and she has a record of taking several math classes during the summertime to further her knowledge.

myers - briggs :

entp 

vice :

temperance

virtue :

distrusting

hobbies :

gardening, poetry, welding, drawing, sculpting, learning about technological advances, running, and yoga

backstory :

      born in seoul, south korea to miss. tam, she had been visiting her parents when charlotte was born prematurely. ( there had been a complication in the birth that no one’s ever explained to charlotte, she just knows that her mom was alive long enough to hold her daughter for the first & the last time. ) legend has it it was silent in the hospital when the news broke, a rage washing through the family as they realize the expense that they had to pay for their grandchild. it’s her uncle that steps forward to take the child - a comfortable life in the epirus region of greece is what awaited the new family unit.

      life as a bachelor to the life as a single father was one that he greatly struggled with, but one he did not give up on. he always did his best to involve both the local culture along with charlotte’s heritage into her life - this involved food from both regions, learning greek and korean, participating in their holidays, etc. etc. no one could deny how happy the pair were, and how well it was going.

      when she turns twelve, she starts to develop ... slightly unusual powers that always came as a shock, especially considering how randomly occurring the episodes were. both charlotte and her uncle chalk it up to a weird sense of intuition before it starts to happen too much. ( her uncle doesn’t tell her how he found out her godly origin story. ) it’s a cloudy day when he sits her down & explains everything to her, drawing out the rest of her life until she goes to college. a life hidden away from everyone around her, a home school academic career that takes place while the two of them travel around the world. there’s a hidden element of paranoia as her uncle constantly moves them around & forces her to focus on her studies.

      this quiet life sealed away from the outside world leaves her doing whatever she can to keep busy. building whatever she can, trying to stay as occupied as much as she can. it results in a suitcase full of little trinkets by the time she’s six months into home schooling. the next few years of her life pass her by in a terrible haze as she does everything she can to catch up to the life that has been set out for her. her life begins to slow down when she gets into college, a safe haven where she can finally let go of the anxiety  that comes with the expectations.