#rejecting english go back to spanish brain

[lonely--seeker]

Una pena lejana que llega a mí alma y se hace cariño

El muchacho de los ojos tristes

Vive solo y necesita amor

Como el aire, necesita verme

Cómo al sol, lo necesito yo

El muchacho de los ojos tristes

Ha encontrado al fin una razón

Para hacer que su mirada ría

Con mis besos y mí gran amor ❤️

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

prompt: i am BEGGING on my knees for more recom!paz, maybe the moment that she and spider met? does he recognise her? he was only a baby when she died, but he kept her picture

(tw past csa, past torture, trauma, violent thoughts)

ao3

It's the hair that grabs his attention first--most recoms don't have curly hair, or if they do they don't grow it out long enough to see. She's got it pulled back, though, not like in the--

in the--

but the sight makes his guts twist anyway. He recognizes the outline of those curls, the same ways he sees in the mirror whenever he takes his braids out. He doesn't take his braids out a whole lot.

She steps into the clearing, gun hanging loosely at her side (shouldn't she be in the sky? is he wrong? let him be wrong). The grass crinkles under her boots the way Quaritch's used to and Spider flinches, pressing his back against the tree.

He tries to tell himself, firmly, that history isn't repeating--he's got a gun now, he's fought in battles, he's faced torture and worse, he's dangerous. He tries to tell himself that, but his hands still hang limp at his sides and he can't breathe right.

Another step, eyes flicking over him--once, a threat assessment, second, a look of confusion. Third, and she stops dead, eyes going wide.

You got your mama's eyes, Quaritch used to pant over and over again as he fucked Spider senseless. That's how I knew you. And...and he's not quite right, not anymore. The pupils are different, the irises, dark brown switched out for searing yellow.

But the shape is the same. And every time he's glimpsed himself shocked, stunned, thrown off his axes and spinning in the dark--he sees it again, in her.

She stumbles forward, like she's about to collapse, a lock of hair swaying from her ponytail, and Eywa, she looks even more like that stupid photo now. Propping herself on a tree, jaw working, more stunned than Quaritch had been, maybe.

"Miles?" she gasps.

And--and. Miles knows what she is, he knows (even if he took her name, even if he got her picture, and learned Spanish along with English to speak her first language, even if he spent his whole fucking childhood telling himself that she hadn't been at Kelutral, that it wasn't anyone's fault she got caught in the Soul Tree crossfire but that doesn't mean she would have done anything, fantasizing about her turning her guns on the enemy and going down a hero like Trudy Chacon had just to trick himself into thinking his family tree wasn't completely fucking rotten).

But he can't go for his gun. Not even now, with her off balance like this. And he can't snarl nobody calls me that, like he had with Quaritch in the woods, when it was so easy to reject his father, before Quaritch sunk his hands so deep into Spider's brain and body it might never come out.

She could do that, Spider knows. She could do worse, if he let her, if he stands in this burning fucking house and refuses to listen to his instincts, refuses to run or fight.

He knows this, and his hands still twitch at his sides, desperate to reach up. Like he's a little kid who's broken his arm again, screaming for his mommy the way the Sully kids always did when they were hurt or scared, even though he's over that, he is, he--

"Mom," he chokes out, like a good son. Like a good boy, his daddy's good boy, his mama's.

"Oh--" Paz Socorro crashes to her knees in the dirt, throws her arms around him before he has a chance to react. "Oh, dios mio." Pulling him close, muscled arms digging into his back, she smells like Quaritch had in the woods, blood and polish, sweat and dirt, gunmetal and smoke--but instead of Quaritch's sharp cologne there's a softer smell of conditioner, shampoo.

"Baby." She pulls him back to look him over and tears well in her eyes--because of the scar or the tewng, he can't be sure. "Oh, baby. My baby.” Pulling close again as she sobs in his ear, her tears dampening his hair and washing down his back like rain.

"It's okay," Spider says, arms wrapped around her sides instead of going for a knife or a gun like he should. "It's okay, Mom." It's a lie, and it's the only truth left in his fucked-up world. "I'm here."

[milkymoon2483]

Kiss it better

Pairing: Jake Lockley x female reader

Summary: This fic explores cheating from the cheater’s perspective. You are a wife and mother, content with your life…until something awakens within you, and it will not go back to sleep. 

Rating: 18 + Minors DNI, this stuff is for grown-ups

Warnings: Angst galore, Cheating, infidelity, SMUT, Unprotected P in V (reader makes all sorts of bad decisions folks).

Dedications:

Thank you miss @cozykalii for sending me down the fanfic rabbit hole all those months ago. Thank you Cici @astroboots for being amazing and for answering all of my asks. Thank you bestie (you know who you are) for helping me bring this baby out.  ;-) Thank you @foxilayde for allowing me to tag you, and for the amazing stuff you write. Lastly, English is not my first language, Spanish is not even my 4th (thanks Google Translate) I tried my very best. 

Word count: ~8500

You were watching TV while mindlessly playing on your phone when it happened, you looked at the screen and the broad chest was the first thing that caught your attention, the camera moved down to his big veiny hands as he grabbed the weapon. Sweat glistened on his face, collecting in the cupid’s bow above his lips. You didn't know the actor’s name but you watched breathlessly, the surge of heat to your core was immediate. Oh my goodness.. you whispered under your breath. You wanted to lick the beads of sweat off his lips and take his thick fingers into your mouth, watch him gaze at you lustfully. Your husband’s snores from the other side of the couch  informed you that any satisfaction you were after would need to be achieved independently.

Not that he would be much help anyway…

It’s not that you didn’t love him or were not content with your life, it’s just that your sex life was never perticularly exciting. And it got much less so after the birth of your son. Babies would do that to you.

You knew you had everything that anyone could even want; A loving husband, a wonderful smart kid, a great job and a big beautiful house. You were happy to settle and keep your sexdrive in some hidden drawer at the back of your mind, stuffed behind embarrassing memories and questionable decisions. However that night it crept right back out, like a pest you could not get rid of, demanding your attention.

The batteries in your vibrator ran out the following week. You looked at the anatomically accurate member with disappointment. Feeling both frustrated at the sudden loss of pleasurable vibrations and ashamed at the amount of times you've abused it. You had plenty of orgazms but it was clear to you that you barely began to scratch your itch, you needed more. 

You wished you could dream about it. Even just once, you wished your mind would conjure a proper erotic dream. That would be enough for you, with all of your daydreaming and longing and inappropriate googling, you'd think that it would be able to come up with a decent dream. Alas your realm of dreams was filled with random stressful scenarios. 

You would find yourself on the streets naked (not in a sexy way), or you'd forget to pick up your kid from daycare, or you would leave something on the stove for too long, causing your entire house to engulf in flames. “Some very anxiety-ridden-demented-senile shit” as you described it to a friend. 

Any semi-sexual dreams would almost always be about rejection, or dissatisfaction, or the inability to have any privacy. They would almost always feature your husband. Because apparently your sleeping brain couldn't be bothered to keep up with your very filthy and creative waking brain. It had a very impressive curated selection of men to choose from, but it went with the blob snoring next to you. All you wanted is to be properly fucked, licked, adored, desired…to feel the delicious weight of a man on top of you as he glides into you, his kisses flowing from your mouth to your jawline and to the neck, him whispering softly how good you make him feel, how soft and sweet and wet you are for him…and a dream would do. You could live with a memory of it, it would possibly sustain you just for a little bit longer, maybe would quench your thirst, even slightly. 

*******

You were on your second chocolate bar of the day, looking at Vivienne typing away on her computer. She looked you up and down, judging silently your choice of afternoon snack. 

She's always on some diet or another. Probably explains the constant resting bitch face. 

You however, have been replacing sex with chocolate for weeks now, attempting to fend off the intrusive thoughts and somehow satisfy the hunger that was pulsating inside of you, permanent and relentless. 

The evening came quickly, you were grateful work managed to keep your mind busy. You were yawning repeatedly while trying to catch a cab. After waking up at 5AM that morning and working for 10 hours, the exhaustion was making your eyes sting. The rush hour meant that it would take some time, but to your surprise not a minute passed before a cab stopped.

The smell hit you as soon as you sat down. Musky masculine cologne mixed with something fresh and minty, and the faintest scent of a man, ghost like, almost as if you could smell his pheromones. You inhaled sharply, breathing in the scent. It brought back a memory that you couldn’t quite place. You never had a date that smelled this amazing, let alone a cab driver. “Where to miss?” the driver asked, his voice husky with a hint of an accent. You gave him your address, piercing brown eyes gazed at you from the rear view mirror. 

He drove silently through the dark streets, gentle Spanish music was playing in the background, the backseat was very spacious, dimly lit, you began to doze off, surrendering to the fatigue that had built up throughout the day.

Jake looked through the mirror, you were leaning on your palm, breathing peacefully. 

Your delicate neck was exposed, and he noticed the slight cleavage of your button-down top. You looked tired, but serene. 

He usually drove in silence, not eager to share his thoughts on current affairs or to have to listen to people’s problems. You seemed to appreciate it, as you fell asleep within minutes. He smiled to himself. He wished for a moment all of his passengers were asleep, which would have made the job much easier.

Jake parked the cab in front of your house, the suburban street was quiet. 

“Miss? Miss?... We're here, miss, wake up”

You did not budge, your breath heavy and steady. He waited a few more seconds, inspecting your sleeping body. Your head was still leaning on your palm, hair softly cascading down your shoulders. There was something picturesque about your pose. You looked like a painting or a photograph. 

"Necesito despertarla.. mierda" (I need to wake her, shit) 

You stirred when his large gloved hand touched your knee gently “Miss, wake up please” Now you could see his face, stern but handsome. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry” you finally came to it, his gaze felt heavy on your skin. Penetrating. You apologized profusely and opened the cab door to exit.

“It’s ok, buenas noches” he said, a faint smile on his lips did not reach his eyes.

You quickly bid him farewell, missing the lovely smell as soon as you exited the cab. 

*********

The next time you entered the cab Jake recognized you right away. “Buenos días, bella durmiente” (Good morning, sleeping beauty). He seemed quite pleased to see you. 

You recognized him too. He could see you take a deep breath as you sat down, closing your eyes at the beautiful masculine scent. A warmth pooled in your core. Am I getting turned on just by this guy’s smell? 

“Buenos dias to you too” you chuckled shyly. Gosh that sounds wrong with my accent.

“Hope you slept well, where can I take you?” 

You gave him the address, not saying anything else as you felt yourself actually becoming nervous. He drove silently for a while, but the nervousness continued. 

A song Jake loved came on the radio and he began to sing along quietly. Your eyes lifted to him and your ears perked up. 

His voice was beautiful and smooth, less deep than you thought it would be, a lovely tenor. You smiled to yourself as he sang, the Spanish flowing from his mouth so effortlessly. You finally worked up the courage to compliment him, but you waited until the song finished. He seemed to be enjoying it too much for you to disturb.

 “You have a great voice” You finally said. “Gracias, miss….?” He replied, with a genuine smile this time.

“I’m Y/N…. You also smell really good… I mean your car…CAB. Your cab smells really good”.

You felt yourself blush, cheeks heating up immediately after the words left your mouth. God that was embarrassing.

Jake chuckled “Thanks, sweetheart”

Sweetheart… you couldn’t help but smile to yourself.

He took the opportunity to look at you again for a brief moment, he saw you tucking your hair behind your ear. Light catching on the golden band on your ring finger, face blooming in a shade of pink.

“Im Jake, encantada de conocerte” 

“Nice to meet you too…?” You were not sure you understood but you guessed your best. Suddenly eager to learn Spanish.

“Ci, That’s right.”

“Maybe you should teach me some more Spanish, at least while I’m here”

Ok now you're FLIRTING…? You obviously forgot how to.. 

“Well I charge extra for that. Es muy caro” 

He's flirting back..? 

“I bet you do. Guess we’ll have to stick to English then”

“Or agree on a payment plan, I can give you a discount” He chuckled.Oh, he IS flirting back.

The tone between you two was playful, laced with just enough suggestion, and you were loving every minute of it. It felt like it’s been forever since you properly flirted with a man, and a warm feeling bloomed in your belly. 

When he stopped in front of your office building you were disappointed that you actually had to get off. 

He turned back, reaching out a gloved hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you” you said playfully, reaching your hand to him, expecting a handshake.

He took it gently, turned it and placed a peck on the back of your hand. 

Heat rose to your face and you giggled. 

Well HE obviously didn't forget how to flirt.

When you exited the cab you allowed yourself to smile fully, exhilarated by the exchange between the two of you. Ok calm down. He’s a cab driver, probably flirts all the time with his clients, just some harmless fun. He probably knows that women fall for the sexy Spanish shtick. 

You giggled to yourself as you repeated the words “sexy Spanish shtick” out loud. Giddy like a goddamn teenager.

Later you replayed the whole conversation in your head, overthinking as usual, you tried not to let it get out of proportion, it’s just that it’s been so fucking long since you felt noticed and desired, you were ready to cling to any interaction that made you feel like that.

Some low hanging fruit you are.. you told yourself, wondering if you cooperated too quickly, if the whole exchange made you look pathetic. 

It was hard to admit to yourself that you needed to be desired by men, other than the one you married. It felt juvenile, greedy even. Even when you did come to terms with it , it was clear to you that it was obviously limited to looks and words, you didn't plan on acting on any of it.

**********

The heatwave was washing over the city, laying thick like a heavy blanket you could not shake off. July was merciless, and the mid- day sun burnt so bright it caused heat to reflect from the scorching pavement.

You’ve spent all morning running errands, and now you were finally done at the market, making your way back to the bus stop. Your work did not cover cab fare on weekends and the bus ride wasn’t too long. The 5 minute walk to the station was, however, much longer than you imagined. With the heavy bags in your hands cutting the circulation to your fingers, your dress sticking to your body, sweat pooling on your back, and the blazing sun above, you felt as if you were about to melt into the sidewalk. You imagined yourself turning into a puddle, and then evaporating quickly under the blazing heat. 

BEEP BEEP 

The sound jolted you, you looked to your left as the cab window rolled down.

“Need a ride?” Jake smiled

Your core went all jittery at the sound of his voice. You'd clap with excitement like a baby seal if your hands were free…calm your tits.

“Hey Jake! I’m actually walking to the bus stop, it’s just around the corner”

You hoped he would insist.

“Come on, it’s on my way, I’ll drop you off”.

“How do you know it’s on your way? I haven't told you were I was going”

You just couldn’t resist teasing him.

“No seas un sabelotodo. You’re melting, get in” (don't be a smartass)

“If you insist… I AM actually melting”

Jake opened the driver’s door, he walked up to you and grabbed the grocery bags to put them in the back. You were finally able to get a good look at him. He was wearing a white button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, with a black tie. Hat and gloves still in place, defiant against the scorching heat. You couldn't help yourself from sneaking a good look at his butt. His dark jeans complimented his ample ass and thick thighs. 

“Get in the front seat, the AC is much stronger” 

You nodded and got in, the heavenly smell filling your lungs again, a bit stronger now that you sat closer to him.

Jake cranked up the AC as you leaned in, lifting your hair up, relishing in the breeze, albeit artificial. Your neck arched back, exposing more skin to the cooling air. You closed your eyes and a satisfied hum left your lips.

Jake was careful not to stare, but he couldn’t help but notice the way your neck was exposed completely, your skin glistening with sweat. Your dress rode up slightly when you sat down, revealing a little more of your thigh. 

A few seconds passed before he remembered he actually needed to drive.

“Where to, miss Y/N?” He asked

“Home please, the address is..”

“I remember where that is”  “You must have a great memory then, because in this heat I barely remember”

“I try to remember the important stuff” 

Jake replied, a small grin adorned his lips and you grinned right back, avoiding his eyes. That would be much too intense and you were already boiling. 

When you arrived he parked the cab. "I'll help you carry the bags inside" he said before you had a chance to protest.

"Please you have already done so much, it's really not that heavy" you tried to resist. He waved his gloved hand at your statement and proceeded to take the bags out and carry them towards your door.

As you unlocked the door your heart sank, you weren't sure you wanted him to come inside.

When you both walked in, he placed the bags on the kitchen island and looked around. There was no point in denying the family photos and scattered toys. 

"Cute kid, seems happy" he said, picking up one of the framed photos.

"Yeah, he is, thanks" you replied, smiling shyly, not willing to elaborate on the topic.

"I bet you're a good mom" he persisted, still holding your son's picture in his hand.  "I love him very much, so I try my best, though nobody's perfect, certainly not me". You replied. 

He smiled and put the picture back, perhaps sensing your discomfort. 

You never really spoke with him about being a wife and a mother (and you were grateful that both of them weren't home) Although you also never hid the wedding band on your hand. 

This was not ok, you knew it. 

What the hell is wrong with me?? Inviting a stranger into my house? Happy that my family is not home? Am I demented? 

You had to admit it to yourself, this scenario would be 10/10 creepy if Jake wasn't so attractive. He could also be like Ted Bundy, all smiles and charm before he chops me into little pieces. 

"Can I offer you something cold to drink?" You attempted to change the subject. 

Jake nodded and you promptly handed him a glass of cold water. 

He downed it all in one go, as you watched his adam's apple bob on his thick neck while he drank.

He handed you the glass and your fingers brushed against his gloved ones. 

"Thank you so much Jake, I really appreciate it, really, you shouldn't have" 

"Esta bien, dont worry about it, my pleasure" he smiled. 

You walked him back to the front door, feeling awkward and nervous. You weren't sure what to do. Do I shake his hand? Do I peck him on the cheek? Maybe a small polite hug? 

You both stopped by the door, facing each other, you finally met his gaze. Beautiful deep brown eyes were looking at you, adorned with long dark lashes. They seemed much softer than you initially thought.

"You have an eyelash on your cheek, may I? " he asked and you could only nod. 

Your eyes moved to his hands as he removed his glove, watching with tethered breath as if it was in slow motion. After removing the glove, he very gently brushed your cheek with his thumb. "Now you need to make a wish" he smirked. The air was thick and heavy ,and your heart was thumping in your throat.

Without thinking, you placed your hand on his, and blew on the small lash on his thumb.

As it flew off somewhere you made your wish.

Fuck me. Kiss me.

*******

It was just one of those days. Everything that could go wrong absolutely did. It started with a missed alarm in the morning, continued with a tantrum from your toddler, who was outraged by the fact that the banana you served him for breakfast was indeed shaped like a banana, and not like a pineapple. Following that was an argument with your husband, about the proper way to handle said tantrum. 

Your cab driver that morning was insisting on having a political debate which you didn't want to participate in, and to top it off, the traffic was worse than usual. 

By the time you arrived at the office you were 35 minutes late, and positively exhausted. 

You were sure that with the morning you had, nothing could possibly go wrong at work. You were proven wrong when your boss called you out on a very stupid mistake you made, and scollded you (publicly of course) about your lack of attention to detail. It wasn't like him to do that, but you guessed it fit perfectly with the rest of your miserable day.

After a quiet cry in the bathroom, you were finally able to calm down. You sat on the toilet, wiping your tears away, and the memory of Jake came to your mind. There was something comforting in the thought of him, he was your little secret. He made you feel noticed, seen. It's been almost a week since you last saw him, since the exchange that left you breathless and flustered. 

You could admit to yourself that you wanted to see him again, that you liked how absolutely dangerously close you were to making a mistake. All you needed at that point was a tiny push in the wrong direction. Then It made you feel even worse when you considered the implications, playing horrible scenarios in your head about how horrible this could all end for you. Trying to convince yourself that it’s not worth it. The price you’d have to pay would be too high. 

Not that anything will actually happen anyway… The thought made you feel both relieved and frustrated. Because damn it, you wanted it to.

When 5 o'clock rolled around you were DONE, completely defeated by the day. You grabbed your stuff as quickly as possible and practically snuck out of the office the moment your boss turned his head. 

Jake's cab was waiting under the building. You recognized it immediately. You wondered if he's free, allowing yourself to indulge in the thought of him waiting for you. 

For a split second you tried to think of an excuse not to approach him, because getting in the cab with him wasn’t a good idea, on the other hand you were grateful to see a friendly face after the day you just had. 

Jake smiled widely when he saw you, signaling you to get in. You got in the seat next to him, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. I will never get over how he smells you thought to yourself as you settled.

“Mi pasajera favorita'' He smiled widely, he seemed to be in a good mood, you smiled back, trying to fend off your lousy one. Although you were sure he’d react politely, you didn’t want to burden him with everything that happened, you didn’t think that cab drivers (or hairdressers, or nail technicians) should be forced to listen to other people's problems while trying to do their job. 

He began driving without asking you for an address. 

Jake could feel something was not quite right “Que pasa? Everything ok?” 

“Just a very lousy day, nothing much really” you replied, hoping he would leave it at that. 

“Do we need to go kill someone real quick? I’ll make sure they never find the body” he smirked, trying to lighten your obviously lousy mood. You giggled sadly, as your armor began to crack.

“Nah, I think I’ll let them live, I can’t get messed up in murder, plus orange looks terrible on me”

“Can't imagine anything looking terrible on you” he replied, serious all of a sudden. Your forced laugh tried to break the awkwardness.

“Seriously, you can tell me querida"

You loved his terms of endearment, especially the Spanish ones. 

“It really was just a crappy day. Lots of small things that went wrong, but I’m glad to see you. I needed a friendly face after all that shit” you ended the sentence with a bite of bitterness to your voice, fighting back tears that began to sting the corners of your eyes. 

It felt so stupid to cry, for a second time that day, and in front of Jake.

“Hey..hey querida.. No, don't cry…” He said softly, which had the exact opposite effect as more tears rolled down your face. It was as if he broke the dam, finally giving you permission to let your guard down.

He pulled over, it was only about half a mile before reaching your house, but he couldn't bear to see you like that.  

“I’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing, oh my god, shit…” you spoke through your tears, sniffling, desperately trying to stop them.

He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to you, placing his large hand on your shoulder, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. It was heavy and warm and made you want to pull closer to him. 

“It’s gonna be ok mami, it’s just a bad day, you're gonna be fine…” 

You unbuckled and turned to him as well, the sobbing subsided, giving way to the nervousness that buzzed through you. Some tears were still escaping your eyes, he gently brushed them away with his hand and you leaned into his touch.

Your heart was beating mercilessly, belly in knots. You just sat there for a few moments, allowing his touch to both soothe and excite you. There was a lump in your throat and a pool of heat between your thighs. You knew he should stop but desperately wanted him to continue. 

“Do you want me to kiss it better…hmmm?” he asked almost in a whisper, making your heart flutter even more violently.

You did not respond, any response would result in a lose-lose situation. You didn’t want to admit how much you wanted this, you also didn't want to say no. You knew this was the dreaded push in the wrong direction, and you were paralized with fear, drawing only shallow breaths.

His gloved thumb grazed over your cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, making goosebumps run down your spine. 

He leaned forward slowly placing a soft kiss on your cheekbone, 

and then another one on your cheek, 

and another one tethering on the edge of your lips. 

The fourth kiss reached your lips, soft and delicate, stained with your tears.

Your core heated up immediately, you couldn't help but lean into the kiss, pressing your lips onto his. His hand was gently cupping your face as your lips brushed softly against each other. It was a chaste, delicate kiss. His smell was making you dizzy, the masculine musk in it somehow amplified. 

You felt yourself physically torn, lust and guilt mixing inside of you into a nauseating concoction.  

"Stop please, I can't" you came to your senses briefly, laying your palm on Jake's chest.

"Lo siento" Jake replied softly, eyes still closed. You were still inches apart, you could still feel his breath on you, his hand still cupping your cheek. 

It took you all of five seconds before you were falling off the edge, pressing your lips on his again, admitting defeat, brushing his bottom lip with your tongue. That little flick of your tongue was all it took. Jake's hand moved to your neck, cupping your face between his thumb and index, his tongue licking into your mouth, his lips hot against yours, it was intense and possessive and conveyed nothing but desire and danger. He groaned softly against your lips as he claimed your mouth with his, you were barely able to catch a breath, heart slamming in your chest, mouth gasping for air but not able to break away from his kiss. He was kissing you like he wanted to have as much of you as possible while he still could. 

Jake felt the pulse in your throat in his palm, galloping at a merciless pace. He fantasized about this for weeks, and now that he finally gave in, he was afraid he would devour you without being able to stop himself. 

A very loud car honk jolted you both as your mouths finally detached. You were almost thankful that you were startled enough to stop, to replace the hunger in your veins with a stress response. You scrambled to collect your bag and quickly exited the cab, saying absolutely nothing, shocked at your own actions and at how far you've allowed yourself to go.

Jake stepped out of the cab after you, calling at you “Y/N I’m sorry! Please let me take you home! Lo siento mucho!” 

You were almost running away at this point, and he did not want to cause you any more stress by following you. It was clear that a line had been crossed. 

“Jake please go, I’ll walk home, please just go now…please” You shouted back with a shaky voice.

******

Your husband was a grateful man, he didn't know what happened, what prompted you to jump his bones the moment you put your son down for the night. It wasn’t like you to do that sort of thing, but he knew he would be stupid to complain.

You sucked him off like a starved woman before straddling his hips and riding him, your eyes shot with concentration, kisses hot and needy. 

All you could think about was Jake, hoping to miraculously conjure him into existence, but it all tasted and smelled wrong.

You finally were able to cum with the thought of Jake fucking into you, mumbling soft praises in Spanish. How sweet his moans would sound, how sexy he would look with sweat glistening on his pecks. 

FUCK you were screwed. You only had a small taste and it got you fucking hooked, nothing tasted like he did. You absolutely didn't want to want him as much as you did. 

******

The pain in your chest took weeks to subside, but you could still feel the slight sting of it. Finally feeling less and less guilty, although you couldn’t really quit Jake. You would bring him up from your memory every day, like an imaginary friend. Faithfull only in the technical sense, you convinced yourself that it’s good enough, that maybe that earth shattering soul crushing kiss you shared was just what you needed, that you stopped just in time before it all went too far. Truthfully you could only thank that honking car, it was the true ‘hero’ of the story, the thing that actually made you stop. 

You knew without a shadow of a doubt that another test would be impossible to withstand. Thank god you weren’t tested.

Until you were.

******

The evening was winding down, you had such a great time with your friends from work, better than you thought you would, you were in a cheerful mood for a change. It was a welcome break after weeks of nothing but work-home-childcare-bed, you finally had the evening to yourself. After three drinks it was clear you needed to call a cab. It would be a long ride, since you were not in your usual part of town. You decided to get yourself some water for the ride, to try and sober up a bit.

Walking into the bright convenience store made your eyes squint. The store was almost empty and quite large, allowing you to wonder quietly, contemplating the snack options that looked very appetizing in your drunken state.  All of a sudden you felt a tingle at the back of your head, as if you were being watched. When you turned swiftly there was no one there. As you kept walking the feeling increased, you could almost feel the breath of someone down your neck, but the store seemed completely empty. The alcohol in your blood evaporated instantly and you felt completely sober, as the paranoia slowly set in. 

You quickly grabbed a bottle of water and sprinted to the register. That was when you saw him. In the monitor above the clerk’s head, there was no mistaking that strong silhouette, but the cap was really the dead giveaway. He was standing behind the row of shelves, just out of your sight. What the hell?? Your heart rushed. Was it excitement? Fight or flight response? You were not sure. You turned on your heel, walking towards him before he even had the chance to realize what’s going on. 

“What the hell do you think you're doing?!” You asked, your voice came out stronger than you anticipated. Perhaps you were still a little tipsy.

“Joder! I’m sorry Y/N”

“Why are you following me? You scared the shit out of me.”

“I..I wanted to come up to you, wasn't sure it’s a good idea, I wanted to apologize, for that time..”

You lifted your eyes to his, dark and hooded, he looked tired. The bright fluorescent lights were probably not doing you any favors either. You wanted to hug him, but of course you did. “Apology accepted,” you muttered quietly.

“Not like this, por favor cariño, can we talk?”

He grabbed your hand in his large gloved one. You looked down and saw your wedding band, pulling it right back. You exhaled sharply “fine Jake, let's talk, not here.”

Maybe closure isn’t such a bad idea, maybe the fact that you feel a little aggravated with him will make this easier.

You walked out of the store, he was a couple steps ahead of you, and if someone had seen you from the side they probably wouldn’t think you were together. You made sure to stay behind him, even walking with him made you nervous, guilty.

The alley was quiet and dark, the street lights illuminating everything in a dim yellow. Jake's face seemed even more angular, eyes shaded completely by his cap, thankfully. You wouldn't have been able to withstand his eyes piercing into yours. You leaned on his parked cab, folding your arms on your chest, while he stood in front of you, keeping a ‘professional’ distance as much as he could. 

A heavy silence stood between the two of you, but your body reacted to the sight and smell of him. You were trying to ignore the need to pull him closer.

“Y/N, I'm very sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, it was weak of me. I shouldn’t have done what I did" 

You looked at him but did not respond, letting the obvious set before you could reply. 

“It wasn’t just your fault, Jake"

"Por favor Y/N, let me finish" His breathing seemed heavier, but he sounded almost authoritative.  

"I…I was selfish. I knew it was wrong, I should have stopped myself, I just wanted to make you feel better, soy un idiota.." 

The words you really wanted to reply sat on your tongue. Admit it already. Say it.

"Jake,I wanted it to happen. I kissed you back, 'soy un idiota' too.." 

"Soy UNA idiota..female tense" he chuckled as he corrected you. 

"Thank you for teaching me the proper way to call myself an idiot"

"Anytime, querida" 

His voice softened.

"I love it when you call me that.." 

You raised your eyes to meet his, as he took a step to close the gap between you, looking at you with an intensity and hunger, making your heart race.

“I was also weak” you whispered now that he was close, holding your hands in his. 

“You make me weak Jake” Your anger has all but dissolved, and you were standing in front of him defenseless, unarmed. There was nothing that could protect you now.

He removed his gloves one by one, placing them on the roof of the cab behind you. His cap followed, revealing a mop of thick black curls, brushing them back with his hand as a few stray ones still bounced back onto his forehead. 

You cupped his face, his stubble softly scratching the palm of your hand. 

“Kiss me” you finally said it.

One of his arms rested on the cab, cornering you in, your bodies almost touching now, his scent clouding every remaining ounce of judgment you still possessed. 

You could feel his heavy breath as he slowly ghosted his fingers on your jawline and neck and leaned in to kiss you. 

He set a slow pace, but his kiss was anything but chaste this time. Dipping his tongue into your mouth, gently sucking on your bottom lip, his lips were soft and pillowy and he brushed them masterfully against your own, before breaking off the kiss to swipe his thumb on your lips. Your tongue darted out to lick the tip of his finger as if by itself, Jake's eyes flickered and he slowly pushed it into your mouth, with a quiet moan. Your tongue swirled around the thick digit, teeth scraped it, before he pulled it out only to kiss you again, deeper and more desperate.

His hand laced through your hair, pulling gently and exposing your neck. Jake's lips trailed sloppy open mouthed kisses from the back of your ear and all the way down to your clavicle. His hips were brushing his hard length against your belly. The combination was making your head spin, and your heat pool in your center. Your moans and whimpers were music to his ears. "You sound so pretty like this querida, making those sweet noises" he said with a raspy voice, teeth nibbling at your earlobe. His palm glided down to your breast, he brushed his fingers on it so tenderly that you barely noticed it until a wave of arousal shot into your core. His weight was pinning you to the car, he slid his thigh between your legs, feeling your heat, grinding his clothed cock it into you. Your fingers squeezed under the waistband of his jeans, tugging at the belt, grabbing at as much ass as you could, pulling him closer. You began to pull his shirt out, hands sliding up his warm firm back, he shivered slightly at your cold fingers and chuckled at your eagerness. 

“Can I touch you? Do you want me to touch you, cariño?” he cooed sweetly.

"Fuck..ah..hhm" was all you managed to reply, it felt as if your wetness would drown you, your whole body felt liquid in his arms, reduced to a puddle of lust. 

He slid his hand under the hem of your skirt, warm callused palm traveling up your thigh. His lips detached from you, he was breathing heavily and studying you closely. Sliding his fingers gently over your drenched panties as your face contorted with pleasure, until your hips started to buck at him. "Please touch me" you managed to breathe out. He obliged, moving your panties out of the way and gliding both fingers in between your folds. 

His breath got even heavier as yours nearly stopped completely. "joder mami.." he muttered at the warm wetness coating his fingers. He circled your clit and then slid back towards your entrance, pushing slightly into you, repeating the motion with a featherlight touch. Your moans were getting quiet, reduced to quick sharp breaths and little whimpers. Brows pinched and eyes slammed shut. It was pure ecstasy delivered in the softest and tenderest of manners. "Breathe mami… I'll take care of you. You are so beautiful like this" he whispered and kissed you again, wanting to capture your pleasure with his mouth. 

This is what you wanted all along, to have no choice in the matter. To be seduced so completely that your ability to resist would disappear altogether. This must absolve you of some responsibility. 

The rolling thunder did not seem to distract you from each other, no honking car, no impending doom would make your mouths detach. You have allowed yourself to indulge in this, moral compass tossed into the nearest bin. 

His thick fingers slid inside of you, and every time he pulled them out just to push them back in, his palm rubbed gently against your clit, covering his hand with your arousal. You moaned into Jake's mouth, louder this time, as you felt the coil tighten in your core. 

"Tell me hermosa.." he rasped between soft kisses and licks,"Do you think of me when you touch yourself?" 

"Hhm, yes.." you replied, stating the obvious. 

"And do you think of me when you fuck your husband..?" Your heart raced at the question, it shouldn't have turned you on even more, make you even wetter, but it did. "Be honest, querida, it's ok" his voice was supposed to feel reassuring, but it was laced with coercion, luring and tempting your shameful truth out of you. 

"Yes" you whispered, your voice barely came out as a pathetic whimper. 

“Mmmm” He purred at your response. 

The thunder roared again, and little droplets of rain began falling.

"We're not getting in until you cum, cariño" He said playfully. You hated the rain, you hated yourself, but you would hate it more if he'd stopped. 

Your senses lit on fire as the pleasure in your belly was tightening. You felt the drops cold against your hot skin, the weight of Jake's body on yours, the gentle slide of his fingers, heard the sound of your kisses, moans, and heavy breaths, his smell and taste were intoxicating you.

It all accumulated, building up higher and higher, until you finally felt your pleasure spill over the edge. Wave after wave washed over you. You dug your nails into his shoulders, holding on for dear life, groaning into the crook of his neck. "así, mami, así" he said softly as you clenched around his fingers, pulling you gently down from your high. 

You both stood there for a moment, eyes shut, breathing each other's air heavily.

The rain intensified, beginning to soak into your hair and clothes, convincing you both to finally get into the cab. 

When you got in, the sounds of the street and the rain dissipated, it was so quiet all of a sudden, all you could hear was each other's breath. Your orgazm was still buzzing faintly through your body, but the guilt was slowly creeping up your back. 

You found yourself scrambling for something that would make you stop, but came up with nothing. What would be worse? Betraying the trust of your husband or denying yourself the thing you have been desperately craving for months with every fiber of your being? How strong did you have to be to resist this? 

Jake sat next to you, damp curls and white shirt slightly soaked by the rain.

He turned to you and placed his hand in the space between the two of you on the car seat, as if asking for permission all over again "Hermosa, are you sure? I will understand if you want to stop". 

Without his cap and with the soft look in his eyes he looked boyish, almost innocent. "You are so handsome" You said, as you brushed away a stray curl from his forehead and laid your hand on top of his, granting said permission silently, still not willing to fully admit to yourself what it is that you're agreeing to. "Please querida, I need to hear that you want this too" 

You scooted closer to him, slowly running your hands up his arms and shoulders and began removing his tie. Unwrapping your forbidden present to yourself. "I do. I'm sure. I want this. too much" you said, in a voice closer to a whisper, still trying to keep your 'secret' from him, as if there were any left.

You unbuttoned his shirt, taking your time with each button, until you were able to slide it down his shoulders, the tanned broad panels of his pecs finally at your fingertips. He was beautiful, the contour of him gently illuminated from the dim street lights.

You ran your fingers through his soft curls, pulling him closer for a kiss, your tongues swirled together at a leisurely pace. His hands slid up your legs, under your skirt, pulling your thong down. "Eres tan suave, tan dulce, necesito sentirte cerca.." he rasped as his fingers brushed on your thighs.

"You'll have to translate this one for me" you replied gingerly. 

He took your hand, laying it on his clothed cock, painfully hard under his jeans. "Here's a translation for you, querida" he chuckled, groaning softly at the friction. Oh god, of course he's big.

"Aww, is that what it's called in Spanish..?" you chuckled back, rubbing him softly through the fabric. 

You made quick work of his belt buckle, unzipping his constricting denim, tugging it along with his briefs down his strong thighs as he lifted his hips slightly.

You finally straddled him, your heat pooling in your core, begging to be filled. 

His gaze was fixed on your face as he ran the tip of his cock in between your folds. You bucked your hips at the delicious feeling and began to sink on him slowly, relishing every thick inch, every ridge and vein. "Ah.. fuck, you're a big boy" you managed a breathy whisper. Jake almost whimpered as your warm wetness covered him, sinking all the way into you. 

He grabbed your hips, impatient and needy, beginning to slowly grind you on his cock.

It felt amazing. That's the only way you would describe the exquisite fullness between your thighs, his thickness dragging against your walls, gently enticing every ounce of pleasure out of you. You raised yourself slowly, just to sink back again, and again, quickening your pace slightly with every thrust. He nuzzled at your breasts, sucking gently on the flesh he could reach, before grabbing the hem of your top and pulling it up. Your bra quickly followed. Jake latched his mouth on your nipple immediately, sucking hungrily, then pressing your breasts together and lapping his greedy tongue over both nipples. There was pure concentration in his face. His eyes were closed, soft long lashes laying on his sharp cheekbones. 

For years you'd retreat to the back of your mind, pull fantasies and memories almost forcefully, that's the only way you could enjoy sex. Now you could barely blink at the sight of him. Broad shoulders and strong arms, sharp jaw, black curls. Just so fucking gorgeous.

Jake sensed your gaze and opened his eyes, staring deeply back while he moved into you. Your orgazm began to approach rapidly, as you tightened around his cock. He planted his feet on the floor, thrusting harder, deeper. He spread your cheeks with his palms, slotting himself deeper still. His eyes darted from your eyes to your lips, to your breasts, before he pulled you into another kiss. You could almost taste your orgazm now, and you began moving faster, chasing it, you closed your eyes out of habit, before forcing yourself to keep them open. You needed to etch as much as you could into your brain. You wanted to capture it all - the sound of his groans, the skin slapping on skin, the smell of sex, the taste of him in your mouth. Every. Tiny. Fucking. Detail. Oh. My. God. Yes! Yesss! Fuck me! Fuck! Fuck!  The coil in your core finally snapped, stronger this time, hitting you harder. Jake felt you clench around him and he deepened his thrusts, crashing his hips into yours as you moaned and wailed.  No secrets to hide, no shame, you've allowed yourself to fully let go, confessing all of your sins loudly and without reprehension. Warmth spread all over your body, flooding your limbs, as the aftershocks of your climax kept coming. "That sounded so fucking beautiful, querida" Jake groaned. Your hands came up to his face, lacing through his hair, as you began kissing him again softly - on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead…You placed gentle kisses on his closed eyes, every soft kiss thanking him for the pleasure he brought you. Jake's pace began to quicken again, you matched his movements, you could feel him approaching his high, hands gripping your hips with surprising strength, moving you on his cock faster, harder, thrust after thrust after thrust. He groaned as he spilled inside you, neck stretching back, jaw clenched ,sweat beading on his chest. He was every bit as stunning as you imagined him to be. 

He collapsed into your chest, heaving from his exertion, thrusting his hips slightly into you, coaxing some final pleasurable little waves of post orgazm out of you. 

He looked blissed out, completely content.

You stroked him, gently grazing your nails on his scalp, brushing your fingers on his temple. He purred softly and nuzzled deeper into you. You both knew you had very few last moments to enjoy this, to breathe each other's scent and bask in the tender intimacy of it all, before you'd have to go back to pretending this never even happened. "Thank you" you whispered, kissing the top of his head. You really didn't know what else to say, how to express the mixture of gratitude and guilt you were feeling. Could you promise yourself this was the one and only time? Could you resist him? This? You couldn't tell yourself this was 'nothing' because it didn't feel like 'nothing'. Maybe with time you could convince yourself it was. 

"I have to get back home, Jake" you finally said. "I know querida, i know you do."

******

The tension had been building inside of you the whole ride home, and you went back and forth between the possibility that you'll be able to come out of this unscaved and the very plausable outcome of completely ruining your life. 

You unlocked the door to your house with a heavy heart, dreading what awaited you on the other side. How would you explain the late hour you came in? Would Jake's scent linger enough to be noticable? 

And what if you don't get caught, would you regret this? Surely you'd regret breaking their hearts, betraying their trust, being so selfish with your 'needs' that you didn't even consider another solution. But, would you also regret the scorching hot, charming, gorgeous man that fucked you like that, like you needed him to? And if you regret only some of it, does it count as actual regret? Does it matter? 

Your brain was running a mile a minute, perhaps trying to prepare yourself to 'face the music' if you must. The bottom line was that the deed was done. And it was lustful and passionate and every bit as satisfying as you've imagined.

As soon as you stepped in you knew you could breathe a sigh of relief. The glow of the TV was the only thing illuminating the space, and your husband's snores assured you that you were in the clear.

You headed into the shower immediately, relishing in the hot water on your skin. For the first time in months your mind was clear. You could think about your plans for the upcoming days, your chores, missing items on the shopping list, the kind of cake you wanted to bake for your mom's birthday… The lustful beast in you was full, satiated, resting in it's cave at the back of your mind. 

Thank you Jake. 

**********

Jake

The streets were almost empty, the rain subsided into a drizzle, the wet asphalt shimmered with blurry reflections of the street lights and passing cars. 

Jake opened the window and lit up a smoke, he enjoyed the cool air that smelled like rain, it blended with your smell on his fingers. 

"Do you think of me when you fuck your husband?" He'd ask them. 

Most froze, some tried to avoid the question, some would say "no, because I don't fuck him anymore". Hearing an honest answer like yours was rare. Your precious little "yes"... your voice barely whispered it, but it was enough for Jake.

You were special. Something about the guilt written on your face made it more exhilarating for him. You never did manage to hide anything, every emotion was visible, clear for him to see. Your reaction to his smell, to his voice, your clumsy and adorable attempts at flirting, it was all so endearing. You were always so sweet, so responsive when he finally touched you the way he wanted to.

He'd tell himself that he is actually helping. Every woman wants to feel seen and desired, every woman deserves pleasure. He was just happy to oblige, to offer himself up. He did have a type though, and they all had one thing in common - a husband. Some husbands were doing a fine job, but some were not. Dormant in their lives, maybe cheating, maybe just tired. 

He would never insist if he saw that the other side simply wasn't interested, but more often than not they were. And there was nothing quite like breaking through the initial apprehension, to reach the bleeding core of someone who needed this just as badly as he did. And boy did you need it. You were starved and he had the pleasure of feeding you. 

He apologized for his advances because he knew that you needed to think that he was as conflicted as you were. But he wasn't, he wasn't sorry either. 

How could he be when you moaned like that, clenching on his cock, digging your nails into his skin..? 

Fin.

[pitau]

A year ago today I realized that I was going to kill myself.

I've probably had depression for a long time, and I've got childhood trauma out the proverbial wazoo that needs unpacked, and I've always aimed myself at the hardest career path and stubbornly done it anyway, and at that time I was coming up on 2.5 years married to an unemployed person and had recently had to quit my second job because it was just too much all the time.

But a year ago today, I was in Montreal for a small conference hosted at McGill and in the middle of the day I suddenly felt like I had to leave.

I walked and walked and walked a little aimlessly hoping for a place to eat something. I found a bar first but there was too much hustle bustle and the servers never came so I just left and found another bar on a quiet little pedestrian street and I had a beer and looked at this very peaceful scene and something that had rooted in my stomach earlier that day was growing. I could feel it twisting in my guts.

So I got up and I started walking again, and the sun was going down and I knew I needed to eat something. I stopped into a Spanish restaurant and there were no other patrons and at first I thought it was closed and I wanted to leave but a single person came out and took my order in broken English and then I sort of felt bad or roped in to the situation so I stayed. I had a sangria and a way too big plate of paella.

And I've told this part most often, this comical bit where I'm sitting here basically on a work vacation eating a great meal and frantically Googling "how to not kill yourself".

Whatever rooted in me blossomed. It did not feel like depression or anxiety or sadness or lethargy or any of the things I feel right now, or have felt before. It was foreign, alien, malign. It was a total and absolute certainty that I would die by my own hand and that if it didn't happen tonight it was going to happen soon. I planned a location and a date. I had already scouted the area to make sure it was accessible at night and I knew summer was best because I don't want it to be cold when I die, you know? And I knew where to go from and where to land to maximize the chances, the building being just barely over the colloquial LD-50 for falling.

I walked back to my hotel from the restaurant and could not shake the presence. It was not a "feeling" but a body, a weight, hovering over and pulling on mine. My eyes did not feel like my own, an entity surveilling my vision between the rods and cones and the optic nerve and my brain there was a wiretap and an interference. I stayed up all night because I did not understand how to sleep.

My mom and my wife visited Montreal. They each arrived the next day, I think. It's spotty. Maybe one and then the other. In the night my wife went ahead to the hotel and my mom and I stopped to pick up some food. I told her I needed to know if there were things she needed me to do or know before I checked out. I told her it was time. She cried and cried and I felt guilt but I didn't know how to stop it. She helped me a lot. We talked through a lot. I told my wife too but I don't think she ever really understood what I was saying. She would say of course I also think about suicide but it's not the answer; as though I were arriving to this by logical process.

Anyway, I didn't kill myself. My PCP agreed to see me immediately and we started Lexapro, and then Wellbutrin, and then I got a psychiatrist too and blah blah blah. Next week I'll try therapy again but with a place that is not a VC darling like Lyra, which my employer provides as the go-to in-network system.

I don't have a single piece of insight to offer here. I think that if someone wants to die they should be allowed to. In the last year I've had this flash suicide plan, lost a grandfather, lost a marriage, lost a grandmother, taught another (fourth now) brand new class from scratch, and submitted more grants than any prior year (and gotten more rejections, too) ((and for the one I had to stay awake for three days straight because funerals are never well timed)).

I wanted to be better for a long time, but now I just want to be different. I've been red lining the engine since high school. Maybe earlier. I despise myself and never measure up to my own impossible, hateful standards. I am caustic. Critical. In her worst moments my wife ensured I understood that I ruined her life, her career, her standing in family. I've been formally reprimanded by my department for unprofessional behavior (it is unwise to tell a hired security guard that they are "a mickey mouse cop on a power trip" when they insist on their right to search your backpack as you enter campus as a faculty member). I worry that my brain was bred for sitting in a fishtank of alcohol in a trailer park, and all this ambition of mine is reach far exceeding grasp. My country resentments have built up, little by little, until I don't even want to relate to most people.

The last three years have seen me grow into the worst version of myself. Maybe I'm just trying to commit this in writing: I want to enact change.

[hannahsmusings]

Renee

*hearing Charles speak French was slowly becoming my new favorite thing, growing up in America I hardly heard anyone speak anything other than English, the occasional Spanish now and then, but French was always such a sexy language for me and of course the attractive driver that I was trying my hardest not to fall for was fucking French, because that’s just how my life worked out* *I couldn’t help but smile a bit to myself as Charles complained in French while Carlos responded back to his complaints in Spanish, the two of them being outrageously ridiculous but they had such a god relationship and I knew that was priceless in this business, having two teammates who hated one another and refused to work as a team and only cared about themselves was the norm and it was difficult to work with them, but having two drivers who got on like brothers was a blessing* *all my thoughts immediately emptied my head as I saw just how close Charles’ face was to me when he glanced down at me, sucking in a breath as we locked eyes, my chest aching as he visibly leaned away from me, making me feel so self conscious in turn, wondering if there was something on my face or something equally as embarrassing, wondering if I really did make up all of our little eye contact moments during lunch and that his little smile towards me was actually a pity smile and not a genuine one, my brain going a mile a minute, somehow feeling rejected by this man that I shouldn’t feel anything towards* I-It’s okay… would’ve been a scene if we accidentally left him. Like those stories of parents forgetting their kids at gas stations… *great now I was nervous rambling, everything was too much for me right now, Charles was too close and he smelled too good and his thigh was so toned and muscular next to mine and god he could reach out and his entire hand would take up my thigh and Jesus Christ that was so hot* 

______________________________________

*i felt like I was holding my breath, no wanting to breath in case you could sense how breathless with want I was, you were fucking gorgeous, everything about you, looking at you in my peripheral vision and fuck you were stunning, your curls, the tone of your skip, your full lips, your scent, everything about you felt like it was made for me, not finding anything that I didn’t find totally appealing, sighing internally as I hated how intense this feeling was* *looks at you as you speak, not sure where to focus on as looking at your mouth was too fucking tempting, deciding to keep eye contact but even that was a dangerous game, your eyes feeling like they were pulling me in and god I wanted to let them* *laughs a little as my brain catches up with your joke, looking at Carlos who was oblivious to your words and on his phone, grinning a little and nodding as I look back at you* Right? Media would be all over it. He’d throw a proper tantrum. *says quietly, chuckling a little and flexing my fingers in my lap to prevent them pulling you closer, trying to keep the distance between us but it was hard with the jostling of the car* *if I didn’t think too hard it was fine, just think of anything other than your smell, the slight view of your chest I had from sitting so close, the way your skirt hugged your thighs, cursing myself internally as I shake my head softly to rid of the thoughts, my stomach tight with desire and needing to get back to the hotel quick, wanting to get this energy out of my system*

[greatdamecygnus]

(11/21) Many countries, no home

I’ve been down about my ethnic background a little lately. 

When I was heading back home from Ohio a couple of weeks ago, I had the opportunity to watch some in-flight movies that I’ve been meaning to get to. The first one I watched and that hit me the hardest during the flight was Selena. With Edward James Olmos playing Selena’s father, a line that I took away was a personal struggle that I’ve always faced, even as an adult: “We have to be more Mexican than the Mexicans and more American than the Americans, both at the same time! It’s exhausting!”

For those who haven’t seen the movie or who haven’t watched it in a very long time, he refers to needing to be “twice as perfect”, and that you’re never enough for both cultures if you’re of mixed descent. Selena is Mexican-American. I am Japanese-Mexican-Polish-American. And something that’s been bothering me quite a bit to the point of tears a couple of weeks ago is still continued lack of belonging. I’ve carried a lot of this since I was a kid.

Growing up, I had never fit into any crowd. And honestly, I still don’t. I wasn’t “Japanese” enough because, like Selena, growing up I didn’t know the language or follow all the cultural standards or social conventions -- long dark hair, quiet and conserved, ridiculously polite, excelling at everything and anything (although that is also just very much an asian thing). I wasn’t “White” enough because, well, I didn’t look white. I think the only one I have never really been criticized for, funny enough, is being Hispanic: between me having very expansive knowledge of some food, cultural traditions, and influences, it’s never been an issue. In terms of being able to speak the language, I used to be able to speak Spanish okay after taking it in school for so long, but now it’s piecemeal.

I love my friends a lot. I love my partner a lot. But none of them are ever going to understand what it’s like being multiple races at once, and never fitting into any one place. I think my brother probably felt (and maybe still feels) the same way too. My friends are homogenized in that they rarely stray from their own circles, whether they recognize it or not. The thing is too, none of them are going to be a part of an eternal guessing-game when you get introduced.

“What are you?” I get. I tell people my ethnicities. They find it interesting.

Unfortunately, my anxiety brain made a conclusion (which is very well possible) that for some people, I’m not their type because I don’t fit into their cultural circle. And that pains me because it means that, at least lately, I will never be white or “whiter”. I don’t think people realize that it’s a constant struggle for me. 

Two weeks ago, I got to meet a music artist and producer who is born and raised Japanese and who could barely speak English. A lot of us had a good laugh when some of the people who attended this event that this producer was at got “nihongo jouzu’d”. For those not particularly in the know, it’s a joke from an American who is fluent in Japanese (with correct inflections which is super difficult to train) who mentions that most Japanese people from Japan will say condescendingly “nihongo jouzu desu ne?” (You’re Japanese is good) toward foreigners trying to speak the language. 

I ended up getting that line from him, and for three seconds, I wanted to burst out crying in utter embarassment, but then he had said in Japanese after saying that line, (my comprehension is much better than my speaking), “out of everyone I’ve talked to so far, your Japanese is ACTUALLY good”. It was one of the very few affirmations I’ve ever really gotten from a cultural perspective.

It sure as hell quelled the constant anxiety of “tu espanol es muy malo” or “your eyes are slanted, though” or even “anata wa nihonjin ja nai”. 

I know my parents had imparted onto me to reject conformity and to forge my own path. I don’t (really) regret what I’ve become, but the road is really lonely and it gets hard at times. I love me, but it is also difficult at times to be me.

[kindness-ricochets]

I’ve been seeing a lot of thoughts and hc of autistic wylan lately and you seem to also be a fan of the concept. May I ask why? Exactly? I could definitely kinda see it but wanna hear you thoughts you’re always so eloquent

Hey there anon! Sorry for the delay—I’m guessing you already found an answer to this elsewhere while I was off Tumblr for a bit, but just in case, here are my thoughts. This will be heavily personal, but… well, you can’t very well ask an autistic person about autism and expect neutrality!

Autism is different for everyone and can be difficult to pin down, so while Wylan is arguably autistic, he misses several beats that for me would have made him definitively and undeniably autistic. For example, when the bells start to ring, triggering black protocol—I work in a place with a lot of bells and am frequently caught too close to one and normally press my hands over my ears until it’s over because that sound is like shrapnel raking across my insides. All of them. Not just the ear and brain parts. Wylan doesn’t have that sort of visceral reaction, but that may just mean he doesn’t have the same sensitivities that I do, or to the same level. He also never, that I recall, eats meat—as weird as that might sound, eating meat is incredibly complicated with heightened sensitivities to taste and texture. I’m not sure how old I was when I realized it was strange to get up from the table to spit out my food because it viscerally repulsed me. So it might be that Wylan is autistic and has different experiences than I do. Those are things I would include in a story as major indicators of a character being autistic. This might also mean that his father’s way of raising him taught him to hide unusual reactions and stimming behaviors. It’s not that much of a reach to assume a man who tried to abuse the dyslexia out of his son would take the same approach to autism. (More on autism and abuse later.)

So while I’m going to lay out why I read Wylan as autistic, that’s why I think it’s valid to read him as not being autistic as well. Both are valid.

A final caveat, I am well overdue for a reread of the books, so I likely left something out or could have found better examples. Take this as a few of my reasons for a personal headcanon. Anyone who feels differently, that's fine! We can each read things our own way :)

1 - Hyperfixation: The way Wylan loves music

Most of the Crows’ backgrounds color how they see the world: Kaz’s shrewdness, Matthias’s tactical thinking and superstition, Inej’s faith and Suli wisdom, etc. That’s a sign of good character writing. But very little of Wylan’s upbringing seems to have influenced how he sees the world. It comes closest when he thinks about how his father would scorn his new friends, but we never see that scorn from Wylan.

The way a hyperfixation feels, it’s like you’ve always lived in a close parallel world, never fully been a part of the other one where it seems like everyone else lives, but suddenly there’s this bright shining piece of your soul laced through the other world. It lets you connect, it lets you exist in their realm, and you can’t help but filter everything new through that lens because it’s the brightest, most wonderful thing. (I had been between hyperfixations for a while when I started a new job; six months into that work, I read Crooked Kingdom. One of my coworkers thought I had fallen in love, it was that marked a difference.)

So, combining these: Wylan never really acts like he was part of his father’s world, and indeed is in some ways separate from the other Crows, but he parses everything through music, his hyperfixation. He sets words to music to remember them, like he does with the contract. Even his own anxiety is made sense of through music, when in his first narrated chapter, he sets it to music: what am I doing here what am I doing here…. When he’s overwhelmed, his thoughts are “a jangle of misplayed chords”. The Crows have backgrounds that influence how they react to the world, but Wylan’s hyperfixation is his means of experiencing and understanding the world.

2 - Literal thinking: Wylan responds to exact words

In this post, I went into detail on the line where Wylan suggested waking up men to kill them. Wylan is generally unsupportive of killing people—Oomen, Smeet’s clerk, his father… he advocates not-murder in each of these situations. Accepting his aversion to murder, his suggestion to wake men up and kill them seems like a genuine reaction to Jesper saying he doesn’t want to kill unconscious men. Wylan takes things literally.

This happens the most with Jesper, probably because Jesper talks to Wylan the most. Nina and Matthias don’t really register him past how he might be useful, Inej is usually quite direct, and Kaz is very deliberate when he speaks with Wylan. This really interests me because Kaz tends to vary his speech more than the others do, he adapts more to being around other people. He jokes a little with Jesper, spars with Nina, speaks more openly and more sharply with Inej, and he’s precise with Wylan. Kaz may not know what autism is, but he recognizes what’s effective with Wylan.

Another example is when Wylan is sketching the Ice Court plans and Jesper says it looks like a cake. There are plenty of valid responses here: pointing out that concentric circles look like lots of things, that it’s just a sketch, telling Jesper to stop looking over his shoulder. Instead, Wylan says that the Ice Court is sort of like a cake. That… doesn’t sound like something Wylan would normally say. He’s not addressing the whole situation, he’s addressing the specific words Jesper said.

One of the most heartbreaking examples of this (to me, anyway) is with Marya. Wylan does the same thing with his mother, when she asks if he’s there for her money and says she hasn’t got any, and his response is, “I don’t either.” We understand as readers that what Marya is communicating here is that she is so accustomed to being utterly ignored unless she is being used, and if she told Wylan that no one visited but to take advantage and she assumed he was here for the same reason, he would say it wasn’t the case. But he just responds to the immediate statement.

There are a lot of examples of this.

3 — 0% perception, 100% creativity

Wylan can identify things that don’t make sense or that he doesn’t understand, but at the beginning of the series he can’t make leaps, only ask questions. On the Ferolind, he wonders about the source of water at the Ice Court; though Kaz doesn’t say as much, he was clearly wondering, too, because he eventually figured out the underground river. There’s an interesting parallel here where, in the beginning of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan asks a question about how they’ll break into Smeet’s and Kaz tells him to use his eyes instead of running his mouth—at which point Wylan is able to figure it out. I don’t think this is because he never tried before, though, but because no one ever bothered to teach him. Kaz can be harsh but he gives harsh corrections rather than harsh rejections and Wylan learns from him.

It’s hard to understand the world for people with autism. The world is designed and run by and for people whose minds are fundamentally different from ours, whose thoughts and experiences are unlike ours. Imagine trying to learn English or Spanish or Mandarin or any other spoken language if your first language was olfactory. That’s sort of what it’s like for someone with autism to just get dropped into the world and expected to figure this out.

This can be attributed to Wylan’s upbringing, but I disagree with that because none of the others were brought up in the Barrel, either, and Wylan doesn’t understand trade or politics with any special skill. Kaz wasn’t born in the Barrel, but he managed to go from “stealing is wrong” to “wrong isn’t my concern” real quick; Colm Fahey didn’t raise his son on gambling and firefights; the Ghafas never expected their daughter to be away from the family. Only Nina has relevant training—and even that’s precious little, she left school way too early. The others figured it out; Wylan needed a bit more help. He also seems surprised by the way his father conducts business. Wylan takes things on face value—like the time he’s surprised someone would do something, simply because it’s unlawful. This is something he expresses to a group of gangsters. He’s never been taught the way of any world and these things are not intuitive to him.

But Wylan isn’t stupid.

He doesn’t know how to understand the world, but he does understand how things go together. Given a pointy diamond, a handle, and a screw, he cut through Grisha glass. He carries flashbangs and magic napalm, he recreates military hardware—Wylan understands how to make things interact for a specific result. But to me the most telling thing isn’t just that he puts together chemical pieces, it’s that he figured out Jesper controlled bullets. He saw the pieces and put them together.

Wylan can understand when things don’t make sense, but he can’t make sense of them—yet when he understands things at their basic level, he understands them without preconception, for what they are. This is a very autistic way of thinking about things, it goes back to the literalism. He can’t make the leaps of logic other people can, but he also doesn’t make the assumptions they do—“I’ve never heard of a bullet Grisha, so that’s not a thing” vs “Well Jesper’s an almost impossibly good shot and he controls metal and bullets are metal, so why not?”

4 - Broken brain/body connection

Wylan’s great at chemistry and drawing and playing flute or piano—but he’s something of a disaster other times. This is in particular contrast to the other characters, all of whom are physically adept. Meanwhile it’s a challenge for Wylan to climb a rope ladder and he spends a full paragraph trying to figure out what to do with his hands. It’s easy to say, well, he’s used to a sedentary lifestyle, but at this point he’s not. He’s worked in the tannery for months. He’s just physically awkward.

I have less to say on this point only because it’s about something I don’t fully understand myself. I don’t really understand what it would be like to have a body that just… does things? Like normal stuff? Without tics and stims. No idea. Only that Wylan’s discomfort in and seeming lack of mastery of his own body feels very relatable to me.

5 - Abuse

One of the most familiar things about Wylan is how he has been so thoroughly abused and broken down that he’s afraid to do or say much of anything. Again, this is a place his background can be an obscuring factor. Of course Wylan didn’t think to blow up the walls when the first met the parem-juiced jurda and got trapped, he’s a spoiled rich kid! Except, he also startled when Jesper said his name later. Wylan didn’t hesitate because he was spoiled, he hesitated because he had no confidence.

He also thinks Kaz would laugh at him for playing music at his mother’s grave. Now, personally, I can’t see Kaz laughing at Wylan—being indifferent, thinking it’s pointless sentimentality, shaking his head, maybe commenting sharply that they need to go if they don’t have the time. But not laughing. Kaz is a snarky, sharp-edged jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t go out of his way to criticize, he just lets people know when they inconvenience him.

Wylan has been trained to identify attention as negative by an overbearing abusive father who literally saw him as less favorable than a demon. Now, that may have been hyperbole, but Jan criticized everything he could about Wylan—art, music, emotion—and made clear that he was worthless and competent to nothing. (Jan Van Eck can suck a rotten donkey dick but that’s neither here nor there.)

A lot of people with autism experience levels of bullying that have similar impacts. Or as the kids these days are calling it: we go to school. We go to school where we are weird. Where we look weird and move weird and talk about weird things and there’s a whole little bevy of asswipes to makes sure we know it. I got teased more for playing Pokemon and sitting alone reading than the kid who pissed himself onstage at assembly. (This was before Pokemon was cool. I’m old.) And that is not unusual for autistic kids. It’s also not unusual for this to be compounded by relatives or even parents who may be trying to help but don’t understand and can make things even harder.

So we can’t read social cues and we’re taught at a vicious age that everything that comes naturally to us is wrong. Imagine trying to interact in society with that background. There is no guide and most advice from neurotypical people isn’t actually what they mean. It breaks you down.

Wylan’s anxiety isn’t definitive of autism, but isn’t something that was incredibly familiar as someone whose neurodivergent experiences created a strong level of anxiety.

6 — High Compassion, Low Social Competence

Wylan isn’t very good at making friends. In fact, none of the Crows likes him much in the beginning, and only some of them soften toward him by the end. (Matthias and Nina come to respect his skills as a chemist but neither seems to particularly like him.) But you can see throughout the books that Wylan wants to connect with them and be one of them, he just… isn’t. He’s off-beat. He’s weird. He asks questions and mimics behaviors (trying to be cool and tough like Jesper, saying “mission” like Matthias does, imitating Kaz’s scheming face) but he doesn’t quite get how to adapt.

But he still cares about people. Not just them. Everyone. He cares about the people they leave in the ditch outside the prison wagon, he cares about Hanna Smeet, he cares about Alys. He cares about the people who’ll take a hit from Kaz’s sugar caper.

Wylan’s awkward social skills have undeniable big autism energy. I posit his compassion does as well. This is simply who Wylan is, and that means being someone who cares about everyone. I have nothing to back up that this is related to autism. I can say that it’s like me. (Not to brag.) I can’t turn off the part of my brain that says everyone matters. Individuals can opt out of that compassion, but they have it by default. There’s a certain agony in feeling a pull toward and love for just about everyone and yet an inability to develop meaningful connections with them, and that keen loneliness… it just burns.

Again, it’s not definitive of autism, but it’s very similar to an autistic experience.

I said in the beginning that I didn’t think Wylan certainly had autism and I stand by that, but he is a powerfully honest reflection of many people who do. So he can be understood to have autism, and that’s part of the reason some people have that headcanon.

[ilkkawhat]

tag game

tagged by @frozenmemories1987 💜💜💜

Nickname(s): MK

Zodiac: Virgo

Height: roughly 5′1″ or 154.94cm

Last movie I watched: The Devil’s Rejects

Last thing I googled: The height conversion from cm to feet/inches, I grabbed my height off of my medical record 😂

Fave musician: Bastille and Hozier are among the top, if not the top

Song stuck in my head: Cult of Personality by Living Colour

Other blogs: I still keep my very first blog as an archive, bisexualstokes-archive and I do have a gaming sideblog I hardly use, hylianns 

Blogs following: 328

Amount of sleep: 7-7.5 ish on average

Lucky number: Don’t think I have one

What am I wearing: Comfy pajama shorts, and an oversized halloween t-shirt with ripped sleeves

Dream job: idk, kinda like what I’m doing now, being a quality assurance technician but I could do with dealing with less people

Dream trip: Just going anywhere other than here

Languages: English, some Spanish (I understand it better than I can speak it)

Favorite food: French fries, pizza, you know, all the junk you’re not supposed to indulge in lol

Do I play an Instrument: used to be in percussion way back in the day and didn’t really get past playing the bells, and I do have an ocarina somewhere that I did learn how to play zelda’s lullaby on at some point (that my dog was either singing along to, or very upset about because it was bad 😂)

Favorite song: bro idk, that’s something that changes almost on a daily basis lol. but “skulls” by bastille is one of the biggest, and still remains on my “on repeat” on spotify all the time 

Random fact: I think I mentioned this before, but remember how I was doing that daily word count thing a couple months back in I think march? when I would post how many words I’ve written, share a snippet etc? Well, I stopped doing that for...reasons but one day I got bored at work (it was a sunday, actually, so I was getting paid double time to just sit there and wait on production lol) and went through those posts and using the magic of google doc’s revision history, managed to create this spreadsheet where I have kept track of my word count on an actual daily basis, what fics I worked on, how many fics I posted, my bad days and if I still wrote despite that (which surprisingly, I’ve not had as many bad days as I would have thought, and yes, I still wrote for more than half of those days) and even have graphs of like, which day of the week is my best, which month I’ve written the most, graphs of each month’s progress (july is so pathetic lol) so yeah. I’m not doing it as a way to shame my writing skills, but just...celebrate the progress I do and show myself that even on my qualified “bad” days, I can still come out on top of my brain

gonna actually tag some people this time! @frostysfrenzy, @csinickstokes, @jencsi, @cowboyc0ffee and @letswaitforme

[sulkybbarnes]

“I can’t help but think we just didn’t do right by you somehow. You won’t tell me who you are. Did we teach you shame? Did I teach you that? Cause it would break my heart if I had. Can’t you see what a good job God did here. Can’t you see how beautiful he made you?”  -Big Eden (2000)

Read on AO3

Eddie sits in his car for a long time, head bowed and his hands gripping at the steering wheel. If it weren’t for the tense shoulders and the white knuckled grip he might look as if he was praying. Maybe part of him is praying. For courage, for acceptance, for a lighter heart. Between him and all of that stands an ocean of turmoil and whirling thoughts.

Eddie isn’t exactly panicking, but he might be a few breaths away from it. For him, panic isn’t quickened breaths and swimming vision. It’s rigidity and a weight that sits heavily in his stomach. It’s fire spreading through his chest and into his limps, rendering him motionless, even when his brain races at the speed of light. Part of him wants to turn back, drive home, make dinner for his son, maybe call Buck to see if he’d join them. However, since Buck is part of the problem, that course of action might not be the wisest. 

Eddie sucks in a deep breath then let it out slowly. He isn’t afraid of his feelings for Buck any more than he was afraid to acknowledge his attraction to men. In his later years of life, after having a kid and a twice failed marriage, Eddie has become a pragmatic and introspective creature. Things just are to him. He takes them, examines them with care, then places them in place when he’s done looking at them. Sure, the process isn’t quite as clean or clinical as he makes it sound, but the end result of it is the same, no matter how long he dwells on an issue. 

So, yes, Eddie isn’t afraid of being attracted to men, part of him had always known that. Examined it, folded it neatly, and placed it on a shelf in his mind that he didn’t dust often. He isn’t afraid of his feelings for Buck. These are a steady, comforting thing that Eddie has grown accustomed to in the months since he first allowed himself to look at them. Something so good and true can’t be frightening, Eddie has decided a while ago and left it at that. 

What does frighten Eddie however is two things, and these two things seem to be intertwined together beyond any hope of Eddie untangling the mess of them. However he looks at them, Eddie cannot separate the two. Eddie needs to talk to Buck about his feelings for him, and he needs to tell his family about how he feels.. in general. About how he loves. About the way his heart beats. It isn’t a requirement, and he knows deep in his bones that he doesn’t owe any of them a declaration of his sexuality or who he is. But. This is a conversation over a decade in the making, and Eddie who is a father, a firefighter, and a goddamn adult refuses to cower for another month or year. 

And so, Eddie needs to tell Buck how he feels about him, and for him to do that, Eddie needs to tell his family that he’s bisexual. To have at least one person from his family to back him up when things inevitably go south with his parents after both revelations. Two things he needs to do, and they are tightly knotted in his mind. He could have told Buck first. Could have had whatever outcome that yielded to decide the next steps for him, but that’s not what this is about. Whether Buck takes or rejects him, Eddie needs to do this for himself. 

One person, Eddie repeats like a mantra. Just one person, Diaz.

Eddie lets out a final shuddering breath, releases his death grip on the steering wheel, and makes the short walk to his abuela’s house. 

He sends a silent prayer to the universe before he knocks.

----

No matter how old he is, the smell of his abuela’s house stays comforting. Eddie’s relationship with his parents was tumultuous at times as he grew up, his parents approval ebbing and flowing depending on what standards he failed to meet. They were never bad parents, but they weren’t big on comfort either. Theirs was a house of discipline throughout Eddie’s life, and so his grandmother’s house was a haven in comparison. One filled with his abuela’s warmth and her never ending quest to stuff him with comfort food.

Eddie could have gone to his sisters for this. He knows that would have made far more sense, with his sisters being younger and generally more open minded. He could have gone to his aunt too, who wielded a non-nonsense attitude and a keen eye for details and who probably already had an inkling about Eddie’s feelings for his best friend. Beyond his parents, his abuela might very well be the second hardest option, but possibly the most important one. Which is why he decided to start here. He curses his own decision making skills not for the first time today.

Whatever the outcome of this conversation is, he tells himself, it will be a hurdle he has cleared. One part of the knot unwinded. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s troubling you, Edmundo?” His grandmother sighs from where she sits on the couch across from him. “You’ve been too far inside your own head since you arrived. Tell me what’s wrong.”

To his horror, the gentle tone makes Eddie’s eyes sting. He taps against his knee twice and sits a steaming mug down, trying to figure out where to start.

“You’re right,” Eddie begins, “There’s something I want to talk to you about.” He looks at her for a long moment, waiting for her encouraging nod before he goes on. “I’ve been keeping something from you and everyone else for a long time. I thought it didn’t matter much. That it won’t hurt anyone if it stays hidden and I don’t act on it. But it’s hurting me, abuela. It’s been hurting me for a long time now, more than I ever thought possible.” 

Eddie wills his voice to stay steady but it must give him away, because his abuela moves to sit beside him. She reaches out and puts her hand on top of his, squeezing once.

“What is hurting you, Eddie? I never want anything to hurt you. Tell me.”

“There’s someone I have feelings for, someone I might be in love with,” The words tumbling out of order, without his permission. His abuela’s face clears, she smiles, and begins to speak but Eddie desperately shakes his head at her, so she keeps listening instead. “It’s not just that. It’s a man. The person I have feelings for is a man. That’s what I- it’s what I wanted to tell you.”

Eddie waits for a reprimand. He waits for shock or disgust or anger. It doesn’t come. 

Instead, several agonizing moments later, Isabel Diaz makes a wounded noise, followed by a deep sigh. She raises her hand to cup Eddie’s face and gently tugs until he’s looking at her. Eddie is ashamed to admit he almost flinches at the gesture.

“I see,” She says, her eyes watering. “It’s us who have been hurting you. Did we teach you shame? Is that what we did?” She questions.

Eddie doesn’t answer her. Where his eyes stung before, now there are tears gathering and spilling down his cheeks. Eddie doesn’t move to wipe them off. They have earned their release.

“You’re not angry?” Eddie asks instead.

“At you? No, never. At the rest of us? yes. I won’t lie, Eddie, I never expected this, but that’s on me not on you.” She sighs again, “I’m an old woman, heaven knows how much I’ve known and seen. Maybe.. maybe years ago I would have been less generous, and I don’t claim to understand it fully now, but I never want you to be ashamed of who you are. I never want you to hurt because of us.” 

Eddie feels his shoulders sagging with relief, a breath leaves him and it sounds wrenched and ragged despite his efforts at quelling. His grandmother pulls him down until his head rests against her shoulder, she wipes at the back of his head and murmurs comforting words in both English and Spanish. They set like that for long moments, Eddie feeling as if he can fully exhale for the first time in years, and his grandmother speaking softly with her arms wrapped around him.

“How long have you known? Does anyone else know?” She asks after a while.

Eddie pulls back and wipes at his face, smiling when he’s instantly offered some tissues and a now-cooling cup of coffee. 

“I’ve always known, I think, that I like both men and women. Since I was a kid. And, no, no one else knows. You’re the first person I’m telling,” He answers truthfully. He hadn’t even told Shannon about this. “I know they won’t be happy when it comes out. I just can’t hold it anymore.”

The “they” in question don’t need to be named. His abuela is as familiar with his parents’ set of beliefs as he is.

“Maybe not at first, but they’ll come around. People change with time, and your parents have good hearts.” His grandmother says with such conviction that he almost believes her. “And until then, you know your sisters will be on your side. Your Aunt Josephine too, and me.” 

“Thanks, abuela,” Eddie smiles at her gratefully and kisses her cheek. He feels dizzy with relief. Nothing that comes after this will be as difficult. 

“Now, tell me about that man of yours. Who is he?” His grandmother’s serious gaze lands on him, but her lips twitch with a smile. Eddie feels heat rushing to his face as if he’s twelve again and caught trying to sneak chocolates from the chocolate box.

“He’s not mine,” Eddie mumbles, and his abuela gives him a look that says and whose fault is that?. “We really don’t have to talk about this.” 

When that suggestion is met with a steely stare, Eddie falters then breaks, “His name is Buck? It’s Buck. From work. You’ve met Buck.”

Now his grandmother smiles, her eyes laughing at him. “Yes, I know who Buck is. I’ve only heard Chris rave about him and met him every other month for the past two years, Edmundo.”

Eddie brings a hand to rub at his eyes, now smiling too. 

“Why haven’t you told him then?” And before Eddie can answer, she adds, “Is that our doing too? That you’re afraid?”

“No, no, that’s not because of any of this,” Eddie answers, which is only half a lie. “We’re very close friends, abuela. You know how close, you just said it yourself. He’s so involved with Chris and our lives. I’m worried about what will happen if I tell him and it doesn’t work out between us. It’s why I haven’t told him yet.”

“You think he feels the same?”

“I think he does. I’m pretty sure of it,” Eddie confides, even though he has never said any of this aloud before, he has thought about it for months on end, “I’m not ashamed of how I feel, but I thought leaving it alone would be best. To protect what we already have.”

“Making that decision for him is cruel, and you are not a cruel man, Edmundo.” Abuela chastises, “You said you’re close? Then you should respect him enough to give him the choice.”

Eddie nods, eyes watering again. This conversation is so far out of the realm of what he expected that he feels the need to lie down, or cry, or both.

“I will,” Eddie promises, “I’ve been planning on it for a while. I just.. I needed to do this first.”

Oh, my heart, his grandmother murmurs as she cups his face again with gentle hands and draws him into a hug. Against her shoulder, Eddie lets out a breath of pure relief. 

------

Making that decision for him is cruel, and you are not a cruel man.

The words ring in Eddie’s ears for days after coming out to his abuela. He catches himself several times in the process of taking them out and looking at them. He never thought of his waiting as cruel to anyone but himself. His grandmother’s words sit heavy in his chest, making him vow to speak to Buck as soon as possible. 

Between their busy shifts and both of them having various family obligations, the chance to speak to Buck alone doesn’t present itself until nearly a week after Eddie’s conversation with his grandmother. 

They’re at Eddie’s house for the evening, having ended work a few hours ago. Chris fell asleep between them after dinner, about half an hour ago, and so Eddie carries him to his bedroom, kisses his forehead, and silently asks Chris to wish him luck as he heads back to the living room.

On the couch, Buck looks up at Eddie’s arrival and smiles. 

“You’re not kicking me out now that Chris is sleeping, are you?” Buck jokes, “Because I was really hoping for a beer.”

Buck gestures towards the table, where two beers sit waiting for them. It strikes Eddie then, just how comfortable Buck is in Eddie’s space, and how much Eddie likes it that way. He smiles and moves to sit next to Buck.

Eddie’s mind is swirling with ways to start the conversation he wants to have, when Buck beats him to it. 

“Will you tell me what’s bothering you?” Buck asks, his fingers toying with the neck of his bottle. “You’ve been off all week. Did something happen?”

Eddie looks at Buck for a couple of heartbeats. There’s no denying how beautiful he is, or how attractive Eddie finds him, but what catches his attention now is the ever present kindness in Buck’s eyes. Eddie has always envied Buck his openness and vulnerability. It was a kind of bravery that Eddie is only now starting to learn. Where Eddie is thoughtful and private with his emotions, Buck wears each one of his for the entire world to see. Eddie can’t help the bang of longing spreading through his chest, even as he sets out for his second scary conversation of the week.

“Yeah, something pretty important happened,” Eddie starts, placing the bottle back on the table and turning to look at Buck, who mirrors Eddie’s movement. “I told my abuela that there’s someone I have feelings for, and that this someone is a man.”

Buck blinks at Eddie in rapid succession, seemingly processing the information. His mouth hangs open for a moment before he frowns. “Shit, Eddie, why didn’t you say anything? That’s huge. How did it go? Are you okay?”

“I just came out to you,” Eddie states, because he needs to make sure that that part registered.

“Yeah, no, I noticed, but you also came out to your grandmother which sounds scarier,” Buck shoots back, his eyes filled with pure concern. Eddie badly wants to reach out and rub at the crease between his brows.

“Definitely scarier,” Eddie agrees and then grins, “But it went surprisingly well. Way better than expected. We even talked a bit about the guy.”

Buck’s expression clears into a bright smile, looking for all the world like sunshine in human form. His eyes are shimmering and he wipes at them with a laugh.

“Eddie, that’s great,” Buck punches his shoulder lightly, as if they’re still kids in highschool, and Eddie grins at the gesture, “That’s amazing, man. I’m really happy for you!”

“Thanks, Buck.” Eddie feels light as he says it, the combination of Buck’s blinding smile and him coming out to his best friend feeling heady and intoxicating. 

“And you’re alright?” Buck asks again, his hand nudging at Eddie’s knee then retreating. Eddie fights the urge to take Buck’s hand and place it back there, where his warmth seeped into Eddie’s skin.

“I’m all good. Just needed some time to process all of it. But I’m good now.” Eddie nods, “Feels like one of the hardest parts is over. My parents will be a different story, but I’m leaving that for later.”

“Yeah, I get that. Thank you for trusting me with this. Seriously.” Buck says gently, his tone gone soft. He’s obviously sincere with his words, but something flashes in his eyes akin to hurt. It catches Eddie by surprise as he tries to pinpoint what caused the expression. 

Buck chews on his lip for several seconds, painfully obvious in his distress, and then replaces the expression with a smile that is a mere flicker of the one he wore before. 

“So, do I get to meet this mystery man of yours?” Buck jokes, “Get him the best friend stamp of approval?”

And, oh. Right. Eddie came out to Buck, but he hasn’t told him how he feels about him yet. That Buck is the man in question. That Eddie’s heart has been his now for an embarrassingly long time. Long enough for the idea of Eddie loving anyone other than Buck to be laughable. Eddie’s heart aches with love for him so much, he feels his breath catching with it.

“Well, you’ll need to approve of it for sure,” Eddie says thoughtfully, “Just not in the way you’re thinking.”

Buck’s expression turns puzzled, but he still looks hurt, and Eddie could say more, he probably should say more, but instead he spares them both a long winded explanation and reaches for Buck instead. One of his hands rests against the back of Buck’s head, fingers brushing against his hair, while the other rests against Buck’s cheek. Eddie sees the exact moment realization dawns across Buck’s face, and in any other situation, he would laugh or tease Buck about it. Right now, his focus is solely on Buck’s parted lips. 

Eddie inches closer util their foreheads are nearly touching, but doesn’t close the space between them yet, needing a confirmation first. 

“Buck, can I kiss you?” Eddie asks, voice far steadier than he feels. Against his hands, Buck’s skin feels so warm and inviting. Buck’s blue eyes are fixed on Eddie’s and so Eddie sees the slow blink he does, accompanied by a genuine smile. The sun breaking through clouds.

“Yes,” Buck whispers, so close that his breath brushes against Eddie’s lips. “Yeah. Kiss me.”

And that is all the prompting Eddie needs before he leans in and finally -god, finally!- brushes his mouth against Buck’s.The first touch of their lips is chaste and innocent, a hello and oh there you are! of sorts, but then Eddie captures Buck’s lower lip and then they’re kissing for real. Eddie thinks distantly that he would never in all his life tire of this or take it for granted. His lips against Buck’s, his hand in Buck’s hair and stroking his cheek, being the one to hear the little noises Buck makes when the kiss deepens. Eddie takes all of it and holds it deep within his chest, letting it warm him from the inside out and settle him deeper into this newly found sense of comfort.

They pull back to catch their breath, and Eddie takes that for the opportunity of kissing the side of Buck’s mouth, then his cheek, and his mouth again where Buck is smiling again.

“So, I’ll take it you approve?” Eddie teases, startling a laugh out of Buck and earning himself another light bunch to the shoulder. 

“You’re a real jerk, you know that?” Buck’s voice is too fond to hold any heat, and he can’t seem to stop smiling. Eddie is suffering the same problem. “I don’t know how people can’t see it, but you’re such a jerk. You really had me worried there for a bit,” Buck tries to laugh it off, but the words are too honest for it to work. “Thought I’d lost you to some nameless guy coming in and sweeping you off your feet.”

“Nothing to worry about, bud,” Eddie’s heart aches again, this time for a different reason. If he needs to then Eddie will spend the rest of his life convincing Evan Buckley that he deserves to be loved, and that Eddie would never walk away from him. “No one else in here,” Eddie taps at his chest, “And I’m not going anywhere without you.” 

And that seems to be the exact right thing to say because Buck’s eyes shimmer even as he rolls them at Eddie with a put upon groan. “Okay, fine. Works for me, I guess.” 

Eddie laughs at that, relishing the answering grin it draws out of Buck. They’re about to start kissing again, lips a breath apart, when Buck jumps back with an expression of pure shock, his face beautifully flushed.

“Shit. Wait, wait,” Buck says with comically wide eyes, “You told your grandmother about me?” 

Eddie throws his head back and laughs until his sides hurt.

[imasimpforstevengrant]

Into you

@raven-romanoff

@maristela1968

@flaky178

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Author's note:

First off... Gif made from the original video.

https://youtu.be/iqDUGD8SHF4

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I have to confess I wanted to write another smut for Arthur/Harleen since the first one I wrote wasn't so satisfying... So, here it is! It took me a long time to write it (two months, actually. Bless the writer's block, FFS) so I hope you like it!

Second, sorry for any typos because english is not my first language (Chilean Spanish Strikes Back once again lol).

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Summary: Follow up to "I feel you". After his first night with Harleen, Arthur cannot get enough of her... And she has more in store for him than just a few warm, kind words.

Warnings: insecurity, (considerable) age gap, self loathing, swearing, masturbation (both receiving), strong sexual themes, unprotected sex, mild dirty talk... And smut.

Words: 8.540 (sorry if it's too long. I hope you don't get bored)

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The clock marked 5:46 a.m. when Arthur opened his eyes. He had a blanket over his frail, undressed form and was alone. The missing presence of Harleen alarmed him, believing it was another painful hallucination or worse. The idea she regretted the union and decided to lock in her bedroom to sleep by herself  harassed his mind incessantly. 

As soon as the neon lights shone before his eyes, he knew everything was alright. He almost fell on the couch again, relieved. But he never stopped asking where she was, though the calm background around him tenderly convinced the convulsed psyche to not keep tormenting. 

As he yawned, taking a seat, he replayed everything that happened a few hours ago. 

He just had sex.

Chuckling, he lit up a cigarette. And thought about what happened one more time so his brain would memorize it. 

Harleen allowed him to touch her. 

The memory of her moaning and straddling him set him on fire. Harleen had such a good time and he loved to see her enjoying it. The killing eagerness to repeat the act, just to see her again coming undone, to hear her lustful moans slowly took over his mind. 

He took a deep breath and looked for his hoodie. The cloth in question was found on a puddle of mixed garments, which included her peach coloured pajamas and his pants. Arthur took the blanket off partially to grab the sleeveless shirt with certain desperation to smell it, to prove himself this wasn’t his imagination. The sweet, fruity smell filled his nose, almost submerging him into a high state. It wasn’t enough, though. A profound nuzzle into the garment served as a vain way to revive the sensations experimented as Harleen let his mouth roam over her chest. He absorbed the fresh, fruity scent. Eventually the need the dirty habit brought with it overcame the ritual that reduced Arthur to a starving animal. As the hunger diminished, he put the piece of clothing aside. Arthur took his time, remembering the initial goal by rummaging the cloth puddle: the pack of cigarettes showed up coming out the right pocket in a scalene triangle shape. He took it immediately, also taking the lighter. 

As he smoked his cigarette, for the first time he thought how lucky he was. As a malevolent chuckle reverberated through the air, he finally savoured what was that contact he yearned so much. A sensation of being an ordinary man nested on his heart. That’s what an ordinary man had, right? A job, a girlfriend, a sex life. He laid back on the couch again, bathing in this new, positive emotions. Looking at the shelf full of books, small crystal figures and a portrait of her holding a scroll, most likely her diploma once she got her degree. Arthur quickly got up to hold the portrait, watching it carefully. She seemed so… happy. 

Returning the portrait to its original place, he stepped to the couch again. His thoughts clouded by the wonderful moment Harleen shared with him: loved how gentle she was, how considerate and patiently handled the loss of his celibacy in such an skilled way. It was the first time he truly felt in tune with someone in his entire fucking life. It was way beyond the physical bonding. He couldn’t find the words for it but he was sure about how he felt. 

Seen. 

While Arthur was searching another cigarette to smoke, another rowdy idea swarmed in his mind: he had never found himself attractive, given his eternal history of rejection from everyone and his frail appearance just increased the mute but obvious aura of dislike around him. What were the odds for a woman like Harleen to fall for him? One in a million. Her looks could perfectly allow her a good life as a model and her kindness and easygoing personality would even take her farther away from the poverty of the building. Yet, she didn't seem interested in pursue a better, new life. She could perfectly have any man at her mercy and still she preferred to stay, actually giving a damn about others. 

Suddenly his self loathing bloomed fully again. What could he possibly offer her, except for misery and sorrow? Nothing. Nothing but a unquenchable thirst for her. An aged, pained soul devoid of love. She deserved better. A strong man. 

A man of her own age. 

Quickly his eyes closed. The hated guilt, the same he swore he had overcome, came back like a furious, stormy surge. Arthur felt he had committed an unforgivable sin by sleeping with her. She was so precious, so joyful... And so young. Things Arthur was far from. He was so inexperienced, so clumsy, so flawed... A dark part of him felt he had defiled her, that he had taken advantage of her gentleness to sate his own selfish desires. This sense of perversion flooded his mind, reducing the happy moment to a mistake that shouldn't have been. His lungs crumpled the air, if the smoke didn't disperse it. The hand that left free palmed the forehead, to drive away the negativity. 

Suddenly his mind remembered the laughing fit. And the gentle hug that followed it. The pieces in this puzzle came together. Harleen holding him right against her chest in a searing yet tender embrace. Not even his mother would offer such comforting balm. 

Arthur then let a short cackle to shatter the silence. He definitely had something but he did not know for sure what was that something. It had to be more than just being a 'hard working man'. If she was so gentle with him, surely a feeling was on the way. To his mind comes the tender memory of their first meeting. The first thing he got from her was a warm, kind smile through the fence.

Of course, the cursed fit fucked up everything. But it happened! The open palm patted his chest, calming down the turbulent flow inside of him. The happy memory of their first meeting brought also the passionate moment of the first kiss which almost led them to the bed. 

Arthur processed a thousand things that night. But one thing was for certain: that night Harleen awoke a hunger he had never felt in his life. Never saying it but showing it in their kissing sessions. He remembered that one time when he was expecting her to return after her shift. It was late at night. His knee bounced while Arthur smoked three cigarettes in the meantime. But he wasn’t alone. There were two young men a few feet away who minded their own business. Arthur feared them to be robbers but nothing happened. He put his hoodie on and kept smoking. A bus arrived but she wasn’t among the four people who stepped down from the vehicle. Two more came, but she was never among them. It started to get on his nerves when a taxi finally stopped and revealed the lovely passenger:

As soon as Harleen set foot outside, Arthur jumped out from the bench. The two other men witnessed the scene: their faces changed from curiousity to actual surprise when the blonde threw her arms to the man who evidently was older than her. But the lovers didn’t care. Their kiss was so heated that the youngest of the two muttered “damn” under his breath. They couldn’t stop staring at them, but Arthur was too focused on sharing their lips in a desperate dance. He was oblivious to the envy he inspired in every man whenever Harleen would display her affection in public. Therefore, he didn’t care. He longed to take the initiative in their eventual intimate encounter but the fear his inexperience would ruin it prevented any attempt to start intimacy. Harleen was aware of how hard was for him to begin with physical contact, though he never denied it. She could tell he had so much to say by just looking at his eyes. Patience with him would pay off. And the worst part of all this? The fits. 

The fucking laughing fits. And Harleen could only hug the pain away against her chest while his head found shelter in it. He froze in the position where he basically clawed to her body. It was the third time he had one in front of her, the second being in the empty subway after a date. It was after a careless kiss Harleen granted to his lips while waiting for him to go off work. He could tell she had been drinking: she was way more affectionate than usual. The spontaneous caress on his lips took him by surprise. He laughed at his fucking frustration on how he could possibly cope with what was regarded as the ultimate loss of personal space. He considered himself as a romantic at heart but Harleen’s overwhelming passion reminded him of how inexperienced he was, how unsure he was actually feeling relating to his damaged masculinity. 

It was almost like a pessimistic prelude before their first night together, since Arthur did not have the chance to come closer to her disregarding sex. He just had kissed and embraced her, restraining his touches to her face, neck and waist but never beyond there. Arthur preferred the silent sensuality of passiveness, though he desired to sink down deep inside of her. 

The crude self loathing drifted to another question: Where was she?  

Taking the blanket off him and putting his pants on, Arthur wandered over the flat and saw a dim orange light glowing behind the door, which was open just a crack. Analysing the lit lines, he then paid attention to the steam coming from the bathroom. He stopped breathing, closing his eyes to not commit the sin to spy on her. 

His right hand knocked the door, leaning into it expecting the answer. A few seconds later, her voice approved him to get into the place. Arthur got in, anxious. 

The sight of her completely overrode his senses. He stood completely frozen trying to process, once again, what was happening. The mere action of this impious gaze was enough to make him turn his head. She bursted out laughing. And hearing she wasn't upset with his presence managed to look at her.  

Harleen was on the bathtub, laying on her back. Her damp hair covered her chest while the foam didnt allow to see more of her body. This didn't upset him, of course. This new glimpse of his lover was something he would never forget. 

Amused by his priceless expression, Harleen covered her face.

"Are you in need for another ride, Mr. Fleck?", She asked, temptingly. 

Arthur licked his lips as he closed the door behind him. 

"After that? Always". The steps towards her made Harleen change her position to lie on her side, to grant him a better sight. He sat on the floor, eyes concentrated maniacally in her figure. Her soft, wet hand touched his own, intertwining her fingers with his for a brief moment to kiss them. 

Arthur stared at her for long seconds. Harleen didn't seem uncomfortable despite how much he struggled to remain modest. She couldn't blame the poor guy. Her pose was way too sensual to be indifferent. The appreciation showed a silent invitation for more intimate contact, for more comfort and company. He could only see her precious lower curvature showing partially. Her left arm covered her chest while supporting herself on the edge of the bathtub with the other hand. He loved how much sensuality she oozed even when she did nothing.  

“Did you have a good sleep?”

Arthur replayed the question to process it.

“Yes” he simply nodded, “but it seems you didn’t. You weren’t there when I woke up”.

“I don’t sleep too much, Arthur. Just needed to take a bath to refresh myself after our hot, noisy turmoil”.

Arthur grinned widely. And it wasn’t only for the friendly reminder of why he felt excited. He darted his eyes towards the platinum strands of hair stuck on her face, falling down to stick to her shoulders and forearm, creating a sinuous curve that lined her hip with blue shades. After a few awkward seconds of silence, Harleen finally pronounced:

“So, since we’re in this situation… would you like to talk about what happened?”

“Yes”. Arthur was anxious to take advantage of any chance he’d had to end up in the bed with her. But he was too nervous to start a conversation about the subject. She noticed it and did her best to not put him in an uncomfortable position. Arthur just glared at her. 

“It feels so different when you don’t have to lay your hands on yourself”, he cleaned the sweat that formed in his forehead, “it’s different to have a… um”, doing his best to retain the stammer that prevented a fluid talk, he tried to look for the right words to describe what happened in his head. 

“A…?” 

“It’s different when you see it than to experience it. It feels better when you have a body next to you”, he gulped, trying to swallow the nervousness, “it was a long little yearn since I began to understand these things about…”

“About sex?”

“Yes” was his answer, “I’m sorry if I sound strange. But this conversation is too personal and… and all this is new for me. I never thought I would be with a woman like that and it turns out it’s better than I expected”.

Harleen tilted her head, paying attention to every single word. 

“Is there something you liked in particular?”

Arthur lowered his head, trying to think and replay the scene. From the passionate, tenderly patient foreplay to the scandalous and thirsty ride. There were so many good moments to pick one in particular. But then, her voice broke his thoughtful immersion. 

“Or maybe was there something you did not like?” 

This drew a devilish, naughty grin in Arthur. 

"What's not to like about it?” his hand slicking back the fluffy hair, “We fucked like crazy and you ask me if there's something I did not like about it?", the verdant glow turned darker. Harleen rose an eyebrow, expectant. Arthur began to pant and cleared his throat in an almost hilarious way to hide his incipient arousal.

"I couldn't resist... I simply couldn't... because I've been wanting to do those things to you since I saw you--" a chuckle left his mouth at the raw confession. A painful slap on his mouth to quieten down the noise made Harleen immediately sat in case a fit of laughter would tear his throat apart again. Extending her hands to grab his forearms, the violent move shook her long, wet hair which allowed the loner to catch a glimpse of her naked chest. 

The fit, thank goodness, never came. Arthur just coughed, waving his hand so any sense of worry Harleen felt would dispel in time. As things settled down, Arthur continued the talk where it left off.

“This—this feels like a very good beginning. But—“ his words concluded but his expression reflected a profound thought he couldn’t put words on yet.

“It’s alright. You can tell me”. 

It took a long while to answer. There was almost completely silent if it wasn’t the for the tense breathing that Arthur fought to control. 

“You really enjoy doing this to me, do you?”, Arthur embed the green spell his eyes had cast on her.

Harleen’s expression went from amusement to actual surprise. There was more from him to tell her, however. She nodded almost imperceptibly to give him the confidence he needed. 

“You never felt uncomfortable with me even when you knew the things I wanted to do to you from the beginning. You let me kiss you, you let me touch you… you were never afraid to show me your body from the first day as you now do” he came closer to her, demanding answers, “until a while ago, I thought I could never awake those reactions on a woman. But I did”. He licked his lips, tilting his head to stare at her, “do you enjoy doing this to me?”

“By saying ’this’ you refer to… provocation?” 

“Yes”, Arthur’s tone of voice revealed his relief to finally know the word for the aforementioned action. 

Harleen hummed, thoughtful. 

“I did not intend to provoke you to torture you. I intended it just to get your attention. You left just before the best part in our first kiss and I’ve been craving you in that way as well since. I wanted you to touch me… yet our caresses did not go beyond a cuddle or a kiss, so I thought that leaving the door unlocked after I arrived from work, wearing a few pretty clothes would give you a hint to come to me so we could be together like that at last”.

Arthur was completely mute at this point. 

“But if you feel uncomfortable with me like this, I won’t keep on” she raised her hands in a childish sign of surrender. Arthur shook his head.

“It’s not the fact I don’t want to touch you. It’s… another thing. I know you won’t deny me your body. There are so many things…” he ruffled the disheveled hair in an involuntary move to relax. 

“What?”

Arthur sighed, finally finding the courage to voice what troubled him. 

“How’s that you don't feel uncomfortable with my condition or—“

“Or…?”

Arthur gulped. 

The hardest (and the most perverted) part would come to be verbalised. 

“My… appearance?”

“What the fuck is wrong with your appearance?”, Arthur sighed and replied:

“I look old enough to be your father!” the green eyes pierced hers. If only the thought of it was dirty, confessing it was downright indecent. Eyelids were tightened to the point it caused him pain, in a futile attempt to erase any improper thought in which Harleen was the protagonist. However, her voice exploded with loud cackles, splashing the water with open palms. Was she actually laughing at him? He frowned, getting upset and impatient to obtain a good answer.

“And…?” was all she said, much to his chagrin. The puzzled glare did not display satisfaction for his part. 

“Doesn’t that… disturb you?”

“In the slightest. It’s actually quite the opposite” she supported her chin on the edge of the bathtub, staring up to him while biting her lip playfully. Then in a false pretension of innocence, she giggled, her hand making a move to tell him to come closer to her. 

“That’s one of the many reasons why I like you very, very much”. The sweet sinful sound of the whisper was irresistible to Arthur, whose lids were almost completely closed, jaw slightly dropped. The reality of this situation caught him off guard. It was unbelievable to the point of obscenity and a persistent need to step back from his lewd intentions out of disgust on behalf of common modesty. 

“I like you, Arthur Fleck" her face came closer to his and in a manner so typical of her, took his hand to open it from the fist it had reduced to in order to grant it a provocative kiss on his fingers, sliding the bottom lip against them. 

Remaining silent and completely hypnotized by the scene, Harleen proceeded to trace invisible lines with the tip of her fingers on the early, harsh wrinkles that were more of a proof of how devastating his life was. It was a testament, a living, bleeding monument of how much cruelty and indifference could drive a man to insanity. Her thumb ran assiduously on his lip scar, which she found gorgeous to look upon. His breath shortened, pupils dilated, blood flowing to his groin. 

Her digits now went over those adorable dimples that only increased the odd beauty of his mirthless, worn out face. His eyes moved from one direction to another, trying to cope with this tender attention, closing them eventually, leaving the embarrassment aside. He smiled but her voice shattered the moment. 

“How can I judge you for a condition you did not wish to suffer?”, her fingertips ran over the notorious wrinkles in his forehead, “it’s not your fault”.

She admired the subtle silver hair that would make the brown hue fade in time, ending the journey all over his face. 

“You find me… attractive?”

“Well of course I fucking do”.

Again, the green menacing eyes had the effect on her. 

“What is it that I have that you like so much?” 

Murmuring against his lips, she replied:

“You’re oddly attractive” she held his face to reinforce their bond, “and yet you don’t know it” she kissed the lip scar, “of all the men I've been with, no one has looked at me in the way you do".

Arthur set all his focus on the praising words, which served to mend or to relieve a little the inhuman treatment he had received from the world as long as he remembered. There was nothing he could do, except process and replay the words every time a silence took place between them. Kindness seemed a far ghost, a laughable little dream, a cruel joke.

A pause allowed them to hear a few cars passing by, followed by sirens of an ambulance. It didn’t matter, since none of them mentioned it. 

"I've never met a man who's been so grateful for a kind greet or a simple smile. I couldn't help it that rainy day you came back from work to talk to you. At first I had an idea about my secret admirer simply being another guy who drooled over my ass. I would have never imagined the man behind my steps was so hungry for affection. Your eyes are an open book, Arthur. I noticed your intentions... and I liked the idea of you and me together like that from that night”.

Arthur directed his hands to her lips, holding the ever persistent, painful question that scarred his psyche:

Was she real?

His hands touched down her jawline and neck. Just a stare and Arthur told her everything. Because, somehow he knew that it was through an intense stare that lovers could tell the most intimate things. He spoke through his body, through dance. But what about sex? What about the act that dazed him so much? She actually understood why he needed intimate contact with such urge. The repression he hated so ardently for being a cruel insult to his ego tasted so differently now that she sated the thirst just to leave him craving for more. He felt… like all the years with no female attention were worth it if the pleasure people would lose their heads about was true. 

"I want to make you feel good. It’s what you deserve. And if no one gives you relief, then I’ll gladly do”, she put a curly lock behind his ear. 

But before any sparkly iniciative took ahold of his voice to manifest the need to consummate their relationship for a second time, Harleen pronounced, as a pleasant surprise for his intentions:

"Because you know” her gaze was pure, burning lust, “I could use a good fuck right now". Her tone of voice was seductive, though secretive, like confessing a small misdemeanor. His hand was not free from her soft grasp and her teeth gifted it with a tiny nibble. Arthur’s body stiffened, processing the words. However, no reply emerged from his mouth. The attention was entirely drawn to her face. The suggestive smile betrayed her reciprocity related to his intentions. He was so lost with the tantalising promise of more affection that he missed out the loving, yet flirtatious offer Harleen uttered. 

"Huh?" Arthur shook his head. 

"Come on, I'm bored". Her mouth adopted a puerile pouting in an attempt to persuade him, "I'm bored, play with me". 

Harleen crawled out from the bathtub, exposing her bare, wet body for the loner to see. Arthur's breath immediately cut off, his heart galloping wildly. Her milky, marmoreal skin glistened with drops of water which marked thin creeks all her body before the enraptured glance of the loner. This was an erotic image that Arthur could have only dreamt of. 

Once again his hands served as the eccentric – and intrusive – instrument to trace the almost invisible, indiscernible line between fantasy and reality while the blonde was only entertained by his obvious, euphoric goodwill to comply her wish. She sat next to him. 

"P-play... with you?" He repeated, battling the urge to faint, holding her body in his arms. 

"Like you did on the couch with me", her hands held his face gently to kiss it, to then throw her arms to his shoulders, “touch me, Arthur. Touch me. Don’t be afraid”. The mentioned man was unable to pronounce anything, reducing his exploration by touching blindly her waist and back. She continued pressing her nude body, taking delight on watching her Arthur plunged her into a solid, vigorous embrace, absorbing her, holding her nape so hard to not allow her escape, focused on how good her wet hair felt against his chest… as if her bare bossom wasn’t the best part of it. 

Harleen slid her fingers over his left shoulder, becoming more familiar with the protruding bone. She placed her hand in the same place where Arthur told her not to. This caused an immediate response from him. As Harleen noticed the horrible, vast bruise all over the right shoulder blade. A gutural groan warned her. She quickly apologized. But Arthur shook his head.

“It’s nothing. People are not precisely kind when they see me at work”.

The dark brown eyebrows arched in a sad expression. Her left arm assured a stable position for what she had in store for him. Arthur had no idea of what it was, but he knew it would be mind-blowing. 

“I can make you feel good”, he leaned his head in her forehead. Despite his celibacy was no more, all these touches were still new for him and he wanted to treasure them as much as he could. Air was heavy. The fear of another laughing fit ruining the moment clouded his mind but Harleen didn't seem to notice. The devoted, passionate embrace that held them so close just fed the fire inside him to take things to another level. 

Specially when her hand, teasing and avid, slipped above the pants where his manhood had responded to the visual, constant incentive. Fumbling the part to gradually pull down the pants in an enthralling motion that rendered the loner totally speechless. Once the cloth allowed his member to be graced by her hand. 

He gasped, jolting at the sensation of the damp but warm hand around his length. It was so unbelievable that just yesterday, that part had met his own contact during years. The rapture again battled with the persistent and its idea that everything was his imagination. Negative thoughts misting the moment. No kind touches except from Penny. But even she seemed aloof, unaware on how much damaged her own son was. This fade away once the caresses grew steadier. 

The rhythm of his breathing violently shook his chest up and down. He undid the hug partially to stare at the zone she paid so much attention to. His fully erect hardness receiving such caring treatment was taken straight out of a fantasy. His eyes couldn’stop glaring at the precious sight of the delicate hand going up and down in a maddening sway. He threw his head back, panting. 

“Like that--just like that- please. Don’t stop it”, he whispered, holding to the border of the tub, his voice broke out in agonizing moans, varying from groans and hoarse screaming, mixed with very sharp swearing as the building up to the peak made presence as minutes went by. His legs trembled almost uncontrollably, hips thrusting up constantly. 

Harleen of course was greedy. Taking advantage of the situation, her mouth sucked the prominence located at his neck to then lick it. Her sensual chuckle vibrated as she slid down the free hand on his convulsed chest, tenderly pressing it to calm down the crazed heartbeat. It didn’t take too long for him to start feeling a vertiginous shiver that expanded all over his groin. Sensing the situation was started to get out of his hands, the blonde rushed in: 

“Don’t hold back. Do it”. 

Arthur gasped as the climax hit him. He groaned into the air as the fierce hustle concluded. He was shaking, trying to not make a mess. The niveous strings spread all over the floor. Harleen glanced the scene, amazed to see Arthur a little less stressed. He lolled his head back, still pursuing the first intense feeling standing motionless, arms to his side, almost in a trance. Nothing could take the wide smile off him.  

A soft massage to his collarbone made the aforementioned man react at last. 

“My, my. You’re such a bombshell” Arthur muttered, blatantly ogling her. She smiled, smooching his cheek to quickly get up, much to his surprise. Harleen took a towel to wipe her hands and her body, leading her steps out of the  bathroom. The loner was about to protest when she asked:

"Are you waiting for an invitation, Mr. Fleck? Or isn't the sight enough to motivate you to come to bed with me?" 

The fascination held him still for a second, thinking the words that echoed in his mind repeatedly while enjoying the blonde's shameless exhibitionism. He turned the lights off as he searched for her. The outside lights prevented a complete darkness in the apartment. The drizzle hit the windows, creating a perfect, almost dreamlike atmosphere. 

He had to see her to confirm his yearn could become real. And so, he found her stepping into the promised place, while the towel dried the mane, which seemed longer now, almost reaching the highest part of her thighs. Arthur got rid of his pants immediately. 

Just about to reach the other foot to the room, Arthur extended his hand to reach her shoulder so she could turn to face him. Harleen was unable to suppress a surprised expression at the glimpse of his now completely naked body, causing to drop the towel. 

Once she called his name, Arthur  took her face between his hands to crash his lips on hers, pressing them into his several times to crown the passionate caress leading her in to the bedroom, their bodies entangled, anguished in a needy dance. They almost tripped over but the weak white light coming from a small lamp on the nightstand prevented it. He didn't pay too much attention to the surroundings once his body fell over hers on the bed. It were only them in this moment, and being on top of her unleashed a feverish want his psyche and body were not capable to contain anymore. 

"You've chosen wisely, Mr. Fle--" his tongue was so insisting on earning a place inside her mouth that her words didn't come. Not that it bothered her, of course. Arthur’s eyes shone in a different light. It wasn’t just an exciting new hue. His fluffy dark hair, his lean muscles made a combination that made Harleen genuinely think that the man who was just a breath away to possess her wasn’t Arthur. His eyes had become greener. His stare was not only predacious. It gave the impression that he intended to enter not only her body but her soul too. 

Harleen extended her hand towards the lamp to sink the room in darkness. She was close to success in her action if it wasn’t for Arthur mimicking it, just to ask her not to. 

“It’s more exciting in the dark.”

“Why?”

“Because you only feel. You see nothing”.

Arthur whispered against her mouth:

“But I want to see you”.

Harleen rolled her eyes, laughing. 

“Alright then” she chirped. Arthur covered her neck with doubtful kisses, afraid to make a wrong move. He then remembered: 

(Like in the couch).

He stopped his course to descend to her chest. Harleen paid extreme attention to his reactions, which drifted from amazement to utter joy. 

The man stood quietly, admiring the messy mane at her sides. A pink, bluish disaster covering her chest. The dark sense of dominance proper of a man who finally felt control over his life acquired a lighter shade as he distanced himself from her just enough to appreciate her astonishing beauty. Carefully, he slid a hand to dedicate his attention to the blue strands of hair, curling it around his finger, as he fantasized about for so long.

Harleen did not interrupt at all. This eccentric – but precious - way of communication was also new for her. What started as a simple invitation for a sexual encounter was progressively turning into a passionate discovery about each other. She knew Arthur wasn’t the most experienced man when it came to sex… but his enthusiasm was in no way to be questioned. Actions spoke louder than words. 

The pink strands of hair winded around his fingers, uncoiling as his digits made it aside to have a good vision of her uncovered breasts. So focused he was that he did not come to realize Harleen moved her arms to allow him a better access. She looked at those arms. God, those arms. Veiny, hairy, bony. Inhabited by little spots near the elbow. It drew a sharp contrast with the softness of her skin. Soon, she would pay attention to them. 

His facial expressions were a wonderful mixture of arousing disbelief and sincere admiration. Arthur seemed to be thoughtful for a few seconds on what he was going to do but he dared to slide his fingers over her collarbone, not leaving any inch of skin untouched. Then, he lowered to the sternum, circling it carefully to direct his ravenous digits to her left breast, studying the orbed part cautiously, examining its shape. The dedicated, paused fondling of it elicited a soft moan from her.

An evil, perverse grimace delineated his lips. Ah, that beautiful, sensual sound resounding again. How could he resist it? 

It was with a predatory inflame that Arthur threw himself to pamper the zone with his mouth. The sudden outburst made Harleen grunt for air, grabbing the bedsheets, a violent spasm shaking her legs, making her toes curl. The voracious appetite he devoured the breast was combined with such despair that seemed the act was far from satisfying. Despite she was aware of Arthur's consistent (and certainly disturbing) fixation with female chests, she preferred to stay quiet about it and enjoy the use he gave to such compulsion. He did not restrict it to a simple suckling, as Harleen saw how he nuzzled his face against it to then cover the damp, shiny skin with kisses, sending shivers down her spine. 

“Oh, Mr. Fleck… You do know how to put your mouth in use, do you?”, she felt high. As if she had taken a drug. 

The flattering words enlivened him to concede the other breast the same treatment and Harleen couldn't stop flailing, now completely taken by the action. The unoccupied hand fondled her belly to pass over the hip to end in her thigh. When his mouth detached from the hardened nipple, he licked all the way up her chest and neck, savouring the salty taste of her sweat, causing Harleen to ragingly rear up. Arthur ascended to face her once more just for her to grasp the strongly angular wrist once his arms found themselves near her waist. He frowned, confused. But his apparent disapproving look contorted to a one of complete flabbergast when Harleen opened her mouth so her tongue would coax his index and middle fingers, oiling them to steer the hand towards her searing feminity. His eyes widened, like a small kid watching in awe a mischievous deed. The absolute lewd look in her eyes erased any logic sense on him, if there was any in first place.

“Sure you want to warm up things first before diving in, do you mr. Fleck?” she spread her legs and Arthur lowered his head, dealing with the joy that overflowed his being. 

“Yeah”, his murmur was impatient and euphoric, “I can’t wait to…” he couldn’t say it. 

“Come on. Don’t be shy” she chuckled, frisky, “say it”. 

“I just can’t wait to do it inside you”. She gladly approved as their hands went on tune on her intimacy. Arthur was startled, “but I don’t… I have never done this to a woman”.

Harleen nodded eagerly. 

“Then allow me to show you how”, a toothy, naughty grin was all he got as a reply. He ended up emulating her. The grin was substituted to a temptative whisper: 

"There... There". The first touches to become familiar and then to please them. This new action left Arthur completely speechless. A mess of joined hands constantly massaged the silky, wet little space of hers. It didn't had an effect on Harleen only, making the rigid consistency return.

He smirked, evilly, as they took their time. Despite his restiveness, he knew patience would pay off. The caress went over the slick folds which soon would welcome him, kneading it constantly. His slender fingers then began to approach by own initiative, applying what he just had learned. Seconds later, with the same patience, Harleen made him stop precisely at the weakest point of a woman. He sensed a humid nub. As their hands began rubbing it, Arthur noticed it made her body jounce, a chain of gratifying sounds fleeing her throat. He was not able to stop staring at the body part receiving the sweet and lecherous attention, putting more effort into it. Gradually her hand got away to let him take the iniciative now, encircling it. 

The uncontrollable tremble that shook her legs made her close her eyes. Arthur stood there, his hand still stimulating her sex as intensely as posible, spellbound, captivated by her reactions. He leaned a bit when her breaths stirred her chest for more air. The blonde panted, trying to look for something to cling to as she was coming to her peak.  

“Arthur… I can't—I can’t endure it anym—“ The phrase marked the last thing she could control before the fulminant end. Mellifluous moans came from her mouth, praising him, calling his name repeatedly. He was certainly bewitched at the image. So lost in the ecstasy that only the amatory practice could bring her, Harleen missed the fact Arthur did not blink in any moment, recording obsessively every move.

“Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about” his chuckle causing her insides quiver. He loved how her muscles twitched on his hand, priding himself on the magnificent reaction he had caused on her.  

Arthur patiently awaited for her to regain her breath before the best part would take place. He placed his hands at her sides to remain firm, his muscles tense and strong as a rock, marking the defined biceps Harleen loved so much. She opened her eyes just in the right moment when the hungry loner expected to end the hunger that harmed their souls so much. 

Harleen caressed his cheeks with the backs of her hands. Arthur leaned so their foreheads would touch. It was a torture for him as well. He placed a hand on her hip, sliding it down to the inner thigh, aligning his stiffened arousal in her entrance, brushing the sensitive nub with his tip. The tease took her breath away, making her spine twist. 

"Oh, God… please… please…", her vision blurred, her senses numb. 

"I know"

"Please!" She begged, "I need you inside of me, please". The hopelessness in her voice did not manage to act immediately but it certainly had a great impact on him. The fear of not being capable of carrying the dominance now sparked a furious, impetuous need to silence the voices that insisted he wasn’t man enough to please a woman. 

Through a furious, vehement move, Arthur finally made his way inside her, a sharp hiss and a vivid expression of sexual bliss seizing his facial features. He abruptly shut his eyes at the tight inner grip, lips slightly parted, hearing Harleen let out a long, languishing moan. She arched her back, squirming beneath him. Arthur smiled, extremely pleased at the erotic reaction while still trying to find a more comfortable angle to keep doing his part. He wanted more, however, and he was gonna manifest it by holding her chin in his thumb and index finger. Harleen opened her eyes while Arthur awaited her reaction as she received him fully. Taking a deep breath, he managed to open his eyes to cherish the fantastic view of her trying to handle his hard length making a place inside the best way she could. She held his head, carefully tugging his curls.

Invader and invaded stared at each other. 

"Take your time... We're not in a rush". The calm words soothed the anxiety prior to sex but the pleasure the act had to offer them rushed him to resume their act: Arthur deepened the insertion into her hot, velvety intimacy. Harleen gasped while becoming used to his presence inside of her, taking utter delight in the raw feeling of her warm walls adjusting to the intrusion, sensing every nerve shuddering and throbbing around him. Her mouth was open, yet no words were articulated. Maybe because they weren’t necessary. 

As for the loner, his vocal expressions of pleasure went from a heavy gasp, then to a loud groan to a thunderous moan. 

"Fuck---!" Arthur cried out, while struggling to form a coherent word but he was way too aroused to dedicate energy to other action, except for moaning against each other's mouth, never breaking eye contact. 

The first few seconds following their fleshes fully merging into one, Arthur experimented with paused and insecure moves, afraid to hurt her if he ever accelerated the pace but also afraid to ridicule himself if he’d last less than one minute. His slow thrusts allowed a better way to cope with the overwhelming, tight heat that kept their privacies tied together. He caught an steady rhythm that finally eased down. Sliding in and out, down and forward. Just two individuals who tried to bond despite their differences. 

“Y—You”, Harleen suddenly pronounced herself. Arthur huffed for air as he paid attention, “you feel… you feel so good inside me”.

“I can--, I can tell”, he could hardly articulate. 

Pressing his body against hers, Harleen whispered:

“We really lost a lot of time, did we?” 

She let her hands, avidly and blindly, over his chest and collarbone as his hips, by mere sexual instinct, insisted on a faster, harder pace. To increase his confidence and to let him know she enjoyed it, her legs pressed his hips. For a moment, Arthur stopped, taking the opportunity to regain all the air in heavy pants. Harleen held his face, making aside the curly, sweaty locks that formed over his face. His aroused but exhausted expression was a delight to see. 

“I swear to God—“ his ragged breath made his voice sound raspy, “if you keep doing that—“ another difficult exhaling move, “I won’t last too long”.

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to”.

"I'm not upset" his shortened breath intake aroused her just as much his insertion did.   

The rain intensified. Drops clashed against the window. It proved to be a pleasant background sound as the two lovers expressed their feelings through their bodies. Arthur certainly had the time of his entire fucking life engulfing himself in her over and over and over again. The rhythm worked perfectly slow for the two of them as they slid together, in perfect harmony, over the bed. The pace that carried them away from sanity was combined with passionate, wet kisses, sometimes tugging on his bottom lip and tangling her tongue in his mouth, kissing him behind the earlobe, whispering sensual words.

Arthur had the perfect gift to reaffirm his existence and Harleen’s whispery voice calling his name just ended up pushing him deeper and deeper. Where did he suddenly become so strong to hold on for so long? He’d never know. 

Between moans and kisses, Harleen returned the passionate gestures with a strong, bloody scratch in his ribs. Arthur broke the kiss with a loud, pleased groan, responding to the scratch with a harsh thrust. Harleen screamed beneath him. Arthur, lightheaded by the sexually charged response, just stood still, trying to not give in to the already close peak of the act. 

Harleen was ready to make clear how much the sudden irruption had upset her when she heard an unintelligible mumble. 

"Uhh. What?" Harleen could hardly heard his petition. 

"Do that again", he whispered. The frown on her eyebrows revealed how much puzzled she was. 

"Do wha--?”

The harsh thrust took her by surprise, as expressed by the intoxicating sound that made Arthur so infatuated. As he delighted in the joy of obtaining exactly what he wanted, Harleen heard a a sweet, malevolent whisper: 

"That’s better...". It ghosted his lips, more to himself. He supported entirely on his arms, to keep on the rough onslaught. Those screams were music to his ears and he had plenty of reasons on why he deserved to hear more of them when he believed she had something else to say. 

The blonde mouthed. And Arthur read her lips. 

(Harder)

Harleen placed her hands at the sides of her head, abandoning herself to Arthur‘s mercy. She wanted it? She would get it. Another plea gone with the air, an arm on the matress reinforcing the pace to make it rougher and rougher. She felt she was unable to speak his name anymore, not knowing what aroused her the most: if having him inside her or hearing his assiduous effort to breathe through the final and most exciting part of their act. 

Exhaling aggressively, Arthur hung on to the mattress to harden the already brutal slamming that had reduced Harleen to an incoherent mess. His jaw dropped as the pleasure was becoming unbearable, growling as he leaned his head to keep closer to her. His arm was a key to maintain the disastrous rhythm as unrestrained but steady, grasping the wood which mattress was made of. The limb showed hard lines, ligaments standing out of the skin.

She legitimately thought, in a short moment of lucidity, that his arm would end up breaking it down. Neither of them heard a furious knocking on the wall, asking them to quiet down their sounds. Even if they did, they wouldn't care. Harleen sensed he'd love the idea of the whole building hearing their  scandal. 

When the excessive sensitivity down there traced a faint line between pain and pleasure, her moans echoed louder and louder, pushing Arthur to his limit. 

“Look at me”

It was hard to keep eyes open at this point. Harleen did her best but Arthur mistook it as another little game of hers.

“Look at me”, he hissed.

She inhaled deeply, turning her head towards him.

“Look at me!” he yelled, desperate.

She quickly did as he demanded.  

“Look at me when it happens”, he was not angry, despite the fierce, crazed stare suggested otherwise. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck” he hissed under his breath, trying to keep up with the rampant search for release despite how much exhausting it proved to him. He wasn’t willing to be defeated: his hands fell to her sides to pound faster and more erratically, almost tearing the bedsheets. Harleen was unable to speak now, restricting to whimpers that granted him an inconmensurable feeling of power. 

Then it happened. It caught him sooner than he initially had intended, but that didn't make it any less delightful. The blonde screamed his name at the top of her lungs as the spectacular orgasm hit her. 

That was too much for him to bear. 

One more enthusiastic, desperate thrust and it was over. Harleen had no control over her reaction, imprisoning him completely with her legs and arms crossed over his body. A hot attempt to retain her lover, clenching as hard as she could possibly do. They shared a fleeting gaze as he spilled himself in a wave of nervous, uncontrollable convulsions that spurred his nerves. She would never forget the expression that moulded by the moment: his face was an authentic, vivid expression of ecstasy. His eyes closed, catching air, sweating profusely, rebellious locks falling down. The desperation in his voice diminished to a pleasured groan to a exhausted, but satisfied series of sighs. He finally collapsed on top of her, hiding their faces in each other's neck. 

“Easy…” she muttered while Arthur bathed in his newfound masculinity. She knew the magnitude of his enrapture when he displayed no reaction at all when she caressed his hair. 

Arthur was enjoying his blissful release inside her, memorising every little sensation. The soft sighs escaping his mouth made her believe he had finally lost the little touch he had left with reality. 

He still wanted more, though. Arthur refused to break the physical bond, not getting over the warmth narrowing around him, looking for more thrills, seed still dripping. 

“You’re hard to quit” Arthur hissed, breathless. 

“I'm not asking you to ”, and both laughed. 

Harleen untangled a few curls, enjoying how they recoiled to their original form, emptiness replacing the fullness of his presence once he was gone. Laying on their sides to face each other, now under the blankets. The water falling in the sky helped them to concile slumber. 

"I'll be hardly out of you after this, Harleen" was the last thing she heard before lights were off. 

________________________________________

It was cold. It was wednesday and the train was full. Arthur had gone early to his weekly therapy with the social worker. Once he reached the building, waiting in the hallway. He smoked a cigarette, journal on the inner part of his hoodie, a confident smirk lining his lips. 

The grimace did not change at all when he got into the office, greeting her and taking a seat. It started with the usual 'how's your job?', 'are you having negative thoughts?'. Arthur replied more confidently, without avoiding eye contact as he always did. The worker noted immediately a dark, evil glint in his eyes. He couldn't stop smiling just as he couldn't see how much his new attitude unsettled her. She decided to ask for his journal, asking if there was something wrong or different. Arthur just took another long drag of his cigarette, smiling to himself. 

Once the copybook was handed to her, the worker noticed a brief, new sentence along a photograph of a beautiful young woman whose platinum hair showed different colours from the half down. She was dressed in a short red dress and smiled. 

She read outloud the phrase written in red. Arthur had to suppress a cackle to not get too much attention from her. He deducted by her expression she did not understand it but he did not expect her to. 

“I’m prod of mysel”.

[gen-z-student-quotes]

Heres a ton of quotes from my high school

Student 1: “I had a leg up on her but you saw how that turned out…” Student 2: “How did you have a leg up?”


S1: “She knew my great grandpa.” S2: “And how old is he?” S1: “He’s dead.” S2: “Oh…” Student: I thought I just took a human life. S1: “I need one that’ll hold all eight of my children.” S2: “I thought you had like twenty?” S1: “…I killed them.” S1: “Click it real fast!” S2: “NO! Thats illegal in the state of the United States!” Science Teacher: It’s time for Duggie to get frisky. Band Director: “Who has the Kubasa?” Student: “Im a kubasa!” BD: “You’re not a sausage.” Science Teacher: “Third rock from the sun.” S1: “Jupiter…right?” S2: “….NO!” Librarian: Maybe its possessed by satan. BD: Tuba or not tuba. Student: Tuesday is the best day of the week for some unknown reason other than the fact that it’s Tuesday. Science Teacher: My head is very foggy today and the drugs haven’t helped. Don’t quote me on that. Student: “How should parents handle a bad report card?”


Spanish Teacher: “Death.” Student: Aaron, move your penis out of the way. I need to get water. Student: Do I really want to go to medical school or am I subconsciously trying to impress my parents? Thats a secret I don’t even know. Im always having a crisis. XOXO, Family Disappointment S1: “Something fun to hit.” S2: “On.” S1: “That was stupidly smooth and I hate you for it.” Student: “Called the Scuds.” Spanish Teacher: “Hah. This gets worse the more you talk.” Student: I got through middle school via sleep deprivation and self deprecation. Student: I’m high bi and ready to die but I’m single and too focused on getting into a good university to mingle so cross cross applesauce do me a favour and just get lost Student: Im here Im queer and i'm full of existential fear. Student: Im single but I’m too afraid of rejection to mingle. Student: Im not a jellyfish… (quietly) I’m a human. Student: I went to bed at 9:30 last night. I am THRIVING! Student: I don’t know why but I have a weird fear of Catholics. Student: This band is the beginning of a porno I swear. X15 Student: Tea is just leaf juice and its gross. Student: Coffee is just bean juice so- S1: “Whats wrong with murder?” S2: “A lot of things Emilee- Theres a lot of thing wrong with murder.” Student: You called me a ginger yesterday. I will give you gingivitis. Student: “How do you do it?” English Teacher: “Most of us are medicated” S1: *barks and growls* S2: Silence you furry. Science Teacher: “Potassium.” Student: “Bananas” Student: Quit! You got fry dust in my eye! Student: See if your Armor of God protects you now. Science Teacher: I hit 190 pounds and I felt like a toad. Science Teacher: “It was really a cool feeling.” Student: “Was that a pun?” Science Teacher: “…Frosty.” S1: “Moment.” S2: “I’ve been singing that wrong my entire life! I thought it was woman!” S1: *Turning around in rolling chair* “Wait- repeat what you just said.” Student: Why did you draw a burning Elmo? Creative Writing Teacher: “The ‘H’ word” Student: “Hell?” CW Teacher: “nO!” S1: “Who said I ruined the peanut butter sandwich? It is now a cockroach peanut butter sandwich.” S2: “Ewww” S1: “Crunchity munchity.” Student: *while walking out of class* See you all in therapy. Student: *while walking back in* Hello guys, its just your neighborhood disappointment. Science Teacher: “Are you talking to your stomach?” Student: “Yeah..” Science Teacher: “Thats weird.” Student: “What are you dressed up as?” Spanish Teacher: “The bitch that I am.” Student: Im gonna name my kids gonorrhea. No, Crabs Brown. Student: Suck my strap on. Student: Its pronounced DIK DIK! Student: I’m gonna drink lead. Student: Mrs. Bustle, do you know what gonorrhea feels like? Science Teacher: Thats the stupid molecule at work again! Vice Principle: No reason to go outside today. Its cold… rainy….. I don’t want you to get sick. You can go outside during the bonfire. Where it will be cold and rainy! Student: I walk around the house with a non-binary flag on my ass. Student: This tea would taste a lot better if I was on a deserted island. Student: Our generation are the ones who ate tide pods. Natural Selection is coming for us. Student: It all started with Harambe. Student: Its my turn on the brain cell!   Math Teacher: I had no expectations but you still disappointed me. Science Teacher: The cool thing about rocks is that you can throw them at your friends. Animal Care Teacher: Remember! Don’t flush the hamsters! Student: The toothbrush water isn’t the same. Band Director: I will tear out your liver! Student: *In spanish* You’re a whorehey. Student: I’m a complement to have in your life. *Seconds later* Can I jump out the window now? Student: *Walks in the room* I think my phone just shit itself. Student; Half of them were in serious relationships- wait, that makes me sound like a hoe. S1: “It was something you used to be obsessed with.” S2: “Oh…..Depression.” S1: “Are these eyeballs?”


S2: “Uhhh duh.” S1: “Why were they in the microwave?” S2: “I was doing an experiment!”


Student: I WILL beat your ass. Student: I’d probably go out and stand in the middle of the hallway, mocking them. Student while pushing themselves across the floor: Slither slither… *louder* Slither slither.. *louder* I’m a snake. Slither slither SSSssssSShksssks Student: I want to turn my finger nails into potato chips. I want to dip them in hot grease and flavor them barbecue. Student: *In a terrible Russian accent.* Close the door! I don’t want my toes to be turned into popsicles! Vice Principle: Today we are having food…I’m not sure what it is but it’s food. S1: “Ok boomer.”


S2: “I’m not a boomer I’m a Leo!” Student: Are you looking at Reindeer privates? Student: The shit you see at 4am in *Insert Town Name* is very interesting.

- I think it's really cool when you guys send us these 🖕

[masalvas-girl]

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓓𝓪𝔂.

❤️(CarlosxReader fanfiction) I'll do a second part if this reaches 10 likes.

Carlos' brown eyes roamed through Raccoon City's skyline from the distance. His team, the U.B.C.S, accompanied him in his journey to a city that was filled with terror and chaos. He felt anxious, and the clammy skin of his palms held the cyclic of the helicopter really tight. When the news that the city had succumbed to a new and strange disease that could turn people into brainless and flesh-hungry creatures got to him, he was in Latin America, doing some mercenary work for the Umbrella Company.

He instantly thought about her.

Carlos knew he had to go back and try to look for her, sure, she was a strong woman and she could take care of herself, but he couldn't just leave Juliet's fate to destiny. So, when the command was finally given, he took his equipment and went on to Raccoon City with one purpose... Finding Juliet.

During that ridiculously long flight, he had a lot of time to reflect. Carlos still loved her and he was well aware of that. Remembrance of her watery hazel eyes looking at him came to his mind, she was almost begging him to just run away with her and leave his work with Umbrella for reasons he couldn't comprehend. At the end of that day, Carlos made a choice, and now he had to go back and ask for her forgiveness. He hadn't stopped loving her a single bit, no matter how much time had passed since he saw her for the last time. He thought about her almost every hour of every day. The memories of her soft hands going through his chest and his hair, and the feel of her plump lips on his were the only things that kept him sane. Carlos had never really cared about the word 'regret' until he finally understood that she was gone.

When Carlos left her apartment that last time, she became a ghost and disappeared like if she had died. He looked for Juliet everywhere, like his life depended on it. Once he noticed that she would never answer the door again, he started making calls that where rejected, then wrote e-mails that were straight-on ignored. Hell, he even sent some bouquets of red roses, every each of them saying how wrong he was, and urging her to ring him, but still never received an answer. He only knew she still lived in the same place because her car still parked on the building's parking lot, and yet, he couldn't get near her, no matter how much he tried.

That's when the opportunity to leave the city and escape to Latin America appeared. He reasoned he had to change airs, in Raccoon City he was going completely nuts, and he had to take his distance from Juliet. Maybe that way he could forget about her, but with the distance, the longing only became worst, almost like that fucking disease that started eating away people's brains.

He had lost her one time, and he would never accept it if he lost her again, forever. The combination of those dark words scared him like a little boy, even more than the bizarre creatures that wandered the streets.

—Distracted much, huh? —said Tyrell once he cleaned the path from those monsters that up until a couple of weeks ago where humans with lives and feelings. Carlos recharged his gun, and lowered his guard just a little bit.

—I need to look for her, man. She must be near here, somewhere —Carlos led out a loud exhale, anticipating the soreness of the muscles in his legs from all the running they would have to do all night long. They didn't have the luxury of using their guns everytime they saw those creatures, because that would only draw the attention of the zombies that were nearby, so everytime they could avoid those things without killing them, they did it.

It was already dark out, and a couple of civilians were following their steps. Their plan was taking them to the subway, make it run, and save the most people they could. Carlos hoped for fuck's sake Juliet was beside him when it happened.

—Then just go for her. I'll wait for you in the subway. I need to investigate how to make it work.

Carlos nodded and Tyrell went on his own way with the people they were helping. He checked his surroundings and located himself, and realized that he was standing just a few blocks away from where Juliet's apartment used to be. He started walking silently, only with the sound of his heartbeat rumbling in his ears.

“Im gonna find you”, he whispered to himself.

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

Please excuse any mistakes you might find in this short fanfic. I usually write in spanish (as it is my mother tongue), but tonight I decided I might as well challenge myself. If you have any requests for all things Carlos (whether in spanish or english), send me an ask with your idea. I do most things, including smut. I hope you liked this.

[lcnguor]

THE MEGA RP PLOTTING SHEET / MEME.

First and foremost, recall that no one is perfect, we all have witnessed some plotting once which did not went too well, be it because of us or our partner. So here have this, which may help for future plotting. It’s a lot! Yes, but perhaps give your partners some insight? Anyway BOLD what fully applies, italicize if only somewhat.

Mun Name: Mik      Age: 26       Contact: IM, discord, smoke signal, whatever.

Character(s) I rp: Nora, Spike. Which muse(s) inspires you the most atm?(for MM): Nora, most likely Current Fandom(s): Fandomless Fandom(s) you have an AU for:  pretty much everything I find around and hop on. My language(s): spanish, english.  Themes I’m interested in for rp:   Fantasy / Science fiction / Horror / Western / Romance / Thriller / Mystery / Dystopia / Adventure / Modern / Erotic / Crime / Mythology / Classic / History / Renaissance / Medieval / Ancient / War / Family / Politics / Religion / School / Adulthood / Childhood / Apocalyptic / Gods / Sport / Music / Science / Fights / Angst / Smut / Drama / etc. Themes/Genres you have an AU for: modern without supernatural, I do have some fantasy set up but eh. 

Preferred Thread length: one-liner / 1 para / 2 para / 3+ / novella. Asks can be send by: Mutuals / Non-Mutuals / Personals / Anons. Can Asks be continued?:   YES / NO   only by Mutuals?:  YES / NO. Preferred thread type: crack / casual nothing too deep / serious / deep as heck. Is realism / research important for you in certain themes?:   YES / NO. Are you atm open for new plots?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS. Do you handle your draft / ask - count well?:  YES / NO / SOMEWHAT. How long do you usually take to reply?:  24h / 1 week / 2 weeks / 3+ / months / years. I’m okay with interacting: original characters / a relative of my character (an oc) / duplicates / my fandom / crossovers / multi-muses / self-inserts / people with no AU verse for my fandom / canon-divergent portrayals / au-versions (as main or only verse). Do you post more ic or occ?:  IC / OOC. Are you selective with following others?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS.  

Best ways to approach you for rp/plotting:  ask, IM, discord, singing telegram, smoke signals, messeger pidgeos -- whatever dude. I will most likely talk and ramble a lot, I do like plotting and I squeeze my brains out to think in ways to rp with ppl. and I really suck at approaching others. really...

What expectations do you hold towards your plotting partner:  Ideas and somewhat more enthusiasm than me. I tend to shy away or feel very much awkward right off the bat if the person approaches me with not much to say or give. And honestly, some people really intimidate me because I am too hard on myself, so giving a bit of a pat on the back makes me relax more. I deal with a lot of anxiety and I know people run away the second I show it. 

When you notice the plotting is rather one-sided, what do you do?:  Mostly when I am doing the talk or coming with ideas or looking generally more interested. It takes effort for me to get on things and actually do stuff but if it’s not the other way around I end up thinking they got bored of me. I am one hell of insecure person. As for what I do, if after many tries of trying to reach another person and end up feeling rejected or ignored, then ... I stop. What’s the point of insisting if the other person would just be awkward or not spare you a word?

How do you usually plot with others, do you give input or leave most work towards your partner?:  well, I usually ask first what the other thinks or have in mind, if nothing, I either suggest or start brainstorming with the other person. I know some who have dealt with me at first I seem like a dettached person but not having ideas really makes me feel like I have not much right to talk. I want to give yet without impossing or letting it twist my arm. I know for a fact nora’s lore really doesn’t help shit for most things. 

When a partner drops the thread, do you wish to know?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS. - And why?: if the thread was meaningful and we were really into it , then I would ask but as for the most, I don’t really bother with it. Sometimes people just lose muse, and even if I was enjoying it, I don’t have the right  to force someone or ask why they stopped. thread dropping is normal, i guess.  - What should your partner do when dropping a thread?:  whatever they want. telling me or not is up to them, I don’t really mind. RP is not something SUPER serious like it should be just perfect. I try to convice myself of this a lot.

What could possibly lead you to drop a thread?:  either because it was old as fuck, I couldn’t find muse or because it was lost in the void of tumblr’s amazing tracking system. - Will you tell your partner?:   YES / NO / DEPENDS.

Is communication in the rpc important to you?   YES / NO. - And why?:  if I do not have some idea of who am i rping with and what they have in mind, then it’s nearly impossible. being purely IC is really uncomfortable and could lead to a lot of misundertandings. - Are you okay with absolute honesty, even if it may means hearing something negative about you and/or portrayal?:  yeah. mostly yeah -- I mean, I will feel bad, I do have feelings, but I will take it with water. - Do you think you can handle such situation in a mature way?  YES ( but I will feel bad anyways ) / NO.

Why do you rp again, is there a goal?:  connect with others, ramble a lot about characters, have fun. I’ve been rping since i was 12 ( back then it was not big deal your age apparently ) and having to connect with other people by making these plots and stories and just having a fun time is something that brings me joy. There’s so much that can be done. And exploring my muses with other muses influences is really helpful to fill the holes left due indecisiveness.

Wishlist, be it plots or scenarios:  I wish people joined my lore more. Having muses that could be in the same story department as Nora in particular, would be hella and inspire me more. There is so much I have. Explore nora’s power is also something I want but it’s hard -- it’s very invasive and not many would really like it, feeling it’s meta. For now, I don’t really have other muses and Spike has her little crew outside tumblr.

Themes I won’t ever rp / explore:  umm, it’s hard to think in something in particular. But mostly stuff that collides with nora’s story/character. but there is a lot I am willing to explore.

What Type of Starters do you prefer / dislike, can’t work with?: casual starters are my fab. It’s easier to figure out how  to go or stop and think. plotted ones also work. as for what I dislike or cannot work with, things that force my muse to not act how they would? not giving me something solid is hard to handle. 

What type of characters catch your interest the most?:  I really like out of the norm muses, something that you see and say /oh , look at that/. Aesthetically, story wise or personality wise, something that goes out the usual troup most would use. I do have a guilty pleasure for opposite to my muse characters --- something that would really show the contrast with one another.

What type of characters catch your interest the least?:  Very basic ones? or those who try TOO hard to be special. A character that doesn’t fit in the context they are in, esp. in fandoms. HEAVILY divergent characters that just basically turn them into OCs. I know I sound like a bitch but I am the type who respect canon and the actual author behind the character too much. Also those that I don’t know much about? as in, the fandom never managed to catch my interest or smth in that line.

What are your strong aspects as rp partner?:  I know where is the line between fiction and reality. And that what your character does it does not reflect as the person you actually are. I am pretty laid back and I understand people’s views and reasoning. idk. I draw a lot if I am super invested ?

What are your weak aspects as rp partner?: I am super sporadic and can go from being super active to flat out dead for weeks. my mood swings a lot with the amount of attention I get, as horrible as it sounds. I am very anxious as a person for reasons ( not IRL mostly, just bad experience from previous partners ). I promise a lot but do little? honestly I will just bad mouth myself if I keep writing this.

Do you rp smut?:  YES ( tho mostly on discord ) / NO. Do you prefer to go into detail?:  YES / NO / DEPENDS. Are you okay with black curtain?:  YES / NO. - When do you rp smut? More out of fun or character development?:  both? - Anything you would not want to rp there?:  ehhhh, idk -- i don’t do as much to know what I don’t like here.

Are ships important to you?:   YES / NO / RELATIVE. Would you say your blog is ship-focused?:   YES / NO. Do you use read more?:  YES / NO / SOMETIMES. Are you: Multi-Ship / Single-Ship / Dual-Ship  —  Multiverse / Singleverse. - What do you love to explore the most in your ships?:  the very nature of human relations. I am talking about Nora big time here -- there is a lot to explore in her relations and how she reacts and acts towards someone is very very contextual. How much she fakes, how much she is sincere, how much she struggles or how relaxed can be. force her to show her real self, which is very hazy even for her as a task. Be very poetic deep and also very shallow. I particulary see her as a character that REALLY depends on her relation with the other muse -- but generally speaking for any of my muses: I love to explore them as a pair and as individuals. - What is your smut tag?: the unfamily friendly. ( new tag (?))

Are you okay with pre-established relationships?: YES / NO. - And what kind of ones?: Anything? I am open to anything honestly. As long as it makes sense.

► SECTION ABOUT YOUR MUSE.

- What could possibly make your Muse interesting towards others, why should they rp with this particular character of yours now, what possible plots do they offer?:  Anyone who is denying their feelings, are peculiar as an individual or anyone who needs an insight of themselves and the world around them. Nora is a mentor type of character, she is here to be a support and help others explore themselves and learn. Also if you are a minor, she will most likely try to get close to help -- one must protect the good sad kids.

- With what type of Muses do you usually struggle to rp with?:  Stubborn, very fixated with things. Who would not open themselves to other perspective without thinking someone is trying to change them. Also she would struggle a heck lot with psychopaths and sociopaths, or anyone that “doesn’t have a face” for her. - With what type of Muses do they usually work well with?:  Curious people, struggling ones, kids in general -- people that are willing to listen to her opinions and try to improve in a positive way. Also those who are quirky in a way. 

- What interests your Muse(s) in general:  rabbits, literature, interesting people, the unknown, learning, relationships of all natures.  - What do they desire, is their goal?:  Live long without letting her particularity ruin her -- for her kind nobody makes it past the 50s and she wants that , to conquer her ability and prove that even with something like she is ( they are ), it’s posible to live and be happy. have a family of her own, yeah she is that cheesy. - What catches their interest first when meeting someone new?:  Their actions and the emotions that they are carrying on their back.  - What do they value in a person?:    sincerity, willingness, enthusiasm. - What themes do they like talking about?:  a lot of phylosophic stuff, deep topics -- as well to casual things of life. about people and society. - Which themes bore them?:  excuses and avoidance -- people who are willing to drop everything and give up.

- Did they ever went through something traumatic?:  the attempt of suicide of her mother. and the successfull suicide of many of her peers. - What could possibly trigger them?:  any sort of threat or violence towards someone who does not asked for it. esp. her peers and family. - What could set them off, enrage them?:  Immoral ones. Those who are willing to stomp on others just to success in their goal. - What could lead to an instant kill?:  is not killing, but touch a hair of her family and you are done. same for her friends and protegees.

- Is there someone /-thing they hate?:  gorgers, suicide, her tired face. - Is there someone /-thing they love?:   her family and dear ones --- to a fault. rabbits or anything related to it.

Is your Muse easy to approach?: YES / NO. - Best ways to approach them?:  any way is okay as long as is not threatening. - Where are they usually to find?:  during the night, in the streets -- during the day is either her workplace or her house. maybe a park near her apartment/location if she is feeling stuffy.

Something you may still want to point out about your muse?:  she is not a good person , she is willing to manipulate people and is constantly trying to impose her morals. but she is also very sensitive even if she doesn’t show it --- Nora does look tired for a reason , and one of them is because she cries a lot . 

CONGRATS!!! You managed it, now tag your mutuals! ♥

Tagged by:  @skyvar​ Tagging:  @batoushoujo​ , @obtainedloss​ , @lorddiiavolo​ , @evanesense​ , @sunpierce​ , @necrotrigae​ , @maljefe​ , @ethaeria​ , @calpio​ , @veiliisms​

[an-ordinary-roach]

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑯𝑬𝑬𝑻.

repost, don’t reblog

basics !

FULL NAME. Nathanial Montay Costa  Barbor PRONUNCIATION. Bah-Are Bo-or NICKNAME. Bor, Roachie, Pest  GENDER. Transmasc agender HEIGHT. Veries, [ 2′ - 4′ as a roach or small fae, 5′6″ glamored, normal-sized fae, happy buddy bor.  7′1″ Base bor,  8′1″ - 9′1″ Bug boss / Plague goat] AGE.  137 ZODIAC.  Gemini SPOKEN LANGUAGES. Italian, English, latin, spanish( still very new to it and confuses it with latin and italian), Sylvin(for when they’re in Jabberwock’s forest.)

physical characteristics !

HAIR COLOR. grey with a magenta/cyan shine when light hits it EYE COLOR. can turn white when surprised or excited but other than that it’s all black, plague goat got black sclera with white pupils BODY TYPE.  skin in bones in most forms, cockroach bor is pretty plump and well-fed, fae/ glamored/ happybuddy is athletic and lean, but looks a tad underweight ACCENT.  sounds like a new yorker’s accent though that hint of italian seeps in whenever they’re thinking out loud VOICE. Can’t verbally speak it but has an amalgamation Collection ( overlapping with young, old, femme, masc, androgynous)  small roachie and base form, this for  fae and glamored(dossa’s/first part), and plague goat/ bug boss DOMINANT HAND. ambidextrous  POSTURE. slouches in fae, glamored, base form and happybuddy, the rest is usually straight   TATTOOS. sigil of them on all their forms but base (can be seen when their asleep, them not thinking they can’t shapeshift in their base form keep’s it away)

BIRTHMARKS. As a human, they had a foot-shaped birthmark on their foot MOST NOTICEABLE FEATURE(S). Proto eyes on all their forms( even happy buddy n glamored fae), face can split vertically in all fourm’s (even base form), can survive without a head(same as base form, they dunno they can do either of the face split or head removal), uses their wings to work their necromancy,  chewed up antennae(on the left I think),  back as a human they had  Heterochromia, the missing eye was hazel but they barely remember even having it since they lost the eye at a young age

childhood !

PLACE OF BIRTH. in or near the hospital’s elevator- HOMETOWN. New york, new york city BIRTH WEIGHT. average  BIRTH HEIGHT. chubby bab FIRST WORDS. ‘Fuck!’  supposed to be fork because they kept seeing their fam use it and they want it~

SIBLINGS. 2 older brothers, 1 younger sister (all deceased ) PARENTS. Mother &  Father (also deceased! ) PARENTAL INVOLVEMENT.  mother and father were good to them, though their mother wanted Nat(pre-human bor) to keep them away from the mob life with the help of afterschool music classes and singing clubs. They oddly enough the only time they had fun in the church is when they're either playing the organ or singing in the choir.  While it took some persuading on Nat’s part to have him even allow them in some missions, though he eased up on his control on what they do once they got into the mortician line of work. They helped their dad get rid of bodies safely and discretely, patched up fellow gang members' wounds, and helped them get some extra money.

adult life !  

OCCUPATION.  Freelance Cadaver removal, on-call doctor, necromancer, jewelry maker, sells potions for Jeze at the Canopy Market, familiar  CURRENT RESIDENCE. has a heck ton of common rest stops!  Usually, in these places, they’re in their mammoth femur bone or matchbox hidy hole CLOSE FRIENDS. Eerie , Jeze,  Xaallo, Stanley, Burt, Kavi, Bill(another bill!) and a few others I may be forgetting?? ;w; RELATIONSHIP STATUS. single ( depending on the verse) FINANCIAL STATUS. if they can’t steal the money they’re middle class, but if so they’re technically rich?? DRIVER’S LICENSE. nope got wings and portals! CRIMINAL RECORD. petty crimes, theft, shoplifting, murder, arson, robbery, vandalism, restraining arrest, property damage, smuggling, trespassing, money laundry, accomplice to any one of these. (these are during their days in the mob, most of these are unchecked after being a demon, though magic places are a tricky spot too though) VICES. long-lasting grudges, impulsiveness, sometimes don’t learn from their mistakes, can be childish and a bit wishy-washy, sometimes putting their work before others, sometimes. (Only if they’re not friends with a person.) can’t really leave that gang mentality behind.

sex and romance !

SEXUAL ORIENTATION. pansextual  ROMANTIC ORIENTATION.  Pan-aroflux? they’re romo positive but it isn’t always on their mind most of the time. PREFERRED EMOTIONAL ROLE. submissive  | dominant |  switch   PREFERRED SEXUAL ROLE. submissive  | dominant  |  switch LIBIDO. mid-high (spring-summer)  mid-low (fall-winter) TURN ONS.  peeps giving them gifts( doesn’t gotta be high end, could be things that the person reminds of them), confidence, peeps who know their way around science, smooches to their antennae or beak/snoot by their crush, peeps who are good with their hands(I’ve noticed the trend with them)     TURN OFFS. rich people, CEOs who think their hotshots, peeps on their grudge list,  there’s probably more to this list but I dunno ;w; LOVE LANGUAGE. gift-giving(It’s a grab bag of actual valuables or random knickknacks they remind them of the person), starts requesting to join in their activities, actively makes things for said person instead of poofing them in, loves to cook for peeps, allows close ones cover their small little eyes, please squish them full access, grooming is a big thing for them either by tongue or offering to paint nails, brush hair, etc RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES.  always eager to please( genuinely doesn’t mind the rejection or isn’t doing it out of anxiousness), can and will tease but mostly can’t take what they dish out(so it’s probably why they do it randomly), Does have a habit of dipping away without a word(mostly bc of work or a knoxonk hunt going on) Gets anxious about future commitment stuff may be reaaaally slow with that stuff (mostly bc of what happened to their last relationship as a human). or anxious if the loved one still enjoys being with them, the feeling comes and goes honestly. If sick will want to find a way to help you out first before seeing a doctor (if it’s not too serious. If they die they will revive them). They can be jealous if they don’t like someone and the partner does. will say ‘want me to fuck them up’ in case there’s a person giving their loved one a mild inconvenience. Will have a set form for that particular person, if it’s in a multi relationship it’ll still be a common set form. 

miscellaneous !

CHARACTER’S THEME SONG. 1. Superbug · King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard 2. Necromancin Dancin - Bear Ghost 3.  Gravedigger's Chant - Zeal & Ardor 4. Voltaire - The Headless Waltz 5.  Mr. Pinstripe Suit -  Big Bad Voodoo Daddy 

HOBBIES TO PASS TIME. Jewelry making, music playing, spelunking, singing, urban exploring, working on their virus / fleshscape, testing on peeps(with their consent), medicine & illness research, collecting wine and variety of things MENTAL ILLNESSES.  not sure if this counts?? but they have ADHD,  if there’s anything else I gotta workshop and do research on! PHYSICAL ILLNESSES. visual snow syndrome( had it as a human but it’s non-visual symptoms carried over into their demon life: tinnius, brain fog, depersonalization(you’ll see them in roach mode aka: act like a common pest roach you’ll find in the kitchen, this usually last for a day if it does come about)  and the very rare occasion of tremors.) LEFT OR RIGHT BRAINED. right-brained FEARS.  phobia of dolls, rejection, future biz, some failure, being trapped against their will, being ‘fired’ and having their friends/family get the brunt of the punishment, this is specific but the saying ‘money survives all hardships’ SELF CONFIDENCE LEVEL.  fake it till they make it (it fluctuates but it’s usually in a good place) VULNERABILITIES. iron, holy stuff, red rope/thread to make wards against knoxonks, some mystery substance to limit their power(mun gotta work it out), their kill word, magic nullifying items Stolen from: @idjibivdu​ thank!~ tagging: steal it!~

[small-reptile-cake]

Vigilante AU (updated/fixed)

Concept:

We live in a world of injustice, where powerful people get to overshadow and overrule others basic human rights, and those with true power conceal themselves under the shadows at the risk of being killed or outcasted from society. However, in a city where hate and panic flood the streets, a select team of special people are willing to put themselves out there and defend those who can no longer fight for themselves. Virgil Sinclaire(18)

Powers:

Telepathy

Can read and invade the minds of other people with unsettling, fear inducing thoughts.

His range of hearing is of up to three blocks.

His powers caused him to be mildly agoraphobic; he spent a great part of his life hearing the sick thoughts of strangers on the street and the thousands of times he could simply tell when he was about to get mugged, making him afraid of leaving the safety of his apartment.

Now he wears headphones most of the time to muffle the voices.

Always lived in the same tall building, the higher he is the less he has to hear.

Born and raised in New York.

Studies/Interests:

Highschool dropout. In between his phobia and the terrible influence from his peers, he decided the education system wasn't for him.

Wanted to be an english major.

Enjoys writing scary/realistic novels.

Affiliations

Lives with his aunt and cousin.

Was lured into a group of thieves disguised as anarchists/protesters who claimed to fight for “True justice”, and that they would protect him. Truly, they were just hiding their true intentions and using Virgil’s powers to cause harm out of pure self gratification.

When their motives were unveiled, he still rejected becoming a part of the Alliance

Now, he belongs to his own neutral alignment in which he will not condone giving aid to those who he feels don't deserve it and will absolutely turn to revenge if necessary, even through unconventional means.  

Is still willing to help the Alliance, or the “Light Ones” as he calls them.

Patton Kane (22)

Powers:

Healing

His healing can range from treating people (whether it be physically or emotionally) to fixing broken objects (Only if they’re visibly torn, like a broken key or a broken cup).

The risk of healing people’s emotions is that it’s only temporary, and Patton will absorb both positive and negative emotions from the individual.

He can’t fix something that’s been set on fire (A book or clothes) because it’s simply beyond his reach to reconstruct something that's been turned to dust.

Studies/Interests:

A gastronomy student.

Often attends to baking courses/seminars during the week.

Teaches kids with disabilities how to bake on the weekends.

Part of his tuition was paid by working as a babysitter and a store clerk. The rest was obtained from his parents

Was an animal hoarder back in college even though he didn’t have the space or time at the moment. There were stray cats, dogs, even a rat that lived in the same building and got caught in a trap one day. He healed it and brought it home because he didn’t want the owner to find it and kill it.

His family had to talk him out of it and he even went to therapy to deal with the guilt of having to give his babies up for adoption.

Now he only adopts people as his children.

Affiliations

Virgil activates his fatherly senses the most and constantly getting invited to eat at Patton’s

He’s always encouraging the vigilante to go out, then ultimately visiting whenever Virgil just doesn’t feel safe enough to go out.

He also loves playing video games together as long as they aren’t horror themed.

Went to highschool with Logan, he was a few years older but since their parents knew each other and Logan didn’t bother socializing with people in his grade, they became close.

They would both occasionally help their peers though small gestures, such as easing someone before a test, or getting someone out of a fever. It was when they met Roman that he dragged them onto greater things and eventually led to forming the alliance.

Logan Altman (20)

Powers:

Super speed

Is ironically always worried about wasting time

The best thing about his power is having more time to appreciate each moment and scene as it happens before his eyes, analyze it, then carry on.

Will stutter whenever he tries to speak at a normal pace. Roman had to help him practice his speech so it wouldn’t give away his identity during superhero duty.

Needs extra calories, and therefore is often found snacking on protein bars, fruit (and obviously Patton’s famous oatmeal-chocolate cookies)

Can be very hot headed and impatient at times.

Studies/Interests

Majors in chemical engineering, takes up astronomy in his spare time, as well as philosophy and english.

Wants to learn german and spanish.

Uses his super speed to be able to take all of his classes during the week, complete his chores in time and always have some spare minutes.

Keeps a schedule that he’s very loyal to or else he might take up more than he can handle and stress himself out (Again).

Despite being so diligent of his work, he always falls asleep in time, makes sure to have a healthy diet and gives himself some time to relax and contemplate.

Affiliations

Has been friends with Patton since elementary, their parents know each other. Their relationship was very stiff at first as the sensitive hero used to infuriate him by taking too long to do things and getting carried away all the time. This led to some outbursts that were always forgiven as long as Logan apologized afterwards.

One day he went too far while Patton was particularly sensitive, causing him to cry. He’s learnt to control himself since then.

He and Roman were classmates in fight grade when Roman moved in, by then he wasn’t friends with anybody else from his generation.

They started to hang out after a few very intense debates regarding the historical accuracy of a few medieval TV shows, and if it was acceptable to deviate from the obscure reality of those times.

Genuinely loves watching Roman perform classics on stage. The first time he saw him was during english class when they were to bring presentations to class, he performed a paragraph from one of Chèjov's tales.

Despite often treating him like an idiot, he recognizes Roman to be brilliant in his own field. And having him in class was always an amusing experience.

Thinks of Virgil’s occasional presence as comforting, but ultimately disagrees with his views on society.

Is constantly trying to convince Virgil to retake his studies, expressing concern for his future.

Roman Garcia(20)

Powers:

Morphing objects as he touches them

He can only change the shape of an object, not the material it’s made of (if he touches a metal chair and shapes it into a sword, it’ll still be made of metal)

It used to be very difficult for him to create things as he couldn’t focus hard enough on a single shape at the time and the images in his brain would get jumbled.

Later on he was diagnosed with ADHD. His family refused to medicate him and for many years he was forced to deal with it without knowing what it was and what to do about it. That, until he met a teacher that dealt with the same thing who was willing to educate him on he matter. From then on, he’s been learning to surpass it and perfect his technique.

Studies/Interests:

Drama school, also forms part of a few independent acting groups dedicated to performing musicals in small theatres.

Writes fantasy novels, as well as scripts for both theatre and film. He loves how different both formats are and the different things he can achieve with both

Can also write and listen in spanish, but is pronunciation is still too stiff to talk back.

Affiiliations:

Went to highschool with Logan, Patton was their senior.

Moved in to New York from Albuquerque with his little brother. Their entire family is from Venezuela.

Comes from divorced parents, had an abusive father growing up.

Doesn’t necessarily hate his brother, but is extremely weary of him growing into a villain since his powers are rarely ever used  for anything other than chaos.

Has a strong attachment to Patton due to the hero’s overbearing, fatherly attitude. Often rings him up at random times to just hang out and watch “Brooklyn 99″ together or learn new recipes. Whether they are in a bad mood or not, it’s always heartwarming to spend time with each other. He really hated Virgil at first for stealing Patton’s attention.

Is currently really fond of Virgil as he can understand the struggles of being forced to move apart from your family. He also really appreciates the vigilante’s willingness to listen

Devin C. Pierce (20)

Powers:

Shapeshifting

Uses his powers to his own advantage and to help those he cares about.

Doesn’t care about fighting evil or turning evil because good and bad are constructs and totally subjective.

Studies/Interests

Drama school

Takes up law as his second major, mostly influenced by watching fake trials on TV and watching legal dramas.

Totally didn’t show Remus “How to get away with murder”.

Affiliations

Met Roman on an improv night at a bar, they got a few good laughs by being absurd and original.

Roman doesnt know about his powers but they're still good friends. Is often asked to babysit Remus when Roman is out fighting crime.

Is constantly teasing Virgil because, in Devin’s words; he’s a “Hypocrite who thinks of himself morally superior to everyone”

Tells everyone the C in his name is for classy.

Remus Garcia (14)

Power:

Morphing objects as he touches them

His creations are always a lot more gruesome than Roman’s

They range from weapons, dick shaped statues, inedible food shaped objects to prank people and tiny versions of torture devices he saw in some horror game about the dark ages. They all decorate his room

Studies/Interests:

He also sculpts manually and enjoys painting. Most of his art is abstract. Only draws explicitly gorey scenes when he’s angry.

He learnt French in secret for years just to one day start pretending he didn’t know spanish anymore and piss everyone off.

Enjoys reading horror stories on the internet a lot. He even found Virgil’s blog while deep diving once, but he doesn’t know that.

Affiliations

Moved in with Roman because his parents were busy with work and couldn’t tend to his “needs” all the time

Constantly trying to get Roman to take him on his missions. Since Roman doesn't trust him not to kill anyone, it never happened.

Is old enough not to need a babysitter, is chaotic enough to need one and only Deceit can handle him.

Patton is greatly unsettled by him, but Remus loves when he comes over to cook for them. He tried to show him his sculptures once when he was younger and it didn’t go well at all.

He is constantly trolling Virgil whenever they’re around, thinking about disturbing things the moment he walks through the door.

[hopewelivetoshout]

tag meme

i was tagged by @itsme-imhere thanks for this :))

rules: bold everything that applies to you and tag five people you’d like to get to know better.  

appearance:

i’m over 5’5” (I’m 5′7″, close to 5′8″ - this sistem is so confusing) // i wear glasses or contacts (i should but i haven’t done the exams yet)  // i have blonde hair //  i prefer loose clothing to tight clothing (actually it deppends on my mood, I enjoy both but lately I’ve been a fan of more tight clothing - and less too, is so freaking hot in this freaking country) // i have one or more piercings   // i have at least one tattoo  // i have blue eyes  // i have dyed or highlighted my hair // i have gotten plastic surgery // i have or had braces (four years of pain, three years of freedom)  // i sunburn easily  // i have freckles  // i paint my nails // i typically wear makeup  // i don’t often smile (I’m more serious when needed, in public, when I’m concentrated, but if I have a good relashionship wuth you I’ll be a less serious goof) // i am pleased with how i look (uhh, it deppends) // i prefer nike to adidas  // i wear baseball hats backwards (my hair is curly - I’m black with native and a bit of european descendence -, I usually use black power - i don’t know is the term is right, but that’s how we say it in Brasil, so no)

hobbies & talents

i play a sport (like, any sport, i love sports, and i should go back into playing soccer)  // i can play an instrument (accustic guitar) // i am artistic (art in general, photography, literature, music) // i know more than one language (brazilian portuguese is my first language, english can be considered my second, I can understand a lot of spanish and italian, and I'm into french and latim latetly)  // i have won a trophy in some sort of competition (school competitons, a medal on Muay Thai and i’ve graduated multiple times in Capoeira)  // i can cook or bake without a recipe (not a lot of foods, but enough) // i know how to swim  // i enjoy writing // i can do origami // i prefer movies to t.v shows (yes, but my main focus is the story telling, so it’ll depend on it) // i can execute a perfect somersault (thanks to, mainly, Muay Thai) // i enjoy singing (wich does not mean that i can sing well) // i could survive in the wild on my own // i have read a new book series this year (well, I’m nearly finishing the third book out of seven - it is Sherlock Holmes) // i enjoy spending time with friends (surprisingly, specially to me, i do have friends, and a lot of them live in a different state so we’ve been playing and sending love to each other on a weekly basis) // i travel during school or work breaks  // i can do a handstand (I’ve been out of physical practice but yes)

relationships

i am in a relationship // i have been single for over a year (...my entire life) // i have a crush (... I don’t think so) // i have a best friend i have known for ten years (we’re not friends anymore :/) // my parents are together  // i have dated my best friend // i am adopted  // my crush has confessed to me (happened once, but I did not know how to react and was confused, so I’ve rejected him) // i have had a long-distance relationship  // i am an only child  // i give advice to my friends (pretty neat and awesome advice if you ask me) // i have made an online friend (oh, multiple idiots that i love) // i met up with someone i have met online (I will)

aesthetic

i have heard the ocean in a conch shell  // i have watched the sunrise  // i enjoy rainy days  // i have slept under the stars  // i meditate outside (I can’t stay long without being out, in touch with nature, it balances me) // the sound of chirping calms me // i enjoy the smell of the beach (I never have been in one) // i know what snow tastes like (I live in a tropical country and never left my state, so, saddly, no) // i listen to music to fall asleep (rarelly) // i enjoy thunderstorms (I don’t enjoy them that much, it is kinda scary, but beatiful to watch) // i enjoy cloud watching (I wish that I could do so more frequently, but I live in a place without big, open spaces) // i have attended a bonfire (once, for Festa Junina, aka São João, the BEST date, the absolute best party ever) // i pay close attention to colors (I’ve never thought about it) // i find mystery in the ocean (I’ll only get close to large bodys of water when I finally learn how to swim) // i enjoy hiking on nature paths // autumn is my favorite season (I prefer winter)

misc.

i can fall asleep in a moving vehicle (not a freaking chance) // i am the mom friend (yep, that’s me, the only one with a rational brain that can tell stupid shit will finish in bad situations and overcare) // i live by a certain quote // i like the smell of sharpies (nem sei o que é) // i am involved in extracurricular activities (if the activities I propose to myself count, then yes, I quite enjoy learning new things and developing projects alone) // i enjoy mexican food (I have never had mexican food before) // i can drive a stick-shift (I haven’t started to studie to get my license yet, but I believe so) // i believe in true love (I think I do, yes, at least) // i make up scenarios to fall asleep (oh please, I make up scenarios in any situation, I’m an anxious overthinker that porbably has adhd) // i sing in the shower (I can’t  shower without music, even if I’m not listening to the song, I’ll sing one that reflects my feelings or that is in my head) // i wish i lived in a video game (nah, I’m good here) // i have a canopy above my bed (not yet, but I plan doing) // i am multiracial  (I guess I can say so, I’m not very educated on racial descendence and bellonging matters) // i am a redhead // i own at least three dogs (I only had a dog, that died when I was very young, maybe before my five years of life :/ I really want to adopt one now) // i have a cat (I’ve had like, at least seven cats at this point. In the moment I have one black cat, pretty petty, his name is Fumaça - it’s a refference t an old cartoon that my godmother used to watch as a kid)

tagging @its-really-all-about-perspective @bettylove @gayzor-el-primary