#the absolute most I’ve ever drunk was when for a while I would pick up a pack of ciders on Friday in the summer and enjoy Two Cold Ones

[aliosne]

Some gems from filling out a medical intake form this afternoon.

[yungistiny]

Heaven And Back ═ chapter one

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter one: first time

╚═════════

summary: mingi is trouble wrapped in bleached hair and piercings and maybe that’s exactly what y/n needs

warning: emo mingi, stoner/dealer mingi, virgin reader, use of drugs, eventual smut

pairing: mingi x afab reader

genre: romance, drama, smut

word count: 2.7k

chapter two

masterlist

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The afternoon sun was too bright when y/n cracked open one bleary eye. Her laptop still hummed faintly on the desk across the room, a reminder of the all nighter she’d pulled to finish the ancient history essay that had been eating her alive for a week. She shifted under the covers, limbs heavy and slow, the ache of exhaustion buried deep in her bones.

Ningning’s bed was empty, again. No surprise there. Her roommate had practically moved into her girlfriend’s apartment two months ago, leaving y/n alone in their tiny dorm more often than not. She didn’t blame her. Honestly, she envied her a little.

Y/N groaned softly, pulling the blanket over her head just as someone knocked, loudly, on the door.

“Open up, zombie!” came her best friend, Wooyoung’s unmistakable voice, bright and mischievous as always.

“Go away,” she mumbled into her pillow.

The door creaked open anyway, Wooyoung barging in like he owned the place. He wore ripped jeans, a too big hoodie, hair dyed a fading red and a grin that could probably get him out of murder charges if he ever needed to.

“Come on,” he said, flopping down at the foot of her bed. “You’ve been hiding like a gremlin all week. I’m taking you out.”

“I’m tired,” Y/N whined, shoving the blanket down enough to glare at him. “I just finished the worst essay of my life. I think my brain is broken. My body’s next.”

“You sound so dramatic,” Wooyoung teased, poking her ankle. “You just need some good food and like… a good joint or something.”

She blinked at him. “I’ve never even smoked before.”

“Exactly!” he said, eyes lighting up mischievously. “It’s time you live a little. C’mon, get dressed. We’ll grab lunch, and then…” he wiggled his eyebrows. “you’re coming with me to pick up.”

“Pick up…?” she repeated slowly, still too sleep drunk to follow.

“My dealer,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Cool guy. You’ll like him. He’ll probably corrupt you faster than I can.”

Y/N groaned again, but there was already a little tug deep inside her chest, a stupid, restless curiosity that made her sit up.

Maybe a little corruption wasn’t the worst thing right now.

Maybe it would even make her feel something again other than absolute exhaustion.

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By the time they made it to the tiny Korean BBQ spot Wooyoung loved, y/n was a little more awake, but not by much. She sat slumped in the booth, poking listlessly at her bowl of rice while Wooyoung inhaled an embarrassing amount of meat across from her.

“You look like you’re about to pass out into your food,” he said around a mouthful, grinning.

“I feel like I’m about to pass out,” Y/N muttered. She picked up a piece of bulgogi, stared at it for a second, then put it back down with a sigh. “I don’t know, Woo. I thought college would be different. Like, fun or exciting or… at least bearable.”

He set his chopsticks down, suddenly a little more serious. “Burnout’s a bitch,” he said, shrugging like he knew the feeling too well. “No one tells you that the dream gets heavy real fast.”

She leaned her head against the cool window beside their booth, closing her eyes. “It’s like I’m either exhausted or guilty that I’m not doing more. Even when I’m doing everything.”

“You’re doing fine,” Wooyoung said firmly, kicking her gently under the table. “You just need to chill out for a bit. Reset your brain.”

She cracked one eye open. “With a joint, apparently?”

“Damn right,” he said, flashing her a shit eating grin. “I’m telling you, one hit and you’ll forget all about ancient history and essays and existential dread.”

“I doubt that,” she said, but she smiled weakly, the first real smile she’d managed in days.

They finished eating, and after Wooyoung paid , because “this one’s on me, stress girl” they headed out into the chilly afternoon. The sun was already starting to dip low, painting the sky in muted golds and blues.

“You sure it’s okay for me to come?” Y/N asked as they turned down a quieter street, tucked between a row of low, grungy apartment buildings.

“He won’t care,” Wooyoung said, jamming his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Mingi’s chill. Honestly, he’ll probably offer you something the second you walk through the door.”

“Mingi,” Y/N repeated under her breath, tasting the name. It already sounded like trouble.

Wooyoung led her up a narrow set of stairs to the second floor of a rundown building. He knocked twice, then opened the door without waiting for a response.

“Mingi!” he called out.

Inside, the apartment smelled faintly of smoke and something sweet, like vanilla and musk mixed together. It was cluttered but cozy, low lighting, worn in furniture, a beat up guitar leaning against the couch.

And then he appeared.

Mingi.

Tall, broad shouldered, moving with a lazy kind of confidence as he padded out from the kitchen, a blunt tucked between his fingers. His hair was short and bleached almost white, messy like he’d just rolled out of bed. His black painted nails tapped rhythmically against the lighter in his other hand. A glint of silver flashed when he licked his lips, a tongue piercing, and when he stretched, his thin black tank top pulled tight against his chest, revealing the faint outlines of piercings underneath.

Y/N mouth went dry.

Wooyoung clapped Mingi on the shoulder casually. “This is Y/N,” he said. “Freshman, never smoked before, tired of life.”

Mingi’s eyes, sharp, dark, unreadable, flicked over her slowly. Not in a creepy way, but like he was reading her, cataloguing her.

“First time, huh?” he said, voice low and rough around the edges.

Y/N swallowed thickly and nodded.

Mingi smirked, slow and easy. “Lucky me.”

And in that moment, as he passed her the freshly rolled blunt with two fingers and a wicked glint in his eye, y/n knew deep in her gut she was standing at the edge of something she wasn’t going to be able to walk away from.

Maybe she didn’t even want to.

Mingi dropped onto the couch like he had all the time in the world, legs spread wide, head tipped back lazily against the cushions. He patted the empty spot beside him without a word.

Y/N hesitated for half a second before Wooyoung nudged her forward with a grin. “Don’t be shy. He only bites if you ask nicely.”

She shot Wooyoung a look, but her legs moved on their own, carrying her to the couch. She sat gingerly beside Mingi, leaving a careful few inches of space between them. He smelled like smoke and something darker underneath, leather and salt and skin warmed by the sun.

Mingi lit the blunt with a flick of his lighter, the flame briefly illuminating the sharp angles of his face, his heavy lidded eyes, the silver glint on his tongue when he tucked it against his cheek, the piercings beneath his tank top catching just enough light to hint at more hidden things.

He took a slow drag, holding it in before exhaling in a thick ribbon of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling. Then he turned to her, blunt pinched between two black painted fingers, the polish chipping slightly.

“Here,” he said, voice dipping a little lower. “Nice and easy.”

Y/N heart hammered painfully in her chest. Her fingers brushed his when she took it, his skin was warm, calloused. She raised it to her mouth like she’d seen people do in movies, feeling Mingi’s gaze heavy on her face, and inhaled.

Bad idea.

The smoke burned her throat instantly, her lungs seizing in protest. She coughed, hard, covering her mouth as her eyes watered. Wooyoung barked out a laugh from where he was perched in a chair nearby.

Mingi just chuckled low in his chest, the sound sinking into her skin like heat. He plucked the blunt back from her fingers, tapping it out against the edge of an ashtray.

“Not bad for a first timer,” he said, flashing her a grin full of teeth.

Y/N wiped at her watering eyes, already feeling the faintest buzz starting to prickle at the edges of her brain. Everything felt just a little softer, a little slower. Her body didn’t feel so heavy anymore.

“You good?” Wooyoung asked, still laughing.

She nodded, a breathless laugh escaping her. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.”

Mingi leaned in a little closer, close enough that she could see the silver stud glinting against his tongue when he spoke.

“You wanna try again?” he asked, voice a slow drawl. “I’ll help you.”

There was something in the way he said it, low and thick, curling at the edges of her spine, that made her pulse spike.

Before she could second guess herself, y/n nodded.

Mingi brought the blunt back to his lips, took a slow, deep drag, and then leaned toward her, closer, closer, until there was barely an inch between them. His hand cupped her jaw, tilting her face up gently.

“Open,” he murmured.

And y/n, without even thinking, parted her lips.

Mingi exhaled the smoke into her mouth, warm and sweet and dizzying, and y/n inhaled it like a prayer, like a sin she already knew she’d beg forgiveness for later. His thumb stroked a lazy line across her jaw as he pulled back, watching her through heavy lidded eyes.

The world tilted a little on its axis.

Everything inside her, the stress, the exhaustion, the constant weight she carried, faded for a second under the heavy rush of heat pooling low in her belly.

Wooyoung whistled low under his breath. “Damn. Should I leave you two alone?”

Mingi just smirked, slow and dangerous.

Y/N didn’t even know what to say. All she could do was sit there, lungs burning, heart hammering, feeling like she was slipping, falling straight into the kind of trouble she didn’t think she wanted to be saved from.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

They hung around for a little while longer, the conversation lazy and looping. Mingi had this easy way about him, he didn’t say much, but when he did, it was sharp, funny, a little wicked. Y/N found herself smiling more than she had in days, even if half the time she couldn’t tell if it was from the weed or the way he looked at her like he already knew exactly how much she was unraveling inside.

Wooyoung eventually slapped his hands against his thighs and stood up. “Alright, you know why I’m really here,” he said grinning.

Mingi snorted, pushing up from the couch and disappearing into the other room for a second. He came back with a small purple colored ziplock bag, tossing it lazily to Wooyoung, who caught it one handed.

“Same as usual,” Mingi said, settling back down with a grunt.

Wooyoung fished some crumpled bills out of his pocket and dropped them onto the cluttered coffee table. “Pleasure doing business as always, my good sir.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” Mingi said without heat.

Then, as Wooyoung tucked the bag away and moved to grab his jacket, Mingi leaned forward, snagging another rolling paper from a small tin on the table. His ringed fingers made quick work of it, the movements practiced and slow, like he had nothing but time.

Without being asked, without even really looking at her, Mingi rolled another blunt. This one he licked closed, sealing it with a flick of his tongue that had y/n stomach tightening sharply.

“For you,” he said, voice low and rough, that half smirk curling at the edges of his mouth again. “Your own.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Wooyoung, but he just shrugged, grinning like he knew exactly what was happening here.

“Consider it a welcome gift,” Mingi added, his fingers brushing hers deliberately as she took it.

The weight of it felt heavier than it should in her hand. She tucked it carefully into the inside pocket of her hoodie, heart thudding stupidly in her chest.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice a little too soft, a little too shaky.

Mingi just leaned back, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, eyes glinting with something unreadable.

“See you around. ” he said, like a promise.

Wooyoung whistled low under his breath as they stepped back out into the cold hallway. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, laughing as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You’re so fucked.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

She just kept walking, the little weight of the blunt in her pocket like a brand against her side, Mingi’s rough voice still echoing in her head.

Maybe she was fucked.

And maybe, deep down, she didn’t even mind.

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The cafe was its usual mid afternoon slow shift, a few students hunched over laptops, a couple regulars nursing cold coffees they’d been nursing for hours. The hum of soft indie music filled the air, blending with the hiss of the espresso machine behind the counter.

Y/N leaned against the counter, chin resting in her hand, fighting to keep her eyes open. She hadn’t been sleeping well, every time she closed her eyes, her mind spun with deadlines and half finished thoughts… and the lingering memory of rough fingers brushing hers, a deep voice rumbling….

see you around

The blunt still sat hidden in her desk drawer, untouched. She didn’t know why she hadn’t smoked it yet, maybe because part of her knew it wasn’t just a blunt. It was a line, and once she crossed it, she wasn’t sure she’d come back the same.

Wooyoung dropped a dirty rag on the counter in front of her with a grin. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. I’m not getting stuck on closing shift because you faceplanted into the pastry case.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, flipping him off half heartedly.

He laughed, tossing the rag into the back sink, and then straightened suddenly, eyes flicking toward the door.

Y/N turned and her stomach flipped violently.

Mingi stood just inside the entrance, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black jacket, bleached hair spiked and messy. He looked a little out of place in the soft, pastel washed cafe, all sharp edges and dark energy but he didn’t seem to care.

He met her eyes across the room, and that slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.

“Uh oh,” Wooyoung muttered under his breath, grinning like this was the best entertainment he’d had all week. “Your little crush is here.” He teased.

Y/N glared at him, cheeks burning, and shoved off the counter, smoothing her apron down nervously.

Mingi sauntered up to the register, stopping just close enough that she had to tilt her head back a little to meet his gaze. “Told you I would see you around.” He said, low and easy.

Y/N tried to roll her eyes, tried to pretend her pulse didn’t trip over itself. “Hey,” she managed, voice only slightly breathless. “What can I get for you?”

Mingi leaned in, bracing his elbows casually on the counter. His eyes dragged over her face, lingering just a beat too long on her mouth before he spoke. “Coffee,” he said finally. “Black. Whatever’s strongest.”

“Coming right up,” she mumbled, turning quickly to pour it. She could feel his gaze heavy on her back the whole time.

When she slid the cup across the counter to him, their fingers brushed again, deliberate this time. A little spark zipped up her arm, sharp enough to make her breath hitch.

Mingi didn’t pull away. He held the cup steady, eyes dark and unreadable. “You smoke that yet?” he asked, voice pitched low so only she could hear.

Y/N mouth went dry. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly.

Mingi’s smile deepened, slow and wicked, like he knew exactly why. Like he knew exactly what she was afraid of.

“Good,” he murmured. “Wait until you got someone around who knows how to take care of you.”

He tapped two fingers lightly against the side of his cup, like a secret, like a warning and then turned, sauntering back out into the cold afternoon without a glance back.

Y/N stood frozen behind the counter, heart thudding painfully against her ribs.

Wooyoung let out a long, low whistle from behind her. “Yeah,” he said, laughing. “You are so fucked.”

She couldn’t even argue.

Not when every part of her was already aching for more.

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permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990

[worldlxvlys]

I HAVE A IDEA (MR CRABS I HAVE AN IDEA)

yk the new song ari came out with (we can't be friends) Chris fic were the reader and him are best friends that always flirt and they made out drunk at a party and have not been talking for a week untill Chris shows up at her house and they makeout and maybe some smut? Idrk

Anyways that's all 💋

we can’t be friends

chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: angst, mentions of drinking/being drunk, smut, fingering, oral (fem receiving), squirting, cursing

a/n: i’ve been absolutely OBSESSED with this song and itching to write about ittt

i hope you enjoy

i let out a heavy sigh at his last text, before throwing my phone onto my bed.

of course i wanted to fight for us, but this was about more than just our friendship . this was about what was best for us individually.

for as long as i could remember, i always put chris’ feelings before my own. i spent so long chasing after him, just to end up heartbroken.

i watched him constantly pick other people over me, blissfully unaware of how deeply he was wounding me.

but no matter how much i wanted to, i couldn’t blame him. it was easier to point fingers at him than to accept the fact that this was partially my own fault.

i let him continue to hurt me, over and over again, never telling him what he was doing to me. and if i didn’t tell him, how would he know any better ?

so, even though it killed me to act so cold and distant toward him, it was time to look out for myself for once.

i needed to take the time to love and take care of myself before expecting someone else to do so.

sure, he’d be upset for a short while, but once he got over me he would easily move on to the next girl. that’s all i was to him, after all. just another girl.

i was pulled from my thoughts when i heard my front door open and close suddenly, followed by quick footsteps toward my room.

i waited behind my bedroom door, quick to swing my arm out in front of me when the person made it to the doorway.

i was met with chris, who immediately caught my wrist in his hand.

we stared at each other with wide eyes, neither one of us speaking. i blinked up at him, watching his eyes trail down to my lips.

“don’t do that” the words flew out of my mouth before i could stop them.

his eyes immediately shot back up to mine, a curious expression taking over his features.

“don’t do what?” he asked, loosening his grip on my wrist to let it slide down, intertwining our fingers.

“chris, we aren’t doing this. i meant what i said earlier, we’re better off not being friends”

“you keep saying that, but you won’t tell me why. you gotta talk to me baby” he spoke.

“i don’t want to” i spoke back, shaking my head as i backed up slightly to create more distance between us.

“how am i supposed to know what i did wrong if you don’t talk to me?”

he was right, of course he was. it was unfair of me to just cut him off with no reasoning. but the second we start talking about it is the second it becomes real. i didn’t want to come to terms with the fact that i was trying to end one of the most important friendships i’d ever had in my life.

“you didn’t do anything, chris” i answered. he wasn’t having it. “no, tell me. i’m not letting you just end our friendship like this, not without a reason”

“i just can’t be friends with you”

“why? what is so wrong with me that you don’t want me in your life? and completely out of nowhere” he spoke, his voice rising slightly.

“see, that’s the problem. i don’t want you out of my life, i want you in it forever. but you clearly don’t want that, and it’s ok.”

“who the hell said i didn’t want that?” chris asked, his brows furrowing.

“chris, it’s fine. you don’t have to try to make me feel better-”

“so you don’t believe me?” he cut me off.

“i mean, i don’t know, i just…” my babbling trailed off as i tried to find the right words.

“let me prove it to you” he whispered as he toyed with the strap of my tank top.

my breathing grew shallow as he moved the fabric down my arm slightly, pressing his lips to my shoulder.

“chris….we shouldn’t” i whispered, but tilted my head to the side, allowing him more access as his lips moved up my neck.

“really? you weren’t complaining a week ago” he spoke against my skin.

i slapped his chest lightly at that. “yeah, well we were also drunk”

he bit down on my neck, harshly enough to leave a bruise and elicit a moan from me. “so, you don’t want this?” he asked.

i let out a deep sigh, “of course i do, chris. but do you?”

he looked as though he was going to say something, but i stopped him “don’t tell me yes just because you want sex. i don’t want you to just want somebody, i want you to want me. if you’re just gonna fuck me and move onto the next girl, then forget it” i spoke.

the more i thought about it, the more i convinced myself that he didn’t really want me.

“hey” he spoke softly, cupping my jaw. “this isn’t about the sex, this isn’t even about me wanting you. this is about me needing you. this is about me not being able to live without you. yes, i’ve been with other girls. but there’s a reason that you’re the only one that’s always been there”

“i was so sure you didn’t feel the same, so i tried to move on. but i couldn’t, because none of those girls are you. and i’m so sorry that i hurt you, i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if i have to”

chris looked at me as though he could cry. his blue eyes shot back and forth between my own, his thumb caressing my jaw gently.

“so make it up to me” i whispered, pulling his lips to my own.

one of his arms smoothly slid behind my back, supporting my weight as i found it hard to keep my balance.

he kissed me like he had waited his whole life for this moment. his lips felt so soft against mine, unlike our last kiss.

this kiss made our drunken one feel sloppy and desperate, like two people who were just horny, but this was more than that. it was eye-opening, sweet, gentle, it was everything i didn’t know i needed.

but chris did, he always knew what to say or do to make me happy. i couldn’t stay mad at him even if i wanted to.

“let me make you feel good?” he asked when we pulled away. “yeah” i let out breathlessly, nodding my head.

“lay down for me” he said, leaving another kiss to my neck. i did as he said, getting onto my bed and laying on my back.

he wasted no time in crawling over me, his hands placed on either side of my waist. “can i?” he asked, lightly tugging at the hem of my top.

i nodded at him, lifting my upper body up as he pulled off my top. without a word, he attached his lips to my nipple while caressing the other with his hand.

i let out a loud moan at the feeling, beginning to squirm underneath him.

“shit, chris” i sighed out, his eyes immediately looking up at mine.

he swirled his tongue around the hardened bud, watching as my body melted into his touch.

he sucked on my tit until the skin turned dark, moving to the other to give it the same treatment.

“god, chris. feels so good” i moaned out while he continued to work my sensitive nipple with his tongue.

“you look so pretty like this” he rasped as he soothed my boobs with his hands, “can’t believe i have you all to myself” he mumbled to himself.

he moved his face downwards, leaving gentle kisses to my rib cage and abdomen. he paid special attention to every birthmark and scar he found, pressing a kiss to each one.

his fingers rubbed small circles into my skin as he ventured further and further down my body.

he stopped at the waistband of my shorts, leaving a kiss to my crotch area. due to the thin material or the shorts and my lack of underwear, my hips shot up involuntarily at the feeling.

“no underwear? such a dirty fucking girl” he spoke, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

he licked a long stripe up my pussy through the shorts, eliciting a long whine from me. “chris, stop teasing me” i spoke as i squirmed under him.

“you just make it so easy, baby” he spoke, before continuing to leave kisses down my thighs and calves.

“lift up” he spoke as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of my shorts. i raised my hips, allowing chris to pull them off.

i let out a sigh at the feeling of my heat being exposed to the cold air of the room.

chris stared down at my glistening pussy, mouth hung open slightly as he pulled my folds apart, spreading me open.

“my god, you’re so gorgeous” he spoke, blowing cool air onto my heat.

“hold your legs apart for me, beautiful” he spoke, his lips inches away from my core.

“so wet” he mumbled before running his tongue along my thighs, just missing where i needed him.

“chris, please. i need your mouth so fucking bad” i whined. “where, baby?” he asked, teasing me some more.

finally having enough, i wrapped my legs around his head, pulling his face into my heat.

he let out a long moan into me, his eyes rolling back as he licked up every drop of my slick.

my head fell back at the feeling, legs loosening around him to let him pull back if needed, however he stayed right where he was.

the words that fell out of my mouth sounded like gibberish, but i didn’t care about that. all i could focus on was chris.

the way he groaned into me, his needy tongue lapping me up like i was his last meal. his piercing eyes never left mine, only making the tight feeling in my stomach grow.

my arousal covered his flushed cheeks, making me even wetter.

there was something that i found so incredibly hot about how messily he was eating me out. it was like all he cared about was me finishing.

he moved his face from my legs, making me let out a whine at the loss of contact.

he stuck his tongue out, his spit dripping down onto my pussy.

“what do you think about when you touch yourself? ” he asked suddenly while he brought his finger down to my core to rub me.

“i- oh” i cried out in surprise at the feeling of his finger entering me.

“holy fuck, you’re so tight” he whispered as he pushed his pointer finger in and out of my tight walls.

“oh my god” i whimpered when he pushed another finger in.

“if you don’t answer me, i’m stopping” he spoke.

“this! i think about this!” i rushed out, eyes screwing shut at the feeling of his rough fingers inside of me.

“i think about how perfect your hands are. fuck- how long your fingers are” i struggled out between moans, “i think about you” i finished.

“yeah? what about my cock?” he asked as his fingers sped up.

“you think about what it would feel like for me to fuck you into oblivion? ” he asked as he curled his fingers, hitting my g-spot.

“fuck, yes! i’m so close chris” i cried out as he continued to plunge his fingers in and out of me.

“c’mon, you got it. doing so well for me, want you to make a mess all over me” he rasped out, fingers moving rapidly inside of me.

“chris, wait! i’m gonna-” i tried to warn him, but i was too far gone as my juices shot out of me.

the liquid dripped down his face, onto the saturated sheets underneath us.

“yes, yes, fuck yes” chris groaned as his mouth hung open. i leaned up slightly, watching the way his hips stuttered and his body shook.

“fuck” he let out breathlessly, as he began to shudder.

“did you just come untouched?” i asked, eyes widening slightly.

“if that doesn’t prove how much i want you, nothing will”

wait why’d i kinda eat ??? 🤭

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nicksmainbitch @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

[reverie-starlight]

I miss knb and I wanted to write something for aomine :’) I’ve never written for him and it’s been a while since I’ve watched the show, so forgive me if you feel that his characterization is a bit off. hello from late january cause that’s when I’m queuing this 👋🏻

gn!reader, no physical descriptions. lots and lots and lots of fluffy pet names bc that’s the focus of the drabble. he calls you shnookums once just to annoy you bc he’s a little shit. that’s a warning in itself tbh. mentions of alcohol/drunk character. characters written as adults, not high schoolers.

aomine has specific nicknames for you depending on the situation you find yourselves in.

he reserves “babe” or some shortened variation of your name for when you’re in public.

it’s quick, it’s casual, and it doesn’t get him a lecture on why it’s not funny to very loudly address you as “shnookums” when you get separated at the grocery store.

(though in his defence, he thought it worked wonders. you were back at his side within seconds after straying too far on accident with a half embarrassed, half pissed off look on your face. he thought it was hilarious.)

~~~

he calls you “baby” when he greets you after a long day at work. when he’s picking you up from your classes. normally only in your presence, because he doesn’t need the teasing remarks about how soft he’s become from his teammates.

not that he really cares at the end of the day- he’ll call you what he wants to call you (provided you also like it, of course) but there’s something less casual about it that makes him want to keep it just for you.

that “something” being the time you got drunk and offhandedly mentioned loving the way it sounds in his voice. he now gets to enjoy the small, barely noticeable uptick of your lips whenever he opts for it. no one else gets to see that.

he’ll help you with your coat and press a kiss to your hairline, murmuring a soft “hey baby, missed you today”.

it’s probably the most common of the names he uses on you out of all the available options.

~~~

he saves the saccharine pet names for when he knows you’re not feeling your best. whether you’re mentally drained, physically exhausted or sick to any degree, there’s never not a time when hearing him be sickeningly sweet with you doesn’t ease the pain.

“need anything else, sweetheart?”

“how are you feeling, gorgeous?”

“yeah, we can cuddle, doll, c’mere.”

these are also the times he plays up the compliments (more than usual).

“even when you’re sick, you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. don’t let it get to your head, though. or do- I know how to deal with that just fine, too.”

~~~

he doesn’t have one set nickname for you when you visit him at practice, but when you watch him play in an official game?

as long as you’ve known him, he’s never believed in luck- he got himself to where he is with his skills, luck had nothing to do with it.

so it surprises you the first time he refers to you as his good luck charm. it’s not said in some grand gesture, not brought up in those fluff promotional interviews when reporters ask him if he has one.

it’s whispered quietly into your ear before he jogs onto the court.

a murmured thank you against your lips as soon as he’s running off again, high on a win, straight to you.

you ask him about it one day and he just shrugs. “everything is different now. I play better when I know you’re watching, it’s energizing in a way I’ve never felt before. you’re right, I still don’t believe in luck, but somehow I was able to find you. and I don’t know if I would call that luck, either, but until I find a better way to explain it you’re just gonna have to put up with that title a bit longer.”

so you do, without complaints, because it’s cute trying to watch him convey his feelings honestly and still in a very aomine way.

~~~

your absolute favourite nickname that he’s given you, though? angel.

you’re his angel.

the title is first appointed when you pick him up one night from a bar after celebrating with his team. his usually brooding expression visibly lights up when he sees you and he makes his way over. it’s been a while since he’s been this drunk, so it makes you laugh when he stumbles over and throws an arm around your shoulders.

“what a sweetheart, you really came to pick me up?”

you scoff and try to get him into the car, waving at his teammates who were staying with him until you got there. “what, baby, you thought I wouldn’t?”

he shrugs with an absentminded grin. “it’s just nice to have a… battle angel or whatever that term is. I dunno what it is.”

you can’t help but laugh. “you mean a guardian angel?”

“same thing, you knew what I meant!” his words are slurred and he’s now leaning his entire body weight against you.

“oh you are so wasted, daiki, let’s get you home.”

and it’s whispered again at home as he’s falling asleep, “my angel… thank you for taking care of me tonight.”

your heart squeezes.

now it’s reserved for only the most intimate of moments with him- he doesn’t want to overuse the name and risk it losing its meaning.

because it does hold a deeper, unspoken meaning between the two of you.

after a long time apart because of his away games? after he wins an important match? loses a match and he’s thankful you’re there with him? you get a promotion at work? you pass a difficult class with flying colours? all situations where he’d call you angel.

he has a full arsenal of names for you, clearly, and you love every single one of them.

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

this feels a bit messy. even after editing, I feel like the quality went down a bit, so we’ll see if I end up posting it. but I love him a lot and I’ve been rewatching knb, so I needed to do something for him to keep the brainrot at bay.

tagging: @dira333

[charliedawn]

THE LAP DANCE

WARNING: MINORS KEEP OUT. DO NOT READ THIS. PLEASE.

Slashers x Reader

(Nurse Y/N is different from you here for plot purposes. I have nothing to say as to defend myself on why I wrote this. I just had the urge to do so. I…yeah. Enjoy.)

The hospital had reluctantly agreed to Bo’s request for a “supervised outing,” for Bo’s birthday—especially after weeks of surprisingly good behavior. Of course, they had no idea that Bo had something very specific in mind when he requested a trip to “somewhere lively.” He’d picked the club himself. Low lighting, pulsing music, velvet couches…He didn’t tell the others what was happening—just that they were all invited to celebrate with him. He grinned as he sat and invited the others to join him…

The paperwork the Head Nurse had to fill to make this happen was colossal, but Bo had been adamant about his birthday present.

Worth it when he saw the faces of the others when the girl arrived…Most of those guys had never had a lap dance in their lives. He smirked. Oh yeah. That was gonna be fun.

Jason Voorhees:

Frozen. Absolutely paralyzed. Jason doesn’t know where to look or what to do with his hands. His entire body is tense like a statue. Inside ? A confused whirlwind of “???” and “why is this happening ?” but also…maybe a little flustered and shyly grateful. He’d never ask for it, but wouldn’t stop you either.

From the moment you straddle the chair in front of him, Jason stiffens. He doesn’t move—doesn’t blink, doesn’t breathe. His fingers dig into the armrests like they’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. Under that cracked hockey mask, his single visible eye widens ever so slightly, flicking to your hands, your hips, your eyes when you make contact. It’s not lust so much as bewilderment—why would you do this for him ? Is this a trick ? A trap ?

But the longer you dance, the more his breathing changes. He starts shifting slightly in his seat, body quaking with barely restrained energy. His hand reaches out…but hovers in the air, not quite daring to touch. He has seen many teens having intercourse but this is…quite nice actually. It is dancing and you aren’t being particularly rude or loud or touchy…He likes that.

Michael Myers:

While the others hoot, shift, or lean in with hungry stares, Michael sits still—hands resting on his knees, mask tilted ever so slightly, eyes locked on you. You might think he’s unaffected…until you notice his breathing pick up and his grip tightening slightly on the chair.

When you approach him, the temperature seems to drop. He doesn’t lean forward or make room, but he doesn’t stop you either. He allows it. Which, for Michael, says more than words ever could. You straddle him. And for a split second—just one—his chest rises sharply. You move slowly, sensually, teasing your fingertips along the neckline of his jumpsuit, arching your back, letting your breath tickle the blank white mask. His hands remain rigid at first, curled into fists on his thighs.

Then—contact. Your hips roll against him. His eyes, dark through the mask’s hollow sockets, stay trained on you. Studying the way you smirk, the way you dance like you aren’t afraid. Like you know the risk and don’t care. But he does eventually put a hand on your hip.

He tilts his head ever so slightly when you leave, watching the sway of your hips. His hand stay outstretched for a moment longer, fingers still faintly curled where your body had been.

His chest rises again. Slower this time. Controlled. And though he says nothing, you can feel it: he liked it.

Freddy Krueger:

“Oh-ho-ho, baby, you’re speaking my language.” Freddy is hands-on, mouthy, and teasing the entire time. He’d throw dollar bills like a drunk uncle at a Vegas show and demand an encore. Flirty and crude, but underneath it all, he’s way more into the attention than he lets on. “Ohhh, damn, sweetheart. This is better than any dream I’ve ever stitched up.”

He doesn’t shut up the whole time, muttering dirty jokes and praises like a sleazy lounge host. His hat tilts back as he leans in, ogling you with zero shame. But unlike the others, Freddy interacts—when you get close, he runs one gloved finger along your thigh, teasing the line of your outfit, his smirk widening with every beat of the music.

But the minute you turn around and grind on him ? His cocky persona falters just slightly. He bites his lip, real need flickering behind the grin. Afterwards, he claps slowly, theatrically, leaning back. “I knew you were gonna be fantastic, babe. And you didn’t disappoint. Papa Freddy is extremely happy right about now and hard as a rock.”

Bo Sinclair:

“Well, aren’t you a piece of work…” He smirks, eyes devouring every movement, but he gets cocky—leaning back like a king on his throne. It’s not his first time. It shows. Bo’s legs are spread wide, lounging in the chair like a man who owns the world. He licks his lips slowly, arms stretched out behind him.

As your dance starts, he keeps his hands to himself…barely. You feel his breath hitch when you slide down in front of him. His eyes darken, smile twitching wider. He murmurs praises under his breath—low, gritty words like “good girl” and “keep movin’ just like that.” 

By the end, his fingers are curled around the edge of his seat, holding back from pulling you onto his lap. “Goddamn,” he chuckles, “Best fifty dollars ever spent in my entire life.”

Vincent Sinclair:

Embarrassed immediately. Turns red, avoids eye contact, tries to hide behind his hair or sketchpad. But his eyes keep sneaking glances, and he can’t help the way his fingers twitch like he wants to touch you but doesn’t dare. The moment you step toward him, he tries to shrink. Not literally, but everything in his posture folds inward. His hands fly to the edge of his hoodie, and he hunches as if to hide his face under his hair. But he doesn’t look away.

Not once.

His eyes follow every movement with trembling fascination, like he’s afraid to blink and miss a frame. When you get close—really close—he stops breathing altogether. His fists ball up in his lap, and his cheeks are flushed pink under his hair and mask. He doesn’t move an inch, but the heat in his gaze is molten.

Later, he sketches you from memory. Every curve. Every glance. Every emotion. He liked the experience, wouldn’t mind reiterating said experience.

Norman Bates:

To be fair, Norman had only accepted because Nurse Y/N had told him to keep an eye on the other slashers. But, when he sees the place they are going to ? He suddenly feels a lot less confident. “I—I don’t think this is very…proper—” but he’s also not stopping you when you start dancing. His hands hover in the air helplessly, and he tries not to breathe too loud. Afterward, Mother’s voice in his head is screaming, but Norman ? He’s still blushing and very confused. But also…not all that repulsed.

His hands twitch at his sides, desperate to touch but too afraid. You brush your hand over his chest, and he whimpers softly.

After you walk away, he’s breathless, shaking slightly, muttering apologies to no one. But then he looks up again…and there’s a new kind of hunger in his gaze. He smirks.

…Yeah. That one is definitely going to become a regular.

Bubba Sawyer:

Bubba makes a squealing sound the moment you straddle the chair. It’s unclear whether he’s scared or excited. His face turns bright red, and he flaps his hands like he’s not sure what to do with them. He hides behind them for half a second before peeking through his fingers.

Blushing hard. His hands flap, he whimpers a little, and he might hide behind his hands. But he’s also clearly enjoying himself. His big grin shows it. When you grind a little too close, he lets out a surprised squeak and covers his face, but peeks out and watches everything.

When it’s over, he runs up and gives you the biggest bear hug, spinning you around once in celebration. He won’t stop clapping for you the rest of the night.

Thomas Hewitt:

Growls under his breath, fists clenched on his thighs. You’re testing his self-control, and he knows it. His chest rises and falls in heavy breaths, and the longer it goes on, the more unstable he becomes. He breathes hard the moment you strut in front of him. You’re not even dancing yet and he’s already looking you up and down with something between awe and animalistic restraint. His large hands rest heavily on his thighs, clenched tightly.

As you dance, he watches every motion with dark. His chest rises and falls more rapidly as you get closer, his entire body coiled with tension. You swear you hear a low growl deep in his throat when you drag your hands over his chest.

He doesn’t touch you at first.

Eventually, he might lift you right into his lap and kiss your neck hard. He is the only one who might get mouth-to-skin contact. But don’t worry, he won’t bite. Not unless he wants to be electrocuted and turned to pixie dust. ☺️

Jack Torrance:

He hoots and hollers through your whole performance like he’s in a cabaret bar. “That’s it, baby ! Look at those moves !” He’s 100% the loud drunk in the front row who starts singing along to the music and snapping his fingers.

“Ohhh, baby, you sure know how to treat a guy.” Jack leans into it, encouraging, smirking, whispering lewd things. He loves the attention and makes constant eye contact. Afterwards ? He’s smug as hell, walking around the hotel like he just won the lottery. He also thanks Bo profusely and they become best friends for the night…

Pennywise:

From the moment the music starts, Pennywise leans back against the shadows with his long fingers steepled under his chin, watching you with intense curiosity. His golden eyes flicker like candle flames, tracking your every movement.

As you dance closer to him, his expression shifts. The smile fades ever so slightly. Not in anger—more like uncertainty. You reach toward him, slow and teasing, and he goes completely still. No sound. No breath. Just those eyes, narrowed.

The moment your hand comes too close to brushing his cheek or chest—he vanishes. Blink. Gone.

But when you turn around again ? He’s right there. Closer now. Watching. Still not touching. He doesn’t want you to touch him.

At the end of your dance, when you bow or step away, he claps once. Just once. Slow. Deliberate. Like a judgment being passed down.

“You move like you know what you’re doing,” he says with a grin. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

Penny:

He claps, giggles, and cheers mid-dance like he’s at a burlesque show. “Encore ! Encore !” He might offer you popcorn or cotton candy, completely delighted. He doesn’t always understand why people do sexy things, but he loves the performance. He sits on the edge of his seat like a kid at the circus, kicking his feet and giggling.

“Ohhhh, sweet little treat,” he croons, voice sing-song and warped. “You’re like a cherry pie with hips. Can I eat you ? Please ? Just a nibble ?”

He gets too close.

Just as your back is turned, he lunges—mouth wide, eyes flashing, teeth glinting with glee as he moves to take a bite from your shoulder like a rabid animal.

But slam !

In an instant, Pennywise materializes behind him, his massive clawed hand snapping around Penny’s jaw with a sickening crunch. He slams it shut, hard enough to rattle Penny’s fangs back into his throat. Penny stumbles slightly, blinking in surprise.

Pennywise doesn’t even raise his voice. He leans in and whispers:

“…Not that one.”

His golden eyes flick toward you. Not warm, not fond—but fixed.

“She dances pretty.”

Penny, whimpering like a scolded mutt, rubs his jaw and slinks back with a pout. “I was only gonna take a bite, brother…”

But he obeys. For now.

….

You’re barely catching your breath, still flushed from your bold little performance—knees slightly wobbly, heart hammering in your chest—as you glance up…and realize you’re surrounded.

They’ve all circled you.

Jason looms like a mountain, machete slung lazily over one shoulder. Michael stands just behind you, silently staring. Freddy flicks his glove fingers playfully, grinning like he’s already rehearsing round two. Thomas is breathing heavily through his mask. Even Vincent, half-hidden, is watching you like you’re made of gold.

And then, Bo Sinclair steps forward, slow and deliberate, boots heavy on the floor. He gives you a long, shameless once-over, smirking like the devil just gave him permission to misbehave.

“Well, ain’t you somethin’ ?” he drawls, voice like warm whiskey. “Gotta say, that was…real good stuff. Me and the boys were impressed. And we ain’t easy to impress.”

He looks around at the other slashers, then back to you.

“See, sugar,” Bo says, “we had a little plan goin’. End of the night ? You weren’t supposed to be breathin’.”

Your stomach drops—but before panic can settle in, he leans in close, his voice lowering to something darkly amused.

“But after the show you just gave us ?” His smirk widens. “We had a little change of heart.”

Without warning, he slaps your ass, the sound echoing in the stunned silence.

“Thanks for the show, darlin’.”

You hear Freddy whistle low and impressed. Penny claps like a delighted child. Norman’s flushed to the tips of his ears. Michael simply stares at you, head tilted—but he nods at the end.

You swallow. What the hell just happened ?

You then are about to turn around to leave when Pennywise appears out of nowhere and winks cheekily at you before raising two finger with a good sum between them.

“Here. A lil’ extra for…the dance.”

You hesitate before taking the money. “Hum…Thanks ?"

The clown smirks and waves you goodbye before vanishing…That was definitely weird. Who were those guys ?

…

The van rolls up late at night, headlights slicing through the darkness as the hospital doors creak open. One by one, the slashers spill out—disheveled, flushed, and strangely quiet. Nurse Y/N stands at the front desk, arms crossed, waiting. The clipboard in hand is more for show—because what she’s really doing is assessing. Making sure no one’s covered in blood. Making sure no one’s missing.

Bo’s the last to step in.

He glances at Nurse Y/N, eyes gleaming. There’s a cocky smile dancing at the corner of his mouth. He drags a finger across his jaw, then clicks his tongue and chuckles low.

“Best birthday ever,” he drawls, voice rough with satisfaction. He steps close—closer than usual—and before she can sass him or ask questions, he leans in and plants a surprisingly soft kiss on her cheek.

“Thanks for tonight, nursey. We had a lotta fun with the guys.”

Nurse Y/N raises an eyebrow. “You all behaved I hope ?”

Bo shoots her a wolfish grin. “Define behave, sugar.”

And just like that, he saunters off, whistling a tune only he knows—birthday boy glowing in the aftermath of the most chaotic lap dance club outing the hospital has ever approved.

The next day…

It’s quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

Nurse Y/N is sipping her coffee, enjoying the brief calm after the storm that was Bo Sinclair’s birthday lap dance club field trip. She’s finally thinking she can make it through the day without someone licking a scalpel or breaking a vending machine.

Then, she hears soft footsteps.

She looks up—and freezes.

It’s Vincent.

He’s standing there in front of her, hands behind his back, hair slightly messier than usual. There’s something different about him. He’s fidgeting—not the usual nervous twitch, but…expectant.

Her nurse senses tingle.

“Vincent ?” she asks cautiously, setting her coffee down. “You okay ? Did Bo tie you to a chair again or something ?”

He shakes his head slowly. Then, with a little more confidence than she’s used to from him, he extends a neatly folded piece of paper.

“You need something, sweetheart ?” she asks kindly as she takes the piece of paper with a smile. He fidgets. Hovers. Shuffles forward. Y/N reads it and—mid-sip of her coffee—nearly chokes.

Scrawled in careful handwriting:

Me and Bo are twins. I haven’t asked for my gift yet…but now, I think I would like another session at the club. Please. Thank you.

Her eyes go comically wide. Her mouth opens, then closes. She nearly topples over in her chair, catching herself on the edge of the desk. He looks at her with the most innocent expression, head tilted, hands neatly folded in front of him like he just asked for more applesauce.

“You…you want what ?”

He nods. Slowly. Firmly.

“…Another session ? And Bo did not influence you ? You can tell me if he did…”

A beat. He nods again. This time more enthusiastically.

She slaps the desk, turns on her heel, and walks in a circle trying to collect her thoughts. “I—I’m gonna have a heart attack before this week is over, Vincent. A lap dance isn’t a birthday cupcake !”

He taps the note again, politely reminding her of the whole “Bo and I are twins” logic. As if that made any more sense. Yeah. They are twins, but that doesn’t mean they would like the exact same gift ! She expected things like paint, a new set of canvas, anything else but what Bo asked for !

“Are you sure, Vincent ?”

Vincent just stands there. Silent. Tilts his head ever so slightly. Then—he nods.

Dead serious.

As Nurse Y/N tries to gather her wits after Vincent’s note, the door creaks open just a little wider, and out steps Eddie Munson, his usual chaotic energy practically radiating off of him. His eyes are wide with excitement, and he’s looking from Vincent to Nurse Y/N like he’s stumbled into the best surprise of his life.

“Hey, uh…I’m gonna be honest, I heard about the lap dance session thing, and uh, I was wondering—” he begins with big bright sparkling eyes, and Nurse Y/N groans, rubbing her temples. Of course. Freddy must have told him. Like father—like son. Figures.

Before she can respond, there’s a crash from the hallway—a crash that sounds suspiciously like a door slamming open. Seconds later, Five Hargreeves appears. One of his hands is stuffed in his pockets while in the other he is holding a cup of coffee, but his eyes have the same glint of mischievous intent. He then doesn’t even hesitate before sitting on her desk—knee-crossed—sipping loudly while staring right at her.

“Sooo…I heard that something interesting happened last night. Didn’t know things like private shows were on the table for us, Nurse Y/N ? Or else I would have asked for that kind of service a looong time ago.” Five asks, his voice dripping with disbelief. He raises an eyebrow and takes another sip.

Before Nurse Y/N can even process what’s happening, Eddie leans against the desk too and flutters his eyelashes at her, grinning like the devil himself. “So, uh, since Bo, y’know, got that as his birthday present, do you mind if we—join the fun next time ? For Vince ?Hmm ? Come on. We will be sooo nice. Promise. And also, Brahms wants to join in too next time. Seriously, we were kinda disappointed not to be included. Like, rude…But a mistake can always be repaired. Part of our lesson on redemption and…stuff.”

Five cuts him off with a dry, “I’m not missing the next round of that. But you. You’re still a kid. What are you ? 18 ?”

Eddie frowns at him.

“22. And says the seventy-something old guy trapped in a 12-year-old body.”

Five rolls his eyes and Nurse Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation…She is really reconsidering her life and the choices she made that led up to this moment…Bo saunters past the doorway just in time to catch the scene and lets out a bark of laughter.

She glares at him.

“BO SINCLAIR ! COME BACK HERE ! SEE WHAT YOU DID ?! I AM GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU DEGENERATE PERVERT !” She shouts and Bo only laughs harder as she chases after him—barely missing her shoe as it flies past his head.

Eddie raises his hand like a student eager to answer. “So, uh, about that invite…What time are we leaving ? I’m assuming we get VIP treatment, right ?”

Five adds with his usual cool, nonchalant voice, “If it’s anything like what the guys had last night ? I want to be front row.”

[silencesscreams]

hiii, idk if ur still active but I love ur writing and I was wondering if u could maybe do a james smut with a Christmas theme! tyyy💓

Merry Christmas, I miss you

james potter x f!reader

summary: you and James have been broken up since Halloween. Until he calls you on Christmas Day after finding out that you both were spending the evening alone. (muggle+modern day au)

warnings: use of y/n, reader is shorter than James, swearing, smut (MDNI!), afab reader, nipple sucking, oral/fingering (f receiving), praise!!!, penetration, multiple orgasms(2), slight dom!james, reader has hair long enough to be stroked, kind of make-up sex tbh, unprotected + use of the pill, creampie, not proofread at all 😭

a/n: thank you so so much for requesting! I immediately thought of this song, hope you like it <3

You hated spending Christmas alone.

When your family was getting plane tickets two months ago, you said you’d spend Christmas with James, who also cancelled his plans with his family, just for him to break up with you two weeks later.

There was no one you could spend the end of year holidays with, all of your friends were with their families or together.

James absolutely hated the silence in his apartment.

Sirius and Remus were spending the holiday together at cabin they found online and Peter had gone home to his family.

James hated having brought this upon himself.

Were you with somebody else out there? Were you meeting their family? Were they in your apartment?

It was killing him.

What he hated most of all was breaking up with you during a stupid fight which he didn’t even remember the reason why it happened. He just remembers being drunk and stupid.

So he called Sirius, because that was what he usually did when things went to shit, and also because Sirius was close to you and he would probably know what James had been asking himself for the past hour.

The phone rang about six times until he finally picked up.

“What do you want?”

“What do you think y/n is doing right now?” He heard Sirius groan.

“Why do you care about what she’s doing?” James didn’t answer. “She’s alone at her place, don’t call her.”

“You think I should call her?” He decided to ignore any advice that went against whatever he wanted.

“God, he’s so fucking confusing.” he heard Remus say.

“Moony, do you think I should call her?”

“James, you’re going to do whatever you want, aren’t you?”

“Always, but that’s not the point.”

“Do what your heart says and leave us alone pleeeeaseee!” Sirius said and hung up.

James dialed your number on his phone, he memorized it so there was no real meaning to why he deleted it a while ago.

When you read the name on your phone’s screen once it started vibrating you thought you’d faint.

You wished that he had butt dialed you, or that maybe he called the wrong person. You knew you were wrong.

“James?” You said as you picked up and paused the TV in front of you.

“y/n. Hi, merry Christmas.” He sat up straight on the couch. “What are you doing?”

You couldn’t believe him.

“What?” You asked, even though you heard him clearly the first time.

“What are you doing tonight?”

So he was booty calling you on Christmas, was that it?

“I’m currently watching every single sitcom Christmas episode I can think of. You?”

“I’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past three hours. Are you by yourself?”

“Yes.” You replied, almost whispering. You couldn’t understand him.

“Me too. Can I come pick you up? We could maybe watch every single sitcom Christmas episode together. I have some food here.” He was already getting up and putting on his shoes outside of the apartment.

“Sure.”

You sighed after hanging up, what could go wrong? You’d go, you’d eat his food, you wouldn’t hook up with him and you’d be home by midnight. It was fine. Everything was under control.

Until you got into his car.

Until you felt his smell, the three in one shampoo that had the sweetest smell a three in one shampoo could ever have.

“Hey, you look great.” He said, looking at you as you put on the seatbelt.

“Thanks, you too.”

“Did you change your hair?” James asked, starting to drive.

“Kind of, yes.” You looked out the window and then back at him. “You look the same.”

He let out a small laugh. “I do.”

It was usually a 10 minute drive from your apartment to his, in which you awkwardly played with the hem of your skirt and made small talk.

“I have some frozen pizza at home, we could make popcorn too if you like, I bought one of those air popping machine things a few weeks ago. Actually, Sirius got that.” He said as he parked the car on the empty street in front of the apartment complex.

“I’d like that.”

Maybe you believed everything was still in control until you entered his apartment, the floor was cold and you left your shoes at the door. He locked it behind you.

“You remember the place don’t you?” You nodded. “There’s a few blankets and a sweater on the couch and you can turn on the TV if you want to. I’ll take the pizza out of the freezer and get the popcorn machine ready.”

You decided on starting with The Office’s season two Christmas episode, then you watch the other eight. Or you’d move to New Girl, then maybe Brooklyn 99, possibly Seinfeld.

“Bad news!” You heard James say from the kitchen. “Theres no corn to pop” he said, coming out and looking at you sitting on the couch.

“It’s alright, how about we watch this one and then I can help you out with the pizza?” You moved to the right side of the couch, inviting him to sit on your left.

You did realize you had no control over anything once he sat and instinctively wrapped his left arm around your shoulder. That might’ve also been when he realized he had no control.

“What are we watching?” He asked as you covered your legs with the blanket on the couch, he pulled some of it to himself and shared with you, your knees touching under it.

“I thought we could start by the office, we obviously won’t watch all of them, so we can move to New Girl afterwards, then maybe we could do Brooklyn 99 or Seinfeld because I know you like those two.” You looked at him and he hummed.

“That’s a good plan.” You smiled at him and started the episode.

When Micheal started talking about the Yankee Swap, James took his left arm from off your shoulder and put it under the covers to scratch his calf. You missed the feeling of him over your shoulders, until he rested his hand on your upper knee.

You felt your entire body go hot until the end of the episode, when he took the blanket from off you both and supported himself on your thigh to get up from the couch, ‘accidentally’ giving it a light squeeze. You thought you were about to go insane and paused the TV, maybe it really was a Christmas booty call.

“I only have pepperoni, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t.”

“Can you put it in the oven? I’ll get us something to drink.”

“Sure.” He brushed his hand against your waist as he moved behind you to open the fridge.

“There’s Diet Coke, wine and orange juice.” He looked back at you.

“Wine.” You answered, watching him take the bottle out along with a can of Coke.

“Aren’t you going to drink with me?” You grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and moved next to him.

“I have to drive you home.” He smiled at you.

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” You smiled back at him.

“I can’t let you walk or uber home.” He put your hair behind your ear.

“I could crash here, if there’s space for me.” You almost whispered, looking at him doe eyed.

“There’s always space for you in my bed.” He stated, his voice low as he poured wine into both of the glasses.

He watched you take a sip and realized you were holding back a laugh.

“What is it?” He smiled.

“This sucks.” You giggled softly. He took a sip from his glass and made a face.

“Oh my god,” he laughed “you have to blame Remus though, I don’t think I bought wine more than once in my entire life.” You smiled, remembering the bottle he brought to your house on your third date. He moved closer to you, resting his hands on your waist.

“I’m sorry about the wine.” He whispered and you felt his breathing against your face, you hummed and looked up at him, moving your hands to the back of his neck, gently stroking his hair.

“Fuck.” He whispered, looking into your eyes. He slowly leaned in, you could feel your heartbeat as he got closer to you. You felt his lips brush against yours and then his phone’s alarm went off, scaring the both of you.

“The damn pizza” he muttered, turning off the oven but not taking the food out. You leaned against the counter and looked at James, who put his hands on your waist again, asking you “Where were we?”, making you laugh for the first time in a while.

You threw your hands over his neck as he hugged you so tightly that you thought maybe you both could merge into one.

“I missed you.” You whispered into his ear.

“Yeah?” He teased you and you hummed. “I missed you so much, love.” He started kissing your neck, holding you tightly by your lower waist.

“I’m so sorry. For everything.” He pulled away, looking into your eyes. “Let me make it up to you, please.” You nodded.

He brought his lips to yours and kissed you quickly.

“Use your words.” He muttered against your mouth and your breath hitched.

“Yes, please.” You replied and he brought his lips back against yours, this time you parted your mouth and he let his tongue slip into it. His lips moved hungrily against yours, the hands on your waist quickly moving to cup your ass firmly. Before you knew it, you were moving against him, glad you’d chosen to wear a skirt as breathy moans slipped from your lips against his.

All of a sudden James pulled his lips away from yours,

“Go to my room, I’ll be there in a second.” He said, pointing to the corridor.

You left the door open and sat on his bed, waiting for him. Everything was the same, except for the photograph of the both of you he had framed and left on his desk, which was now nowhere to be seen. He came into the room with something behind his back.

“I got this for you in November, in case we saw each other today. I know it’s not much but it reminded me of you.” He handed you a black corduroy box, which had a gold necklace with a small heart pendant.

“Oh James, this is so pretty.” You looked at him smiling and closing the box and putting it on his nightstand “I’ll put it on later, thank you so much.”

“Let me make everything up to you, I truly am sorry.” He said, taking off his glasses and sitting in front of you on the bed. You put your hands behind his neck and pulled him in, kissing him gently as he moved closer to you, his knee between your legs.

You laid down and his mouth started to make its way to your neck, giving it soft kisses then gently biting and sucking, making sure to leave a few marks. Meanwhile, his hands trailed their way to your breasts, going under your already loose bra and playing with your nipples. He quickly helped you take off your shirt, also removing his own.

James quickly kissed your mouth and started to trail small kisses from it to your right nipple, which he brought to his mouth and sucked on, nipping at it with his front teeth every once in a while, meanwhile his left hand stimulated your other nipple.

Your hands moved to his hair, stroking it and tugging on it every once in a while, leading to groans that would send vibrations to your breasts.

Suddenly, he pressed his knee against your damp underwear as you desperately tried to get more friction from it, until he held down your hips.

“Let me help you, baby.” he hummed against your chest. “I’m going to take care of you, don’t worry.”

He helped you take off your skirt as you raised your hips, tossing it next to the bed and kissing your tummy, making his way down to your underwear, lowering it and kissing the skin right above your slit, almost where you needed him the most. He started to kiss your inner thighs, going up to your clothed core, pressing another kiss right on top of your covered clit, making you moan as he took off your panties, carefully placing them on top of your skirt on the floor.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispered, his breath fanning against your pussy.

He started slowly at first, licking from your entrance to your clit, sucking it in the most careful way he could. Until you couldn’t hold back your moaning and you remembered how James Potter gave head like a starved man.

He held your thighs open as he sucked on your sensitive bud and fucked two fingers into you, making your back arch and causing you release the most incoherent sentences from your mouth, a mix of swearing, the word god and his name, but really, in that moment, the later two were probably the same to you.

Your hands tugged onto his hair as you reached your high, he looked up at you and kept stimulating your clit with his thumb, inserting a third finger into your hole.

“Cum for me, honey.” He said, sensing you were close to your high and going back to sucking your bud.

Your eyes rolled back in pleasure as you moaned out his name, squeezing his head in between your thighs as he carried you through your orgasm.

Once you were finished, James moved up to kiss you. His mouth moving hungrily against yours.

“I want you.” you said as you pulled away, looking into his eyes.

“You already have me, sweetheart.” He smiled, getting up to get something to clean you up with. You pulled him back by the wrist.

“No, I want you in me. Please. ‘Need more.” You said lowly, giving him a quick peck.

“You sure?” You knew he wanted it too, he just wanted to make you feel good and forget about himself for the rest of the night.

“Yes, please James.” You replied, pulling him by the wrist again once he went to reach for a condom in the nightstand drawer. “I want to feel you. I’m on the pill, please.”

He smiled, taking off his sweatpants and going on top of you, his knees pressed against the mattress next to your thighs as he kissed you, tilting your head to deepen it.

He started kissing your neck, giving soft pecks on the marks he had left behind earlier, while taking his length out of his underwear and lining himself up against your entrance, teasing you with his tip as you practically begged him to get inside of you.

“Patience, baby.” He muttered, slowly starting to thrust into your needy hole whilst pulling your right leg up and bending it, almost making your leg shin touch your thigh as he tried to go as deep as possible.

You couldn’t help but moan out his name once he started thrusting and kept hitting the most perfect spot he could whilst stimulating your bean with his thumb. You clenched around his cock as he started to thrust rapidly into you.

“That’s it baby, you’re doing so good.” He’d whisper in between grunts in your ear while you scratched his back in pleasure. “So- mhm so good for me, baby.” He said, his mouth clashing against yours, his tongue entering your mouth as you opened it. You clenched your pussy around him and you both can’t help but moan into each other’s mouths, his thrusts getting faster and his grunts and moans only louder, showing you how close he also is.

You felt your second orgasm building up as he pinched your clit and you squealed onto his tongue, your teeth clashing, causing him to pull away and smile against your mouth, his teeth against your lips.

“Are you close, princess?” He whispered and you replied with a nod, your nose against his cheek. He thrusted quickly and made circular motions on your clit at the same pace. “Hm, cum for me baby, cum on my cock.” He commanded as you reached your second high, pulling him in by the back of his neck to kiss you again. The kiss was sloppy as he shot his load into you and you clenched around him, his thrusts faltering.

He collapsed right next to you, grabbing his glasses on the bedside table to look at you properly.

“You’re so beautiful.” He praised you, smiling as he stroked your hair. “Thank you for picking up. Thank you for being here. For everything.” He whispered.

“Thank you for calling.” You smiled.

“The pizza’s probably cold.” He muttered, looking at his bedroom door.

“I don’t care.” You gave him a peck. “Merry Christmas, James.”

“Merry Christmas, love.”

[ecargmura]

My Love Story With Yamada-kun At Lv 999 Is A Romance You Should Definitely Watch (Anime Review)

If there’s a studio that can capture romance well, it’d be Madhouse. The way they animate romantic scenes in anime is immaculate. I absolutely loved My Love Story!! And how romance was animated in Cardcaptor Sakura and Bibliophile Princess (which I still need to finish). My Love Story With Yamada-kun at Lv. 999 is a prime example of well-animated romantic scenes and fluffy, colorful animation.

My Love Story With Yamada-kun at Lv. 999 is a shoujo romance story between gamers. 20-year-old college student Akane Kinoshita gets dumped by her boyfriend one day as he fell for another girl over the internet. In an attempt to get him back, she attends a game event, trips and meets a handsome guy named Akito Yamada who picks up her shoe. Akane learns three things about him: 1. He’s Afro Yamada from FOS, the game she plays and the focus of the event she is attending; 2. He’s a well-known gamer that her ex-boyfriend ignores her when he sees them together; 3. Yamada is an 18-year-old high school student. Does that stop Akane from falling for him? Nope. She falls for him because that is the point of the story!

I’ll address the elephant in the room first. I’ve seen people on social media berate the age difference between the two leads because one is a college student and the other is a high school student. 18 and 20 isn’t a big gap, contrary to Twitter’s belief. A two year age difference is nothing special. There are a lot of pairs with a two year age difference. There’s no difference in maturity levels as both characters are mature in their own ways. There is nothing problematic with this story or the characters. If you think a two-year age gap is weird, then maybe you’re the weird one…

In all honesty, I really like the premise of having gamers fall in love. In today’s society, gaming is the trend, so it was clever of the author to ride on that and to make a romance out of it. I think the way this story was written is actually crafted well from a writer’s perspective. Akane isn’t shown to be a nerdy gamer; she plays games casually and is fashionable and pretty. It shows that anyone can play games and it shows in Episode 3 where Akane meets up with her guild members that aren’t Yamada in real life. They range from a handsome bespectacled 19-year-old college student Eita who catfishes as the guild master Rurihime, his gremlin younger sister Runa who’s in middle school and strawberry farmer Takezo Kamota who’s much older than all of them. It shows that anyone of all ages can enjoy games and that there’s no shame in doing so.

Sure, there are conflicts every now and then like Akane not being over her boyfriend, Runa getting jealous and protective over her circle of friends that she had to trick Akane, and Yamada’s classmate Tsubaki having a crush on him, but they all get resolved efficiently and without the need to drag out time. I actually like that! Sometimes, shoujo and romance animes can be hard because some conflict drag out and ruins the flow (I’m looking at you, Kimi ni Todoke with your Kento/miscommunication plot point). 

The characters are all nicely written for a romance anime. Akane is a twenty-year-old girl and a college student. While she is the older one in her relationship with Yamada, that doesn’t mean she’s mature. She has problems and issues that most young girls face like not getting over rejection, being overly trusting and overthinking. People would think, “Oh, you’re an adult, you have to start acting like one”. Adulthood isn’t all sunshine and rainbows as people might expect and Akane proves that. College students are dumb and a mess; I would know because I was dumb and a mess at that age. I also like the fact that she does have dating experience. Akane, in general, is a fun character and a good shoujo lead; I think wasted/drunk Akane is the most hilarious thing ever. I love that she has different outfits! They’re all so cute and a few look like something I’d wear casually!

Yamada is rather mature for a high school boy. However, as a gamer, he’s rather unrealistic because most gamers I’ve seen are loud, constantly online, and probably lacks a love interest. How often do you see a tall, handsome gamer who treats women well? How often do you meet such a gamer guy outside of gaming? Despite his rather unrealistic qualities, I do think that he and Akane match well because of their personality differences and just how kind and respectful they are to each other. Yamada is only awkward with romance and girls because he had hurt someone in the past and doesn’t want to step out of his boundaries to hurt anyone again. I guess my only gripe with Yamada would be that he’s voiced by Kouki Uchiyama who’s voiced dozens of characters similar to him so it’s to be expected that he’d voice this guy too (this is the fourth anime I’ve seen that has him in the cast; three of them are the same character with black hair and one is a marmot); it’s not a bad thing to be typecasted since it is a job for voice actors. I do like Uchiyama a lot! I just feel like it’s to be expected in a way?

I do like how Eita has the qualities to be the second lead, but he’s not. He’s mainly in the story to be supportive and help our main duo get together. He’s a long time friend of Akito’s. Eita’s probably my favorite character in this anime because of how entertaining he is. When his identity as Rurihime is revealed, he goes on and on about his relationship with Rurihime (he just likes playing as a female character in general) and doesn’t think him being a catfisher is weird. Yeah, you do you, Eita! I do like how he’s a good big brother to Runa; he scolds her when she does something bad, but he is generally caring and supportive of her. He’s also somewhat of a big brother to Akito since he’s a year older than him. Eita is a vital character in this story because he’s the reason why Akane is in the guild and why Akane and Yamada eventually got together.

Runa looked to be a romantic rival at first, but she’s just a lonely girl with no friends. She’s protective of Yamada and such because she doesn’t want change in her life and just wants things to be the same. Although the prank she played on Akane was bad and dangerous, she does get Akane’s forgiveness by becoming her friend, which Runa enjoys and appreciates. She’s a definitive younger sister character with her snark and sassiness. She’s also a very timid character as she gets nervous easily. I’m glad that she is someone that I got to warm up to in the anime and that she doesn’t continuously play pranks on Akane to kick her out of the guild. My only gripe with Runa is that her game avatar doesn’t appear once in the anime. What does it look like? I want to know!

Kamota is the last of the major Chocorabbit guild members (before Tsubaki’s arrival) and is the oldest. He’s such an adorable character. I think the fact that he’s an older character, thus has so many connection makes realistic sense. If you don’t know, being an older Asian person means you know practically everyone in your community; my parents are like this as they practically know a lot of people in the Korean community where I live. He was yelling at the creepy suit guy in Episode 5 (voiced by OnoD) and telling him that he has a lawyer friend was peak. He’s also hilarious in the FOS world where his character is a tiny fuzzball, but when in battle, he grows ten times bigger and becomes the OP-est member. It’s a waste to not see what his avatar’s powered up self looks like.

Of the side characters, I think Momo is my favorite because she’s so supportive of Akane. While she does envy Akane at times, it’s more of a friendly kind. She’s always supportive of her and is her biggest emotional support when things look bad for her. I do hope she gets the boyfriend of her dreams.

Okamoto and Tsubaki are Yamada’s friends from school. Tsubaki’s role is that she has a crush on him, but is also a gamer. She joins Chocorabbit a bit later in the anime and does get along with Akane. Okamoto is comic relief. I do want to see more of his friends, honestly. They do seem like good people for Yamada to hang out with them constantly.

The voice acting is pretty good since they get a good mix of well-known voice actors in the cast. Inori Minase and Kouki Uchiyama play the leads while Natsuki Hanae, Ai Kakuma and Nobuo Tobita are the supporting cast. That’s pretty solid all around. I think the two most standout voice actors are Ai Kakuma and Nobuto Tobita. Kakuma has two roles in the anime: Rurihime and Runa. The fact that she voices both characters differently shows off her talent. Rurihime has a cute tone befitting an avatar while Runa is soft-spoken with a lot of snark and grouch. Tobita’s voice as Takezo is really good. He voices him adorably but when things get dire, he changes his tone to a deeper one. I really liked the way he voiced his avatar character the most.

The music in the anime’s good. The music used in the romantic scenes is so soothing and brings out the vibe so well. The opening and ending songs are good too! You can’t go wrong with Kana-boon!

There’s nothing I particularly disliked about this anime, which is good! I totally recommend this anime to anyone wanting to watch romance animes. Heck, this has become one of my favorite romances now. I’m glad I was able to watch it and enjoy it! I think there should be more college-themed romances or even gimmicky ones like gamers falling in love. This is the last of the Spring 2023 animes I’ve watched, so I’m glad to finally be able to review this. What are your thoughts on this anime if you have seen it?

[gooserps]

i wonder if we’ve been in the same groups because your experience describes mine exactly.

so i mostly use male muses, not sure why but it’s just a preference i’ve picked up after so many years of rping. i joined a group last year and ended up really really loving it. it felt like the whole group was eager to write together and coming up with unique connections. about a month or so in, i decided to bring in a female muse and everything changed. mind you, we still had like 50 original members at the time plus new members joining each day, yet she got barely any interactions. people stopped replying to plotting dms so i got nowhere. muns that were sooo eager to interact with my boy basically ignored her in every chat or talked down to her like she was a thirsty nuisance??? and she was just friendly to everyone! it was literally one of the most bizarre things i’d ever seen. i ended up just building really strong relationships with the other ignored female muses so that she could have SOME sort of interactions.

it left such a bad taste in my mouth that i exited and took a break from rp groups for months. it was the first time i wrote as a girl in years and i suddenly remembered why i hated doing that before.

also, i absolutely agree that most writers seem to want text threads. on one hand, i understand because having a huge amount of long paras with multiple nuns gets overwhelming really fast… but on the other hand, i’ve noticed a lot of members just not writing at all or only doing the bare minimum para requirement to not be removed while they’re super active ooc or in the social media channels. i just don’t understand joining a writing hobby only to not write 😭

i wouldn't be surprised if we were. i also picked up the habit of taking up male characters a long time ago ( in my case because i liked attention, girls, and had gender dysphoria -- in that order :) ). i genuinely like writing men and i get the ick whenever cis women say they can't write as men because it's only as different as you make it out to be. anytime i've picked up a dude, i had other muns approach me first about plotting, they'd suggest a ship, etc. in one of the more recent groups i joined, i hadn't even set up my channel yet. all i did was post a wanted connection and someone jumped at the chance to fill it. meanwhile, my poor girl who was more thought out got responses to plotting messages in the vein of, "yeah, whatever works," and i have to 100% come up with the plot myself or they will stop responding. people stop following the rule of 'yes, and...' when it comes to plotting with my women. i've had people be weird about shipping with my men and yet, as far as i can remember, i've had exactly one ship for my female muse. other than one decent plotting experience for my female character, i can only remember being in one group that had people who valued my female character by coming up with non-surface-level plots. i should not be yearning for a group from a year ago that only lasted two months tops, and yet it's the only time i felt like people weren't using me for a ship. it sucks because you would think other muns with female muses would know the feeling and band together with decent plots, and yet, in my experience, most of them couldn't care less? literally one of the best, very short lived paras i had was with our girls roller skating while drunk. i want more of that. i want that type of effort where some care is being put into replies and they're not just appeasing me or ignoring me altogether. as far as text threads go, i agree with you. there is some level of convenience to it. part of the reason why i switched to discord is because it gets overwhelming taking like an hour to reply to a para starter on tumblr. i feel like discord attracts a large amount of people who are more into things like fake life, anon talk, etc. like they're somewhat acting ooc and it's more about socializing. that's valid too, but it's not what i signed up for. btw, if you'd like to swap stories or write together, just message me for my discord. i don't bite! i don't think you're the same anon as the 1x1 anon but i didn't realize they were asking me to 1x1 so they can feel free to reach out too.

[girl-beneath-the-mask]

New Year’s Eve - my least favorite holiday (part 1)

This New Year’s Eve, in the final hours of 2023, I realized why I hated this holiday so much.

I was at a house party with my friends - friends who I love. The most enjoyable, dependable, wholesome, and safest group of friends I’ve probably ever had in my life. My boyfriend of over 5 years was invited, of course, but he couldn’t come because he had developed a fever earlier that evening.

So I went to the party alone - just like I had done for every previous NYE festivity I had ever attended.

While I wasn’t upset about going alone, I wasn’t particularly enthused to be going in the first place. I lean more into my introversion the older I get and my binge drinking days are long gone. Still, I knew it would be fun to celebrate the holiday with my friends.

I don’t think I had been to any sort of NYE event since, well…. I can’t even remember. Maybe since college? Seven years ago? I honestly can’t remember the last time I had left my house on NYE, but it had definitely been a while.

So there I was, sitting and watching the same boisterous drinking games that I used to get a thrill out of playing, when my mind was suddenly transported back to high school. I was getting flashbacks to the nasty beer-sloshed tables, the fallen red solo cups, the screaming, the cheering - the absolutely unhinged, uninhibited drunkenness that was accumulating with each chug. The flashbacks overlapping in my mind’s eye with essentially the same scene I was seeing with my physical eyes.

Enveloped in the flashbacks, came the intense feeling of loneliness that had plagued me relentlessly for over a decade.

The feeling took over every cell in my body.

Up until I met my boyfriend, I had pretty much been perpetually single. That is, I hooked up plenty and had many steamy, heartbreaking situationships. But I never found myself in a committed, mutually attracted relationship.

Being perpetually single, I always felt the sadness and loneliness particularly strongly on holidays like NYE.

As 12am approached, I usually kept myself firmly closed off to any male attention, preferring to sulk in my loneliness while the couples kissed around me rather than find a way to partake in it.

Some years I was desperate or drunk enough to link up with some other single person - often ending up lonelier and sadder than if I had just abstained from the midnight ceremony altogether.

This year though, I did have a partner - a committed partner of over 5 years - who was supposed to be there, was supposed to be my long-awaited midnight kiss, but couldn’t because he had inopportunely picked up the flu.

And so, on NYE 2023, sitting at the sideline of the beer pong table with friends I loved, I was inundated with the old familiar heartache that I had expertly numbed out for many years by staying home and simply choosing not to care about the holiday.

Continued in part 2

[howyoutalktostrangers]

“The Hell’s Gate Scramble”

by Will Johnson, July 2023

Once the hooch business was booming in Salmon Creek, largely thanks to Shuswap Joe’s timely distribution ingenuity, Clif Garcia began to groom him into position as his righthand man and confidante. Joe found himself shaking hands with people like the mayor and the police chief, as well as their netherworld counterparts, all while wearing immaculately tailored and custom designed suits provided by his employer. He had arrived in town wearing a dead logger’s clothes only months ago, barefoot and penniless, but his tenure with Clif's bootlegging business had changed everything overnight. Joe felt like an absolute imposter as he ascended through the ranks. He feared anyone who spent even a small amount of time with him would quickly discover that underneath his suit he was nothing but a feral boy who couldn’t read or write a word, hardly better than a tramp.

“Some of the best people who ever lived were illiterate,” Clif told him one day, with his boots casually kicked on to his desk while he smoked a stogie. Joe had confessed embarrassment over this inability to pick up a newspaper and understand what it says like everyone else.

“Think of it like one skill among many. You may not know how to read a book, but I’ve seen you read a room. The way you climb trees, nobody around here can do that. You understand the song of the river, and you’ve swum among the salmon. If some prick comes along feeling superior because you missed a couple days of school, pay him no mind. There’s more to this world than you can read on a sheet of paper.”

“You think so?”

“Listen, I’m no choir boy. Being a good person might not be in the cards for me. But you don’t get to a position like mine without being a good judge of character. You always need to know who’s going to stab you in the back, and who is worthy of trust. It’s a survival skill. And you, kid, you don’t have a dishonest bone in your body.”

“It’s just that I feel as if I don’t belong.”

Clif slapped the desk hard, and gave a choking laugh. “Most of those people, these men you’re working with? They would plant you in the ground without hesitation if they thought it would benefit them, if they figured they could get away with it. See, I used to think there were good people and bad people in this business. But in reality it’s just people acting how the system requires them to, how the laws tell them to, how their boss tells them to. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Joe took a long and thoughtful slurp off his drink. “You’re saying people have many bosses, that they are nothing but broken branches being pulled along in the current.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, kid. Yes.”

Clif leaned over his desk to refill Joe’s glass, letting out three or four healthy glugs of Shuscotch. They’d been drinking all evening, swapping back and forth between business and personal topics, all while the window glowed purple from the cloud-streaked sunset. Joe’s boss had a thick sheen of sweat across his forehead, beads dribbling down his temples and spotting his shirt. His face was puffed up, the bags under his eyes almost squeezing his eyes shut. He was a nostalgic drunk, and a touchy one. But when Clif threw his scrawny arm around Joe’s broad shoulders, it conjured in him a warm throb of happiness, of belonging, that he had never felt before.

*

Sunset over Little River burst across the sky in fiery orange tendrils, and it painted the surface of the water in shimmering pink and crimson. To anyone watching from the banks, the flashing reflection of the churning water looked eerily similar to flames — the whole scene conjuring a paradoxically watery forest fire. It was a narrow waterway, meandering down from Salmon Arm to the Thompson River, with thick brush along either bank that dragged in the swelling current. Little River felt young and tumultuous and defiant, like following a teenager through a shoplifting spree at the local grocery store. Shuswap Joe stood out on a rickety dock and watched the water lap up towards his boots, surging forward and then receding again, persistent but playful. He was used to listening to the voice of the water, but in Little River it was speaking a language he could hardly understand.

Behind him was the Squilax General Store, located a half day’s ride from Salmon Creek. Built atop a steep grassy hill a stone’s throw from the Thompson River, during the day it operated as a grocery and post office while at night their operation’s Shuscotch barrels remained hidden beneath a false floor. Late at night the smugglers would roll them down the grassy embankment to a dock that hung braced against the sweeping current and load them on to rafts, which they launched down the river and on to their next checkpoint.

The store was owned by a World War I veteran named Tom Halverson who had lost both his legs and one of his hands during the fighting overseas, but its day to day operations were managed by his plucky paramour Blair — a bright-eyed blond woman in her fifties who was just shy of five feet tall, always wore a homemade floral apron, and had her light blond hair cut short like a man’s, with a swoop of bangs across her forehead. The building was constructed of red brick, had a mossy green roof surrounded by heavy, groaning trees, and consisted of one main interior shopping space stocked with cigarettes, vegetables and canned goods. The other three rooms they used as a bedroom for their children, an office, and a dining room that overlooked the river. They themselves had taken up residence in a derelict caboose that had been left riverside to rust after a derailment.

It was Joe’s responsibility to oversee all the storehouses strewn across the Shuswap area, but it was Squilax that he liked returning to the most. Not only was the property serene and peaceful, but Blair had taken him under her motherly wing the moment she met him. He was still young — though he’d never known his real age — and she’d been able to identify the scared boy hiding inside the mountainous gangster he was rapidly becoming. Every morning she would make blueberry and rhubarb pancakes, serving them at an outdoor table alongside her three young children.

Eventually Blair decided to take Joe’s tutelage into her own hands, inviting him to participate while she instructed her children at the dining room table. She taught him the basics, starting with the alphabet and simple math, then transitioned to more intellectually challenging pursuits like philosophy and history. She’d never had a more attentive student, rapt with wonder as she tip-tapped her rolling chalkboard and always raising his hand to ask a question. His reading in particular was voracious, and within a few months he was devouring novels by Robert Louis Stevenson and Jules Verne. She even wrote him up a real report card one day, giving him A+s in every single subject. Joe knew it was silly, how moved he was by this little piece of paper, but nobody had ever taken any interest in his education before.

She was half his size, but made him feel like he was the small child.

One day, after a long April afternoon at his dining room desk, Joe found Tom sitting in his wheelchair overlooking the river. He had a blanket draped across his lap and a paint brush dripping from his dangling fingers, with three unfinished canvases on easels surrounding him. One of the paintings depicted a sitting woman with the strap of her dress drooping down her arm, the second was a train caboose, and the final one was a horror of chaotic colour that didn’t resemble anything Joe had ever seen before. It looked violent. Tom nodded in his direction, and for a moment they listened to the mountain breeze intermingle with the lonely call of a distant train.

“I didn’t know you were an artist,” Joe said, finally, unsure if Tom had even sensed his presence. “Those must be your paintings back in the house?”

Tom turned to him with bleary eyes. “Didn’t know the old cripple had it in him?”

“I’ve never met an artist before.”

Tom laughed. “Sure you have. We’re all of us artists, one way or another. The question is whether or not you take the time to discover that fact, or if the world convinces you that other things are more important. If I was half as good at painting as I was at killing, kid? I would be world famous by now. Instead it’s just me and my lonely canvases, counting down the days before I ascend from this hellscape.”

“I like that last one, the messy one. I like the colours.”

Tom turned to it, laughed to himself, then swabbed a new streak of purple across it. “I take it you never went overseas,” he said. “For the war.”

Joe nodded. “I was just a kid.”

Tom coughed, not looking at him. “Hell, you’re still a boy now. We were all boys. Boys pretending to be men. Men pretending to be soldiers.”

“Were you afraid, going over there?”

“Anybody who tells you they weren’t is lying. Or stupid. Being afraid is okay, though, because that what keeps you alive.”

Joe liked listening to Tom’s stories, though they were confused and meandering. Sometimes Tom lost his place, or forgot what he was talking about, but eventually the narrative always returned to that muddy horror show he endured in Europe. Tom conjured up scenes of gore and sacrilege, describing how the battlefields were strewn with rotting corpses that had burst open and blown apart to paint the landscape red and black. As a soldier you had to squat shitting while bombs were detonating all around you, squinting up at the sky above and begging a God you don’t believe in to help you survive.

“I’m lucky, because I was a sniper,” said Tom.

“What’s that?”

“Well, you use what’s called a sniper rifle. It can kill your enemy from a distance, sometimes like a mile away. One moment they’re standing there, the next they’re writhing around on the ground trying to stop the blood from squirting out of their neck.”

Joe took a big breath. “What’s that like, to watch a man die?”

Tom sighed. “You put a gun in a man’s hands, and you make him a God. Thing is, man isn’t supposed to be God. God is supposed to be God.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Taking another man’s life changes you. We’re not supposed to have that power, because you can’t hurt somebody else without hurting yourself at the same time. That’s how it works,” Tom said.

“I wish someone had told me that when I was younger, kid. You’re going to see violence, especially in this business, and you have to decide ahead of time whether you’re going to keep your soul intact. Because this smuggling business here? It’s war too. Just a different type of war.”

*

The mountains were watching with utter indifference.

During all the years that Shuswap Joe lived feral in the woods, he’d always felt that the natural world was on his side. The trees whispered to him the secrets of the forest, the animals were his siblings, and the river reliably took him wherever he needed to go. But ever since joining the world of people, he’d been feeling disconnected — exiled almost. And as he was marched down the dock in Squilax with his arms tied behind his back, he got the sense that the stoic cliff faces looming far above were frowning with disapproval.

The bandits had arrived just before dinner time, barricading the store entrance and herding them together with menacing shotguns. They all wore masks across their mouths, with hat brims pulled low. They initially locked Joe in the cellar along with Blair, Tom, and the kids. They were also joined by an increasingly distraught employee, who blubbered to himself in the corner while his bloody nose dripped on the ground. They listened as the robbers ransacked the place, tearing up the floorboards looking for hooch, until eventually they came storming downstairs demanding answers. A cat-like bandit pulled Tom from his wheelchair and pistol-whipped him viciously, until he was panting from the exertion.

They were getting desperate.

“Joe, you have to listen to me,” Tom said, through broken teeth, once the men had retreated to the next room. “Listen, the next thing they’re going to do is kill me, okay?”

“I’m not going to let them kill you.”

“Don’t do nothing stupid, Joe. You hear me? They’re going to kill me just to make a point, just to break you. What you need to do is save Blair, okay? When they’re distracted with me, you make a break for it. You think you can do that?”

Joe nodded, still conflicted, while the men returned to the room. Two of them marched around behind Blair and Joe and lifted them to their feet roughly, shoving them in the direction of the exit. The other men were repositioning Tom in his wheelchair, and guiding the crying employee out to follow.

“Please, I don’t know anything about the liquor. I just run the store, please. This really has nothing to do with me,” the man blubbered, stumbling through the grass towards the river.

“You could just let me go and it wouldn’t make any difference to anybody. Please!”

“Shut up!” yelled the cat bandit, who was clearly the leader. “You shut your mouth or I’ll break your jaw, you hear me?”

Their entourage made its way down to the pier, which swished and swayed as they tromped single-file down down to the dock. At the end there was a raft tied to one of the pilings, as well as a bundle of logs they used to disguise their smuggling activities and an old canoe. It was a breezy afternoon, the sun high above them, as the four captives lined up with their backs to the water.

“Someone must have given you false information,” Tom said. “We’re just a normal family business. We sell groceries, nothing else. There’s no bootlegging going on here, I swear it.”

The bandit laughed. “You still think you can protect it, don’t you? Think maybe somebody’s coming to save you? Look around. You see? It’s only us out here, and the only thing you need to worry about now is convincing me not to kill you.”

With that, he reared back and stomped his cowboy boot into the clerk’s sternum. Astonished, the panicked employee was barely able to burp out a syllable of surprise before he hit the water with a tremendous splash. Blair, Tom, and Joe watched the man gasp for air, his arms still tied behind his back, as the current swept him away. Within ten seconds he had submerged, leaving only a string of bubbles as evidence that he had ever existed. Rage tears trembled in Joe’s eyes, and he sucked back deep lungfuls of air in preparation for what was coming next.

“Sad,” the bandit said. “To think all we needed to save his life was a little cooperation. That man died for a measly load of booze. Does that seem right to you? Does that seem fair?”

Joe growled. “That’s enough. Why are you doing this?”

He laughed again. “Why, it’s you Joe. You were the one that tipped us off. We got word that Garcia’s righthand man was spending an unusual amount of time in Squilax. Very curious. So we sent some men to check it out, and wouldn’t you know it? They spotted men rolling barrels down the hill to this very dock, in the middle of the night.”

Joe took in that information. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t been interested in attending schooling with Blair, if he hadn’t recklessly returned over and over, these men never would’ve realized there was a secret storeroom here. A deep guilt blossomed in his chest. This was the first family he’d ever had, and now he was going to be responsible for their deaths.

“Let them go,” Joe said. “Take me. I’ll show you where the hooch is hidden.”

Before the men could respond to this development, a loud war cry echoed across the water. Several shots rang out, and suddenly the air was full of white smoke and wood chips. As Joe squinted, he saw Tom twirling around on one of the bandit’s backs like he was getting a piggyback ride. With one arm he was strangling the man beneath him, and with the other he was levelling a stolen pistol at his compatriots. There was a bright flash, then one of the robbers tumbled off the dock with crimson squirts of blood spouting theatrically from his neck.

This was Joe’s chance.

While the bandit leader swung his gun crazily, trying to figure out who to shoot first, Joe barrelled across the dock like a rampaging moose and tackled Blair on to the raft moored to the end piling. The force of their impact made it float away a couple feet, giving them some distance while the struggle continued. Blair quickly disentangled Joe’s restraints, then he crawled back to the dock ropes to untie them from heir mooring. Two of the four robbers were now dead, but bullets were still winging through the air as he got them untangled. He looked up to see that Tom was now laying on the dock, dragging himself along weakly by his one good arm. There was a snail trail of watery blood soaking into the wooden planks.

“This all could’ve gone so different,” the bandit said, pressing the barrel to Tom’s temple. “Now it’s time to say good night.”

The current beneath them was picking up as the shot rang out. Joe and Blair screamed from thirty feet away as Tom slumped to the dock dead. The bandit gave his body an unceremonious kick and it plopped into the water and disappeared just like the clerk’s. Only then did the two remaining criminals turn their attention to those had gotten away. Joe felt his stomach tighten as their captors jumped into a canoe and started heading their way.

“Blair,” Joe said. “We’re gonna need to paddle.”

*

It was a shame he didn’t have a better audience. As Shuswap Joe navigated down the Little River on the rickety raft he’d escaped Squilax with, ducking each time a new gunshot rang out, his powerful motions took on a primal rhythm. He looked like a charging bear, his paws swiping the surface with each new stroke. His pursuers were half a kilometre back still, maneuvering their small canoe into the quick current and flying up behind them at an alarming pace, but Joe was born on the river — he wouldn’t let them catch up.

Joe could feel his pulse in his throat, and his breaths were coming in panicked bursts. The evening mist dampened his forehead and ghostly tendrils of mist began to waft across the surface as they passed under a newly constructed bridge to Scotch Creek. He blinked away the moisture as images of Tom flashed across his headspace, the way his noble old veteran friend had crumpled slack to the dock like a sack of wet laundry. Was one man’s life really worth a few barrels of hooch?

Had Joe done the wrong thing, trying to protect the stash?

These were questions he didn’t have time for. He swivelled around to check on Blair, who was paddling furiously on the other side of the raft. She looked like she was punishing the water, beating it with her blade, as her eyes trembled with rage tears. First they had to escape, but then it was clear she had revenge on her mind. These men had killed her husband, and she was ready to start burning down houses until she found out who was responsible. He had only a moment to marvel at the naked love at the root of her grief before they were tossed headlong into a whitewater rapid.

“Hold on, Blair!” he yelled, as they hit the first curling wave. “You’re going to have to hold on tight here!”

Watery chaos consumed them, then, and it was a different type of chaos than Joe had grown accustomed to on the Adams River. The banks of the Little River were further apart, the bottom further down, and the placid surface cleverly disguised all the underwater obstacles waiting to tangle up boats and suck down bodies.

This was not a friendly river, Joe realized — this river was an enemy, just as much as the masked villains in desperate pursuit.

The raft pointed its nose to the sky, then shook itself like an angry dog. Water came sloshing through the slats, crashing inwards from all sides. Blair was knocked down and nearly bucked off the back, but she was able to claw her fingers for purchase just in time to get rocked again. Joe rose to his feet, trying to get a better idea of what lay further downriver, and was greeted by a slavering wall of water nearly twice his size. It loomed above him like a river deity with its arms outstretched in judgement, then speared into his chest with a mighty crash. The force would have knocked him out of the raft, but Blair grabbed ahold of his belt and tugged him back to safety.

Joe turned to his dripping friend, and thanked her with an exhausted sigh. The rapid wasn’t over yet, and the pursuing canoe was cleaving through the waves towards them with no problem. He shook his head in disbelief as another bullet sang its ugly song, thumping into the wood of the raft between them.

“I can’t lose you,” Blair said, straightening out her sundress and preparing to paddle.

“I’m going to need your help killing those fellas.”

*

Shuswap Joe couldn’t feel his arms.

Blair was steering their raft from the back, standing proudly against the driving wind as she expertly slalomed along with the fastest moving currents. After their tussle with the rapid, which had drenched them both completely, the water had settled into a lazy burble before opening wide to become the Thompson River. This was the smuggling route the Scotch Creek distillery’s hooch took to the coast, so Joe was familiar with how it looked on a map. Being at surface level was another situation entirely.

The canoe behind them had gone silent hours earlier, though it still lurked in the distance like a sea monster breaking the surface with its serpentine snout. Maybe they’d run out of bullets. As he continued to paddle, Joe wondered what these men were even trying to accomplish. His boss Clif had warned him that some day they might face this sort of trouble, other criminals trying to shoulder into their territory, but the River Eel Saloon’s owner was confident that he’d bought off or employed nearly every working age man in Salmon Creek. Who would be stupid enough to mess with somebody like that?

“What do these men aim to gain from all this?” Joe asked, pausing for a moment as the river came to a glassy calm. “They had no reason to kill Tom.”

Blair frowned. “Not until he gave them a reason to. Not until he went and played the hero, throwing away his life like it was pocket lint. That goddamn war, Joe. It’s not right, what violence like that does to a man. He was just looking for a reason to die.”

“He still loved you, though. And the kids.”

Blair scoffed at that, rubbing the back of her hand across her dripping face. There were wisps of grey in her hair, which was messily pulled back into a ponytail, and the wrinkles around her eyes told her life whole story. It had been a life of pain and disappointment, a life of never quite getting what she wanted. The universe hadn’t been kind to Blair, and her very existence was a kind of stubborn defiance. She had callused worker’s hands and bleeding knuckles, her bare feet braced her against the rough bark of the raft.

“Watch out!” Blair yelled.

Joe turned with barely enough time to duck a tree branch shaped like an open hand, its skeletal fingers reaching for him through the mist. Their raft had become completely engulfed in a creeping white fog that swirled around them like spirits. It seemed like he could hear voices in the wind, chittering and giggling and whispering just beyond the reach of his comprehension. He swung his head from one side to the next, trying to locate the sources, but all he could see was pillowy oblivion on all sides.

“Where are we?” Joe asked, watching more dark branches drift through the mist and disappear. “What is this place? It feels haunted.”

Blair exhaled ominously. “I’ve never seen them in person before.”

“Them?”

“The Ghost Trees.”

And sure enough, as soon as she said that, an island of bone-white trees loomed out of the blank void before them like a ceremonial grave. To Joe it looked like a grove of pale albino humans, stooped and reaching and intertangling with one another. Their trunks were mottled grey but their branches were the colour of pure snow, like all colour had been leached from them by some vampiric force. They were dead, all of them, but they had a sort of sinister presence to them that made it seem like they were watching hungrily as they floated past.

“Those trees were once strong and tall. Proud. But over the years the river began to eat away at the soil they’re rooted in, washing away all the nutrients that they depend on to survive. The river took away their foundation, then it starved them until there was nothing left to do but die,” she said.

“But they’ve stayed here, stubborn, drying into hardened husks. A ghoulish reminder of what they once were. It happens to us all, you know. We start out flush with life, and end up as dried up skeletons that crumble to dust.”

Joe didn’t want to say anything to that.

Blair began slowly paddling again, staring past him as the fog continued to swirl. They’d almost forgotten about their pursuers, who they hadn’t seen in a long stretch now, but Joe had no doubt that they were still back there, relentless. What would happen if they caught up? Would he be able to kill another man to save himself? To save Blair? Or would he become nothing but another skeleton, like the ghost trees looming far overhead? He craned his neck and gazed up past the shivering branches overhead.

“What happens after we die?”

Blair smiled. “Well, Joe. It depends on who you ask about that.”

“What do you think?”

She thought about that for a long time as a light rain pebbled the surface of the Thompson. The raft was moving quickly now, picking up momentum without the aid of their paddles. The tree corpses continued to swipe at them, reaching out with knobby fingers, trying to sweep Blair and Joe down to watery oblivion. Blair chopped at one with her paddle, severing its fingers.

“Here’s what I think, Joe. You look at nature, and it’ll give you the answer. Some day you’ll die, and then something else will eat you. Maybe it will be a worm. Maybe it will be a bird. But they’ll eat up little part of you until you become a part of them,” she said.

“Maybe a part of you will become moss. Some pieces of you will end up in the belly of a salmon. You’ll be part of the earth, but you’ll also be part of the sky. Your mind might be gone, or your spirit if you want to call it that, but your body will still be alive all over. That’s the real afterlife.” Joe considered this, picturing a hypothetical bear ripping apart a writhing salmon, its essence dripping into the water below as it desperately tries to escape. That fish would become part of the river and part of the bear simultaneously, it’s evisceration a sort of duplication. Blair’s explanation made sense to him, but still he was afraid.

Without his mind, without his body, would he really still exist?

“Watch out,” Blair said, pointing to a long half-submerged tree that lay in their path. She quickly began to steer them away. Its branches looked like sharpened spears. “We’ve got to paddle now, Joe.”

The mist was so thick for a moment he thought he might choke, but Joe began furiously paddling as the tree got closer. The current was strong here, and they were flying towards it at an alarming speed. More trees were appearing out of the whiteness like spectators, leering expectantly. A branch stabbed Joe in the arm, like a thief jumping out of the darkness, and then disappeared again just as quickly.

“Paddle, Joe!” Blair yelled, as the waves started to thrash around the raft. There was blood running down the side of her forehead, but Joe didn’t have time to figure out how that had happened. “Paddle!”

They hit the tree with a smash, and for one terrible moment it seemed like they were going to capsize. Joe’s eyes widened in horror as he gazed down at the frothing madness sluicing through the tree’s branches. His feet struggled to find purchase as the raft rose from the water, Blair throwing her weight against it with an outstretched elbow. As it shuddered and shook in the balance, Joe understood then that death was close enough to kiss him, no matter what he thought of the afterlife.

“Hold on, Joe! Don’t let go!” she yelled, and with a giant crack the raft was free again, twirling in the current. The sky opened up above them, smiling down down with a heartbreaking cluelessness, and the fog lifted almost immediately. On both sides of them were the crumbling walls of the Fraser Canyon, rust-coloured and crowded with jagged boulders. The colour of the water had transformed from a blue-black lifeblood to a creamy chocolate, and the temperature of the water had noticeably dropped.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “We made it, Blair. We made it!”

Blair sat slumped at the back, her whole body trembling like she was freezing cold. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and the blood from her head wound was running down her neck and creating a crimson stain amidst the floral design of her dress. Her breathing was strained, like a bull who has exhausted itself in the ring, but her jaw was set. She blinked determined at the churning water behind them and the thundering waterfall far in the distance. They would be there within a few hours.

“We haven’t made it anywhere. They’re still coming. And this problem isn’t going to solve itself, unless we do something.”

“Okay. What should we do?”

She smiled then, like she had just remembered a raunchy joke. “We’re going to lead them down to the gates of Hell, Joe, and then we’re going to make sure they pass through.”

*

Joe had never seen anything like it.

As Blair continued to commandeer their raft towards the slavering chaos of Hell’s Gate, the waters of the Thompson thrashing around their raft, Joe stood gaping in terror at what lay before them. Underneath his feet the lashed-together logs were beginning to buck and tremble, individual strands of twine snapping like guitar strings. It wasn’t going to hold together much longer, but that didn’t matter — the river was going to eat them either way.

“I think you’re going to have to swim to shore,” Blair said. “I’ll distract them while you get away, but you have to jump off now.”

Joe turned to face her, hearing what she wasn’t saying just as loudly as what she was saying. The look on her face was almost demonic, and suddenly he understood what was happening. This had been a suicide mission all along, and she didn’t want him along for the ride. He opened his mouth to reply over the screaming current, but right then a bullet sliced through his hat and sent it tumbling into the water. The bullet had grazed his scalp, and hot blood burbled down his forehead to mix with the river water.

“I can’t let you do this,” he yelled, holding one hand to the wound. “What about the kids?”

“A mother who isn’t willing to die for her children isn’t a mother at all. These men need to be stopped, Joe. Men like these can’t be allowed to go around killing people over hooch. You swim to shore now, and you tell my babies that I died to make their world a better place.”

Against his own volition, tears flooded into Joe’s eyes. He looked past Blair at the pursuing canoe, then back at Blair’s weather-beaten face. They only had a few minutes before they’d reach the rapid and he had to make his decision fast. Why was the world so full of pain? Why was everyone he loved doomed to die before his very eyes? He thought of what Tom told him, about how this was a different type of war than the one Canadians had just finished fighting in Europe. And every war requires a particular kind of hero. He locked eyes with Blair, fear banging away in his chest, and they nodded in understanding.

When he first hit the water with a clumsy dive, the freezing temperature struck him like a fist to the throat. He gasped and cried out as waves tumbled and surged over his head, struggling to breath. This wasn’t like swimming on the Adams River. This was more like a bar fight with a supernatural entity, like God was knocking him around a boxing ring for fun. Blair’s raft was already a stretch away, and for a flash he watched as the canoe swept past him. He was free and safe, as long as he could make it to the shore.

Looking back on what happened years later, he would wonder how exactly he found the suicidal courage to do what he did next — quickly grabbing ahold of a slimy boulder, he hurled himself on to the beach and began sprinting after the pair of water crafts even as gunshots continued to ring through the afternoon calm. He felt a blast of sunshine on his shoulders as he danced through the jagged rocks along the shoreline, trying desperately to catch up to Blair and the murderous henchmen. Could he make it in time?

Railway workers were gaping at the scene from far overhead, shouting down warnings at the boats. He had less than one minute to reach Hell’s Gate before he lost his new mother forever, and he couldn’t let that happen. Summoning up a bear-like savagery he bounded along in his sopping boots, ripping off his plaid shirt and pawing along on all fours. He was no longer capable of conscious thought — his entire attention was focused on the life and death mission at hand. And then, as if placed there by some benevolent deity, he spotted a knobby tree trunk jutting out over the water like a helping hand. It was wedged between two rocks in the current and hung about ten feet over the waves.

“Blair!” Joe yelled. “Blair, I’m coming!”

His Squilax matriarch swivelled her head towards him, and for a moment he thought she was going to ignore him. But then he motioned at the incoming log and she understood without saying anything what would happen next. While she maneuvered the raft in his direction, he clambered out on to the log and laid on his stomach, reaching down to save her.

As she approached, Blair threw down her paddle and kneeled on the raft. Joe didn’t understand what she was doing until she came up with a fist of twine, effectively detaching the logs from one another. The four logs broke apart in all directions, until she was balancing on a single log. She was as graceful as a cat, stepping back and forth as it rolled beneath her feet. Another gunshot rang out, but came nowhere near her.

It came down to a matter of seconds. She had to leap at precisely the right moment or she would be sucked down to her death. Blair was a small woman, scarcely five feet tall, but she jumped with the ferocity of a fleeing doe. Her fingers intertwined with Joe’s and he reached his other hand to grab her wrist, the trunk groaning underneath him. She dangled there kicking as the canoe swept past, the men realizing too late their fatal error. Blair and Joe watched as it disappeared into the waves, the men splashing into the rapid and never resurfacing.

It was over.

“Don’t worry, Blair,” he said. “I’ve got you now.”

[beneathashadytree]

HI omg can i request an x reader where sanji confesses his feelings to reader (reader obviously reciprocates) whilst drunk and he's super emotional abt it all? i feel like he'd be an honest drunk and it's rly cute to think abt :")

INTOXICATED - VINSMOKE SANJI X READER

Warnings : alcohol consumption, hints at Sanji’s personal traumas and self-image issues, Sanji displaying obvious symptoms of PTSD, a lot of curses, Sanji might seem OOC because he’s quite literally shit-faced drunk, this isn’t proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : angst to fluff (I think?)

Word count : 2.2K words (not sorry)

Additional notes : Hi love! So glad you picked Sanji, seeing as he’s (very obviously) my absolute favorite character. Writing this was the highlight of my week, given just how many creative liberties I took with this. I tried to incorporate his own reservations about actual love and his PTSD, without actually divulging much about his backstory (because when has he ever been upfront about his past, really?) I hope I did your lovely request justice, so let me know what you think💗💗

Requests : Are open! Check the rules over here.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

Heavy thumps in the kitchen had long woken them up, startled out of their sleep and frowning as they dressed themselves up enough to be decent. The only person who dared enter the kitchen at this time of night—3:30 AM it was—was Luffy, and even then the only sounds one could usually hear would be that of him whining after struggling and failing to unlock the fridge. The current noises were rather alarming, to say the least, and they had to mentally prepare themselves for anything to go down.

As they neared the light of the kitchen, they heard another heavy sound of knocking, along with a slew of curses that had them picking up the pace, realizing that the voice belonged to Sanji. If he was in the kitchen at this hour, then it was most likely he needed help with something. After all, what other reason would he have to be in the kitchen so early?

… Apparently, an entirely different reason.

Leaning against the kitchen door, they watched as the usually composed cook lost all gracefulness he possessed, stumbling over the chair he’d clearly overturned while walking around. In one hand he cradled a bottle of hard whiskey, the other leaning heavily against the dining table with the half-empty glass, as he struggled to sit back upright. His blue eyes were glazed over and just the tiniest bit unfocused, an involuntary pout on his lips as he set the bottle down and slumped against the chair.

The sight made their concern grow tenfold, having never seen him so drunk—and on whiskey, too. “You good there, Sanji?”

He jumped a little in his seat, an adorably startled look on his face as he finally noticed their presence by the door. Slowly, his shoulders untensed and his lips relaxed into a dopey smile.

“Oh, ‘s you. Care for a drink with me?” he gestured to the table, “I’ve had three… wait, five?” he mumbled to himself, a small contemplative frown on his face for a second, before he smiled once more, “C’mere, c’mere. Bottle’s good.”

They sighed, perching themself on the chair to his right and leaning over to snatch the bottle from him, much to his dismayed protests. “You’re shit-faced drunk. I don’t think you should be having any more.”

“One more please, ‘kay?” he quietly asked, pushing his glass towards them, “Jus’ one more.”

Eyeing him skeptically, they gave in and began to pour into it. “Alright, but that’s the last one for tonight.”

Within seconds, the blond had downed it in one go, a content smile on his face as he set it down. A trickle of whiskey had dribbled past the corner of his lips, the messiness only serving to make him somehow more enticing to look at. With his flushed cheeks, half-closed eyes, and wet lips, he looked like the perfect picture of tantalization.

Still, with how intoxicated he was, they could only shake their head at him and reach out with their thumb to swipe at his face. “What’s got you in this mess?” they asked, watching as his cheeks grew redder at the skin contact. Cute.

“Wanted a drink, ‘s all,” he slowly replied, eyes hypnotized as they followed them. “Everyone’s asleep, so I could… unwind a bit, y’know?”

Something not unlike sorrow panged in their chest. Seeing him in that state was a little… sad. Their voice was steady as they asked, “Anything on your mind?”

For a few beats he remained silent, his gaze settling on the table and his index finger circling the rim of his glass as he contemplated an answer. When he finally seemed to have decided on something, he simply shrugged. “Fair bit of things, here ‘n there.”

“If… if there’s ever a time you feel like sharing, just know I’ll always listen.” That same feeling thrummed in their chest as they watched him visibly melt, his expression morphing into one they couldn’t recognize but felt indescribably protective of. Something about him in that moment was so vulnerable and almost fragile, that it completely countered his cool-headed, often detached demeanor when it came to matters concerning himself. It’s something they’d always noticed about him, and watching it crumble right now in front of their eyes was precisely why they had trouble breathing.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” Sanji groaned, his slurred words both sweet and surprising as he folded his arms on the table and buried his head in them, “Really. What ‘m I gonna do with you?”

Chuckling at his muffled voice, they inched a little closer, a gentle hand on his head and carefully brushing through the soft tresses of his hair. Silky smooth as always, even when he was quite clearly feeling terrible. Everything about him in the moment resembled a cat, and the imagery was too endearing for them not to grin at. “What do you want to do to me, then?”

Propping his head on his hand and causing their own hand to fall and rest on his arm, his eyes flickered to their lips. He was being so painfully obvious that it was nearly impossible for him to hide his intentions like that. “Fair bit of things, here ‘n there,” he mumbled again, before sighing. “You… you make me feel weird.” He glanced up at their eyes, encouraging him to go on, and so he did, his voice growing a little more agitated. “It’s stupid, ‘cause I know. I know I can’t get too attached, because… I’m me.”

“I’m a little confused here. You’re Vinsmoke Sanji, yes?”

“That’s-that’s exactly it,” he frowned, frustration etched onto his face, “I’m not… not built to do… whatever this is, without fucking things up.” Deft fingers reached up to tug at his hair, a tortured look in his eyes. The alcohol might’ve loosened his tongue, but it seemed like it did nothing to quell his muddled thoughts. “But then fucking… looking at you makes me want things that I don’t deserve.”

“Of all the good things on earth, there isn’t a single thing you don’t deserve,” they gently said, squeezing his arm in an affectionate manner that they’d always done to him in passing—something they now realized he’d probably never interpreted correctly. “Sanji, you of all people are supposed to expect kindness and love from those around you. You’re a good, selfless man. What else do you need to do to feel like you’ve earned it?”

“Don’t say stuff like… like this. End up wanting to be a selfish bastard.” He turned away, momentarily brushing a hand over his face as he grunted. “‘S enough that I want you when I can’t have you.”

Their heart was thundering in their ears as the gravity of his words settled. The fact that he was laying everything bare right in front of them without even being aware of doing so had guilt gnawing at their insides, but they knew damn well that if they didn’t give him the opportunity to speak now, he’d chain his words on his tongue and never speak them again. He’d tie himself down with them and take them to the grave if he had to.

“What makes you think you can’t have me, though?” Their question came out quieter than expected, the complexity of their own emotions making it hard to ask.

“Because… I’ll never be loved, and that’s how it is,” Sanji said, before giving them a wobbly, terrible attempt at a smile, when his eyes were shining with unshed tears underneath the warm kitchen lights. “Look at me, all pathetic. Shit, wouldn’t want to be w’ me either. Couldn’t even talk without ‘most a whole fucking bottle. No one wants all that.”

Blinking back the tears in their own eyes, they swallowed thickly. With every words he spoke, he drove a knife deeper in their heart—not out of offense, but out of hurting for him; as though they felt the horrible pain of every laceration at his own self. “You haven’t once asked me if I did. You’re assuming things.”

“Can’t hurt if I don’t… won’t hope for it.” Shrugging, the cook rolled his shoulders back and leaned against the back of his chair, closing his eyes for a second as a tremor ran through his body for a second, before he sharply inhaled and mumbled under his breath. “God, I could fucking use a smoke…”

Fumbling hands went in search of the pack of cigarettes on the table, but theirs settled on top of his, halting him in place and startling him enough to open his eyes. “Tell me what you want with me. Tell me everything you feel, and then some,” they firmly said, fingers wrapping around the back of his hand as they did.

“I—“

“I’m not leaving you alone tonight, Sanji. I’m keeping you company right here.” The intensity in their eyes bore into him, praying that they could reflect every single ounce of determination to stay by his side. “So tell me precisely what it is that you want, and I promise you I won’t shame you for it for a single second.”

His face crumpled, and he hunched over once again, hazy eyes trained on his lap. A beat, then another of silence, before trembling lips parted to speak the words. “Want to… hold you in m’ arms. Kiss you ‘very damn minute till I can’t breathe. Love you, but not hurt for it. Have you love me back ‘n not have to fear—believe ‘m not good ‘nough. Even… even call you mine, without having to worry that I’ll fucking wake up the next day and… and you’ll be gone.” He hadn’t even noticed it, but a lone tear had escaped and trailed down his cheek, as he tried to muster up the strength to look up and smile serenely, but it only looked ridiculous when he didn’t even have it in him to do anything but fall apart at the seams. “Foolish, huh?”

“Yes,” they hummed, hand reaching out to ever-so-tenderly wipe at his cheeks, where the tears were now openly falling, “Truly foolish that you would think that I wouldn’t want that too.”

“Don’t—don’t be cruel,” he chuckled derisively, looking anywhere but at their face as their hand trailed to delicately brush his hair. “Don’t lie just to… comfort me. I’ve long accepted this.”

“Sanji,” their voice was hard as they said his name, hands stilling his face in place before he could turn away and ignore their words. “I mean it when I say that I truly do love you. Don’t let your reservations blind you from realizing that I tell you that every single day without actually saying the words.”

The man sniffled, looking smaller than he ever actually did. Turbulent emotions flitted across his face, and they could almost name every single one of them; stunned disbelief, hesitance, a deep, deep sort of sorrow whose origin they couldn’t precisely pinpoint, and immense hopefulness laced with a silent plea.

Please don’t toy with my feelings. Please don’t feed me false hopes. Please let this be real.

Whether Sanji was begging them or some deity above, they weren’t so sure. They remained patient, letting what they’d just said completely sink in before they could ask for a reply. A minute or two later, they got one in the form of a tentative, slow question as they gently brushed at his brow, an unconscious smile on their face as they traced the curve of it.

He took in a shuddering breath. “Will…will you wait?”

“What for?”

Finally allowing himself some semblance of tranquility and comfort provided by someone else, he leaned into their touch. Something about the eager look in his eyes (yes, even as they hooded over with inebriation and pure emotional exhaustion) sent the warmth pooling in their tummy, and their heart racing in their chest.

“For me to… to tell you ‘verything. ‘Bout me.”

If he’d tried, he would’ve been able to read the sheer relief and unadulterated joy they felt in that moment. They nodded, so quickly that, had the moment not been this fragile, it would’ve almost seemed laughable.

“Take all the time you need,” they reassured him, meaning every word. His eyes began to flutter shut of their own accord, tiredness winning over with the ease that settled over him (and probably encouraged by the bottle of liquor already in him). Once they saw that, and noticed the way he began to sway forward towards the table, their heart went out to him. How he’d functioned with that emotional turmoil the entire time without uttering a single word of what resided inside him, they had no idea.

“Don’t leave,” Sanji murmured weakly, his eyes almost completely shut now as they brushed his hair with their fingers, the fondest smile on their face.

Pulling away just to take his jacket from the back of his chair and fold it underneath his head, they made sure his head was rested comfortably as he slipped into the world of dreams. His breathing began to even, and they felt their heart swell to twice its size at the sight of his usual busyness tamed to absolute stillnes and serenity.

Sidling their chair next to the man they loved so much, they plopped down with the intention of falling asleep beside him; even if they would wake up with a sore neck, they wouldn’t dare leave his side right now. Careful not to wake him up, they pushed his bangs up, exposing both his eyebrows and pressing a feather-light kiss to each, mumbling sweet words against his flushed skin.

“I’ll be with you when you wake, and every day afterwards, Sanji.”

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @finch-ya @wifeofkyojuro

[eclvpses]

Though he hadn’t had much of a chance to think it over thus far, Leo regularly had to pontificate over where they’d gone wrong in his relationship with Stuart. One day they’d been smoking a joint in the back of the van Leo’d borrowed from Steve, and then next they were blocked. Honest to God blocked - which Leo wasn’t immune to or anything, it happened to them just as much as the next person. More, if he was being realistic. But the timing and sudden change in their relationship had been what stunned Leo. Either Stuart had been too frantic while blocking their number that he hadn’t thought to do the same with their socials or he wanted Leo to reach out just to have the gratification of capturing Leo’s attention before cutting off the rest of their communication, but either way, Leo had gotten the message. They used to check and see if they were finally let out of jail, whittling the situation down to a mere joke, but then a week had passed by, and then a month. As far as Leo knew, he was still shunned, and Stuart’s sudden snarkiness made it clear it was intentional - and then some.

Are you fucking serious right now? What a loaded question. All Leo could do in response to that was blink daftly - if they were in a cheesy cartoon, each blink would be followed by a plucky ping that would reverberate through the whole room. They knew they weren’t a genius by any stretch of the imagination, but this was starting to feel a bit targeted. Drinks arriving mid rant, Leo continued to hold eye contact while picking theirs up, tongue slowly pushing past their lips in an attempt to reel the straw into their mouth. They weren’t nearly drunk enough for whatever fight Stuart was apparently trying to have, words growing in volume like a pressure cooker finally steaming over. “Y’know, Stuart,” Leo finally said, giving them a placating and frankly condescending look - there was pity mixed in, like they could only assume Stuart was having some sort of stress related breakdown and taking it out on Leo, “I say this because I care. But you are absolutely no fuckin’ fun anymore. Jesus Christ! Like, I have no idea what’s got your panties in such a twist, but have you tried, I don’t know. Relaxing? Getting laid? Drink more, it’s good for you.” Awful advice, but it was followed by a push of Stuart’s drink closer to him. “I’m not exactly married to this girl, if you wanted to talk to her or something I’m not gonna stop you.” Because that’s what was wrong - not Leo’s terrible outlook of this date.

“Do you think?” Stuart was openly mocking Leo. It would’ve been obvious to the world’s most dense person that Stuart was loudly and aggressively poking fun - in the most brutal way possible - of Leo’s incapability to read the room. But they viewed this as a talent of theirs, only encouraging them further when they turned to Stuart with a hopeful glint in their eyes. “Fuck, that’d make my life a lot fuckin’ easier if she was. I don’t actually know how to fake an epileptic seizure -.” As if her ears were ringing and she could tell they were discussing her, Leo felt a sudden tug at his shirt sleeve by the elbow followed by a put out "Hey!" They weren’t exactly proud of the squawk they produced, whirling around to stare at her, wide eyed and caught. “Everything okay? I’ve been waiting for you for, like… ever.” Given Stuart’s current frustration towards Leo, the best thing would’ve been if they fucked off and just carried on with the date, boring or not. But they were just lamenting about how Stuart wasn’t fun anymore, so that option would’ve been frankly hypocritical of them. “Hi, yes - apologies. You see, I’ve just… reunited with an old lover.” Looping an arm around Stuart’s waist, Leo tugged him into their side, all but forcing him into the narrative that he seemed to hate enough to get upset with Leo over. “It was very hot and heavy between us before his papa -,” said like puh-paw, as if they were some English Victorian child, “- made it clear his sinful ways were for the devil only. But we’ve only just seen each other again for the first time in months and it’s become clear our hearts still yearns for each other. You understand, right?” Understandably lost, Leo pinched Stuart’s side when their date gave him a glance, raising her brows as if to ask 'Is this guy for real?'

It was a shame, the way Stuart and Leo’s friendship had taken a turn for the worse. They had a lot in common: their free-spirited thinking, lack of ability to read the room, and slightly dubious morals—but there were differences in the latter, too, as it was apparent in Stuart’s newfound cold attitude towards Leo. It wasn’t that forgiveness was a foreign concept to him; his brain was simply wired to hold grudges until the end of time. There was no letting go of them either. They would simply stay dormant for the time being until someone wronged him again, unleashing them tenfold, and Leo was most definitely not helping their case right now. “You smell like conversion therapy. Thanks! I don’t like men anymore.” Which couldn’t have been further from the truth and they both knew it. Even though their relationship had been strictly platonic, Stuart’s attraction to Leo was almost glaringly obvious since the very beginning. They were charming, that much was impossible to deny, and fun. He liked people who were unapologetic about themselves, people who were unpredictable and interesting, people that didn’t live by somebody else’s rules. But there was also that dangerously thin line between them and those who didn’t seem to take others’ feelings into consideration, and Leo had crossed it by sleeping with someone he had feelings for. Yet, it was somehow more upsetting that they hadn’t fessed up to it or acknowledged how it could’ve hurt him, and his own grudge had skewed his perception of Leo into one of a heinous beast.

Though he’d been staring blankly at the bottles behind the bar for the majority of the conversation, Stuart was quick to turn and face Leo following their comment about Gabe, and scoffed in disbelief. “Are you actually, like, fucking serious right now?” He wasn’t sure if Leo had genuinely forgotten the number of socks on their doorknob whenever they’d come over to pregame, not that he felt the need to defend his relationship with Gabe, or if they were taunting him on purpose. Either way, their attitude was starting to piss him off all over again. “Do you think the entire fucking world revolves around you? You think this girl you can’t even bother learning the name of has latched onto your cock so hard that she won’t be able to let go without you acting like a drama queen? Dude, she’s probably texting her friend right now to fake an emergency.” Stuart whipped an imaginary phone out, twiddling his thumbs on it as if he were texting. “S-O-S, bestie! They look like they just came off a four-night bender and I have yet to say anything but my name that he already forgot. Feral with lust, my ass.” Stuart took pride in the fact that it wasn’t all that easy to tick him off, but once he was on that roller-coaster ride, getting him off of it was like trying to wrestle a baby’s hand off your thumb. Nearly impossible. “Fuck you, Leo. Seriously.”

[vivaladicamillo]

Dude! I need a smutty and fluffy Headcannon of Ryan taking care of the reader who is his girlfriend and a female cast mate while she’s drunk as hell while out with the guys

RYAN DUNN TAKING CARE OF A DRUNK!READER

ive been super duper sick these past days and now that i actually have free time i can write abt ryan !!!!! i love him literally so much thank u for requesting this!!!

WARNINGS: talks of alcohol, drunk sex, and cursing

———————————————————

SFW:

ok so yall are out with the guys

yall prob go to some cheap ass bar just to drink yk

turns out you had a little too many

nah a little is a understatement

u were stumbling, slurring and obviously wasted

ryan takes notice of this right away

bam starts picking on u and yk, being bam

“u cant hold ur alcohol for shit y/n”

ryan has to get him to stop so he can take u home

ryan would take u home ( or carry bc u literally cant stand up )

he finds out ur a very touchy person when ur drunk

not jn a weird way tho

just hugging and rambling abt how cool ryan is and how hes the best

even though ur literally talking to ryan

he thinks its cute

“nonono u don understand, dunn is literally the BEST person like ever to exist~”. “trust me y/n i understand” he says through a chuckle

will either go through ur draws to find you something to wear to sleep if ur at ur home or give u some on his old boxers and a old le tigre band tee he has

lets u go get changed (if u can) if not he will help u

he just wants u to he safe and comfortable

he will tuck u into bed and put medicine and a glass of water next to ur bedside just bc he knows ur gonna be FUCKEDD in the morning

will sleep on the couch even if its ur house just so he knows ur ok in the morning and don’t accidentally choke on ur vomit or something like that

hes definitely a over thinker when it comes to that stuff

NSFW:

ok different scene here

yall end up going to ryans hpuse just to hang and watch a movie or something

ofc u guys had some drinks

and ofc yall end up getting wasted

at this point in the night the movie is long over

u guys are just cracking jokes and laughing and just talking

he probably ends up accidentally confessing first

“ heheh, you know y/n ur like the most perfect person ever.” “ryyyyy stawppp thats not truee” “absolutely it is, everything about u is perfect, ur personality, ur looks, ur humor..”

god he will go on and on abt how ur perfect and how he really does love u

“well y/n.. i’ve actually liked u fooooorr quite some time now ive just had zero confidence to tell you” he says slurring

ur kinda taken aback

ryan mother fucking dunn

LIKES U??

the kid who u have liked since highschool LIKES U??

u admit that u have had a mega crush on him for a while now

but he honestly wasnt even paying attention to ur speech

hes just admiring you

and ur lips

mostly ur lips

“y/n,, can i kiss u right now?”

you two end up making out on his couch

then he carries u to the bedroom

i personally think ryan is sweet as can be during sex sober but drunk ryan is A WHOLE NEW LEVEL

hes just a wreck when it comes to u

he would literally do anything for u

lots and lots of grabbing and touching

he just wants to stay like this with u forever

sloppy kisses is a must

also A LOT OF PRAISE

i feel like when hes drunk though he just fucks faster yk?

he goes as a faster pace then he normally would

he also probably doesnt last as long as he usually does

u just feel so good how could he resist

cums on ur stomach or in a condom if hes wearing one.

is probably gonna pick uo a random old shirt on the ground and clean u up with it

HES A STINKY GUY WHAT DID U EXPECT??

after that, u will be stuck in a bear hug the rest of the night

lots of forehead and cheek kisses too

the next morning yall honestly don’t remember the night before

so waking up in ryans arms is a bit of a surprise at first

but when he wakes up and smiles at you

you feel happy

you finally got him, the guy u always wanted, and it only took some liquid courage to do so

———————————————————

hopefully i did think correctly and right 🙏 making more ryan hcs soon

[cowboyjen68]

hi jen! first off, i love your blog and it definitely helped me realize i’m a femme by helping me realize just how much i love butches. now i’ve been in a relationship with a butch for close to two months and it might be crazy but i can really see myself marrying my butch one day. i never knew i could feel so loved and cared for before i met them. what i wanted to ask you is, what can i do to be a good lover to my butch? is there anything you as a butch would recommend all lovers of butches to do for their honey? i hope you’re having a great day

I pushed away my natural attraction to femmes for fear of being "like a man" or "predatory". Basically I was letting rhetoric from straight and LGBT Communities form my ideas about what butch/femme meant. The myth that butches (or femmes) don't exist outside of their relationship to each other and that is was mimicing Man/Woman roles and societal rules was pushed at me from many angles.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with feeling at our most butch/femme when with each other and gaining stength from our chemistry with each other, both as friends and in romantic situations. There is also no reason to act in ways we are not comfortable JUST to push back against roles that are perceived as "heteronormative". Denying what makes us happy is akin to parents being upset when their son like trucks and rough housing because that makes him "stereotypical". No. It makes him human and people should be able to enjoy what they love without being judges for being stereotypical OR going against the grain.

My last girlfriend (and deepest love of my life) didn't use femme and I didn't care because her connection with me was undeniable and deep. She made me feel loved and wanted and unique.

My first girlfriend was a dyed in the wool strong femme. She tried her best to get me to embrace my butchness and the understand that I was allowed to be protective and do nice things for her while also letting my guard down and being vulnerable in intimate situations. I was not ready.

Here are some of the things that made me feel safe and seen as exactly who I was, a short butch with an outgoing personality and a zest for life and people who deperately wanted to let my passion for women free from supression.

Helping me pick outfits. I am pretty utilitarian in my clothing style. When we had a nice dinner out or a party my last girlfriend would help me pick clothes that looked good on me. Encouraging me to wear a tie or crisp button down. She let me wear my suspenders or a fitted vest and helped me button it up and straighten the seams. It is a miracle we ever made it to dinner when she did that.

Establishing I am hers in public settings, even if no one else noticed. When she would slide her hand on to the small of my back under my coat or flannel and rest it there I would go weak in the knees. Feeling her gentle touch, letting me know she is there with only me was like being drunk on feeling good.

Don't assume sexual roles or bedroom activities are a certain way for your butch. Touch is important to me but vulnerability was hard. Build trust and have some fun but in the privacy of our beds all butch/ femme stereo types should be left out in the cold and what ever brings out mutual passion should be the goal.

Pocket knives, belt buckles, and ugly Christmas sweaters are my favorite gifts. Things she made and frogs or toads she has thrifted are wonderful reminders that she knows me and loves me. She still sends tiny gifts to me because our friendship is strong and for that I am grateful. Figure out what tiny things make her smile or laugh and even bring her out of her comfort zone in a fun way. I wear too tight ugly sweatshirts that she gave me all the time and give no shits as to what other think because they remind me of her.

I am so glad you found love and passion with your butch and are doing your best to honor her as she is. Being a butch woman is never easy out in the world but being butch in a warm and caring home with a loving femme is peak lesbian life.

[neopet-euthanization]

Okay first off I’ve looked into this case a bit and it’s fucking vile and I really hope some of the true crimers pick up on this because this man’s story should be talked about and he deserves justice.

That being said, I love taking these opportunities to educate on the legal system a bit. It’s really fucking confusing and it’s taken me years of watching trials and listening to lawyers to get this perspective. And for what it’s worth it’s not perfect nor am I a lawyer but I think I may be able to help shed some light on this.

first thing a lot of lawyers will say is the law isn’t the same as “morals.” It’s really great when they line up, but since we’re talking about the justice system they HAVE to just go by the laws and not by their own morals.

Second thing is that cops have zero to do with what charges are actually brought and pursued. The cops do the arrest, they find probable cause (I explain the standards of proof in law here if you’re curious) and then prosecutors see what they can do with that. As charges move through the legal system the standard they have to prove the charges to gets higher and higher, and the burden is on the state/government/commonwealth/“the people” (different states will use different terminology) to prove the charges they bring beyond a reasonable doubt to a jury or judge.

Next let’s look at the standards in New York, where I understand this occurred.

This is pretty standard stuff to start with - laws/legal things NEED to be spelled out painfully because that’s just how the law is - it’s all about words and what they mean.

The next part also makes sense, I think it really fits with what most of us imagine a hate crime is.

This next part is where it gets really important. We can all know in our hearts this happened because he was a POC trans man, but the law that prosecutors have to follow, the law that will be given to the jury if this ever goes there, is that just the status of minority/oppressed group alone is not enough to charge with a hate crime. There HAS to be some kind of evidence, and it gets really hard to prove unless one of the offenders has like written out that this is why they did this crime, or if someone heard them shouting slurs while they were engaged in the crime or something like that.

I can’t claim to know all the evidence here - we have to keep in mind though, hearsay is not allowed in court. So even if evidence may exist it doesn’t mean it will be allowed in at trial. There are some exceptions - “statements by party opponents” are allowed, and this is how the defendant’s statements can make it into evidence over the hearsay rule.

Finally I want to remind everyone that while things can seem fucked up (this is not a gaslight - they are at times indeed very fucked up) but laws are not morals, and they are general blankets not specific remedies. These laws have to be able to apply to slightly different/varying scenarios. I heard a lawyer say that it’s like bricks. The first brick you put down absolutely impacts how the rest of the bricks stack up. So, just to give a wild example in order to demonstrate my point, let’s just say there is a case with a hate crime - we all know it’s a hate crime but there’s not enough legal evidence to bring to court. Prosecutor says fuck it and charges them with a hate crime, for some reason judge okays it and it goes to a jury and they convict. Now, that’s a decision on the books. Set aside for this example that appeals can happen and decisions can be reversed (because this would totally be reversed on appeal the way NY law is written) - this would become case law. When lawyers want to have the court/judge do something that seems like it hasn’t been done, they’ll cite precedent or case law. So, let’s just say we have a drunken bar dispute where both parties are piss drunk and guy A (a black guy) hits on guy B (a white guy)’s girlfriend. Guy B punches guy A and says “fuck you that’s my girlfriend.” The bartender steps in and separates them. The cops are called and guy B is arrested for assault. A prosecutor could then cite the case where a hate crime was charged ONLY on the basis that the victim was of another race, has a disability, etc etc, and because judges really don’t like to set new precedent, the chances that this would allow the hate crime charges to stick when they have no right to is really high.

Let me give you one more example before I wrap this up. A woman has committed a crime and it’s on video. They take it to trial, and they find out the cops/prosecutors don’t turn over a piece of information that could tend to point towards the defendant’s innocence. The case should be thrown out for misconduct. It’s not about the individual case that “she’s guilty, so what” it’s about that blanket coverage and it protects innocent people from getting railroaded as well. Another common phrase I’ll hear is “it’s better to let a hundred guilty men go free than to punish a single innocent man” or something like that and I think it’s kind of an important sentiment. It could be any of us getting arrested and railroaded with a crime. We want these protections to exist. We want there to be rules.

All of this long post rant is to say. Shits not perfect but from my perspective it gets a little less frustrating just understanding some of it

(image source)

In all my research of transgender history and violence against transgender people, I have never come across a case of one of our own so on par with the conspiracy, prolonged torture and murders of Junko Furuta (a teen girl) and Sylvia Likens (a child).

I also find it hard to believe that a bunch of cis white people did all of that to a black transgender man with no hatred in their shriveled hearts towards his blackness and/or his transness.

I’m not sure what the best call to action is, but we must stay vigilant against concern trolls who gaslight transgender people that there is no threat being posed to them by individuals or institutions- these people either know damn well what they are doing or are willfully ignorant, and I don’t know which is worse. We have trans remembrance for a reason, look at these peoples names, their stories, and fight for them and the living on individual and institutional levels.

Rest in Power, Sam Nordquist

[radiant-reid]

What Happens In Vegas...

A/n: Not requested at all, but this will most probably be getting a part two. And this is like my favorite fic I’ve written in the last while. 

Summary: Spencer and Y/n make some very questionable, drunk, cliché decisions in Las Vegas.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader ( fluff)

Content Warning: swearing | alcohol consumption | couple of sexual references

Word Count: 2.8k

Masterlist

It was Hotch's fault, really.

He was the one that approved a day's extended stay in Las Vegas.

Although, following that logic, it was Greg Johnson's fault. The unsub kept them running around Las Vegas for two weeks while he viciously murdered single parents families.

Then it was Garcia's fault for convincing Hotch that, because they were in Vegas and she never got to come on cases, they should stay one extra night to let loose.

To start with, Y/n thought it was an incredible idea. Having a break from her job would be nice, and in Las Vegas with her good friend, it had all the makings of a good night.

It definitely was a goodnight: Shot after shot being thrown back, dancing with the girls, consoling a drunk girl in the bathroom with Garcia, getting really wasted, doing more dares than Morgan, persuading Rossi to buy more shots, and trying to convince Spencer to get a lap dance. Those were just some highlights of the night.

The rest was hazy... a mix of blended-up imagines and blurred faces.

Y/n blamed Hotch from her throbbing head, cursing his name when she woke up with the ceiling spinning. Then the briefest look at whoever was lying next to her came and rapidly the need to puke. Throwing up what felt like her entire stomach content in an attempt to relieve the queasiness.

The room was still spinning when Y/n finished, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth. She quickly tried to hold her hair out of the way once the urge to puke returned.

She was halfway through when someone else's fingers thread through her hair, pulling it out of the way. The cold fingertips against her scalp gave her somewhat of an idea as to who it was.

Once she turned around, she confirmed her hypothesis. Spencer Reid. One of her BAU team members who she did not expect to be in her hotel room. However, looking around the bathroom to find only his shower products, she realized it might not have been her room.

"How are you just standing there?" Y/n wondered, voice rough and her throat aching. To try and filter the minimal light in the room, she rubbed her fingers over her eyes.

"I don't ever have hangovers," Spencer claimed proudly. Y/n absolutely did not believe that and narrowed her eyes. "No, I just threw up like three times in the sink." That made more sense.

Still, he looked ridiculously okay for throwing back the number of shots Y/n had seen the previous night.

Spencer reached out to give her a hand, pulling her up as the world spun. Y/n flushed the toilet, making her way over to the bottles of water she could see on the sink counter. Spencer took one as well, both of them gulping it quickly down.

Looking at his appearance reminded her she hadn't seen her own. A quick look in the mirror harshly informed her she looked terrible. Mascara smudged under her eye, reddened pupils, foundation uneven. The only thing that didn't look terrible was her neatly curled hair.

"God, I look horrible." She remarked, picking up a face cloth to try and fix the mess that she felt was her face.

Spencer shook his head. "Don't be silly, Y/n, you look beautiful." He assured her.

Y/n half smiled at him, appreciative of the fact he clearly didn't care how frightening she looked. It was then that she noticed what he was wearing. Washington Wizards basketball shorts she would have never guessed he owned that sat low across his hips. It gave her a gorgeous view of his surprising tanned chest. He was much more muscular than she would have thought but still slender.

Then she looked down to look at her appearance. A cardigan that absolutely did not belong to her, but one she had seen Spencer wearing a few months back, and her underwear. Thankfully, because he was so much larger than her, and the cardigan was long on him, it covered her to her upper thigh.

Wearing only his clothing and her underwear, she quickly connected the dots. "Did we, um, hook up?"

"Jesus, no." Spencer quickly stated. "Not because there's anything wrong with that, but because we were both black-out drunk."

Y/n shrugged, sighing out a breath. "Wouldn't be the first time." She mentioned. Spencer looked at her, not with a disappointed look but with an apologetic yet scolding one.

"Why are we in my hotel room?" Spencer asked, only realizing she didn't belong there. Although he knew he wouldn't do anything sexual while they couldn't consent, he didn't remember how they got there.

Y/n looked around the room, squinting again. "I have no clue. Do you have aspirin or something?"

Spencer nodded, drudging back to bed with Y/n following and both of them laying down. He rummaged through his bag, cringing at the crinkling packet before producing the tablets. Neither of them wasted a second taking the pills.

"Fuck, what's the time?" Y/n asked, a little too loud because the remembrance of the time Hotch informed them they needed to be on the jet hit her.

Spencer picked up his phone and groaned at the bright light that illuminated the otherwise dark hotel room. "Shit, it's already 8." He complained before he quickly switched off his phone.

Y/n quietly groaned. "I'm so fucking hungover." She complained.

"Everything is so loud," Spencer mumbled, irritated by the humming of the mini-fridge.

"What even happened?" Y/n asked, hoping the genius with an eidetic memory could fill in the blanks.

Spencer sighed. "No idea."

"Mr. Eidetic Memory, my ass," Y/n commented, her head still absolutely throbbing.

Spencer turned his head, even though it was painful to glare at her. "Alcohol affects memory along with vision, judgment, thought process, speech, breathing, sweating, urine production, blood sugar levels, sexual performance amongst other things."

"But it was a fun night." That part Y/n remembered. Clearly, nothing serious had happened after her last memories, so why worry about it.

"Not when you paid a prostitute a hundred dollars to give me a lap dance." Spencer reminded her, holding his throbbing head.

Y/n's eyes widened, somehow making it brighter. "She was a prostitute!?" Again, her exclamation was too loud.

"Yes, and a hundred dollars gets you a lot more than a lap dance," Spencer informed her, slightly smiling at her innocence.

"Oh, and how do you know that?" Y/n asked, raising her eyebrows although she didn't think Spencer frequented prostitutes.

Spencer didn't dignify the question with a response. "We need to get up." He recalled. "Why don't you shower first, and I'll pack our stuff so we can get breakfast before we have to get on the jet." He suggested as they got up with a lot of struggle.

"Spencer Reid, I love you," Y/n mentioned, leaning forward to place a kiss on his cheek. "Also, my key cards in my jacket, and please get me a change of clothes and some makeup."

"I am the best," Spencer commented, winking as he tried to pack his things.

While the shower was nice to release all her muscle pain and sweat, it was far too loud.

Y/n didn't bother washing her hair, turning the water to cold for just a second to wake herself up. It was a terrible idea. She wrapped a towel around herself, shuffling out of the bathroom.

Spencer was waiting in the room, sunglasses on. He replaced her in the bathroom, handing her the sunglasses when he noticed her squinting at the open curtains.

Silently, she thanked him. Since his room was so many floors up, Y/n didn't bother closing the curtains to get changed. She thanked Spencer for picking her favorite casual outfit.

Y/n applied a generous amount of makeup in the mirror as she tried to look not dead. Spencer came out of the shower, hair still dripping wet but thankfully, for Y/n's inability to not gawk, clothed.

"Should we go?" Spencer wondered, gulping down another bottle of water once he realized how dehydrated he was. He pulled out another shade of sunglasses to put on. "I saw breakfast downstairs literally had hangover milkshakes."

"How is a milkshake good for a hangover?" Y/n wondered, collecting her things.

"It's a bunch of vegetables with lots and lots of syrup." He informed her. "Probably worse than just drinking straight sugar, but it's got some nutritional value."

Y/n sighed happily. "I love Vegas."

"I know, things like hangover milkshakes shouldn't stay in Vegas." Spencer agreed, picking up the rest of his things and holding the door open for Y/n.

The lighting in the hallway was far too bright, and Garcia and Morgan walked out of her room. It took Y/n until Penelope pushed the elevator button to notice the shining ring on her friend's finger.

"What is that, P?" Y/n asked carefully, nodding at Spencer towards her ring finger. Her left ring finger.

Having already formed a hypothesis, Spencer grabbed Morgan's left hand. "Ah-ha!" He declared, finding a matching and equally cheap ring.

"Shh." All three of the other agents hushed him.

"Sorry, sorry." Spence defended much quieter. "You two got married!?" He whisper-shouted.

Y/n was quietly giggling. "Such a cliché." She said, gently shaking her head.

"Shut up, kids. We had it annulled this morning." Morgan informed them as the elevator dinged much too loudly.

"That's so tacky." Y/n teased, not disturbed by Garcia's glaring.

Spencer agreed as they walked over to the rest of the team. "Who actually gets married when they're drunk in Vegas?" There was a silent agreement that they weren't going to let the annulled couple live it down.

"Do you not remember the wedding?" Rossi joined the conversation with an amused smile. All four of them shook their heads, and Rossi chuckled. "You have some interesting things to find out."

"Did I do anything dumb?" Y/n and Spencer asked in unison, both still wanting answers.

Rossi kept laughing and shaking his head, taking a sip of his coffee. "Nothing anyone else didn't do." He informed them ambiguously before walking away.

Y/n and Spencer shared a look before shrugging. "Let's get some disgusting milkshakes." Spencer decided, walking with her over to the counter.

"Coffee too, like a gallon." Y/n requested. "And fries."

With an ungodly amount of greasy snacks, Spencer and Y/n boarded the jet. Emily and JJ looked just as bad, and Hotch somehow still looked stoic, but every one of them was wearing sunglasses.

There was minimal talking until an SD card fell out of Emily's wallet. "What's this?" She asked, drawing everyone's attention.

"I think we brought a camera?" Spencer offered as an explanation, kind of remembering something of that nature happening.

"Let's watch it." Y/n jumped at the opportunity to piece together the early hours of the morning.

Garcia took the chip, opened her laptop, and slotted it in. The team gathered around the computer to view the camera footage. There were a bunch of drunk photos, lots of them at unflattering angles before a movie.

None of them complained when Garcia turned up the volume, all more interested in what was going to happen than the headache it was causing.

"No, I love you more, Chocolate thunder." Video Garcia declared.

She and Morgan stood hand-in-hand in front of a neon signed arch decorated with lots of red hearts.

A totally drunk Morgan shook his head, swaying slightly on his feet. "Baby girl, there is nothing more that I want to do than marry you." He declared.

"Oh my gosh, we should!" Penelope declared like she didn't notice where they were standing. In the middle of the arch behind them stood an Elvis impersonator.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." The impersonator declared, followed by a bunch of clapping from Y/n and Spencer, standing beside them. Rossi must have been filming because his cheering was the most auditable.

"We shouldn't kiss, though." Morgan reminded her, not wanting to make their friendship awkward even though neither of them would remember it. Instead, Morgan opted for kissing her palm, a gesture she returned.

Everyone was in laughter when the video ended. Doubled over giggling despite the loudness filling the jet. Even Hotch broke his stoic expression.

"That's the best thing I've ever seen." Y/n managed to get out between gasps.

Spencer glanced at her before nodding, looking back to an embarrassed Morgan and Garcia. "You hit every single cliché."

"I'm so glad we didn't do anything stupid," Y/n added, holding up her palm to hi-five Spencer.

He hi-fived her twice. "We are geniuses."

"So stupid." Emily joined in, shaking her head.

Hotch stopped her laughing. "You offered to fight like 10 people, Prentiss. Morgan literally had to carry you away from other members of the public multiple times."

"And gambled $1000," JJ added, shaking her head at the memory.

Emily's eyes widened, clearly not aware of what she'd done. "I woke up with $5000 in my wallet, so I must have been doing something right." She declared cockily. "Still don't remember any of it."

"You three went to the casino after all of the drinking," Rossi informed Hotch, Prentiss, and JJ, clearly more in control of his recall. "I took these 4 idiots to the wedding chapel because they wanted to get married, and Reid can't go to the casinos."

"Because he looks 17." Y/n couldn't help but joke, nudging Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer nudged her back as he faked a glare. "Because I'm so smart that I'm serving a life banned." He corrected.

"Ooo, bad boy." Y/n teased.

Rossi's following comment stopped their playful teasing. "At least they were smart enough to get it annulled."

"Smart enough?" Spencer's voice immediately followed, feeling a little concerned as his eyes darted between Y/n and Rossi.

"Watch the next clip," Rossi instructed, clearly amused.

Frantically. Spencer reached down to start the succeeding clip.

"Spencer, you are the prettiest pretty boy in the world." Wasted Y/n spoke in between hiccups before bopping his nose.

Spencer pulled back far too much, giggling profusely. "And you are the most beautiful girl on the whole earth. Did you know the radius is 6...6,371 km in diameter? That is a crazy big number." He stated, slurring his words and drawing out syllables.

"Okay, are you ready to say 'I do'?" Their officiant asked. It was even more embarrassing than Elvis. Darth Vader.

"I do." Spencer declared, drawing out the word.

"That's wild. I do too!" Y/n declared excitedly.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife." Darth Vader announced, huffing out a breath.

Spencer and Y/n didn't hesitate to start kissing. It quickly grew more and more passionate, loud, and sloppy.

Y/n and Spencer were mortified as they looked at each other, unable to laugh as a blush filled their cheeks. Neither was sure whether or not they should look at each other. They moved away from each other slightly, feeling beyond awkward.

The clip was even funnier than Morgan and Garcia's by the volume of the team's laughter. And the fact it didn't seem too slow.

"Okay, that is the best thing ever." Emily corrected Spencer's earlier statement.

"Please send me a copy," JJ begged Garcia.

"And after you mocked them," Hotch added, finding the whole situation hilarious.

Y/n and Spencer both mentally face-palmed at judging Morgan and Garcia so soon.

Rossi smiled knowingly, noticing the disturbed looks of the newlyweds' faces. "Did you seriously not get it annulled?" He asked.

The couple shook their head. "We didn't even know," Y/n asserted.

"So you didn't think it was weird you woke up together?" Rossi asked. Clearly, he was less drunk than everyone assumed if he remembered the whole night.

They shared another blush-filled look, shaking their heads. "Not really." Spencer squeaked out.

"Or the wedding rings?" JJ commented, noticing the matching rings on their fingers.

Y/n looked down, completely horrified. The ring on her finger seemed to represent R2D2's colors. At least they stuck with a theme. Spencer revealed the finger on his finger, a match to C3PO's.

As if it couldn't get any more embarrassing.

"Why Star Wars?" Spencer questioned, appalled by his drunk decisions. "That movie was riddled with scientific inaccuracies." He complained.

"That's what you're worried about?" Emily asked with a chuckle.

Y/n ignored the question. "How do we get it annulled?" She frantically asked, looking to Hotch for legal counsel. Spencer nodded in agreement.

Hotch was still laughing, shaking his head. "I think you deserve to be married a little longer for being such terrible profilers." He decided, amused by their situation. Both of them groaned, silently pleading with him, but Hotch kept his stance.

And they continued to be wed, void of legal advice until they got back to DC.

...Ends Up In Miami... ➞

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