#when I think the post might pick up steam

[ao3commentoftheday]

This blog has enough followers now that if I reblog someone, there is potential that it could end up ruining their notes for days. I'm curious:

[tlbodine]

Stuck? Try junebugging.

I don't know who needs to hear this, but we're 5 days into nanowrimo so maybe this will be helpful.

Do you want the safety and surety of knowing what happens next in your story but can't stick to an outline? Does knowing in advance what will happen suck the joy out of discovery writing? Do you try to wing it through plots but get tangled in plot holes or have a story that runs out of steam because you can't figure out what went wrong? Are you at your most creative when you have a little bit of guidance? Do you tend to under-write? Do you get ideas in your head for random scenes and snippets that drop from the sky without context?

If any of these apply to you, junebugging a draft might be for you!

What Is Junebugging?

Since you're on Tumblr, you might already be familiar with the concept of junebugging as it relates to cleaning. If not -- I think the idea was first introduced to me by @jumpingjacktrash.

The basic idea is that you tackle cleaning by way of controlled chaos. You pick a specific area you want to focus on, like your kitchen sink, and then wander off to deal with other things as they occur to you, but always returning back to that area. You end up cleaning a little bit at a time in an order that may not make sense to an outsider but which keeps you from getting overwhelmed and discouraged.

How Does Junebugging Work in Writing?

OK, so that's great, but how does this work with writing? Well. In my case, the general idea is to jump between writing linearly, outlining, and writing out of order. It usually looks something like:

Start free-writing a scene, feeling my way through it and enjoying the discovery process.

Thinking, ok, now I have this scene, did anything need to happen to lead up to it? Do I need to go back and add some foreshadowing? Does this scene set anything up that needs to be paid off? And then jump forward/back to make those adjustments.

I'll usually have a bunch of disconnected ideas of ideas that have popped into my head, so I'll write those down in a list somewhere and then try to figure out what goes in between them and what order it goes in.

I'll write what I call "micro-scenes" which is where I'll just sketch out a few essential elements of what's going on without worrying too much about details, description, etc. -- just he did this, she said that, the setting was this, real bare-bones script. Then I can come back through and flesh out each of those microscenes into an actual scene later.

Got a story that has a complex structure? No problem. Write through each storyline one at a time and then chop them up and weave them together afterward. Write all the B plot scenes first then come back through to do A plot and C plot. Move the pieces around like legos. No one ever has to know.

This method works for me because I can't "decide" story elements in advance. I have never been able to just sit down and "figure out" what happens in a story beyond a couple steps ahead -- I have to discovery-write my way forward. But at the same time, that gets really daunting. So I zoom forward with micro-scenes, roughing out the beats in the most bare-bones way possible, then when I run out of clear vision for what happens next I backtrack, flesh out those scenes, build in connective tissue, etc. and by then I will probably find more inspiration to jump forward.

It's basically folding drafting, outlining, and revising all together into a single phase of writing, which is chaotic and goes against everything people teach you, but if it works? then it fuckin works.

Anyway, sorry for the jumbled-up post, I'm dashing this off quickly while I heat up a pizza and I'm about to dive back into my WIP -- but I hope this was a little helpful. If nothing else, take this as my blanket permission that it's 100% OK to jump around, write out of order, write messy, outline sometimes, pants sometimes, and do whatever else it takes just to get through the story. You've got this. Good luck.

[kalims]

‎˃ ᵕ ˂ . . "I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this."

paper rings,

premise. there's nothing more memorable with a paper ring and a promise.

characters. all dorms.

includes. gn!reader

cw. topic of marriage.

note. you know those ring pops? yeah, those but paper rings.. I am listening to taylor swift right now so basically mc is proposing

heartslabyul

in a very flabbergasted way he's less than proud to admit. riddle isn't able to do anything other than stare dumbly at the item you're offering so casually, awfully aware of the steaming warmth on his cheeks and frantic beating of his heart. his throat feels awfully empty from the way he can't even say a thing from how shocked he was. there's practically steam flushing out of his ears when he looks away and scolds you for being way too early. (maybe he's implying that it might be better for a later occasion.)

trey hasn't exactly pondered on the topic of marriage a lot. why would he? he's living a pretty good life. surrounded by his close circle, being able to excel and enjoy the thing he loves, having a decent academic standing. what more could he wish for? apparently marriage. just the notion had him whipping up deserts in his head, specifically for a wedding and he's suprised at how serious he's being at it. even his parents are getting a shock from how he insists to do the wedding cake commissions himself for some 'practice' he says.

receiving the shock of the year certainly doesn't come by a lot but cater supposes he can't exactly avoid the thing forever. consider this the most shocking he's ever gotten because you'd know from his frozen face and the smile that dropped into an open gape. right after he breaks into this goofy grin before giggling somehow ominously. you should expect cater to basically advertise your proposal, posting it all around social media with barely container excitement. you'd think he'd throw it away after he's done taking pictures but he's hidden it deeply in his closet.

ace trapolla ponders on whether he should just slap your hand away like when he'd probably do but for once he's silent. staring at the ring with such intensity that you took the initiative to joke about his out of character face. so, ace huffs and playfully rolls his eyes at you. to be honest, his usual self would definitely push your hand away because he thinks it's a joke and it's funny but the thing is. it's not. oddly enough, it's somehow serious to him and he literally hates it! stop making it serious to him he's gonna contradict himself after making disgusted faces to couples.

he had never felt such honor before. sure, deuce is pretty flustered. face tinted in pink but he's feeling like he just recieved a medal right now.. so proud would be a better word to describe his feelings. deuce just watches you slip the ring into his finger after he had nodded slowly. you don't know if you should be concerned or laugh at the way he never took his eyes off it. speaking of his eyes, they could be comically quiet sparkles in it from how amazed and proud he seemed.

savanaclaw

compared to leona, ace's stares is like a cat to a well.. lion. leona just stares at you pointedly, glancing at the ring once and you swear something strange flashed in his eyes for a moment. you aren't given the time to venture too deeply into it as leona had already retreated back to his previous position and seemingly going back to sleep. you just shrug and decide to leave him to it. leona's ears twitch, picking up a rustle of paper in the grass. right behind him then your retreating footsteps. he just lays there, staring at nothing then turning to his back. the ring is over there. and he's currently fighting his inner self whether or not he'll test if you got his finger size right.

ruggie doesn't skip a beat and immediately leans in closer without warning, only to take a real good look at the ring you've made. he whistles and makes a cheeky comment about its just how he liked it. actually, it's true. as much as ruggie liked shiny things this is the little things he prefers and he lowkey just fell in love a little more. so, if you don't mind at all! he'll take the ring to keep to himself. since you did make it for him there shouldn't be any problem. don't worry, if you guys do actually end up getting married there's a chance he'll do it with paper rings. strange as it is.

his face holds a contortion of seriousness and 'seriously?' don't get him wrong. jack is quite stupefied by your gesture, don't you know that rings are often associated with the topic of marriage? you're literally proposing to him and you're doing it so casually?! oh please. in all seriousness actually he'd actually like that but he fears he might accidentally tear the whole thing into shred by accident. it's funny on how such a big, muscular man could treat something like paper so fragile. done like a true tsudere he turns pink, furrows his brows and loud away.

octavinelle

with the growing silence that azul thought of as awkward, he quickly clears his throat in hopes of clearing the.. atmosphere. if it weren't to the wake up call he snapped into, he definitely would've dropped the cup he was holding by his faltered grip. he puts on a smile that was more wobbly than he preferred but he can't really comment on it since it was currently his best. anyhow, he flicks his gaze down the ring and gestures for you to place the ring in his palm. he won't accept it, atleast not now but he will. when he would be able to provide for the two of you for a better life. until then he'd keep it in his safe when he's ready.

there's nothing more in-character for jade than a wide, kind of ominous grin. it's like he's teasing you non-verbally just from his face expressions itself. raising a brow and nudging you, with that grin still present on his face. jade says something about you being too impatient for marriage but he'll gladly adjust to your,,, preference. should he call you his fiance now? yes, the whole time he's been teasing you. not at all phased by your bold proposal. if not, he seems a little too pleased about it.

fully intent on glomping you. floyd wastes no time lurching forward and basically glomping you with a flurry of giggles, looking like he's high on cloud 9. 75% of the time he was just full of giggles as he continuesly stays clingy to you for the past time, and the rest muttering about getting married. don't be suprised if the whole school knew at this point because he kept saying "shrimpy and I are getting married. hehe." a lot and he doesn't even know how loud he actually is being.

scarabia

being the sunshine he is everyone would expect kalim to be the happiest. and he is, you can tell from the brightest perk up he does and the bright, happy grin-smile he does right after. he looks like he can barely contain the happiness from bursting out. unlike any other of the guys, kalim probably thinks of this as a serious thing and doesn't think it's a joke at all. he doesn't even hesitate with accepting the ring and promises he'll make you one himself too. why would he buy you a different, expensive one when you gave him something so priceless?

jamil can't help the furrow on his brows. he probably looks disgruntled and bothered by you right now but it's quite the opposite. him, you're giving him paper rings? to him? it's not that he hates the notion, he thinks it's secretly cute but why him? there's probably a thousand other people wanting to receive one from you but yet you're here offering him a fragment on your love and you already stole his heart. he guesses no amount of ordinary can make you ignore him. it feels like a crushing responsibility to be the one chosen by you but he doesn't feel pressured at all.

pomefiore

in hindsight vil should be offended by your audacity to give him a paper ring out of all things! most people would probably sell their souls to purchase one imbedded with the most expensive kinds of crystals and gems. but he can't help but feel.. he isn't sure, pleasantly suprised? you never fail to dazzle him even if your ring isn't sparkly to compare to him but he does remember his dad speaking about how not everything should be all about the price. sometimes, it's the thought that matters and if your thought was to marry him he'd gladly do.

besides everyone else. rook is the most appreciative by your gesture, he doesn't have a problem practically singing how much enchanted you've made him by this alone. go on prefect, shall you do a play? he'd absolutely rejoice if you went along with him, going on your knees to recreate a real proposal and he'd say it was the most magnifique performance he's proud to ever taken apart of! by morning and day everyone notices how much more joyous he's been, sparing the ring made of paper in his finger that he wears literally every day. but they don't wonder too much, strange and rook in the same sentence fits quite well.

between the entirety of pomefiore, epel certainly has the least graceful reaction, with the loud scream, mind boggled eyes and all. if not for the etiquette lessons rook had drilled into his memories, epel would have taken you for the shoulders and started shaking you frantically, wriggling your brain cells into oblivion. but he just resorted by sparing you his mercy and just keeping his hand curled into a fist by his chest. epel is torn between 'what do you mean by this?!' and a firm 'I do'.

ignihyde

my boy idia's reaction is the most predictable and prominent. when I say predictable, most of the time he's just on the verge of a breakdown at unexceptable things and prominent by the increasingly passionate flame that his now pink (previously blue) has. I mean when is it not pink when mc is involved really? idia is of course, having a crisis because WTF?! that was literally so cute that he's gonna have a cardiac arrest. someone please sedate him... consider idia a fan of paper craft because you started receiving a bunch of origami stuff, ranging from paper flowers to cranes. even ortho is suprised at the sudden motivation to pick up a hobby.

when you told ortho to wait when you forgot something he definitely didn't expect you to come back with a bunch of flowers made out of paper for him! the boy is singing praises for you as he clutches the batch happily. almost like he's cradling a child. you bet ortho is gonna make some sort of artificial liquid to drown the flowers into so that the paper doesn't get worn out or crumpled. he will certainly keep it safe for years!

diasomnia

akin to childish joy. malleus hums pleasantly. he doesn't think that this is a fake or anything at all, though he was sure that he'd be the one to propose first.. oh well, it's a nice thing. you never fail to suprise him child of man. he stares at you with a smile playing upon his lips and crinkled eyes, almost like he is in a trance. do you think he'll tell you that he quite literally just fantasized your future in front of you. (💀) goodluck cause man's obsessed and he's definitely not letting you take anything back. it's final. (no take backs 😡 <- like that)

giggles but atleast it's more mischievous and less ominous than jade's. lilia likes to see what kind of look you'd have on your face if he reacts differently. he's kicking his feet up, giggling and shi'. he acts like he just got serenaded by a high school crush, and you are technically his high school crush. might tease you into fluster instead but it all depends on his mood. it's pretty hard to fluster him you know and before you can do it it'll be the end of the world. (promises you that he'll be the househusband if you do get married and doesn't pay mind to your sweatdropping and horrified look.)

screeching like it's the end of the world. sebek probably woke up the world next to this one from how much bullshit he just started spouting, loudly if i may add. bullshit because everyone knows whatever he's spouting isn't even true and he's just saying it to convince himself.. sebek what do you mean the idea is preposterous? didn't you have a crisis last night because you couldn't sleep with a certain somebody in mind? silver is literally exposing him and sebek is calling him a traitor. he's never gonna vent to silver ever again, period.

to be honest maybe silver actually has the most normal reaction. he's just; oh wow, that's beautiful thanks. then goes back to sleep but this time he's been blessed with a dream of a future with you. he just doesn't spare an over the top reaction and prefers to cherish what he has now. which is what he's currently doing, he loves you and he doesn't want to wish for anything more until you're fully ready.. we love a respectful, consentual man. of course he keeps the ring but so that it won't get in the way of his work

[badaspebble]

✵ Come get me

Summary: Bada hasn’t been paying attention to you lately, which is starting to be frustrating. At first it was fine, seeing how much work she had to put into her team. Now that SWF was over, there was no need for her to pay so much attention to them. Guess you’ll have to make her pay attention to you.

Warnings: 18+ themes, (Dom!Bada, jealous!Bada, kinda mean!Bada but she’s soft at the end, strap-on use, teasing, hair pulling, semi-public, praise, edging, choking, swearing, dacryphilia)

Word Count: 3.8k

Bada Lee x fem!reader

@ijdtfsc Here you go! I hope it’s to your liking. I know you wanted them to go home and fuck, but I felt like if Bada finally had enough of reader, she wouldn’t be able to wait.

MDNI

Bada ignored your texts for the 6th time that day. You’ve been trying to set up a date for the both of you, hoping to relieve some of her stress, but she can’t even take her attention off of the team for a couple hours. You sighed as you theee your phone somewhere before plopping face first onto the bed. Staying there for a couple minutes, you almost fell asleep. Bada’s scent invaded your nose as you were on her pillow. For a minute, you almost forgave her. Just for a minute though.

When you sat back up, you ended up getting mad again. You huffed as you looked for your phone, cursing how dumb you are for throwing it somewhere in order to be dramatic. You found it by her hoodie, along with a picture she took in a rather...vulnerable state. You remembered that day. Bada was the most jealous she’s ever been.

You blinked, mind blanking for a second before you giggled. Your plan started forming. You might have to do it again…

You picked your phone up, going on Instagram before setting everything up. You picked a baby blue lacy skirt, paired with a baby blue lace bra. Rushing through your makeup, you couldn’t wait to see how Bada will act out. Taking your phone to capture a mirror photo and another photo where you’re slightly bent over was easy, unlike thinking of a caption to make Bada mad enough.

Sighing, you pondered on it a bit. Finally, you made a..lowkey bad one but you’re sure Bada will get the message. ‘Come get me ;)’

You scrunched your eyebrows together at the corny caption, but ultimately clicked post anyway. Turning your phone over, you finished getting ready before sending a text to your friends in order to let them know you’re ready.

Hearing a ding from your phone, you picked it up thinking it was your friends saying they were here. Instead, you got multiple messages, to say the least, from Bada.

‘What are you wearing

You’re not going out like that are you?

Hello?

Don’t leave like that.

Why are you showing everybody what’s mine?

I thought we talked about this

Can you take those down?

You better not fuck with me today baby

I’m not in the mood.

Hello?????

Call me’

More texts followed, along with numerous missed calls. You giggled before leaving her on seen. You turned your phone on DND and realized your friends were here so you hurriedly left the house and hopped in their car. The ride to the club was quick as it isn’t very far from the house.

Walking in, you were met with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and weed. You didn’t wait for your friends as you immediately went towards the dance floor, finding some cute girl to dance with. She looked older than you by quite a few years, and she had a particular tattoo on her shoulder. You bit your lip, deciding to grind on her and drink from her cup. She laughed at you before yelling something.

“What’s your name?” The stranger yelled over the loud music.

“It doesn’t matter.” You yelled back, drinking the rest of the alcohol from her cup. You threw it somewhere behind you before wrapping your arms around her neck.

“I’m Monika..” She whispered into your ear as she put her hands on your waist. “You here to let off some steam? You seem tense.” Monika teased as she squeezed your hips.

You snuggled into her neck, inhaling her scent. “Mmm, you could say that. I’ve been ignored lately.” You say with a pout.

Monika laughed…in your face. “You came here cause you felt ignored? Oh you sweet girl. Do you want me to help you?”

You looked at her with wide eyes, not knowing what to do. You were thinking of a million excuses a minute to say. (Un)lucky for you, you felt a large hand grab your shoulder. “Excuse us, ma’am. This is my ‘sweet girl’. Sorry for bothering you.”

Bada’s voice cuts through, and her grip is harsh on your shoulder. Monika looks at Bada with a smile. “She’s not bothering me at all, actually. I think we were just getting started, weren’t we?” Monika asks you, still looking at Bada.

You smirk, taking this chance like a dumbass. “We were. If you don’t mind us..” You take Monika’s hand and go closer to the middle of the dance floor. You look back at Bada, seeing her breathing heavier with her gaze turning darker every second. You look closer and see her fists clenching and unclenching repeatedly. Blowing a teasing kiss towards her, you look forward again and step closer to Monika.

Bada breathes out a laugh at your audacity, not actually thinking you’d be bold enough to do this shit in front of her. She licks her lips before biting her bottom lip. She puts her hands in her pockets and walks over to a booth, staring at you the entire time. Bada relaxes, knowing nobody will ever compare to her. You’re probably just in a mood again.

You can feel her burning stare as you move your hips, Monika’s hands guiding you against her. You don’t know how many drinks you’ve had. All you know is that you’ve been taking Monika’s whenever she gets more from her friends. A new song comes on, making the entire club hype. Gone was the sexy, slow dancing type of vibe. Everybody was jumping around, screaming and yelling as they let go. You were no exception as you let go of Monika, opting to finally let loose. Your hair bounces with you as you jump and push through the crowd.

You look towards Bada’s direction, wanting to tease her a bit more. You see her still staring daggers at you before she smirks. She leans back and manspreads, tilting her head at you.

Gulping, you turn your body around, still keeping an eye on her. You then bring a hand towards your ass and grab it, hoping to rile Bada up. Before you could see a reaction, people started jumping around again. You laughed as you joined them, momentarily forgetting your plan.

Your body takes a quick screenshot as you feel somebody grab your waist. Turning around, you felt a little relieved and also a little scared to see Bada. “Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyy” You said jokingly, dragging out the word.

Bada stared at you, not saying anything. After a couple of minutes, you heard her voice. “Let’s go.” She demanded, not leaving any room for anything else other than obedience.

You found some room anyways. “Nuh uh..” You said with a smile. “I’m having fun here.”

Bada turned back towards you, previously turning away so she could walk you out. “Why are you so bratty today, hm?” Bada asked, her voice filled with annoyance.

“I’m not even being bratty. I’m just here to have fun and you’re here to ruin it.” You said, looking away. Your gaze found Monika’s as she made her way over.

Bada rolled her eyes as Monika approached. She tried to take your hand to lead you out but you avoided contact.

Monika stared at you, completely ignoring Bada. “I can’t seem to take my eyes off of you. Let’s go have some fun, yeah?”

You giggled, looking towards Bada before staring back at her. “Sure. Let me get some drinks first.”

Before Monika could say anything, Bada forcefully took your arm. She bumped shoulders with her, making sure Monika stumbled a bit.

You whispered to Monika as you walked by her. “Me personally…..I would not take that.” Your goal was to rile her up and in turn, rile Bada up. It didn’t work as Monika just laughed it off, opting to walk away.

You scrunched your eyebrows together in disappointment, hoping to at least get some amount of drama. Sighing, you let Bada drag you before you decide to poke fun at her.

“Why does your face look like you’re constipated?” You teased, feeling her grip tighten as her nails dig into you. Wincing, you continue talking. “No need to get all mad. I was just having some fun since somebody can’t make time for me..”

Bada rolled her eyes, ignoring your comments as you both finally approached her car.

She stayed silent as she all but threw you into the passenger seat, slamming the door. She makes quick work as she hurries to the driver's side.

“Why are you mad? YOU ignored ME.” You say sassily, leaning your head on the window.

She continued to ignore you, starting the car. She doesn’t look at you once as she starts driving.

“I’m the one that should be mad..” You mumble. You didn’t expect her to hear it, but seeing as her grip on the steering wheel tightened with her knuckles turning white, you could tell that she was holding herself back.

You continued. “Surprised you even noticed my post instead of hanging with Tatter and them.” You specifically single out Tatter’s name, knowing Bada was especially close with her.

Bada bit her tongue, completely over it. She pulled over on the side of the road, unbuckling herself. She looked over at your confused face.

“You’ve been awfully bold today, baby.” She said, picking you up and setting you on her lap. She made sure to set her chair back a little. “I had a feeling I’d have to use this today..” Bada whispered, grinding you ever so gently on her lap, making you feel the bulge under her cargos.

Bada looked up at you, gripping your hips. “Maybe you need to get fucked, right? That’s why you’re acting like this..” Bada bit her lip and continued, making sure to keep direct eye contact. “You just needed me to make you feel good again.”

You whimpered. “Are you gonna do something or not? I think I got Monika’s number in case I needed somebody else..”

Bada breathed through her nose harshly before switching your positions, you back against the laid out seat. “Learn your place before I fuck you into it.” She leaned down and whispered into your ear. Her hot breath making you shiver. She then bit the top of it as she moved back, kneeling between your legs.

“And what’s with singling out Tatter?” Bada said casually as she started grinding her hips into yours.

“What’s with always hanging out with her and the rest of them?” You shoot back, trying not to buck your hips. You dig your nails into the seat as you shy away from her eyes.

Bada giggled in disbelief. Her hand cupped your cheek in faux innocence. “You should know by now that my eyes are only on you.” Her tone started to change as the hand cupping your cheek started to grip your jaw. “Stop being a fucking brat.” Bada spat as she stopped grinding on you, using her hands to trace the outline of your bra. “And going out like this? This isn’t even a fucking top.” She said, slapping the side of your bra-clad boob.

Your half-lidded eyes looked up at her, drinking in the way her teeth were digging into her lip harshly. “Doesn’t it look cute?” You say with a giggle before your eyes widen. The hand holding your jaw trailed towards your neck. You started to say something until you were interrupted by her giggle.

Bada was going to hold your neck, but you just kept talking. She was starting to get annoyed so she shoved two of her fingers inside of your mouth, effectively shutting you up. Her other hand trailed your body, running between your cleavage. She got to the band of your skirt, running her long fingers over the patterns. Her fingers went further down your throat, making you gag with your eyes watering.

“I love it when you’re quiet baby.” She said, focusing on your skirt. Her hands abruptly landed on your waist, turning you over so your stomach is on the seat. She unclasps your bra, throwing it somewhere in the back.

“Do you have to be this dramatic?” You sighed into the seat, moving uncomfortably. You felt her hands trail your back, almost giving you a massage with the way she was pressing into you.

“Shut the fuck up.” She said before you heard the sound of rustling. You felt her flip your skirt up, not even bothering to take it off. “You’re already so wet…this is what you wanted, right?” You felt her pause, waiting for your answer.

You turned your head to the side, making sure you could see her. “Mhm…” You said, avoiding her eyes out of embarrassment.

“Good girl.” Bada mumbled before palming your ass in both of her palms. She bit her lip, smacking it as she watched it jiggle. “Love your ass so much baby. Wanna have it on me forever..”

You whined, pushing your hips against her. That’s when you realized the rustling you heard was her moving her cargos down just enough to where her strap was out. Your body stuttered, feeling the tip of it hit your clothed cunt.

Bada muttered something you couldn’t understand. She then spoke louder as she gripped her strap. “Spread your legs a lil more baby…there you go angel.”

She held the strap in her left hand while her right hand was still gripping your ass. The tip of it teasingly poked your cunt through your panties. Bada gasped subtly, loving the string of wetness that connected them even with the fabric in the way. “God…such a needy little thing aren’t you, angel?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing your body back so she could understand what you wanted. Bada chuckled at you as you proved her right. She gave a light smack to your ass and pulled your panties aside, letting the tip of her strap hit your clit.

Bada’s eyes almost rolled back at your whoreish moan paired with your cunt very obviously clenching around nothing. She started to spread your wetness everywhere with each pass of her strap, wanting to be as sloppy as possible. She ignored your whines as she took her time. She carefully smacked your clit with the tip of her strap, making you moan into the seat.

“Wanna feel you fill me up..” You mumble, trying to look back at her.

“Gotta be patient princess. I’ll fuck you real good, don’t worry.” Bada mumbled, teasing your hole with the tip. She would put it in and pull it out, not giving you the satisfaction of actually being filled up.

She slowly eased into you, letting you feel every detail on her strap before she was completely inside you. You heard her sigh as she stayed still, not moving.

Pushing back onto her, you began to fuck yourself because you couldn’t bother to wait for her to do something. Your cunt was wet, wanting to be used, so you did it yourself.

Before you could actually get a good pace, you felt Bada’s hand snake up your back before finding its place in your hair. She pulled harshly, snapping your head up as you stopped. Your moan was loud and shameless, your cunt gushing around her strap.

“Whatchu think you’re doing baby?” Bada leaned over your body to mumble in your ear. “Hm? Who said you could fuck yourself like that?” She still hasn’t moved herself, letting you warm her strap. When you didn’t answer her, her grip on your hair turned harsher as she finally started thrusting into you. It was slow, deliberate. She wanted to make you desperate for more.

Your mouth opened as your eyes watered a little, still feeling the pain of her strap stretching you out. You bit the seat, letting yourself be used by her.

Her pace picked up, as the hand that was gripping your ass now played with your breasts. “I fucking love your body. So pretty for me. You like when I fuck you like this? Yeah?” Your moans made her go slightly faster. “I know, angel…” She mumbled off-handedly, making sure she hit your sweet spot that had you mewling.

Bada laughed as she kept fucking you. “Awe. My poor baby. You gonna cum already? Gonna make a mess all over my cock?”

You whimpered, loving that she referred to her strap as her cock. Your cunt clenched around her, feeling the grip she had on your hair tighten. Your eyes closed momentarily, trying to find something to say. “I- fuck Bada…gonna cum.” You finally moaned out. “Gonna make a mess..”

Bada hummed, speeding up. She played with your breasts gently. The difference between that and her rough fucking made your head spin. All you could hear was the sound of skin slapping, panting, and Bada’s little mumbles.

You could feel yourself about to let go, before Bada abruptly stopped. You couldn’t stop yourself from whining. You could tell that orgasm was going to be strong. Your watery eyes now let tears fall, mixing with the drool on your chin.

“You’ve been such a brat, baby. I can’t just let you cum like that.” Bada mumbled, pretending to be sad that she couldn’t let you orgasm. You didn’t say anything, opting instead to whine into the seat. You didn’t notice when she moved the both of you in the back seat, nor did you notice the way you were now on your back.

You didn’t really notice anything except the feeling of being full again. Your eyes widened in confusion at the fast intrusion, before looking at Bada. She was already looking at you with that annoying smirk of hers. Her bangs sticking to her forehead as she slowly rolled her body into yours.

“You just can’t help yourself, huh?” Bada said, making sure your eyes stayed on her. She had one hand on your waist, with the other trailing towards your neck again. Bada leaned over your body, the difference in size clear. She put her hand around your neck, slowly putting her body weight on that arm to choke you. “I love when you cry for me princess..”

Bada wasn’t looking at you anymore, but instead focused on the tears that fell from your eyes. She started kissing each drop, making sure to let her tongue come out a little too. You whimpered at her actions, hazy eyes looking anywhere but at her. The hand wrapped around your neck felt good, but you were slowly losing breath the more weight she put onto it.

“Bada—“ You had the remaining breath knocked out of you as she picked up her pace, returning back to her previous position. Bada was enticed by the way your breasts jiggled with each thrust. This made her go harder, fucking you into the seat unintentionally. Every roll of her hips into your cunt had your body moving. Your hands were everywhere, trying to find something to grasp onto.

One went towards her hair, and the other got pinned down by your waist by Bada. “Fuck..fuck angel you look so pretty like this. Love the way you look so ruined cause of me—“ Bada cut herself off as she gave a particularly rough thrust. She groaned as she did so, the other side of the strap hitting her clit perfectly.

She leaned down again, this time aiming for your breasts. Her mouth was all over you, giving kisses and sucking anywhere she could get. Her thrusts got faster, wanting to feel your breasts jiggle against her. She sucked your nipples, making sure her teeth grazed the tip of them each time she pulled her strap out. The hand holding your neck moved downwards, wanting to palm your ass.

Your long, drawn out moan showed Bada that you were going to cum…very soon. She hummed against your nipple before pulling herself up. “Gonna make a mess, hm? I don’t know if I should let you..” Bada giggled, loving the fear in your eyes.

“Please Bada…won’t be a brat again.” You mumbled breathlessly, letting out more drool. Your fucked out expression and hazy eyes almost convinced Bada. Almost.

She pretended to think about it for a second, feeling it get harder to fuck into you. “Maybe you should beg some more…”

“Please please please….I’ll do anything I swear. I’ll never be a brat again Bada. Please make me feel good. Wanna cream on your strap..”

Bada bit her lip, fucking into you a couple more times. She could feel you about to lose control, so she stopped. Her eyes sparkled as you sobbed. “Maybe if you weren’t such a brat..” Bada pulled her strap out slowly as to tease you. She pulled your body up, cupping your face in her hands. “I’ll make you feel good when we get home okay baby? Until then, we should talk about how bratty you were.”

She took the strap off, cleaned it before putting it somewhere secure. She started to clean you up, hesitating when she saw how red and puffy your cunt was. She really wanted to taste you, but she also wanted to edge you for your actions. She ended up ignoring her neediness to finish cleaning you up. Bada sat you on her lap, looking up at you.

“Are you jealous of how much time I’m spending with others? Or do you maybe feel unwanted?” Bada asked, paying close attention to your expressions.

“So now you wanna pay attention?” You ask with sass. You scoffed jokingly as she tried to make eye contact.

You avoided her eyes, opting to look at the..fogged up windows? You ignored it before you opened your mouth. “You don't pay enough attention to me…it feels like we’re not even in a relationship.”

Bada smiled and wrapped her arms around your waist, making you scoot closer to her. She put her hand on your head and guided it towards her chest. “You’re the only one I ever want, angel. I’ll make sure to spend more time with you, okay? Nobody will ever compare to you, I promise.”

“I know they won’t.” You say with even more sass, rolling your eyes. “I just don’t like how close you are with your team…especially Tatter.” You mumble into her shirt.

Bada took a deep breath, holding you tighter. “Tatter and the rest of them don’t have anything on you baby. You’re my goddess. The only one for me.”

You smiled slightly, loving how reassuring she is. “Do you promise to pay more attention to me?” You leaned up and looked at her.

Bada held out her pinky. “I pinky promise, princess.” You looked at her pinky weirdly.

“You’re so childish..” You say jokingly, hooking your pinky with hers. “Can we go home?” You asked, looking around the car in faux curiosity, hiding the fact that the only reason you wanted to go home was to finally cum.

She smirked and smacked your ass. “You’re such a naughty little thing, aren’t you?”

You both looked at each other, with Bada smirking before moving back up to the front. Bada looked at you one more time, seeing how hard you were squeezing your legs.

“Poor you…” Bada thought. She was going to have fun with you before she actually let you orgasm.

You looked towards her when you heard her giggle, side-eyeing her in distrust. “She’s definitely up to something.” You thought, sighing in disappointment at the inevitable teasing.

A/N: Bada is an ASS GIRL and loves sloppy sex idc what you guys say talk to a wall.

Also I’m ngl, I had hella trouble writing this cause I kept giggling at the words “boob” and “jiggle” LMAO

[nadjabea]

Crowley and Aziraphale never broke up. The conversation we (believe to) see in the end is not the conversation they had.

Aziraphale and Crowley play their own game of spionage and sabotage - and talk about it while we all are watching.

Edit 10/22/23: This analysis needs to be updated because there is more evidence of the body swap and because of that some of my interpretations what they REALLY say is much more precise. Will do it soon.

My point is: Aziraphale communicated a plan in the confession scene – in the subtext. And it culminated in a full body switch.

How? They have thousands of years of practice of talking and signaling their next steps to each other in a way that would not be noticed by any bystander, even less by their respective headoffices. We have seen this in the Job minisode.

They use body language, signs and references to films, songs, everything their head offices won't understand because they lack the earthly knowledge.

Maybe Aziraphale and Crowley even had a back up plan before the Metatron entered the scene. Why I got this notion? Because after their conversation in the bar about Jane Austen, Aziraphale has adapted Crowley’s notion of Austen as a spy and the mastermind behind a bank robbery. Doesn’t this seem odd for the owner of a book shop? (There is this interesting theory of Crowley planning a heist and the turtle neck being Crowley’s “spy dress” by @justhereforthemeta

So here is my analysis/interpretation of the conversation they had.

Note: I am not a native English speaker, I am German. This might of course influence my interpretation of the conversation.

-> After he spoke to the Metatron, Aziraphale comes back to the bookshop and plays happy.

Just as Crowley starts to talk – Aziraphale knows he has to interrupt him.

Aziraphale's hands sign: Stop! First, he tries it soft, watches out of the window to indicate: "We are under supervision!" As Crowley doesnt pick it up, Aziraphale lifts his hands in front of his chest. So they are more visible. Still: Crowley does'nt get it.

Aziraphale: I have some incredibly good news. Uhm The Metatron. I don’t think he is as bad a fellow. Um. I think I might have misjudged him. (Incredibly good news! My ass! Look at my face. Do I look happy? THE METATRON!!! Be aware! He is much worse than I thought!”

While Aziraphae plays the happy and exited angel, he signs "Time out!". His smile is forced. He points into direction of heaven, looks out of the window and hopes Crowley will pick up: "SOS! We need a time out because we have to talk without heaven listening."

But Crowley is like a steam train: He is on his track to confess and does'nt get Aziraphale's distress.

Aziraphale parafrases the talk with the metatron. His body language indicates he is stressed, again and again he turns into the direction of window, his eyes are forced open. Crowley still does'nt get it.

Crowley: He said what?

Aziraphale: He said, I could appoint YOU (tumps to Crowley) to be an angel (it seems that Aziraphale's thumps point to himself). You could come back to heaven and everything. Like in the old times (the old times when we had to pretend to be apart, but in reality worked together and did each other’s work without heaven or hell noticing).

(I don’t think that Aziraphale refers to the pre-fall times because I don’t think Crowley and Aziraphale spent much time together than. Crowley was probably more a loner “minding his own business” or hang out with the wrong group, Lucifer and the gang. Aziraphale would have been much too afraid to spend time around the trouble maker angels.)

Aziraphale: Only even nicer (You know that I know that you hate nice! Come on, get it!)

As Aziraphale gets on with his “excitement” about the new job, Crowley still don’t seem to get the subtext. After Crowley tells him he said no to hell, Aziraphale escalates: He falls back to their "Kayfebe", their way to play that they are along the "party line". (For more on Kayfebe read this post of @nautilicious).

Aziraphae „But heaven. It’s the side of truth, of light, of good.“ Looks obviously into direction of the window as he plays a sharade for the metatron. (Crowley, you know that we settled for shades of grey! Get it, we are under attack! )

Crowley (still doesn’t get it): When heaven ends life here on earth it will be just as dead as if hell ended it. Tell me you said No.

Aziraphael turns his head into the direction of the window to show Crowley they are being observed.

Crowley: Tell me you said no.

Crowley starts to realise that they are in danger but still does not pick up the immediate threat from the Metatron. So he starts his confession but changes it to propose to run away. > You only need to run away if there is someone hunting you. So at least, he gets that now.

During Crowley's statement Aziraphale shakes his head. (we wil not be able to outrun heaven)

Aziraphale: Come with me. (Pause) To heaven. I’ll run it, you will be my second in command. (Crowley, follow my plan: Ill will run this command, you will be my agent in heaven.)

As a non native speaker I looked up the synonyms for “second in command”. They list “substitute”, “replacement” “sub-agent” and “agent”. Agent! Here we are with our spionage story. Jane Austen, the spy, smuggler and mastermind behind a bank robbery.

Crowley: You cant leave this bookshop. (Okay, I get what you mean. But, no, we cant be separeted! you cant leave me on my own - in (an ambessy of) heaven. - Another interpretation: It cant be you who leaves. You have to stay here. )

Aziraphale: Oh, Crowley, nothing lasts forever.

I think this is a code phrase of them. It might refer to a song which was in the charts in 1966/67:

“Nothing last forever” sung by Margaret Whiting, who was already popular in the 1940s.

These are the lyrics:

Now you're down and broken hearted

you have lost your lucky star

You are sure you have no future

You don't know how wrong you are.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever...wait and see.

Now you've lost your only lover

Now your dreams are torn in two

You are sure you'll live in darkness

But the sun's gonna shine for you.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever...wait and see.

Now you've got an inch to go

If you still be a mile

Now the bidder's calling you

Capture this to a smile

Now what seemed eternity

Was the sun in a while.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever...wait and see.

Wait and see.

Wait and see.

Wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter

Baby just you wait and see.

Nothing lasts forever baby

Even pain and misery

All your tears will turn to laughter (fade)

Somehow I can imagine that Crowley liked this song and they listened to it together in the bookshop. So he knows the lyrics - and gets what Aziraphale tries to tell him.

Crowley: No. No. Don’t suppose it does.

He puts on his glasses to hide his tears but also because now he has to pretend. And he has the need to cover his eyes when he lies. You can see this in the 1941 minisode. While he watches Aziraphale perform the coin trick, Crowley led his glasses slide down his nose and you can see his eyes. But the second he starts lying to Aziraphale about him being a professional magician Crowley puts his glasses up und covers his eyes.

So Crowley starts to go along with Aziraphale's plan, plays to be reluctant - which he probably still is. He doesn’t want to go to heaven, considers Aziraphales plan probably to be a - to use the German expression - “Himmelfahrtskommando” which means literally “a squat that goes to heaven = a suicide squat) - Another interpretation: Maybe he doesnt want Aziraphale to go to heaven?

Crowley: Good luck.

Aziraphale: Crowley, come back. Work with me (I have got a plan, trust me and work with me). We can be together. Angels (you can have my body. So you will be an angel.) Doing good (saving earth and us) - I need you. – I don’t think you understand what I am offering you (Are you really that daft?)

Crowley: I understand. And I understand a whole lot better than you do. (Heaven, hell, I have been there. And it is me that has to go to heaven now. And I don’t like it. - And it's you that will go to hell instead of me. And I dont like it either)

Aziraphale: Well, than there is nothing more to say. (If you understand that I am offering you to posses my body, than do it)

Crowley: Do you hear that?

Aziraphale: I don’t hear anything. (Come on!)

Crowley: That’s the point. No nightingales (neither in heaven nor in hell).

“No nightingales” can have several meanings.

a) It's their song. The symbol of their love. There is no love in heaven, nor in hell.

b) The nightingale sings to protect clandestine love. Now they are not any longer under the protection of the night and the nightingale. Their love is laid open and we know what happened to Romeo and Juliet when the nightingale stopped singing.

c) Someone here on tumblr pointed to a novel called “No nightingales”. There is movie from 1947 that is based on this novel. In Wikipedia you can find this synopsis:

“In the 18th Century, Burlap and Kelsoe are officers in the army of Queen Anne who have recently retired and purchased a house on Berkeley Square. At a house-warming party the pair speculate how to win the war however they learn that the Duke of Marlborough has other plans that will lead to the Battle of Malplaquet. Believing the battle will end in slaughter they hatch a plan to capture Marlborough and hold him prisoner until the threat of hostilities passes. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ghosts_of_Berkeley_Square

Problem is: They are not at all competent and get killed bevor they could prevent the war. So they are cursed to be ghosts until a member of the royal family visits their house.

So could they plan the kidnapping of the Metatron or even God herself? Hold that thought! I definitly will think about that as a plot for season 3.

Crowley: You idiot. We could have been US. (Why did you have to get yourself associated with Gabriel? We could have led our own lifes, in our own bodies)

The kiss - and the body swap /posession

It is not a kiss to show they love each other, it is a kiss to mask the body possession, they exchange their essences

@doctorscienceknowsfandom has laid down already a lot of hints and signs Neil Gaiman planted in the open in the meta "Banana Fish Gorilla Shoelace with a dash of nutmeg" that Crowley and Aziraphale changed bodies.

@lonicera-caprifoliumhas some more hints.

Here are even more points that indicate: they have changed.

When the kiss ends "Aziraphale" cries und when "Crowley" leaves he touches his lips and his hands are shaking.

Several people already pointed out the face, the movement of the jaw and so on: This is Michael Sheen’s Crowley. I think the shaking and the tears are another hint that this is Crowley. Why? Until now we have only seen the hands of one of them shaking on screen: Crowley’s, in the 1941 minisode. Crowley’s hands are shaking if he is under pressure, and overwhelmed. Aziraphale on the other side seems to get nerves of steal when he has to perform (his tricks only work when it counts).

There are even more hints that they have changed their bodies:

“Crowley” is standing upright at the Bentley. He doesn’t move his body, he doesn’t move his face. Something that is so NOT Crowley, who is always in motion.

Also: Remember the first episode when Crowley and Aziraphale fought over Gabriel. Aziraphale told Crowley that he can leave when he doesn’t want to help and Crowley couldn’t contain his rage about that. He was fuming and throwing lightnings – all visible in the middle of the street, surrounded by humans (!). All because of a fight that – in retrospective – was much less threatening to their relationship and their lives.

In a script there is nothing without meaning. And I can’t discover any other meaning for the scene in which Crowley throws lightnings after a fight with Aziraphale than to show that the scene in the end was not a fight.

Hence: There is no way that the real Crowley would be that calm in the last scene. Crowley has much less control over his emotions than Aziraphale.

And even if it was Crowley at the Bentley and managed calmly to watch Aziraphale leave. He would not be able to contain himself after Aziraphale was in the lift. Once in his car (his save space) he would release his anger and pain. Crying, shouting, maybe even hitting the steering wheel, he would drive away as fast as possible screaming at an invisible Aziraphale because this might give him some relive.

But what do we see? A very contained demon.

Next evidence: The colour code of Aziraphale (yellow) and Crowley (red):

When “Aziraphale” is on screen people wear red. When “Crowley” is on screen a lot of people in yellow pass.

And even the plants in the Bentley appear to have changed to yellow. Bonus: A yellow flower blooms behind “Crowley”. Hence: It has to be Aziraphale.

So: Why would Neil Gaiman use the same trick twice?

Because it isn’t the same trick.

In S1 they changed their appearance. Aziraphale presenting as Crowley is still an angel. Therefore immune against holy water. Crowley presenting as Aziraphale is still a demon, immune against hellfire.

But this time, I think, they really posses the body of the other (wow, they really have come a long way from “What a pity you cant have my body” – “Angel, demon, probably would explode” ).

So, what does this mean? Angel and demons are from the same flock. It is impossible to distinguish them, except for the marks on their bodies. Now Aziraphale is indistinguishable able from the other demons, Crowley indistinguishable from the other angels.  

This raises the stakes when it comes to “The Second Coming”.

And this explains Crowleys worried face: He knew about the planes for Armaggedon 2.0,the destruction of earth.

The "Second Coming" is different. It is about judgement.

In the end everyone is going to be judged. The righteous will go to heaven, the other are cast away, extint. So what about an angel in the body of a demon? You see where I am heading ...

There is a lot to explore. The concept of "pretend to be good" and "properly good" and much much more. I will write about it another time.

Now I am curious: Am I delusional? Cant I just cope with the break up? What do think? Tell me you views. Let us discuss.

[vllergy]

ok hear me out i love a post-shower fit like idk pick your fav to torture and he's just gotten out of the shower, has a towel wrapped around his waist (slut), the mirror is all foggy, there's so much STEAM

it's probably morning and he's about to get ready for the day which means like the usual teeth brushing, hair product, shaving, whatever but as soon as he steps out of the shower-- sneeze

ok no big deal? maybe it was the change in temperature. warm shower to cold bathroom. it happens, right? but then he's drying his hair and there's another, and another and it folds him in half

so now it's a THING. is he allergic to his new shampoo? did all the steam loosen up a bunch of congestion from a cold? who knows take your pick but whatever it is, it's becoming a Thing

(bonus points if s/o with the kink has caught on by now and is poking their head in like? uh? everything ok?) your fav continues on, determined. snuffling, sniffing, rubbing at his nose. he wipes a circle in the fogged up mirror to see himself as if looking at his face might give him a clue about what's setting him off, but all he sees is his expression crumpling up before he sneezes again

and it's just relentless. he thinks it'll taper off after a while but it just doesn't. trying to do his hair, wash his face, put on deodorant, every few seconds he's just waylaid by another sneeze. it's one of those slow but persistent fits that just will not leave him alone

also it's kind of defeated the purpose of a shower to begin with because now his face is a mess and he has to keep blowing his nose to keep ahead of it, he's leaking like a faucet, he's probably flushed from just the sheer amount of sneezes

eventually he gives up on the morning routine entirely and just sits on the edge of the tub with a handful of tissues and decides to just sneeze it out. shuddering, exhausted sneezes by that point, the ones that fold him up and even make one foot come up off the floor as he crunches in on himself

he's completely dry by now but still in just a towel, has not even made it to clothes yet. bathroom is completely de-fogged. how much time has passed? he has no idea. when he's finally done he feels like he just ran a marathon, and probably needs another shower

[attyattlaw]

cross posting yesterday's rambling thread for posterity and because tumblr lets me edit things. anyway this is a sorta long thing and i might add things i forgot to mention in the twt thread

i tend to draw on-model canon because im a coward + just personal preferences. but the way i convert the canon designs into my artstyle is that i take the distinct features oda gives them and then combine it with personal headcanons to complete what should look like a unique human. Starting with Trafalgar Law, who is unfortunately a bland-ass conventionally pretty boy

someone commented a while ago the law hat drawing tutorial i made a while ago didn't make much sense and i realize its bc of the specific way i draw law's face: heart shaped (ba-dum-tss). That meaning, a narrow chin widening into a mild defined jaw, wide cheekbones, and up to his know-it-all brain dome.

given that, the pudgy guitar pick shape of his head i mentioned here should make a lot more sense.

i don't think this design point is unique to me, as most conventional pretty anime boy gets given jaws like this. a lot of law artists tend to veer into this head shape. just how life be sometimes. other points: flat, thick eyebrows is bc im a hairy gal and i need to feel better about myself.

Killer gets to be more interesting, because he shouldn't be considered conventionally attractive. my idea behind killer's is that those individual features is smth he would be insecure with enough to hide himself in a helmet but i draw him with all the love in the world actually. i'd like to think its how kid sees him or yknow, law, bc he's my kin assigned blorbo and maybe you ship lawkill as a guilty pleasure too i mentioned before (and ruined people's days) when i said whenever i draw killer he looks like griffith before i put on his goatee. the upper half of his face is distinctly feminine, with the lower half kinda over compensating. other than that uhh...idk. stan killer

Kidd is the bane of my existence, i feel like i can never draw his face consistently. yet at the same time he's so damn fun to draw everyone gotta try it.

my problem with kidd is that this mf does have eyelids. most kidd painters out there interpret this as him having deep set eyes (think Matt Smith or jeffrey star) . and yeh skill issue on me i should practice that. other notes, i try to make him younger than canon makes him look. he is my babygirl and he deserves to look cuddly. my band au kidd version has the honor of being allowed some chubs. he's just tries to look older and more menacing with edgy makeup. also i try to give him dimples when i can because, well i can.

Rosinante last bc i lost steam after kidd. the thing abt cora is that aside from not having eyebrows, everything is structured with the generic one piece man template. which means i gotta do everything myself doffy is there bc the way to figure out how to draw these two is to give them minor differences from each other, that being doffy gets slightly sharper features. in canon, these two are also rly wide boys (more of an oda style feat tbh) but i make them long. though bigger brained donquixote artists know that of these two brothers, doffy should be the wiry-er built. anyway that's it. in conclusion, i need to draw more girls actually i feel like im becoming misogynistic by osmosis from oda's style and now i draw girls all looking the same too.

[schrodinger-swriter]

I see that you take rqs for Adam, so is it okay to ask for Q, R, U, X and Z with Adam maybe????

Q, R, U, X, and Z for Adam

I return with some more writing; one of the things I need to get done... needs some time... The horrors of not taking out meat early enough to start to defrost; though a cold water bath usually comes in clutch so fingers crosses!

Still attempting to get my footing with writing Adam, tis a fickle process.

Rambling aside, I hope you enjoy Anon! C:

QUESTION:

Usually, a lot of the segments for characters and this letter can be a little more.. serious.. but with Adam, it's a little more lighthearted. And perhaps a little... well invasive, to put it lightly. He thinks about intimacy, a lot, so be ready to answer questions within that category. No real specifics, here. I hope you understand as I do wish to keep this blog as SFW as possible... a lot of the questions also gear towards himself, too. How you think of him and how he.. cough.. treats you.

RISK:

A lot of risks, actually. He doesn't really mean to put you in danger, it's just that a lot of the time he doesn't realize the gravity or severity of some things unless it directly impacts him. He's a little full of himself and it can come at the detriment of others. Though, how far will he go to make sure you're safe? It depends, really... but most times he might just try to do the bare minimum if that's an option. Call it laziness, call it him believing you can pull through with your own strength and resilience. Call it both.

UPSET:

When Adam is upset he can become immature, or at least a little more than he already is in the day to day. He can also become a bit.. rude. Insults and muttering under his breath become common. Usually he lets out steam through a.. self pleasuring session, or if you allow it, make it a two player event. Otherwise, he tends to stew in it until something really good steals his mind away to it.

When you're the one upset he might be a little oblivious or even dismissive at first before realizing that you're genuinely upset about something. He offers a mean back rub, and as said in the previous Adam Alphabet post, he does actually listen if he doesn't seem like it. Perhaps he takes you out for the night to get your mind off of things!

XRAY:

As stated above he can be a little dense in reading your tone and body language. Unless you're very much visibly stressed, he's probably not going to pick up one many things. Granted, he does attempt to right himself by pulling you to the side so you can unload to him about what's going on. So you have to give him some credit there... This also applies to when you're excited or happy, sometimes smaller ques can go right over his head.

ZZZ:

He very warm. Not too skinny, not too muscular. He tends to take up the entire bed when he sleeps and moves around a lot in his sleep. He also snores... Will likely steal the blanket, too. Though, he does pull you close to him when you two are sleeping and drapes his wings over you as a makeshift blanket, so you don't go cold during the night! Has probably accidentally pushed you off the bed in his sleep.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Randomly thinking about “tolerate it” (narrator voice: it was not random) and how under the cloak of fiction it is ostensibly inspired by works like “Rebecca” (which Taylor said she read during the 2020 lockdowns I believe?), with the line of “you’re so much older and wiser” indicating that the speaker is significantly younger and inexperienced compared to the person she’s speaking to and a pretty direct reference to the plot of the book.

But I saw something somewhere once that stuck with me about how it might not be referring to relative age between the characters but chronological age as in the passage of time in a relationship. And that made me think about how in a contemporary context, it might not necessarily be referencing an actual age gap between the two characters, but rather a sarcastic or cynical response to the man’s claims that he has matured (“you’re so much older and wiser [than you were before/than you were when we met/etc.]”), which then made me think about that line in relation to the woman. And that it could be taken like, “you act like you’ve matured so much in our time together and like you know everything, while I’m supposedly still stuck as the girl I was when we first met.”

Which then made me think of the “right where you left me” of it all and did you ever hear about the girl who got frozen time went on for everyone else she won’t know it and the bit in Miss Americana where she talks about how celebrities get frozen at the age at which they got famous, and how she’s had to play catch up in a lot of ways not just in her emotional growth but kind of in general. (Which also made me wonder if she’s ever been called out for immaturity/lack of curiosity/lack of education about things in her life…)

Which then made me think about the rest of the song, and @taylortruther’s posts yesterday about “seven” and “Daylight” and the way Taylor idealizes her youth yet contrasts it with an almost sinister reality in its wake, and the line, “I sit by the door like I’m just a kid,” because the discussion raised that her relationship let her recapture some of the childlike joy and wonder she’d lost. So this line is a double-edged sword: the speaker sits by the door with childlike hope that the person will come home and cherish her, but on the darker side, feels like the child dealing with the monsters she doesn’t have names for yet and the feelings of isolation she felt as she aged.

I’m not saying the song is necessarily autobiographical; like most of the songs on folkmore, it’s clearly a fictionalized story based on media she’d consumed and created, but we know a lot of the fictional songs were infused with her own feelings and experiences and… This idea swirling in my head picked up steam and now I kind of can’t stop thinking about it. Sorry but I’m a little obsessed now.

Like maybe it might start to shed light on why she identified so strongly with the novel in the first place…

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

🧃🧃

TLDR: am I the asshole for not bringing a gift to a Christmas party for a baby that doesn't know me?

Context:

This was my in-laws Christmas party. This was the second year I was invited. There were over 30 people at their house, including multiple babies and young children. A majority of the adults didn't bring gifts for each other, and my mil provided most of the gifts for white elephant. My partner ALSO didn't get a gift for their niece, they just sign off on whatever their mom picks out. Outside of white elephant, neither I or my partner received any gifts (not a complaint, I'm Jewish and they got their gift later). Christmas is the normal awkward affair. Then two weeks later, my partner's mom announced at the breakfast table (this is second hand info) that she no longer likes me because I didn't bring a gift for my partner's niece. Unprompted, and she'd had plenty of chances to take the shot to my face, but she just whips this out two weeks after. I've also spoken to her and been in her house since she said this and she hasn't brought it up to me AT ALL. I did bring desserts for the post-dinner buffet also. More facts:

1) My SIL is extremely combative and doesn't like me much, if I'd pissed her off she'd have said so in front of gd, the guests, and everyone right there on Christmas

2) This might be related to my mil being embarrassed that I'd told my partner about an inappropriate joke she made at my expense during dinner. She's extremely conflict avoidant and could be letting off steam over that, or any other number of holiday related events

3) During the breakfast conversation she also directly asked my partner if I was trans and for the sake of keeping the peace they lied (I've given them permission to do this)

4) Most importantly, yes I do see this baby semi-regularly because I have a responsibility to show up to family events sometimes. But also this baby doesn't know my name and couldn't pick me out of a lineup. She's also kinda spoiled (her parents have some issues) and gets mountains of gifts for every holiday, including Christmas, and is one of those kids that has to blow out the birthday candles at other people's birthdays or she gets upset.

5) My partner's nibling is 2 years old.

6) Other adults did bring her gifts, but not every adult at the party brought a gift for every kid

My partner and I are kind of baffled, mostly because she waited so long when she had ample opportunity to bring it up. They think she was just having a bad day and saying mean shit to blow off steam because that's what she does. I, on the other hand, have actually taken this really personally. I did a drastic haircut and have kind of written off having a relationship with her. I called my mom and she said it's iffy on whether or not I'm the asshole here, but that she doesn't personally expect people in their mid-twenties to be giving out gifts to other people's kids unless they're really close. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[frescoisnotinthemilitary]

Not sure if this is how I send you asks but could you do a König x male baker reader? Like a fluff story? Like at some point Konig realizes he's in love with the sweet baker? If not that's fine too 🫶🏾🫶🏾 please?

Sweet Tooth

König x Male!Baker!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, and König being clueless about his feelings (Tags apply differently. Jokes about suicide, meant to be read with a light heart)

Pronouns for reader: you, he/him, reader is implied male

A/N: I really appreciate this opportunity to write for a character I haven't really written for or considered writing for in the past. I’ve also never written for a male reader before, so thanks so much for this ask! I’m also a firm believer that König drinks an unhealthy amount of hot chocolate. We’re talking 4+ cups on a normal day. I was given the idea and it kind of spiraled. He’s also shy and very pookie-coded here, I think.  Let me know if any of the German is wrong, I relied heavily on Google Translate for this. Also if I missed anything. I’ve read this so many times that the words are melting together and I just needed to post it. Sorry this took so long, I’ve been sick and it’s kicked my ass.

It was a bit of a shock, the first time he walked into the bakery. At almost seven feet tall, how could he not be a shock? 

Ding. The soft tinkle of the bell above the door alerts you to the presence of the morning’s first customer. You glance up, and the smile drops from your face, then immediately reappears. 

“Good morning! Take your time with the menu, and let me know when you’re ready to order.” Your voice cuts through the silence. “I’m going to go take some muffins from the oven, but I'll be back soon. Let me know when you're ready, alright?”

“Ja.” A man’s deep rumble sounded from under his dark veil. You notice his head tip back up toward the chalkboard menu as you slip through the swinging doors to the kitchen. 

When you return, holding a tray of still-warm muffins, he looks to you. “Bitte, ah, please, may I order?”

“Mhm,” you hum in response, your chest buzzing with the vibrato. “What would you like?” The air is filled for a moment with the quiet sound of each muffin tapping onto the glass display plate. 

“May I have a- a blueberry scone, and a medium, ah, large, hot chocolate, please?” He asks. You notice him picking at his gloves and shrinking down as if trying to appear smaller than he is. 

Maybe he’s shy. The thought makes you smile inwardly. “Yup. I’ll get those for you. Sorry for the wait, it’s just me this morning.” 

“Die Stille [hush], it is- do not worry. It is no problem.” 

Oh my god, he really is shy. 

“For here, or to go?” 

“To go. Danke.”

Several minutes later, you raise a hand in a slight wave as he leaves, paper bag and steaming cup clutched in one gargantuan mitt. “Have a good day.”

“Ja. You as well,” he replies. 

It becomes routine, after a while. At first, it was about once a week. Then, it was a few times. Now, Monday through Saturday, he’s the first customer in the bakery, often causing the bell to ring as soon as you flip the sign. 

It’s a typical Tuesday morning, about a month after he started coming in. You’ve already opened the door, he’s received his usual order, and you’re curious. “What’s your name?” You ask, the urge to inquire obscuring any boundaries you might cross. 

He considers lying for a moment, but you’ve been kinder than most. Always assisting him whenever you could, treating him like a human, not like an apathetic war machine. 

“König,” he answers. 

“König,” you repeat. “Isn’t that German for ‘king’? Are you German?” You can’t keep the questions in. They fall from your lips before you recognize that what you’ve asked is invasive. He’s a customer. He’s here to get cocoa and a scone, not be bombarded by questions he might not even want to answer. 

But the man seems unfazed. “Ja, it is German. However, I am from Austria, not Germany.” 

Thank god for those Duolingo lessons, you think. 

“Oh. I’m sorry for all the questions so suddenly, but what do you do for work? Do you work around here?” The embarrassment you felt at the barrage of questions leaving your lips ebbs, and you feel more comfortable asking them now. 

“Ah, well,” he hesitated. “I am a Marine. I am a colonel. I work on the KorTac base, just outside of the city.” He checked his watch, then looked back up to you. “I’m sorry. I have to go, now. It was good speaking with you. Ah, goodbye.” 

It seems rushed, but you think little of it. He’s just shy. 

“Oh, yeah. Of course. See you tomorrow.” 

“Ja, I will be here.”

Tomorrow comes and goes. As does the next day. And the next, and so on. You don’t ask any more questions, as he seemed to leave hastily the last time. 

But he wishes you would. Why did I not ask one of him? I want to know more about the man, the little voice in the back of his head tells him. 

Weeks pass. He returns again. And you’re feeling brave.  

“König?” Your voice accompanies the sound of the paper bag as he grabs the top. “Would you, uh…” You trail off. 

“Would I what, der Nachtisch [sweets, dessert]?” 

“Would…” You had a hard time getting the words out. Your palms begin to sweat against the counter, and everything seems to be amplified tenfold. “Would you like to get dinner sometime?” You blurt. 

König is silent for a moment. Then, “Dinner?”

“Uh- yeah. With me.” You wish you could see under the veil, as he doesn’t answer. It seems like hours before König’s head tilts back upward to you. 

A small smile grows on his face, not that you can see it. He finally speaks, and his voice is soft. “Ja. I would like that, very much. Thank you.”

He doesn’t understand why his neck feels hot. His ears. His cheeks. His face is on fire and he doesn’t know why. 

You breathe a sigh of relief. He didn’t reject me. He wants to go to dinner. 

Shit. He wants to go to dinner.

“Cool, cool. What, uh, what kind of food do you like?” You ask casually, as if talking about the weather. As if you hadn’t just asked Colonel Colossus to grab a whole ass meal with you. 

He thinks for a moment before responding. “I quite enjoy anything. I am in favor of the foods of my Austrian background, though I am sure you are much more accustomed to those of your home. The choice is yours, mein Täubchen [my dove].” 

“Uh, well, it’s not Austrian, but there’s a little German restaurant a few blocks from here.”

Why did he ask me to choose? “If that’s okay.” 

König smiles, though his glowing cheeks remain obscured by the veil. “That sounds perfect, Mein Schatz [my dear].”

Your face lights up. “Great. When are you free?”

[themalhambird]

Aaaaaand now, for a little post-bar-late-night-chit-chat between the boys....

It should be bliss. The bed is soft, the flat is warm, and for the first time in what feels like a decade or three Charles Whiteman can go to sleep with the absolute certainty that he’s not going to wake up bombed to pieces. But he can’t sleep, because he keeps straining for the tell-tale hum of the sodding luftwaffe. He’s still bracing for the sirens to start blaring, and the streetlights fading softly through the curtains are making his chest tighten, convincing him that right now, this street is thrusting its arm up in the air yelling pick me- actively volunteering to be Hitler’s prime target. He stares up at the ceiling for another ten minutes then gives up, rolling out of bed and making for the sitting room. This television thing is smashing- stuffed to the brim with rubbish that has no right to be so mindlessly entertaining and of course, a whole lot of good looking women in short skirts. Some really short skirts. Whiteman wonders-

The thought drops dead when he takes one step through the sitting room door, going for the lightswitch before he clocks Hillinghead. The man’s sitting in the armchair nearest the window, curtains open (that damned street light) but otherwise  in complete darkness. Reading. “No wonder you need glasses,” Whiteman says. 

“Whiteman. Can you not sleep either?” 

Whiteman drops his hand from the lightswitch without flicking it on. “Too quiet,” he says. Hillinghead does that hum-snort-scoff thing of his that Whiteman figures is amusement. 

“Too loud,” he counters, turning the page. 

“Mind if I get the lamp?” It’s not escaped Whiteman’s notice that the other man finds electric lights uncomfortable, even more than they make him feel. It makes sense, Whiteman guesses. They’re bright by his standards- he doesn’t know if Hillinghead even has electric lights in his home. 

“By all means.”  

Whiteman crosses to the right hand corner of the room and grabs the metal stem of the standing lamp. It comes on with touch. Fascinating. He throws himself on to the sofa and stretches out, angling himself so that he’s looking at Hillinghead. “Do you sleep in your suits?” he says. The man is, no kidding, wearing a tie at four o’clock in the morning. 

“No, I just- get dressed if I’m leaving the bedroom.” Hilinghead closes his book and stands. For a second Whiteman thinks he’s chased the guy off, but he just says

“Tea? Coffee?”

Whiteman hides a smirk. Electric lights might get on his nerves, but electric kettles, Hillinghead really seems to like. And the abundance of tea and coffee is something that they both appreciate: for Whiteman, a combination of rationing and supply problems can make tea in particular tricky to get hold of; for Hillinghead, coffee in particular was a rarely-consumed  luxury. And, Whiteman was convinced, the man just really likes using the kettle. A bit of a weird quirk, but everything about this situation is weird. “Sure,” he says, “Whatever you’re having.” 

Hillinghead nods and leaves the room. Whiteman gets up to pilfer his book and throws himself back down, studying the cover. Lady Audley’s Secret, the front cover declares- flipping to the title page, Whiteman sees that it was first published in 1862. When Hillinghead comes back five minutes later with two mugs of steaming black tea, Whiteman waves it at him “Reminds you of home?” he asked. 

“My wife- before we were married, we were…fifteen , I believe. Her mother said she wasn’t old enough to read it so she asked me to buy her a copy and to read it to her while she sat with my mother on a Tuesday afternoon.”

“Your mum didn’t mind?”

“My mother was ill, by that time, she would be asleep on the sofa twenty minutes after Charlotte arrived, more often than not,” he pauses. “She died before we could finish the book. We both did finish it, but separately - I read it myself and then I took off the cover and rebound it with-” he breaks off abruptly, and takes a long sip of his tea, avoiding Whiteman’s eye.

“What,” Whiteman prods. “What did you do? Cut a novel sized hole in the Bible and shove it in?”

“No.”  Hillinghead takes another long sip of tea and then confesses, sounding a little embarrassed: “...it was a collection of Hymns, Psalms, and other Spiritual Poetry.” Whiteman starts to laugh. “When my father found out he whipped me so hard I still had the bruises a month later,” Hillinghead adds. “It was his book, I shouldn’t have taken it.”

“Still,” Whiteman says. “Neat trick.” There’s genuine fondness in Hillinghead’s voice when he speaks about Mrs Hillinghead. Whiteman wants to ask more about this “Arthur” Hillinghead mentioned in the pub that afternoon, but without that 21st century daylight, and without Hasan’s and Maplewood’ casual acceptance, it feels like a topic too dangerous to be broached. Whiteman doesn’t care, per say- he’s always been one to turn a blind eye, or even shoot off a quiet  warning to the odd blokes not quite being discreet enough with the eyes they’re  making at each other. But it’s not something you openly talk about, not for him and certainly not for Hillinghead. So instead he sips his own tea and says,

“When I was a nipper, my dad caught me eating the biscuits my mum had made to take to this meeting, her and her friends got together once a week and they took turns bringing the cake or whatnot.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“He helped me finish them off, then we figured out how to make more.” Whiteman grins. Hillinghead actually laughs. “We got away with it, too,” Whiteman says. “Mum said she couldn’t figure out what she’d done differently that time to make them taste so good,” Hillinghead’s laughter grows. “If I can get the stuff together, I should make them for Esther when I get back.” His good mood dims a little. “If I get back. If she’s alright when I get back. I gave her a couple of people to go to, if - if I went out one night and didn’t come back. The bombings…y’know. Rabbi Goldstein. Inspector Calloway. Either of them would look out for her- but only if she goes. It’s been hard enough convincing her to do what I say when I am around.”

“I am sorry,” Hillinghead says quietly. “If nothing else, from what you’ve said the child sounds like she has a knack for survival.”

Whiteman snorts. “She does that.” 

They both turn their attention to their tea, each  sinking into their own thoughts. But it’s a companionable kind of silence, the knowledge that the other man knows at least a little something of how he’s feeling is a comfort to each. Whiteman hasn’t told Inspector Hillinghead that his daughter’s name’s a household one in his time, that Vera Lynn, Charlie Chaplin, and Polly Hillinghead keep Britain marching on, and he wonders if he should. He wants so badly to know about Esther. But Maplewood has said they need to limit their knowledge of the future as much as possible, or their knowledge of the immediate future of their own times, at any rate, and Hasan had agreed - citing the authority of “science fiction” in general and “Doctor Who” in particular. So mum’s the word- he hasn’t even told Maplewood or Hasan. And much as he wants to, he isn’t going to attempt to try and  trace Esther. Right now, he can just about convince himself that she’s out there somewhere, an absolute rogue of an old lady with an army of  grandchildren, like his mum had always wanted to have. He’ll take Esther to meet his mum, when this is over. If he presents a sort-of grandkid, she might stop nagging him about a daughter in law. Well, a man can dream, can’t he?

…but he doesn’t, not for the rest of that night: the first he knows about falling asleep is Maplewood yanking the blanket off him. “Oi!” he complains, and then: “...where did that even come from?”

“Budge up, I want to eat my cereal and you’re hogging all the sofa space. You didn’t grab the blanket?”

“Nope.” They both look over to the armchair. Hillinghead has nodded off, a blanket of his own and his still open book held limply on his lap. “Soft touch.” Whitehead mutters affectionately. 

“Don’t wake him up!” Maplewood whisper-hisses. 

“Hey- you woke me up, yelling about your bleeding cereal,” Whiteman counters, but he makes room for her on the sofa as he says it. “So,” he says. “What’s the plan, for today?”

[be-my-ally]

Before the Draft Notice

This follows on directly from Splashing Around Chapter 1 & Chapter 2. 

Hello darlings! So, I had something else ready to post, but, well, it's not yet even Halloween and therefore I’ve been informed it might be a little, teeny, tiny, bit early for Christmas fics - so here I am, bridging the gap with a little teeny tiny filler. Let me know though if/when you think it might be the correct time for festive fluffy fun! 

warnings: kissing, implications of underage. unedited (I will probs come back to this tomorrow).

1957 elvis x oc

wc: 2.4k

Elvis wasn’t home soon though, he dawdled in California until they all saw the news articles of him at a fancy Halloween party and though the other girls had a lot to say about it, Louise privately thought it made sense; he was young, he was popular, he was making it, why wouldn’t he be rubbing shoulders with the starlets and actors of the west coast? Although that didn’t mean she didn’t share their fears, understanding their annoyance was borne from stress that he was leaving them behind. Besides, he’d called in a terrible temper the night before and it was, or at least Louise thought, an effective way for him to blow off some steam. He had been on the phone to them for hours, forcing them to pass it around to one another, telling them the same story over and over - presumably intending on doing so until someone managed to calm him down. Louise dreaded to think of the cost of just that one call - surely more than she’d spent on the phone in a year. 

“Hey Elvis, it’s me.” She could picture his nostrils flaring as she heard a puff from him,  

“Lou-ise.” He was curt, and she worried the phone cord around her finger, twirling it as she tried to think of what to say; desperate to prove herself to him and to the others - to succeed where all the others had failed.  

“I, uh, I heard ‘bout the, I heard about the police.”  

“Did ya? Wish they’d just move on; I’m not doing anything wrong. I don’t get why they hafta keep picking on me.” Louise hums, and he continues, “They’re sayin’ I’m - I’m lewd, got the goddamn police after me again like I’m a fucking criminal. Ain’t enough they’ve made me 1A already, they gotta try and prove their goddamn point.” She sighs,  

“Well - I thought that didn’t bother you anymore?” He huffs back at her,  

“Well, no, it don’t. I find it funny most of the time now. I mean - they didn’t even look at me the whole night, but it’s still, it’s still not fair to treat my fans like that either is it?” She murmurs back to him in what she hopes is a consolatory tone,  

“No, no you’re right El… it’s not, it’s not fair.” She pauses, briefly, “What’s really the matter though? That’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before.” There’s a longer pause, as if he’s debating whether to tell her. She shakes out a hand to the others left in the room motioning at them to leave. They grumble but filter out, talking about who was driving who home. Then, in a whine,  

“Some reporter had me read something from Sinatra.” Ah, there it was, “And, and, I just don’t know where he gets off being so mean.” He sounds like a little boy complaining about someone in the school yard, and Louise smiles,  

“Uh-huh, I hear you. He is being awfully unfair. You want me to write an opinion piece back to him? I could hand it in for extra credit in my English class.” He laughs,  

“Oh, I shouldn’t be bothering you with all this. Not at -” She can practically hear him adding up the time difference on his fingers, “- well, this late on a school night.” He pauses, “What are you doin’ there anyway - shouldn’t you be at home?” She winces, it was pretty late, and she’d hoped he wouldn’t ask that.  

“Well, we were all here waiting for you to call. Wanted to be here in case you needed us - all of us that could be here anyway - and well, a lot of the others have gone home but, well, your mom said I could stay as long as I liked so, well, here I am.”  

“But you’ve been keeping up with school? You’ve not been skippin’?” She rolls her eyes, and he tuts,  

“I heard that.” Louise giggles back, 

“You can’t possibly!”  

“Trust me - I always know.” He sighs, “God, I can’t wait to be home.” He yawned, jaw cracking, “Gotta, gonna go to this party, just - think it’s just a lil, little, uh, gathering - then I’ll be home.”  

“Well, I’ll be waiting,” He pauses,  

“Well - it’s, it’s probably best if you, well if you go home ‘til I call for you hmm?” It wasn’t unexpected, but Louise still felt her stomach drop.  

“Yeah, of course, uh, whatever you say.”  

“Just be for the best, I think honey.” 

“Yeah, I get it, sure.”  

“Sleep tight then baby, I’ll see you soon.”  

“Yeah-huh, you too.” He hangs up and she’s left holding the receiver, in his empty living room, uncertain really what he’d been saying.  

When he finally got back Louise didn’t get a call, and then she heard he had left for Hawaii before she had managed to muster up the courage to call him herself. Once Elvis returned, he didn’t call her himself for days, although she did get several calls inviting her up to the house which she of course accepted every time. And every night it was the same story, she sat there, quietly with the other girls while he chatted and played evening after evening. Louise wasn’t being ignored, not really. He was just…sharing his affections. Equalizing his attention amongst them all. It wasn’t until a week later, on the weekend, that he came around to the girls, flopping down onto the sofa between them and resting his head onto Louise’s lap. Frances had his feet on hers, and she softly brushed his sole until he huffed, twitching his foot away and turning his head into Louise’s stomach. She gently stroked his hair, fingers barely catching in his freshly washed strands. She could feel his hot breath against her skin through the thin fabric of her dress and it makes her hair stand up on edge, the intimacy of the moment almost too much for her as she tries to keep her breathing steady.  

“I’ve got a bad feelin,’ Ma does too.” Louise’s hand stills, her other coming down to tickle his back, soft fingers dancing over his shoulders. Elvis twists his head, nodding against her hand and Louise gets the hint returning to gently brushing through his hair. 

Frances pipes up,  “What d’you mean?”  

“I’ve - I’ve got a nasty feeling about my notice - don’t think it’ll be long now.”  

“Oh.” Louise feels her chest tighten, worry already setting in as Frances responds,  

“No! I’m sure that’s not true Elvis! You’ve got so much already planned!” He huffs, and Louise whispers back to him,  

“Well, we’ll deal with it if it is,” He whines a little into her,  

“Y’all gotta promise me - promise me you’ll all be good while I’m gone, I don’t - don’t wanna hear you’ve gotten into trouble.” He pauses, his voice muffled by the fabric of her dress, “Don’t want anything to change.” Louise can’t help but think about all the ways she wants things to change, namely how it’s now been months since they last kissed properly, and she felt like she was close to begging for it - propriety be damned. Whether Elvis notices her telepathic hinting, or if it was always in the plan is unclear, but within the hour he had returned to his bedroom, presumably to get changed again although he didn’t bother to announce that to the room. George tapping on her shoulder twenty minutes later after some sort of Chinese whispers had taken place with orders for her to be sent up to him.  

Louise tentatively knocked on the door even though she knew he was expecting her, awaiting his, “Come on in little Lou-Lou!” before opening it. He’s perched on the end of his bed when she walks in, her feet sinking into his soft, still new-feeling, thick white carpet, and he opens his arms to her. She practically throws herself into them and is immediately rewarded by him pulling her tight to him, his arms folding around her back, clutching her close. She couldn’t break away further than an inch if she wanted to, not that she did. She contented herself nosing at his neck, before one of his hands strayed up to rest on her cheek, turning her face to his, before falling down to her neck, fingers splayed up to her chin. She tips her head up, meeting his eyes and he winks before ducking his own head down to meet hers. It’s at once far more involved than the last time they’d kissed. This time he’s kissing her like he’s hungry for it and he pulls away, briefly, with a tug to her bottom lip,  

“God - I missed ya, baby,” before clutching her face close again. Louise feels like her body is burning from the inside out, can feel the heat building and starting to radiate off her, and Elvis’ arm clenches around her, stilling her movements as she practically bucks against him. She just melts, his arm the only thing really holding her up as she willingly goes along with her devourment. He laughs, his fingers grazing her waist, as she gasps for a breath, her eyes still closed, “You’re so pretty.” Her eyes flutter open in disbelief, unable to believe, even having heard it herself, that Elvis was telling her she was pretty. She gathered her strength to place her wobbly arms around his neck, murmuring back to him, “No, you’re the pretty one, gosh you’re gorgeous, you look so good,” as she presses little kisses all over his cheeks and face. He reciprocates, and she manages to keep her eyes open, watching him at impossibly close range. He ends by pressing a kiss to her mouth again, and this time Louise pushes herself against him so hard that they go tumbling down onto the bed. She giggles, looking around at the blue walls, but Elvis quickly regains her attention, caging her in under him and capturing her mouth with his again. She relaxes into him - completely at ease and trusting.

By the time they make their way back downstairs, Louise was dazed, and her lips bitten sore, and she was pleased to notice Elvis’ looked the same - a little zing of possessiveness sent straight up her spine. Yes; she mussed his hair up to look like that. His lips are rosy and plumped because of her. She misses everyone’s first looks, coming in behind Elvis, and though he doesn’t announce what they’ d been up to she can feel their knowing eyes, and she resigns herself to having to field questions on the nature of her relationship with Elvis.  

Elvis immediately situated himself back on the couch, patting the space next to him.  

 “C’mon little girl, come sit next to me.” Louise writhes a little, her face echoing her jumbled internal thoughts. 

“What? C’mon, what’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” He teases, eyebrow rising and Louise is quick to walk over to him, anxious for him not to change his mind despite her annoyance. He grabs her wrist before she can sit down, tugging her to stand in front of him. “You don’t wanna sit with me now?” She thinks, but doesn’t say, ‘well, no. because you’re holding me upright.’  

“No, no, I do. I just, I know you don’t mean it in this way, but it’s just…well, Elvis - you’re not that much older than me, and it feels like sometimes you’re, - “She pauses, unsure how to put it, his gaze hardens,  

“I’m what?”  

“Like you’re, oh I don’t know Elvis!” He doesn’t let go, and he doesn’t respond, just waiting her out. “Well. You just don’t needta call me little all the damn time.” His brow furrows as he tries to work out what’s referring to,  

“What? I can’t call you little girl?” He scoffs, “I don’t mean nothing by it. Jus what you are s’all.”  

“Elvis.” She pouts, and he grins, pulling her closer, pressing his palms to her cheeks,  

“Just my itty-bitty baby girl.” She groans, annoyed he wasn’t taking her seriously, and stomps her foot. He cackles in response, drawing back.  

“See, what did I tell ya boys - She’s just a baby.” He says it with a sneer, and it suddenly doesn’t feel like kind-hearted teasing anymore. Louise can rapidly feel tears of frustration blurring her vision, frustrated at the situation, and at how it’s impossible to argue she’s not a baby when she’s crying at everything. Elvis frowns. “Oh, honey, there’s no need fo-” But they don’t stop coming, and he watches almost forlorn himself as a fat, salty teardrop slides down her cheek. He sighs, “C’mere with me.” He drags her out of the room away from the others and pulls her along all the way back up to his bathroom, “C’mon, here we go,” He picks her up to balance her on the vanity while she sniffles.  

“So-rry,” She manages to get out, while he gently wipes at her eyes with his thumbs, “Didn’t mean to, I know you were playing.” He smiles, eyes almost pleading, crinkling just the tiniest amount around the corners,  

“Thought you were gonna fight it out with me. I wasn’t expecting the waterworks, but I guess, well I guess, you’re jus’ a little over-emot’onal huh, darling?” He kisses the tears away, teardrop clinging to his lip as she struggles to compose herself. “Will you still come back tomorrow?” The question startles Louise enough for her to stop the tears,  

“Of course! Whenever you want me too.” Elvis brushes his hand through his hair, shoving some of it back into place.  

“Honey, I want you here all the time. Even when you’re bein’ silly.” He taps her nose and Louise giggles again. “Look, I think someone here is tired, so how’s abouts I drop you home?”  

Louise blinks back at him, the offer almost unheard of, “You want to?” He nods, his hair flopping back into disarray,  

“Yeah-huh, let’s wash your face, huh honey? And then I’ll take you home. Tuck my baby in for the night.” Louise blushes, this was exactly the kind of comment she’d just been protesting, and yet now it was making her head feel fuzzy and her tummy flip with anticipation. Elvis shifts his weight as he cocks a hip, holding his hand out for her hold for balance as she hops off the sink and as the sturdy weight of his fingers sink into hers Louise decides it’s not an argument that she has any desire to win.

[callsignfangs]

141 boys as gamers. Yep.

Price:

• Totally the rager.

• Insists the games are stupid and he couldn’t care less about them, he had important work, afterall

• Has to get a new controller/keyboard every few weeks and has multiple controller-sized holes in his walls. Probably even broken a couple mics unintentionally.

• Still plays almost exclusively competitive multiplayer games, tho. Might occasionally dip his toes into horror, challenge, and even collection-based games.

• Unleashes every foul word in his nasty vocab on anyone he dislikes in a game (probably had his mic taken away /j)

Ghost:

• Patience of a saint.

• Tells everyone he doesn’t care about gaming, and tbf he probably cares the least out of the four

• Probably played getting over it with a straight face for funsies

• Also needs to get new equipment often, but just because this dude manhandles it to hell.

• Picks games at random. Probably by the steam homepage. Maybe by requests/recommendations. Does tend to prefer open-world and sci-fi games, though. Also has a very intricate minecraft world he’s spent hundreds of hours on.

Gaz:

• Chaotic as shit

• Always looking for secrets and manages to practically destroy half his game files. He goes looking for an extra coin he missed in a hard to reach cubby two stages back and ends up glitching through the floor twice, skipping three bosses and deletes the save file all in the span of maybe five minutes

• Mans will absolutely feast on any game with decent lore, but actually prefers cosier games like unpacking, minecraft, stardew valley (heavy on stardew). Will happily explore adventure/exploration type games, as well.

• Sits in the weirdest positions when gaming. Mate has both legs straddling the monitor and has folded himself in half like a fleshy garden chair, managing to somehow play the game upside down with maybe a sliver of screen /j

Soap:

• Can’t take shite seriously. Imagine like. A stream with markiplier, wade and ethan as one person. (Gaz is his bob /j)

• Mostly horror games, probably.

• Has gotten banned from multiple platforms bc of this mans OUTRAGEOUS swearing. He pulls out multiple languages, from Scottish to, like, Arabic (ty Farah 😇)

• Speaking of, I think he’s learning a couple of languages. This was bc he accidentally came across a game he really wanted to play that hadn’t been translated to English, so he started learning bits to play it, then he realised he actually really enjoyed learning languages and opening up new opportunities to interact with both games and fans :]

• Most in tune (besides maybe Gaz) with the slang and references his fans make. I like to imagine him saying ‘the girls are fighting’ whenever there’s any fights in a game giggle.

• Has fallen asleep on stream multiple times. Like, he decides to do a gaming marathon and straight up falls asleep in the middle of it. Also if this man doesn’t go to bed at, like, exactly 8pm he will fall asleep right then and there. He’s an old man at heart.

• Makes the stupidest faces. A plot twist had his jaw absolutely snapping to the floor, eyebrows peeking over the clouds and hands on his head. I bet he’s done it so much his jaw clicks.

—

Sosoooo, hey. Im alive 😇😇 Sorry for randomly vanishing, ive had a bunch of personal stuff to deal with and honestly my motivation died a little. I pinky promise im working on asks n stuff 😚 I might stick to more hc-y posts for a bit just to like. get accustomed to everything again. So yaya 😚

[ghouljams]

Your Android!Simon ????? WHAT ?????? I BLOODY LOVE IT!!! HIM! What the hell - do you plan to write a long story?? With chapters?? I mean, please don’t feel like I’m ordering you to do this but bub! This is golden! Not gonna lie — as a romantic gal myself I wait for some.. you know, lovey dovey steam between her and him but also I’m very into this slowburn! He’s clearly getting more comfortable around her and yea even trusts her more and more and at the same time he’s not telling her everything bc.. he’s not sure how she would react? He’s worried that she might.. look differently at him? Oh my god, my mind is literally on fire now - thanks to you! Getting to the end - could please include itty bitty of fluff in the next one? Like.. he realizes how he likes being touched by her? His hand in hers? If not thats totally ok! I would love it either way! Thank you! ✨

I am actually considering a little bit of fic restructuring for certain aus, the cyberpunk au included. I personally really enjoy the short mini chapters android!Ghost has so far because I think it's indicative of the way that he and the reader are interacting currently. Short bursts while Ghost sort of orbits around them and gets more comfortable. I think the next...3 installments might be in a chapter release style since they'll be heavily leaning on each other, and after that I may have to switch to chapters entirely because there's no way android!Ghost's story is going to make sense in drabbles. (Gaz's cyberpunk story also is going to be in a chapter format, and Soap's if I can fucking tie all the piece's together)

I have a lot of trouble working in a "long form" format because my perfectionism tends to kick in and then nothing is good enough to post so it doesn't get posted. But I think several stories will benefit from a more rigid structure. Viking!Soap is absolutely a chapter format story, and I want to get out the first Chapter in Goose and Ghost's actual long form fic published in the next month or so. I think we might make a little switch to chapters when Bailey gets her surgery just because I need something I can pick up/put down while I'm taking care of her.

uh, unfortunately the next few installments for android!Ghost are not... super fluffy. The mechanic is starting to ask questions, put pieces together, at some point everything has to come together and when it does... oh boy

[ladysomething]

4 other lestappen fics after this one? 😏

hehehe well now you've done it!!!!

behold, the other fics in waiting, including snippets from what I've already written of them.

in likely posting order, they are:

Post Aus GP fic where Max and Charles have been hooking up casually for a while and they both need to let some steam out after the race. daddy kink!

"Charles doesn’t text Max back until just past midnight. 

It’s a little earlier than Max expected, really. Back when every win for the team was hard fought, Max usually didn’t stumble back to his hotel until after the sun rose. 

Then again, if the team won, it was usually because it was him. Not his teammate. The circumstances are different. 

Charles replies with a room number, then says, I’m already back. Come when you can. 

Max see’s no point in waiting around—he’s been itching for this for hours, and Charles probably knows it. Instead, he quietly pushes back the sheets of his bed and slips out. He puts jeans on over his boxers, and then pulls on a sweatshirt, and pretends he can’t see Kelly watching him in the low light of his lit up phone screen. 

She doesn’t say anything when he slips the hotel key in his pocket, nor when he walks out the door, so Max doesn’t either. He knows she more than suspects he’s having an affair, but he’s not sure she know who it’s with. By now, she’s surely clued in to the fact that it’s somebody associated with F1 and who is always wherever he is."

hanhaki au where Hanahaki is a chronic illness developed when one keeps their feelings/emotions inside, and Max and Charles are both suffering from it.

"“You really haven’t spoken to him?” Daniel asks as Max picks the next track. 

Max rolls his tongue on the roof of his mouth as he tries to figure out how to answer. 

“I didn’t really want to talk to anybody after I was diagnosed,” he says eventually, hoping it’s enough to sate both Daniel and his own symptoms. His chest always gets tight when he talks about Charles these days, no matter how honest he is. Francois says it’s because he’s been living with the disease for a long time, now; that Hanahaki is degenerative, and soon he might not even be able to think about Charles in passing without coughing up flowers. 

“Sure, but Charles isn’t you,” Daniel answers. “He’s a yapper. It’s how he processes things. And being about to talk to someone who actually understands would be extra helpful, I’m sure.” 

Max knows all of that, obviously. He’s in love with the man—of course he knows it. 

Max just . . . doesn’t know how to be that person for him. He doesn’t know how to be comforting, he wasn’t built for it. He was built for ruthlessness, precision, for seeking out weakness and using them to his advantage."

fake Max autobiography that he releases in 2033. parts of the story are how the people he used to be friends with (so people on the current grid) react to what he reveals in the book, and then one who chapter is just a whole fake chapter from the memoir. that's the chapter I've written, so here's a piece from it!

"I don’t think there’s anything I can really do to make up for what I did to Charles. He and I haven’t spoken since I retired, in case you were wondering. 

Even the email exchange I talked about earlier actually went through our managers. 

Honestly, I don’t even think I deserve his forgiveness. He put up with me when no-one else would, loved me fully and completely, put me back together, tore me apart, then put me back together again. 

In some ways, I think he saved me. 

In other ways, he saved himself from me. 

I’m endlessly grateful for both. 

I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I can recognise now that a lot of my behaviours were because of the trauma I experienced at the hands of my father. I can also recognise that I need to take responsibility for them, because I was a grown adult making decisions of my own free will. 

I’m paying my penance for it, regardless. 

There is no chance that I will ever love anybody the way I loved Charles. It’s just too unlikely, that I could be lucky enough to meet a second person on this planet that made me feel like he did. 

But you don’t need to feel pity. You don’t need to be angry with me, either. I can assure you, I do plenty enough of both for all of us. 

And I’m fine. Life is fine. I’m far from unhappy. 

I know what I sacrificed. I know what I gave up. I know what I traded, to win what I won, to have what I do. 

And if there is one lesson my father taught me that I’m grateful for, it’s this: 

I know that I can bear a burden."

finally, a body swap!au in which Charles wishes to be World Champion, and instead body swaps with Max.

"“Make your decision, Mister Leclerc,” Althea says, not even looking up at him as she continues to sort her things. “Do you want to be Champion?” 

Charles’ breath hitches in his chest. 

“Yes,” he says decisively. He knows he can pick a secret that will satisfy Althea without it being life-destroyed. “Do I tell you the secret now?” 

He sifts through his memories, trying to come up with something he might be comfortable sharing. 

But all that comes up are things he would never say; how he’d once told Arthur that their parents didn’t love him and then felt terrible when his little brother had burst into tears; that he’d cried after having sex with a girl for the first and only time because he’d so desperately wished he could just like it and be normal; that he’d told Jules that he was in love with him and Jules had awkwardly patted his head and said it was probably just a crush and that he’d get over it, and, worse, that Jules had been right and he’d moved his attentions to a boy his own age by the end of the week; the terrible, awful, things he feels for—

Althea inhales sharply, eyes sliding closes. 

“Yes,” she breathes. “That.” 

Charles rips his hand away from hers, breathing deeply. “You—can you—” 

She raises a brow at him, pressing her red-painted lips together. 

“Get out of my head,” he commands hotly, standing up so fast his chair falls back, slamming against the ground."