#<- there’s a reason that was already a tag

[weiszklee]

Sure, I can get behind constituting imperialism as a baseline upon which other analysis is built. What is the analysis? I don't see it. I mean, maybe it's in the post those tags up there are from, I don't know. The one thing I see above that kind of has the shape of a valuable insight is this:

It kinda reveals a tendency for global north people to just take the ways in which their society has benefitted from colonialism and imperialism for granted.

And I just don't think it follows. Or rather, it's just part of a bigger patern: People tend to take everything about their modern lifestyle for granted. True. But I don't need to look at fantasy books to realise this. It is not a secret to anyone talking to other people on a regular basis. Now, literature could work as an antidote to that, sure, but I don't think it's fair to demand that it do so:

And yeah, some fantasy authors don't give a damn about how anything in their world works. Frankly, I don't consider them very good authors in general.

Like, we will have to agree to disagree on that one. There are loads of different reasons to read and enjoy fiction. Learning about the real world can be one of them, but it is not a requirement. An author who fails to teach me about the real world is not doing a bad job, they just have other priorities. I usually learn about the real world from non-fiction anyway.

My bludgeon comment maybe went a bit far, but you are misconstruing it, which is funny since you are accusing me of being the one who is not reading properly: It is because imperialism can be detected everywhere that not much insight is gained by detecting it somewhere specific. Pointing out the imperialism of something becomes a bludgeon when it is selectively employed against the things already disliked for other reasons. I do admit though that I do not know whether that is what was happening in this discussion, so I apologise.

👀

[anisespice]

“ accidents happen ” || tokyo rev. pt.2

one synopsis: in which they discover you had their child and kept it from them all these years later.

pairing: bonten x fem!reader [ kaku, rin, koko ]

warnings: mature content ahead. MDI. mature language, crude humor, angst (if you squint really hard), deadbeat!bonten (unintentionally), not proof-read so there may be errors lol and i think that’s it :))

notes: koko’s is short but FOR A GOOD REASON I SWEAR lol i'm just happy it finally got written after MONTHS of keeping yall waiting. thank you once more for your patience and eagerness to read, hope you enjoy! :)))))

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @spacegirl05, @neverlandlostchild , @darks-pet-shadow , @captaincyberqueen

Stumbling through the entry of his home with the help of the Haitani brothers, a drunk KAKUCHO groaned after they roughly tossed him onto his couch without an ounce of care, the youngest dusting off his hands and his counterpart adjusting his suit with a click of his tongue. “Can’t believe your light-weight ass let that idiot talk you into downing a whole bottle of bourbon.” 

Rindou scoffed. “I can’t believe we got stuck with taking him home.” 

Ran shrugged, heading for the kitchen. “Eh. Rather him than the walking pepto-bismol still passed out at the bar.” 

Kakucho gave another groan, lopsided with his face buried in the cushions. While his brother prepared a glass of water and pain pills, Rindou occupied himself by watching the wallowing man through a pitied lens. Shaking his head, he sighed, “Never seen him drink that much…Think something’s going on?” 

“In our line of work, I can only imagine what isn’t stressing him out.” 

“Yeah but…look at ‘em,” he gestured. “It’s pathetic.” 

“I can hear you...” Kakucho eventually spoke, although muffled in the cushions. 

“I’m aware.” Rindou replied. 

Ran snorted, setting the glass on the coffee table and the bottle of meds right next to it. He then leaned down to turn the dead-weighted drunk over with a grunt, placing him on his side. “There. Don’t need you choking on your vomit,” he pointed at the table, “take those and drink that whole glass. Call Koko tomorrow if you aren’t dead.” 

Kakucho groaned once more, sluggishly reaching for the glass and nearly knocking it over. Rindou hissed as he quickly grabbed it before it tipped over. With an irritated huff he grabbed the front of the younger male’s button up, and hauled him up to face him forward. It was difficult to keep him still, and Ran wasn’t looking to help anytime soon as he smirked at the display. Rindou cursed him and everything under the moon until he finally managed to sit Kakucho upright long enough to put the glass in his hands, guiding it to his mouth. 

He grunted, annoyed, “Drink.” 

The dark-haired gangster stared longingly into the rippling water, cheeks flushed, lips pouted. His mind began to wander, his one good eye glazed over as he gently swayed to silence. Rindou impatiently tapped his foot, “The hell’s wrong with you, drink it already.” 

“Patience, otouto. He probably doesn’t remember how.” Ran mocked, earning a side-eye before Kakucho proved him wrong by gulping down the entire glass. Once finished, he let it slip from his hands, landing on the ground with a sharp clatter. Ran clicked his tongue again, “You were supposed to take a pill with that.” 

“Fuck the pill..” Kakucho muttered, slowly falling back down to his side and curling up as best as his long legs would allow. “Leave me alone..” 

Rindou turned on his heel. “Don’t have to tell me twice-” 

“Actually, now I wanna know. Someone like you doesn’t indulge our activities, let alone participate. So, what gives?” 

Abruptly stopping in his tracks, Rindou turned back to shoot his brother an incredulous look, shocked he would reopen the door that was closing. He was ignored as Ran leaned against the back of the couch wearing a sly grin, feeling particularly nosy all of the sudden. Having never witnessed this side of his superior, it piqued his curiosity. Kakucho didn’t respond, didn’t even move. Ran would’ve guessed he passed out if not for the occasional hiccup he heard.

Rindou sighed heavily, since they didn’t appear to be leaving any time soon, coming back to sit in a chair with crossed arms. Ran continued to push until he found the correct button. 

“Was it something that happened on the job? Mikey scold you for not restocking his snack cabinet? The dry cleaners not press your suits correctly–Let me know when I’m getting warmer.” 

“I said leave..me alone…” Kakucho slurred, “I wanna [hic] be alone…” 

Ran hummed, unphased. “Yeah, yeah, you’ve mentioned. C’mon, we got you home safely, I feel like we’ve earned an explanation on what made the pristine number three fly off the handle like this.”

No amount of teasing was going to break Kakucho. At least, not when he’s sober. The aforementioned lightweight always regulated how much he drank because of how decomposed he became, how sensitive he got. Despite his best efforts to remain under control, he was slowly losing his grasp of it the longer those two knuckleheads were in his home. He didn’t want to share what got him so worked up, it was nobody’s business but his own. Sadly, his resolve was fragile from the start, and all it took was a small gust of wind to have it come crumbling down…and Rindou’s input came barging in like a raging storm. 

“Bet it’s about [_____], isn’t it?” 

Kakucho’s eyes nearly burst from his skull, body moving before his brain could catch up as he practically shot up from the couch like a rocket and borderline tackled the lavender-haired man, knocking both him and the chair backward, landing with a harsh thud. The sudden movement caught the brothers off guard, Rin more than Ran for obvious reasons. Kakucho grabbed the younger Haitani by his collar and began shaking him roughly, a furious look upon his flushed face as he practically snarled in Rindou’s. “Don’t you ever say her name, you hear me?! I will slit your fucking throat, you sonofabitch–”

“Whoa, hey, take it easy,” Ran swiftly disengaged Kakucho, catching him in a headlock and stepping backward to separate them. But, if he thought it was going to be that easy, he had another thing coming. 

Kakucho elbowed Ran in his side. It did little damage, only making the older male clench his teeth and eat it, still trying to hold him back and calm him down. They shuffled around for a moment until Kakucho made move to bite into Ran’s forearm with all his might. Though the pain was dulled thanks to his jacket sleeve, it still shocked him enough to loosen his grip, leaving just enough wiggle room to escape his grasp and reel his arm back to throw a mean swing. However, due to him still being very much intoxicated, he missed him by a longshot when Ran just took a small side-step out of the way, sending Kaku to stumble and crash into a side table. Luckily the lamp was there to cushion some of the impact.

Rindou clutched his stretched-out collar, brows furrowed as watched the scene unfold from his position on the floor. “..the fuck was that?”  

The ravenette moaned on the floor, but not in pain from the fall. No doubt he’d feel in the morning, but all of his agony came from within at the mere utterance of your name. He laid there in the heaps of broken shards and began to weep, so deeply from his soul that it stunned both brothers to an awkward silence. His body trembled with each cry, mumbles of your name smothered in with the wails as they echoed through the empty house. They watched him for a moment before exchanging looks. Ran made a silent gesture to leave, but Rindou merely shook his head with another sigh. There was no way they could leave now, thanks to him…

Scrambling up to stand, Rindou gestured for his brother to handle one side while he came to the other. Together they were able to heave their superior off the floor, careful not to cut him or get cut from the scattered lamp pieces. He weakly fought against them, still blubbering like a newborn until he eventually gave up, most likely from exhaustion. They hauled him back to the couch again, only this time setting him down gentler than they did the first time. Kakucho’s face fell into his hands as he continued to sob, shoulders shaking as he poured hours' worth of pent-up emotion right onto the palms. Ran scratched the back of his neck, mildly perturbed. Rindou stood with his arms crossed, frown heavy. “See? Pathetic.” 

“Careful. He might attack you again.” Ran warned sarcastically, Kakucho rapidly shook his head in protest. 

“I-I won’t.. Forgive me, I don’t..I don’t know what came over me..” he said, meekly, ashamed. “I just..when you said her name, I remembered she…s-she..” 

Ran’s eyes widened a fraction, “What, she died?”

Kakucho shot him a tearful glare, sniffling as he firmly said, “No. Don’t say such a thing so casually.” 

He threw his hands up. “Hey, don’t blame me, ‘m not the one who suplexed a lamp because my ex’s name was dropped. Nearly ripped my poor, little Rin’s head off, too.” 

“Shuddup, man.” 

“I’m just saying that-”

“She had a baby.” Kakucho voiced, extinguishing the argument and stunning them yet into another silence. Rindou’s arms dropped to his sides whilst Ran’s brows raised to his hairline. “And...I’m almost certain it’s mine. No..I am certain.” 

His words hung heavily in the air. So much so, both brothers had to take a seat. Rindou stared at Kakucho while Ran stared at the wall, speechless. Until he eventually found the words. “Damn. Don’t know whether to say congrats or condolences. How’d you find that out?” 

Kakucho sighed, drying his face on his sleeve. “I had business in Kyoto to attend to earlier today. When I finished, I stopped by the cherry blossoms, where we...used to go together. That's when I saw her...further down the trail. She wasn’t alone.” 

The visual flooded his foggy mind like high beams, the sight of you wearing a beautiful dress he’d never seen before, glowing heavenly beneath the sun and fallen cherry blossoms. He felt as if he was standing in memory, as if he was in a reality where he was still yours. Kakucho remembered how his feet had a mind of their own, forcing him forward to get closer to you, to speak to you after all this time apart. But, his bubble bursts the second you crouched down with open arms, ready to embrace the child running back to you after attempting to catch falling petals. He froze. You scooped up the child with ease, showering the small boy in kisses to the point his squeals flowed happily in the soft breeze. Kakucho felt his chest tighten then twist, knees buckling the second he saw those bright, crimson eyes staring back at you…it was like seeing an image of his youth. He should've approach you right then and there, to demand answers, to demand explanation, anything to soothe this ache. 

But, he didn’t. 

He was afraid. Afraid of what you’d think, of what you’d say. You kept this from him for a reason, didn’t you? All these years, and he found out completely by happenstance. Had he not gone out there, would he have ever known? Would you have told him? Maybe you didn’t think he was fit to be a father, maybe you did this to keep the child safe. Maybe you no longer believed that he could keep either of you safe… 

It tore at him, from the inside out. No matter how he tried to ignore it, the ache grew into a throb, and the throb into a chasm that only the bottom of a bottle could satiate. And even then, all he could think was how much he failed.   

The brothers exchanged another look, having no idea the kind of demon their superior was dealing with. Despite not caring too much about it, they still felt bad. What man wouldn’t be devastated, especially given his background and how he grew up. Ran gave a low whistle. “That’s…rough.”

“Yeah. Wish you said that instead of trying to kill me.” 

Kakucho rubbed his face, embarrassed. “I apologize...truly.” 

“Tsk. Apologize to the lamp.” He shrugged it off, not holding a grudge over it. “You know, you can just reach out to her. Even if it’s to hear her say she wants nothing to do with you, that’s closure at least. Because this, what you’re doing now, is pathe-” 

“Pathetic, I know, I heard you the first damn time.” Kakucho pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling the effects of the alcohol start to simmer out, and a headache closing in. “I suppose.. you’re right. If she doesn’t want me in her life or his then…at least she’ll know I’ll always be here if she needs me.” 

Ran offered an approving nod, opening his mouth to say his two cents only for his phone to interrupt him. The specific ringtone made him close his eyes in immediate annoyance: Sanzu. Sighing heavily through his nose, he reached into his pocket and answered, “What-” 

“YOU BASTARDS JUST LEFT ME HERE?!”

RINDOU was used to the stares he’d get at the gym, but this was new for him. 

After completing another hundred reps on the bench press, during his cooldown he noticed his small audience gaping at him in awe from a nearby machine. The little boy gasped at being caught, ducking behind a weight twice his size before peeking over it, only to completely disappear when he saw Rin still looking his way. 

He huffed through his nose, amused. But, he elected to ignore it. No harm in letting the little guy get some inspiration for future gym goals. After a quick break, Rindou prepared for his next set, setting his water down and adjusting his headphones. Laying down on the bench, about to lift the bar off the rest, he noticed the little boy in his peripheral, peeking over the weight once more, large eyes wide with curiosity. He couldn’t help the small grin tugging on his lips, prideful to have such innocent admiration compared to the usual thirst from onlookers he was accustomed to. 

However, it made him wonder…whose kid was this? 

There wasn’t a children’s area in this particular gym, let alone many that were brought, so someone had to be looking for him, right?…and there’s no telling how long the little boy’s been following him. The parent must be worried.

But it wasn’t his problem. 

He was there to workout and leave, not worry about someone else’s ankle-bitter, no matter how adorable. 

Unfortunately, Rindou made the mistake of peeking back at the boy, seeing him trying to imitate his form with his little arms, face scrunched in concentration and tongue sticking out. He nearly dropped the weight on himself at the sight, losing his own concentration. Kissing his teeth, he set the bar back on the rest, snapping the little boy from his focus. Although Rindou’s brow was furrowed, he wasn’t too annoyed at the interruption, sitting up to finally address his new fan. 

“Oi. It’s impolite to stare.” 

The boy flinched slightly, then looked down at his shoes in embarrassment. “'m s-sorry, mister…” 

Rindou felt a pang in his chest. With an exhale, he stood from the bench and removed his headphones as he walked over to the kid. Crouching down to his level, he took note of how the boy struggled to meet his gaze, fidgeting with the bottom half of his shirt. “Hmph. Guess you can’t learn the correct form without watching someone else. You trynna build muscle, too, little man?” 

Like flipping a switch, the boy’s eyes lit up as he nodded his head excitedly, tiny fists pumped. “Yeah! Wanna have huge muscles! Get big and strong like the heroes on TV!” 

He raised a brow. “Yeah?” 

“Uh huh! But-But you’re bigger, mister! Like,” he extended his arms as wide as he could, “SUPER big.” 

He grinned, smug. He liked this kid. “Damn right. But, you know, in order for me to stay this big and strong, I have to focus on my workout. And I can't really do that with you watching me like a hawk."

The little boy's mouth formed an 'o' before he covered it with his hands, sheepish as he looked at him with guilt, "Uh oh.."

Rindou shrugged, "t's fine, I ain't mad," creeped out, but he doesn't mention that. He looked around for a second, trying to see if there were any indication of someone appearing frantic or distraught. When he came up with nothing, he sighed, "How about this: Lemme finish my last set, and then you and I find your dad or something. Deal?"

The boy lit up once more, "C-Can I help?"

Rindou raised a brow, "Help, huh?" The boy nodded, eyes big and bright, and hopeful, and dammit. How can he say no to that face? He kissed his teeth, scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, sure. You can...help keep count, I guess. How high can you count?"

"To a million!"

With a snort, Rindou merely shook his head, standing back to his full height to walk back to the bench with the ankle biter hot on his tail. How he ended up on babysitting duty was beyond him. But could be worse.

One set and a struggle to count past the number 30 later, Rindou held the boy's hand, who he eventually discovered was named Rintaro, as they scoped out the gym high and low to find his father. No matter how many men he pointed to, Rintaro claimed none of them.

Rindou was starting to grow frustrated.

There were still some workouts he hadn't gotten to yet, and this was eating up time. The younger Haitani had half a mind to just drop the kid off at the help desk, but every time it crosses his mind, he makes the mistake again of making eye contact with the boy and his big ole eyes. He looked happy to just be holding his hand, as if Rindou held up the moon and stars. It was...a little off-putting he won’t lie, but adorable, nonetheless. He couldn't just abandon him, even if he wanted to.

He sighed, “Seriously, kid, did your old man drop you here and leave? We should’ve found him by now…”

The boy blinked up at him, confused. “What old man?”

“No, not an old man, I mean your dad—Look, where was the last place you saw him before you wandered off?”

“Oh. I don’t have a dad.”

Rindou stopped. Then, with a swiftness he scooped up Rintaro by his underarms and held him at eye level, glaring at him with a twitching brow. “What.”

The boy sheepishly grinned. “I'm here with my mommy...”

“You mean to tell me we’ve been walking in circles for almost ten minutes, and you were just not gonna share that? Why didn’t you say something??”

“Because…” he fiddled with his fingers, looking down. “I like being with you…it’s fun…”

Well, shit.

Just like that, the anger evaporated. Rindou kissed his teeth, setting the boy back on the ground, crouching down to his level. Then, ruffling his hair, he said, “Alright, little man, no more games. Your ma’s probably worried to death about you. You said you're wanting to get strong to protect her, right?”

Rintaro nodded. Rindou continued, “Well you can’t protect her if you keep leaving her by herself, especially with all these meatheads around. You gotta stick by her, watch her back. And promise you won’t do this again. Okay?”

He nodded again, “Okay…”

“Okay, and?”

“And I promise…”

Rintaro sniffled, wiping his eyes with his fists. Rindou felt another pang in his chest, his intent not to make the kid cry. It’s not like it was his job to discipline him…

He ruffled the boy’s hair again, leaning downward so he could see his face. “Oi. No waterworks. Besides, you gotta be good so she'll bring ya back. You can't count for shit, but.. wouldn't mind having a spotter. What d'you say? You up for it?”

Like flipping a switch, Rintaro’s head perked up at the indication of not only getting to see him again but being a part of his routine. He nodded so hard, Rindou feared he’d give himself whiplash. Though, there was no hiding his grin. Yeah, he liked this kid. Reminded him of himself when he was that age…come to think of it…he looks sorta similar, too—

“Rinta!” Came a voice from afar, stressed and full of emotion.

“Mommy!” He answered, smile widening upon seeing you approach, arms extended out as he ran over to you. When Rindou stood to face the direction where the boy ran to, it felt like his world turned to slow motion, eyes narrowing in on the aforementioned mother—His ex.

He froze like a deer in headlights, shoulders tensed to where he could feel a cramp setting in. There was no way he was seeing this…no absolute shot in hell that you were here before him, hugging and kissing the kid he spent half an hour with, who allegedly didn’t have a dad, who just called you—“Mommy?”

At the sound of Rintaro’s confusion, it was then Rindou snapped from his daze and realized you had noticed him standing there, the two of you locking eyes; you looked equally horrified. And you were probably thinking the same thing he was.

Out of all the people…why’d it have to be you?

“I’m sorry, but this store is for grown ups with real money. I’m afraid I cannot accept this, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

The little girl pouted angrily up at the woman, arms crossed in displeasure. How dare she say such a thing about her piggy bank, she didn’t even bother to count how much was inside. That was a months' worth of good behavior at school, a couple tooth fairy visits, and some Monopoly money, and she worked hard to get it.

“Look you hag. ’m not leavin’ til you hand over the necklace with the shinies and sparklies on it for my mama’s birfday. So, cough it up!”

The woman appeared revolted by such lack of decorum, hand over heart as she gaped down at the little girl, face reddening with anger. She waggled a finger, lip upturned as she scolded the child, threatening to have her escorted out by security, only for it to be shut down by the sound of the little girl blowing raspberries up at her. The woman gave a dramatic gasp, horrified at such bratty behavior. However, before she could even reach for the phone to dial the number for the security office, an unexpected guest decided to step in.

"Belinda, are you being bested by a child?"

The woman nearly jumped out of her skin, full body turning towards the source to come face to face with one of the store's top investors, KOKONOI Hajime. Her skin grew pale in an instant, loss for words as she struggled to explain the embarrassing display he just walked in on. The little girl paused her taunting to gape up at the beautiful, shiny man before her, thinking a prince just popped right off a cover of a fairytale book. Draped in a stylish red kimono, with various jewels hanging off him like ornaments that twinkle beneath the warm lighting of the store, it's a wonder how he even made a place like this feel cheap. But what really caught her attention was his snow-white hair. It looked so silky, just begging to be braided and decorated with various bobs and barrettes. Maybe even some stickers–

"K-Kokonoi-san!" The woman exclaimed, startling the girl out of her daydream. Bowing deeply, forehead nearly touching her own knees, she disappeared behind the counter. Blinking widely at the perceived magic trick, the little girl craned her neck to see where she went, only to be disappointed that she didn’t actually disappear. "I-I wasn't informed you would be dropping in, s-sir. Please, excuse my rudeness."

"I was in the area," his gaze locked on the fetus at his shins. He points down at her. "Who is this?"

"I'm..not sure, sir. She's been causing a disturbance. Making a scene, demanding I let her purchase one of our display items with...board game currency."

The girl stomped around the corner to point at the still bowing woman. "I gave you money, now gimme the shiny! Those are the rules!"

Belinda peered up a little to squint at her, sneering as she spoke, "For the last time, you little miscreant, that money isn't real."

"It is, too! It's green! Money is green, you dumb hag!"

"You-!"

Kokonoi grinned, amused, "She has a point. Money is green, Belinda."

Said clerk shot up and eyed the white-haired man, flabbergasted. "S-Sir! You can't really be encouraging this obscenity, I mean, honestly! My job is to make sure nonsense like this is handled, and this little girl is disrupting the peace of this store."

"Mm. You getting worked up over some kid won’t resolve anything."

Belinda flushed a bright red of embarrassment once more. "Y-Yes. Yes, of course. My apologies." She bowed again.

Koko merely rolled his eyes, gesturing to the phone. “Just get security on the line. Someone’s gotta be looking for her by now.”

"No! 'm not leaving until you gimme mommy's birfday present!"

Kokonoi hummed, tilting his head in a teasing manner. "Too bad. That necklace isn't for sale. And it won’t be for a long time. Why don’t you start smaller, huh? Draw your mommy a picture or something."

She angrily pouted, pointing at her piggy bank on the counter. “I held Hammy all the way here, and his tummy’s full! Mommy says when his tummy’s full, I can buy whatever I want. And I. Want. That. Necklace.”

Koko’s brow twitched, leaning down to look her right in the eye as he grumbled. “Look, you little brat. I already told ya, it ain’t for sale. Now, be a good girl, and wait quietly until security comes to get you.”

The girl met his stare with a challenging one. This means war.

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[callsigns-haze]

-ˋˏ The week it all went south ˎˊ-

~Glimpse, full part coming in February~ Pairing: Reader x Azriel

You sat there, your fingers trembling as they rested on Kaia's blanket, your voice shaky as you looked at Azriel. His wings drooped behind him, his hazel eyes fixed on you with so much guilt and pain that it was hard to meet his gaze. But you spoke anyway, your voice quieter than you intended.

"When I was little," you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "my mother used to sew dresses for Rhys’s future wife. She’d work tirelessly, stitching and cutting, always saying that his mate deserved nothing but the best."

Azriel’s brow furrowed, and he shifted closer, his shadows coiling tighter around his frame, but he stayed silent, letting you continue.

"I used to sit beside her, watching her hands work, so delicate, so sure," you said, your throat tightening with the weight of the memory. "And one day, I asked her, ‘Are you going to make dresses for my future mate?’ I was just a child, so naive, but I was so curious."

Azriel swallowed hard, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something, but the words seemed caught in his throat.

"She laughed," you said, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at the floor. "She laughed and said, ‘Oh, sweetheart, your future love of your life is already wearing my clothes.’"

The room fell into silence, heavy and suffocating, and you felt the tears streaming down your cheeks. You finally looked at Azriel, meeting his stunned gaze.

"She thought it was you," you whispered, your voice breaking. "She thought it would always be you. And for so long, I thought so too. But now... now I’m not so sure. Now I feel like she was wrong."

Azriel flinched, as if your words had physically struck him. His wings curled inward slightly, and his hands clenched at his sides. At that moment he knew that due to the beast he became, he lost his mate. The beauty of his life, the only reason for him to live.

A/N: let me know if you'd like to be tagged

[whoreforsexymen]

We need a part 2 for the jayce and viktor cuck fic😫

And now.... The fic you've all been waiting for.

Jayce Asking You To Cuck Him w/ Viktor | PT. 2

(Please feel free to read Part One if you haven't already <3)

Pairings: Jayce x Reader x Viktor

Pronouns: None used, can be read w/ whatever pronouns you prefer <3

Rating: NSFW, 18+, MDNI!! I am not responsible for your media consumption.

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: Cucking, M/M/F, Slightly OOC Jayce + Viktor (if you squint?)

Summary: Jayce asks Viktor a burning question.

Notes: I'm so sorry this took me so long. I had no idea how to go about it. I know exactly how I wanna do the smut portion, but this conversation had me drawing blanks. There's no denying that Jayce and Viktor are gay as PHUCK for each other, and I was trying to figure out how to subtly include that in here. I hope I did it some justice.

STAY TUNED FOR PT. 3 WHICH WILL BE THE LONG-AWAITED SMUT <3

“Is it just because you want to see me naked?” Viktor teases, his voice a smooth blend of mirth and mischief, the words laced with just enough edge to leave Jayce floundering.

Jayce freezes, caught entirely off guard. 

“No!” he blurts out, his voice too loud, echoing off the walls with an almost comical desperation.

Viktor raises a brow, faintly offended in a way that feels deliberate, a glimmer of amusement playing beneath his cool façade.

“I mean—no, it’s not that,” Jayce stammers, his hands flying up in a flurry of aborted gestures. “It’s just… the principle.” He coughs, awkwardly pinching the bridge of his nose as though the motion might magically summon coherence from the chaos of his thoughts.

From his perch, Viktor observes him, leaning casually on his cane with a posture that seems both effortless and deliberate. The faintest curve of a smirk graces his lips—a secret smile, as though he’s already won a game Jayce doesn’t realize they’re playing.

“Should I assume that ___ is privy to this… fantasy of yours?” Viktor inquires, his tone so smooth it could pass for idle curiosity, though his sharp gaze betrays the humor he’s enjoying at Jayce’s expense.

Jayce’s head snaps up, his expression a poster-child of shock and indignation.

“No!” he protests, his voice breaking free in a frantic echo of his earlier outburst. “I mean… No… ____ doesn’t know.. Yet.” 

Viktor hums, the sound low and thoughtful, his golden eyes glinting like sunlight through smoked glass. 

“I must admit, Jayce, this is an… unusual request. I don’t often receive proposals like this—or, well, any of this nature, to be honest.” 

His voice is calm, his words so precisely measured they feel surgical, and yet they land like pinpricks of amusement on Jayce’s fraying composure.

“You can say no,” Jayce rushes out, his voice earnest, tumbling over itself in its haste.

“It doesn’t have to happen. I just—”

He falters as Viktor silences him with a single glance, a gaze weighted with unspoken possibilities.

“I am a man of reason, Jayce,” Viktor murmurs, his words deliberate, teasing out the tension like an artisan pulling silk from thread. 

“And it’s quite clear this is something you deeply desire. Besides…” He pauses, letting the moment stretch before delivering his conclusion with a faint, wicked curl of his lips.

“I never said no.”

Jayce’s face lights up with the unrestrained joy of a puppy hearing the word “treat.”

“Really? You mean it?” he exclaims, stumbling over his own excitement, his eyes alight with gratitude. “Viktor—that’s—I—”

Viktor interrupts with a wave of his hand, calm as ever despite the blush that blooms faintly at his cheeks—a rare and fleeting crack in his composure.

“I will… indulge your request,” he says, his voice steady, though tinged with something softer. “But only on one condition. ___ must be fully accepting of this arrangement as well. Since you have yet to mention it to (insert pronoun(s) here), I suggest you do so first. I may be a willing participant, but I am not the only one in this equation.”

Jayce nods fervently, stepping closer with an eagerness that borders on reverence.

“Of course—thank you, Viktor,” Jayce says, his voice warm with sincerity, the words spilling from him with such honesty that Viktor’s lips twitch, betraying a rare flicker of fondness beneath his usual aloofness.

“I’m not in need of thanks…” Viktor murmurs, his grip tightening around his cane as he uses it to push himself up from the chair with careful precision.

For a moment, he struggles, and when Jayce reaches out to help, Viktor waves him off with a gesture that mixes pride and playfulness.

“I’ve got it—thank you,” Viktor adds, his voice carrying that familiar edge of sass, a subtle challenge lingering in the air.

Jayce offers a quiet nod, watching with an understanding that speaks volumes, his gaze unwavering as Viktor stands tall and adjusts his clothes with an almost theatrical grace.

The two are now standing face-to-face, the height difference as pronounced as ever, Jayce’s gaze naturally falling downward as Viktor straightens himself, a silent tension building between them.

“Viktor, I—I feel like I need to thank you mo—”

“Please, don’t.” Viktor’s interruption is smooth, deliberate, and almost too quick. “After all, we’re partners.” His tone softens just slightly, but his eyes remain sharp, taking in the faintest shifts of Jayce’s expression, carefully examining the unspoken truths there.

Truthfully, Viktor hadn’t stood merely for the sake of formality. No, he had risen to peer into Jayce’s eyes, trying to read the true intentions behind such a request, to unravel the subtle mystery that now hung between them.

Jayce offers up yet another nod, a silent acceptance of Viktor’s independence. 

"Tell me, Jayce… What led you to choose me? Was it simply because we’re partners?" he asks, his gaze locking with the taller man’s once again, searching intently for any secrets concealed within those eyes.

Jayce swallowed hard, as he often did whenever Viktor looked at him like this—peering straight into his soul with unnerving clarity. By now, it had become almost routine. Every deep conversation seemed to culminate in moments like these.

"Well, yeah. But not just that—" Jayce pauses for a moment, his voice faltering slightly as his hand rose to rest on Viktor's shoulder.

"There’s no one I trust more than you," he finished, his gaze locking with Viktor’s, sincerity shining through the bond they had carefully cultivated over the years.

The silence between them stretched, heavy yet unspoken, as Jayce’s hand lingered on Viktor’s shoulder. Their eyes remained locked, a connection so intense it felt immovable—unbreakable, even if a stampede were to crash through the lab doors.

Viktor felt a tightness coiling in his gut, unfamiliar and unsettling. He struggled to keep his composure, almost appalled by how much effort it took to suppress the warmth threatening to bloom on his cheeks. 

Viktor had debated saying more, asking more, but he held his tongue. This moment was already overwhelming enough, and pushing further would only complicate it. He knew, deep down, that if he truly cared for Jayce—and he did—he would honor what his friend was asking of him. There was no room for hesitation in that resolve.

All Viktor could muster was a single nod, mirroring the ones Jayce had given him before.

"Much appreciated, Jayce," Viktor murmured, his partner’s name slipping from his lips like honey—thick and sweet, seeping into the air between them.

Before Jayce could respond, Viktor interjected for what felt like the hundredth time that afternoon.

“Please—say no more. You need to go to ____,” he urged, his tone soft yet insistent.

Jayce hesitated, giving Viktor a puzzled glance that lingered just a second too long. For a fleeting moment, Viktor thought he saw something beneath the other man’s gaze, something he couldn’t quite place. But it vanished before he could decipher it, leaving behind only the tightening knot in his stomach. That flicker of hope had come and gone, like a wave retreating back into the sea, leaving him stranded on the shore.

Without another word, Jayce turned to leave, his fingers brushing against Viktor’s shoulder as if reluctant to part. The touch lingered until he pivoted fully, his back now to Viktor.

And then, just as quickly as he’d arrived, Jayce was gone—vanishing beyond the doorway, leaving Viktor alone once more.

PT. 3 COMING SOOOOOOOOOON. <3

[cementcornfield]

You should post your thoughts on Ja’Marr and Kyle!! I’m so interested in their dynamic if that makes sense 😅

lmao anon i love you thank you because i was literally just typing a post up by itself. but now i get the benefit of looking like i'm not the ONLY person to care about this. (there's at least two of us!!)

ok so! too much rambling about things that i could no way actually know anything about irl BUT 

kyle and ja’marr being together in paris is VERY interesting to me. their whole relationship is really because like. okay. i have joked that kyle and ja’marr are there to pick out joe’s wardrobe for next year together lmao but like!!! the clothes saga is SUCH a thing with ja’marr. the man has a Complex about joe and fashion and his part in it. we know this. i hardly need to go over the clothes saga with y’all again. but i will because it’s fun for me. ja’marr claims in GQ that he buys clothes for joe all the time and drops them off at 'the house’ for him. which is insane enough if that’s true. then a few days after that article drops (and also joe’s appendix explodes) he says nah never mind i was lying! (“kinda”). and that’s insane too. but whatever, we let it go, there’s football to play. then that offseason tee decides to cause some chaos i guess and confirms that actually ja’marr HAS bought joe clothes ‘multiple times’ so that’s. something!!! (along with TB in that one pivot podcast with all three of them teasing ja’marr about it!!) and then SOMEHOW none of this gets brought up again until a few months ago when ja’marr is just like “yeah actually i’ve been buying him clothes since last year” which is still a year later than he first said he bought him clothes 🤔

ALL OF WHICH TO SAY that ja’marr is fucking weird about this. he may or may not buy joe clothes (i’m still leaning yes on this), and he may or may not want people to know about it. i think he realizes just how intimate of a thing that is, to repeatedly buy someone you care about clothes that you think he would like, that you’d like to see him in. and i think if we go back to my Vision of insecure at times ja’marr, it’s one way to explain his back and forth on this.

but then!! insert kyle, who i believe only became joe’s stylist within the last year. before that i don’t think joe ever really had anyone Official to help him out with specific outfits/styles/branding etc (i’m sure the joe girlies will correct me if i'm wrong on this). and now i can only imagine that ja’marr might be feeling a little…possessive of joe here (what else is new lol ‘that’s my qb not their qb’ type shit). like if we believe he’s been buying him clothes since at least 2021, that’s like…that’s ja’marr’s Thing at this point?? even if it only started happening in 2023, that’s still a long time of "oh hey i saw this and thought of you and will you wear it and when you wear it will i feel a little thrill knowing that you took my advice knowing that you value my opinion knowing that the clothes touching your skin are only doing so because i bought them for you in the first place etc etc." and now here’s joe paying someone else to do it?? and who the fuck is kyle why him why does HE get to do it he didn’t even win a national championship with him in college???? (ja’marr obviously would be more rational than that. of course joe should pay someone to help him out with style as he does events and builds his brand more. but as a fellow Emotional Person myself, the rational response is never the first or strongest one.) 

so like! there’s that. that alone could make ja’marr not inclined to LOVE Kyle, ya know? and then if we want to get really Deep and dive into internalized homophobia of Male Athlete Culture. of my version (MY VERSION JUST MY VERSION THIS IS NOT ME SAYING ANYTHING IRL ABOUT HIM) of ja’marr and how he might cope with feelings and attractions that do not neatly fall in line with what is Expected of him and Has Been Expected of him since he was a kid. like fuck. do we remember how his dad said ja’marr used to like to read with his cousins (who were girls) but then his male friends came around and made fun of him for it, so he stopped reading altogether as a child?? thinking about that still makes my heart hurt! aughhh Gender!! and then even a few weeks ago on stream when ja’marr accidentally said that kyrie was sexy and IMMEDIATELY the chat and his friends jumped on him for it!! like yeah it was all lighthearted and all that but he got all embarrassed and even fucking apologized??? just the immediate policing of language/behavior followed by the immediate apology and moving on to no longer watching kyrie clips lol. crazy!!! Male Athlete Culture is SUCH a trip!! 

and kyle is gay! very much out and proud and not hiding or ashamed of any of it (fucking good for him tbh. i know he’s not Loved in this fandom but like that does genuinely take guts to be yourself like that in a culture like this. and make a career out of it! and he seems to be thriving!) and i just have to wonder like, how many queer people ja’marr really knows well?? the nfl has their corporate pride month bullshit where they celebrate the like 1 out gay assisant coach? 1 out gay FORMER player? if there are more queer people in the nfl, they are not very public about it. so again, how much daily interaction does a typical football player like ja���marr get with queer people?? i do imagine all the connections that are growing with the fashion world help of course! like kyle! who it’s clear he’s at least friendly with, if not the best of friends. and so like, i wonder about how that could stir complicated emotions in ja’marr if we go with my (AGAIN JUST MINE I’M NOT ACTUALLY SAYING ANYTHING IRL) version of him as a guy who has Feelings about male teammates sometimes and struggles with Dealing With That. 

and throw in the fact that ja’marr primarily knows him as this guy who’s always hanging around joe lol. taking over his role as joe’s personal stylist?? being free and open and ALLOWED to be attracted to all these guys, to joe himself!! (and if he thinks too hard about that he REALLY gets in his feelings). and it’s not jealousy really because he knows how important he himself is in joe’s life. kyle’s not replacing their history, he’s certainly not replacing his value to joe on the field, their close friendship, etc. but! he occupies a space in joe’s life that ja’marr can’t touch. he can publicly and proudly buy joe clothes. something that ja’marr WANTS but keeps shying away from. he can feel any feelings and any attraction he happens to have, he’s not hiding any part of who he is. if he thinks joe’s hot, if he thinks joe looks particularly attractive in an outfit he chose for him, he can! he will! he does! and i think that that just HAS to drive ja’marr a little fucking crazy.

so yeah. he likes the guy. they’re friendly. he’ll do a goofy lil dance when prompted by him for social media. but it’s Complicated. it’s Very Complicated. (to me.) 

[lollipopsie]

on that note, it really isn't enough to do a cheeky little "(allegedly😁)" or like "if luigi even did it.." in the tags or a wink wink nudge nudge "he totallyy didn't do it" wink wink "for legal reasons he didn't do it.." nudge nudge

he didn't fucking do that shit. say it with your chest. i don't even want to add the caveat "even if you think he did do it" because he fuckin didn't. don't say or imply that he did. the public perception is in the hands of the public. you are part of the public. when people speak to you and imply that he did it, correct them.

yeah it was awesome that that entirely different guy that looks different and is wearing different clothes did that. can you have a brain.

luigi mangione is already being presumed guilty by the people who want to make an example of someone (by prosecuting a different guy that doesn't even look like the shooter to the "fullest extent of the law"). as an intentional strategy to control public opinion of the case. if you think that the thing he's being accused of was a heroic act, don't assume him guilty for them. are you fucking stupid.

[the-astral-fairgrounds]

every time I see something asking me to talk about myself every single thing I know about myself leaves my brain

OKAY I remembered something, every time we've been on anesthesia for whatever reason, we've turned British?? we just. have a British accent when on anesthesia apparently

also when we were a kid we tried doing some kind of ritual with our friends and one of them went missing without a trace and they were never found

man idk who to tag in these things anymore I think some of my friends have already done it uhh @catastrophicz @abyssal-sys idk idk open to anyone

it's so weird to me that everyone on this website is a human person outside of their weird internet niche so rb this with a random bit of your lore

[bellaxgiornata]

You Are My Sunshine [2]

Pairing: Jax Teller x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.8k [Series Masterlist] [Jax Teller Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; sunshine!Reader/grumpy!Jax (somewhat), fluff, angst, friends to lovers, eventual smut, canon divergent, canon typical violence (more tags to possibly come)

a/n: May have been on a roll with writing, so enjoy part two sooner than anticipated! I greatly appreciated all the comments on the last part, too! Y'all are the reason I've already started on part three. I've also found that I'm enjoying the Jax POV's so there's more in this one and the next! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

tag list: @mariamadison6-blog @moongirlgodness

The rush of customers in the coffee shop had finally dwindled down after opening, leaving you with the usual mid-morning lull with which you’d grown accustomed. The elderly couple that came in almost every single morning around the same time to have a coffee was sitting at the exact same table in the far corner where they always sat, sipping their coffees and chatting quietly with each other. A college-aged young woman currently sat posted up at the front counter with her laptop and a notebook, her attention focused on an assignment. The sight of them brought a smile to your face as you filled up your small watering can at the underbar sink behind the counter.

You’d opened this coffee shop with the intention of it becoming a place for people around Charming to feel welcome. Whether that meant Honest Coffee was a spot to come and enjoy a cup of coffee for a first date or with a spouse of thirty years, or a place for students to focus on homework or others to come in and work. Whatever it was that brought repeat customers in here and allowed you the opportunity to meet the members of your town, it gave you joy seeing your shop growing into exactly what you’d hoped it could become. 

Mia, one of the baristas you’d hired when the shop had first opened months ago, stood beside you as she cleaned down the machines and wiped down the counters. You’d noticed she wasn’t quite as chatty, working in an unusually thoughtful silence this morning, but just as you’d been about to ask if something was on her mind, the approaching rumble of motorcycles had caused her to stiffen and stop working. The noise grabbed your own attention as it drowned out the sound of the music playing over the speakers. You gave Mia a curious sidelong glance before the line of bikes pulling into the lot across the street drew your attention over to the front windows of your coffee shop. 

Standing there holding the full watering can in your hands, you watched with Mia as the handful of men rolled into the lot across the street in the bright morning sunshine. The group of men backed up in the parking lot, lining their bikes beside each other in front of the clubhouse. The difference was almost immediate once they all began to cut their engines, the shop becoming noticeably quieter than it had been a second ago. It was something else you’d also just grown accustomed to with having a coffee shop located across the street from the Sons of Anarchy. 

It didn’t skip your notice how the few people in the shop were all reacting to the motorcycle club, either. Besides the way Mia had gone completely still beside you, the young woman working on her laptop was agitatedly clicking her nails on the countertop. Across the shop, the elderly couple was staring out of the window beside them with matching guarded expressions on their faces before you caught them exchanging a look with each other. The elderly woman rolled her eyes at her husband and you frowned at the sight.

It wasn't that you were oblivious about what was said around town about the Sons, because you definitely weren't. You'd heard the rumors–everything from them selling guns to making crack to being killers for hire. You knew most of the things people said about them were embellished, false assumptions, but you also were aware that some things probably held some truth. 

But that didn't matter to you. You were a firm believer in everyone deserving a fair chance. Equal treatment. You'd met Gemma, the supposed matriarch of the Sons, a few times now. She had come in often after you had first opened the shop. And while she'd absolutely come across completely different than the usual citizens of Charming, you'd found her to be a very sweet woman–in her own special way. And you'd had a strong inkling that her visits to your shop for coffee as she chatted with you about your plants or how business was coming along had just been a way for her to ease the pain of missing her son while he was doing time in Stockton.

A few nights ago when you had finally met that son of hers, you'd gotten a feel for the Sons’ President. You weren't entirely sure what had brought him in after you had closed that night–because you were certain it wasn't the coffee–but you had caught the hint of pain hidden deep in the depths of his blue eyes despite all of his charming smiles and pet names. In all honesty, he had seemed lonely and lost beneath all that playboy persona you'd heard about. You hadn't minded letting him stay to chat because he seemed like he needed a friend or some kind words, even if he didn't realize it himself. And you had been content to be that for a short time.

“It's unfortunate your coffee shop is across the street from that,” Mia muttered.

Snapping out of your thoughts at the sound of her voice, you looked over at where she'd resumed cleaning down the counter. You could feel the frustration building in your gut, but you did your best to tamp it down and keep it at bay. Not everyone in Charming was as determined to be as open-minded as you were. It was a small town, after all. And it wasn't like the Sons hadn't caused their own fair share of trouble over the years.

“Why do you say that?” you asked.

Setting the filled watering can down on the counter, you turned and focused on your employee. Mia pulled a face at the question before she dropped the towel she was cleaning with onto the countertop and fixed her full attention on you.

“Really?” she asked before gesturing a hand at the front shop window. “Your coffee shop is across the street from a whole criminal operation. A very loud, very crude one. It's not exactly the most ideal location.”

Shrugging a shoulder, your eyes darted across the street. A bunch of men in kuttes, as Jax had taught you they were called the other night, were congregating in front of their bikes. You could easily make out Jax amongst the group from his blonde hair even from this distance. He looked angry about something as he spoke, one of his arms gesturing in wide, sharp movements. Briefly you wondered what had made him quite so furious before your attention returned to Mia and the topic of conversation.

“The rent was vastly more affordable for this building,” you told her, knowing exactly why it was. “And while it can occasionally get a little noisy with the motorcycles, and some people aren't the biggest fan of our neighbors, I don't really feel bothered by their presence.”

Mia sent you a flat look, one of her brows arching upwards in disbelief. “They don't bother you? Are you completely insane?”

“They're really not that bad,” you disagreed.

Both of Mia's brows shot up onto her forehead at that, her jaw partially dropping. You playfully rolled your eyes at her in return, an amused smile curving the corners of your lips. She was always so dramatic.

“Are you serious?” Mia asked. “Have you forgotten Gemma already since her last visit?”

You shook your head at the question. Of course you hadn't forgotten the woman. You didn’t think it was possible for anyone to forget her.

“Gemma is just blunt. She speaks her mind,” you replied. “Maybe it's a bit much for most people, but she's really not all that bad.”

“Well the guys over there–” Mia continued, gesturing back out the front window with a hand again while remaining focused on you, “–definitely aren't good.”

You shook your head, picking the full watering can up from its place on the counter. “That is entirely a matter of opinion. You can’t paint people in black and white, Mia. What one person considers “good” is arguably “bad” to someone else, and vice versa. It's objective. A social construct. It isn't like they haven't participated in charity work around Charming. Done things to arguably help the town on occasion, either.”

“Well, you can't argue that they don't break laws. And I think killing people is pretty black and white, boss,” Mia called after you as you began watering the plants in the shop. “That’s about as sharp of a contrast as you can get between the two.”

“Maybe in some cases,” you agreed, watering one of your pothos plants that had been growing like crazy in a hanging basket nearby. “But to some extent, I think there's more factors to be considered before passing judgement. Like the why behind it all. Something no one in this town probably really knows when it comes to each one of them.”

Mia exhaled sharply at your words, the sound almost like she was deflating at your response. A moment later she began laughing a little, the noise catching your attention as you moved to water the next plant.

“Okay, I didn't sign up for one of your lectures on morality this morning,” Mia teased you.

You grinned as you focused back on watering the plant before you. “All I'm saying is that humans are complex, you can't just–”

“Lectures on morality?” Gemma's distinct voice cut through the conversation, causing both you and Mia to glance over at the shop’s entrance. “I thought you just sold coffee here, now you're lecturing on morality, sweetheart?”

Mia grew tense behind the counter instantly, her mouth closing as she forced a professional smile onto her face that clearly looked forced when she greeted Gemma. But you genuinely smiled over at the dark-haired woman, and that smile only grew wider when you saw who she had brought with her–Abel. His blonde head came to just about knee-height beside her as he held onto her hand, but the moment the almost one-and-a-half year old little boy saw you, the biggest smile spread across his own face. 

During Jax’s time away in Stockton, Gemma had spent a lot of time watching Abel when he wasn't with his nanny. Which meant sometimes she had brought him with her when she came in for coffee, so you had gotten to know him along with Gemma over the past few months. And Abel had gotten used to the free cookie you'd given him every time–anything from chocolate chips to snickerdoodles to monster cookies. He'd taken to calling you ‘cookie’ because of it, something you personally adored hearing in his little voice every time.

“I didn't know my favorite customer was coming in today!” you exclaimed.

Turning in a hurry, you set the watering can down on the counter behind you before rushing across your shop, not having seen the little boy for over a week. The moment he began hopping in place next to Gemma, his small hand still wrapped around hers, you felt your heart melt. He was the sweetest little boy.

“You're more chipper than usual today,” Gemma observed.

You caught the teasing smile on her face before you knelt down in front of Abel, your smile widening when he waved at you and called you 'cookie’ once again. You'd been about to open your mouth to ask him if he was ready to pick out a cookie today, but a now familiar voice behind Gemma caught your attention.

“What about cookies, little man?” 

Looking up from your place on the floor of the shop, you saw Jax stepping inside just behind his mother, the door falling shut behind him. The moment his attention left Abel and focused on you, you went still. Judging by the look of confusion on his face, you guessed he hadn't known about Abel's visits with Gemma to your shop. But behind that outward confusion written on his face, you could still see the remnants of something like anger left over from when you'd seen him yelling about something across the street a short time ago. You were half tempted to ask how he was doing today, but you had a feeling the question would be met with either a lie or hostility. So you left it alone this time. 

“Been bringing Abel here with me since you boys were in Stockton,” Gemma explained, turning on the spot and studying her own son closely as he stepped further inside. “He calls the owner ‘cookie’ cause she always gives him one when he visits.”

Jax's expression shifted to something harder when his mother mentioned Stockton Prison, a muscle jumping in his cheek. You quietly watched as some sort of silent exchange occurred between them while you remained kneeling in front of Abel.

“The hell are you doing here, anyway, Jackson?” Gemma asked after a moment of silence, still eyeing him suspiciously. “Don't you have a...thing to go deal with?”

Jax’s eyes narrowed at his mother before he answered. “A few of the guys are handling it right now,” he replied, voice tense. “Thought I'd see what you and Abel were up to. Figured I could use a coffee myself.”

Gemma’s head tilted to the side, one dark brow arching up at his comment as if she didn’t quite believe him. Not wanting to get in the middle of whatever was going on between them, you stood back up, eyes shifting between the pair.

“So…is it alright if I let Abel pick out a cookie this morning?” you asked cautiously.

Both Gemma and Jax turned their attention to you at the sound of your voice. Almost simultaneously they both responded to the question, the sight causing you to bite back a grin.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Sure thing, sunshine.”

Gemma's head immediately snapped in Jax’s direction as she pulled a face at him. “Sunshine?” she questioned sharply.

Fighting down a laugh at the briefly sheepish expression you caught on Jax’s face before he recovered, you grabbed Abel's hand and led him over towards the front counter. You noticed the firm look Jax sent his mother before you walked away–the one clearly telling her to not say anything further.

As you helped Abel pick out one of the freshly baked cookies you had made–peanut butter brownie swirl–you could hear Mia awkwardly taking Gemma and Jax’s drink order behind the register. She began fumbling behind the counter shortly afterwards as she started on Gemma's latte, clearly more thrown off by the presence of Jax with her this time. The only time he'd come into the coffee shop was the other night after closing when it had just been you here. Besides that night and Gemma's visits, no other Son or affiliate of the Sons had ever actually come into your shop. 

You could tell Jax’s presence wasn't just affecting Mia as Abel happily ran back to his father's side with his cookie in hand. The young woman at the counter doing her schoolwork kept shooting Jax nervous sideways glances. She had almost imperceptibly inched away from them where she sat at the counter, as if wanting to put some distance between herself and the pair. Across the room, the elderly couple was scowling at Gemma and Jax, whispering amongst themselves at the table. 

Oddly enough, neither Jax nor Gemma seemed to notice or react to the negative attention. They were too busy leaning against the counter waiting for their drinks as Abel contentedly munched on his cookie, both mother and son talking in hushed tones. Your smile faltered a little at the wary look you once more caught on the young woman's face before you saw Mia growing flustered behind the counter. Deciding to rescue her, you joined her behind the counter and started on Jax’s coffee–the same order as what you'd made him the other night.

Mia shot you a grateful look as she filled the frothing pitcher with milk. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Smiling as you started on Jax’s coffee, you shook your head at her. “You're making this into something more than it needs to be,” you whispered back. “They're just here for coffee like anyone else.”

Mia leaned over towards you, pausing as she set the frothing wand of the espresso machine into the pitcher. “Usually my customers aren't armed though,” she countered quietly. “That makes a difference.”

“He's not going to shoot you for messing up a coffee order,” you told her as you grabbed a to-go cup for Jax’s coffee.

“You have no proof of that. Just look at his face today, he looks like he'd shoot someone for less,” she murmured.

The loud sound of the milk frothing abruptly ended the conversation as Mia focused back on Gemma's order. As Jax’s coffee began extracting into the pitcher, you couldn’t resist looking over your shoulder to where he and his mother were still leaning against the counter. 

He did look upset, Mia wasn't wrong about that. Both of his brows were pulled marginally together, a slight crease visible between them. His mouth was drawn into a straight line as he listened to whatever Gemma was saying, the corners of his lips occasionally shifting downwards. There was even a noticeable stiffness in the way he was just leaning against the countertop that hadn't been there when you'd met him the other night. But behind all that rigidness that made him look tightly wound, there was an exhaustion in his eyes that seemed like it went further than just a bad night of sleep.

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you focused back on the coffee you were making, but a second later an idea struck you. Reaching over beside the stack of to-go cups, you grabbed the black marker used for writing names on orders and began writing something small on the outside of his cup, a faint smile on your lips as you did. Afterwards, you placed the cap on the marker and set it back before you began filling Jax’s cup with the coffee that had finished brewing. As you finished up, you heard Mia turn around and nervously give Gemma her drink. 

Grabbing a lid, you fastened it onto Jax’s cup before also turning around. He was already focused on you, his blue eyes watching as you stepped over to where the pair stood on the other side of the counter. You set Jax's drink down in front of him, a warm and friendly smile on your face. He looked like he could use one–and probably a hug, too, but you figured that would certainly be a weird offer. 

“Thanks, sunshine,” Jax said.

There was the ghost of a smile on his lips for the briefest of moments before it disappeared as his hand reached out, grabbing the cup without looking at it. He looked as if he'd been about to say something more, but the amused huff from Gemma had his expression quickly growing further irritated than it had been a moment ago. 

“Won't bother you today,” Jax told you, pushing off the counter with his ringed hand. “Gotta deal with some shit. But thanks for the coffee.”

A small pang of disappointment hit you when you realized he wasn't going to even chat for a minute, but you figured you should just count it as a win that he had come back into the shop at all. Maybe that meant there’d be a third visit. With a smile still on your lips, you nodded back at him.

“Of course,” you replied. “I'm always happy to fuel a caffeine addiction.”

Gemma laughed a little, shaking her head at what you’d said. It was a line you'd used a few times now and she knew that. 

“You should lay off on snorting those coffee beans, sweetie. You're already plenty perky,” she teased as she grabbed Abel's hand.

“Or maybe that's my secret,” you jokingly countered, enjoying the way Jax seemed to be fighting back a grin as he sauntered over to the counter by the exit to add sweetener into his coffee. “A few lines of freshly ground beans first thing in the morning. Wakes you right up.”

Gemma laughed, the sound loud and genuine. A flood of pride hit you, especially when Jax began securing the lid back on his coffee, his attention on you as an almost cocky, amused grin tugged at his lips. Maybe it was only for a moment, but you’d briefly brightened both of their mornings. 

“You take care, sunshine,” Gemma teased.

She turned and led Abel out of the door, Jax following behind her now with a surly look on his face at the way she’d used his nickname for you. Mia stepped over beside you as they left, watching the three of them cross the street back towards the clubhouse and Teller-Morrow. 

“It’s insanely weird how well you can get along with absolutely anyone,” Mia said after a moment, turning to look over at you standing beside her. “You realize that, right?”

Your smile only grew wider at her words as your eyes remained fixed on the retreating form of Jax. You’d gotten a bit more of a genuine smile out of him today even if you hadn’t gotten much conversation. That was something, at least. Eyes shifting over to Mia, you shrugged a shoulder.

“I like people,” you answered simply.

“The hell you think you’re doing with that girl over there?” Gemma asked sharply.

Her eyes fell on Jax as they passed the line of bikes in front of the clubhouse, Abel’s hand still wrapped around hers as he finished eating his cookie. Jax immediately rolled his eyes at his mother’s tone, not interested in being scolded like he was a teenager all over again.

“I’m not doing anything,” he responded firmly. 

Gemma shot him a pointed look, clearly not buying what he was saying. He huffed in annoyance, stuffing his free hand into his jeans pocket as he brought his coffee cup up to his lips for another drink. Christ, it was still as good as the other night when you’d made him one.

“Bullshit,” Gemma continued. “Sunshine? Really? I’ve never once in my life heard you call a woman that, Jax. And I’ve heard you call them plenty of shit.”

He swallowed down the coffee, his irritation rising with where he felt she was trying to take this conversation. “So what? It’s a goddamn nickname, Gem. You got a problem with a nickname now?” he snapped at her.

Her lips drew into a thin line across her face as she came to an abrupt halt which in turn had Jax stopping just behind her and Abel. The way her eyes narrowed at him meant trouble and he knew it.

“That sweet, nice coffee shop owner back there is not club pussy, Jackson,” she began sternly. “Just because her shop happens to be as close as it is to the clubhouse does not mean–”

“Jesus Christ, relax!” he shouted, cutting her clean off. “You don’t think I know that? I’m not interested in her like that, alright? I just stopped over there the other night because…” 

His voice trailed off for a minute, unable to even try to think of a reason as to why he had, especially with the way Gemma was staring at him right now. Truthfully, he still hadn’t known why he’d gone into your shop the other night in the first place, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about you on and off since then. And he certainly had still been watching you through your shop’s windows.

Jax ran a hand across his mouth in agitation before he continued, trying to keep his tone more level. “Look, I stopped in there the other night ‘cause I saw her closing up. She always just looks so goddamn happy and…I dunno. Just made me curious what the hell was up with someone like that, okay? I’m not trying to get her in my bed or anything, Gem. I promise.”

“Better not be,” Gemma warned, her eyes still narrowed at him. “Because that girl is not meant for our world and you know it. She’s far too kind and sweet, she’d probably have a heart attack spending one night around the guys at the clubhouse. And I don’t need you charming your way into her bed and breaking her tender little heart and having her spitting into my coffee whenever I stop in because I birthed a little shit.”

Jax scoffed, pulling a face at her over-dramatic words. “I’m not going to sleep with her. You can calm the hell down already. And I highly doubt she’d ever spit into a coffee, she seems far too nice for that.”

“Not the point,” Gemma countered. 

Jax watched as his mother led his son by the hand back towards TM’s office, a scowl on his face as the noise from the garage rang out around him. Anger flared within Jax from the conversation he’d just had with her. He didn’t know why her warning to stay away from you had him bristling and itching to hit something because she’d been completely right on all fronts. You were a good person and absolutely nothing like the club whores he was used to. Not that he’d had any intention of it, but sleeping with you would certainly end with your heart getting broken because Jax was not a relationship kind of guy–even less so after the bullshit with Tara that made him hate the idea of one even more. And the thought of you knowing any little bit about the things he’d done for the club had his hand tightening around the paper cup of coffee you’d given him. 

Gemma was entirely right. You weren’t someone who belonged in his world. Without a doubt, Jax knew the only thing he’d ever be capable of doing to you would be snuffing out that bright, warm light he found himself strangely drawn to, and that wasn’t something he’d ever want to do to you–even if he barely knew you. 

Teeth gritting together, Jax knew that you’d be better off if he stopped visiting your damn coffee shop. He glanced over at the nearby trash can just outside of the garage. He exhaled a sharp breath and made his way over towards it, reaching his hand out with the mostly full cup of coffee. As it hovered over the open bin, Jax about to drop it into the garbage, black ink hidden behind his hand caught his eye.

Frowning, he pulled the cup back and shifted his hold on it to get a better look. In small, delicate handwriting he saw the words ‘maybe this is the cup.’ Jax’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he reread the line over again, wondering what the hell you’d meant by writing that on his cup. And then he remembered the other night when he’d stopped into your shop and you’d told him you believed a good cup of coffee could make a bad day better or some bullshit along those lines. When he’d disagreed, he remembered your words exactly, hearing your own voice in his head for a moment. 

“You never know, maybe you just haven't had the right cup of coffee yet.”

An amused breath fell out of Jax as he shook his head at the fucking cup of coffee in his hand, reading what you’d written again–“maybe this is the cup.” You were so goddamn persistent and optimistic, weren’t you? You really thought one of these days that a stupid cup of coffee was going to somehow change his day, didn’t you?

“You’re something else, sunshine,” Jax muttered to the cup in his hand.

He stared at it for a moment longer, his eyes tracing along the lines of black ink before a voice behind him cut through his thoughts. Jax’s head darted over his shoulder, spotting Chibs making his way towards him.

“There ya are, Jackie,” he began. “Was lookin’ for ya. We got an update on that problem, might wanna head to the chapel so we can fill ya in.”

Jax sighed softly, nodding his head at Chibs. “Right,” he agreed. “Let’s go.”

He turned around, following Chibs back across the lot to the clubhouse. As he walked, he drew the cup of coffee up to his lips for another drink. When he swallowed the warm liquid down, his gaze inevitably returned to your neat, delicate script beside his fingers. The corner of his lips twitched.

[pepstarvanmoon]

Someone please get El out of there

Is it not obvious what this is? Do you really not know what you should be doing? SAY THE DAMN WORDS.

Why do you think she’s doubting you? Can you really not tell?

Mike, sweetheart, your relationship balancing skills are a terror to your friends, family, and romantic partners.

This is why people found Midleven cuter in S1/2, because the day you made it official marked the beginning of El’s doubts in your feelings for her.

You cannot seem to grasp that El is your friend AND your girlfriend, and somehow treating El like a girlfriend equates to treating her like shit.

You cannot make this up. El needs WORDS because Mike’s ACTIONS actively make her feel unloved. She does not feel it, so she wants some kind of verbal/written affirmation because of how emotionally distant Mike feels.

(someone talented please edit Elmike to Hamilton’s Burn or send an existing edit my way, thank you ♡)

His actions do not align to her expectations of love, not that it’s a good idea to let TV define romance for you, but you’re allowed to want/expect certain things in a relationship, and El isn’t getting that.

And let’s not act like Mike isn’t good at making people feel loved/cared for. Will is in love with him for a reason. El loves him for a reason.

(It was difficult to pick scenes for this because I’ve read arguments for how these aren’t really romantic at all, but from 12/13-year old, “fresh out the lab” Eleven, it’s as romantic as romance gets imo)

El has been trying to convince herself that their relationship is better than it is, because once she admits to herself that it’s not working, what does she do?

Her day-to-day life isn’t that great. Sure, she has her new family in the Byers, but her dad recently passed away and she’s being bullied at school. She has no friends outside of Will, and while I’m sure their relationship is great (wasn’t explored that much tbh), he can’t keep her from feeling isolated, and his own trauma with bullying keeps him from standing up for her.

One good, unchanging thing she has is her relationship with Mike. He’s the one who took her in and housed her, he taught her what it meant to be a friend, and… I’m having a bit of trouble here lol. I was going to say:

Never used her for her powers (not true lol)

When she was burnt out, he never expected more from her (not true LOL)

Never treated her differently for her powers (for this one, he found her awesome in an awestruck way rather than a Brenner “I’m gonna exploit this” way, but when he thought she lied about Will/hurt Lucas he was on her ass lmao)

My girl has those ‘first love’ blinders on. I keep having to ask myself what she sees in him besides ‘first person to accept me + we kissed’ like besides the latter, Dustin was right there. A lot of the parts of Mike I enjoy don’t reveal themselves around El outside S1 (barely S2). He’s shown as caring and protective, but he’s like that for all of his friends?? Especially when they’re in danger so idk what’s different. I’d have to peruse the milkvan tag to get a hint, but I’ll probably get a better idea watching Sleeping Beauty.

I’m a firm believer that Mike kept it ambiguous because he didn’t want to admit what the real problem was to Will.

“I couldn’t tell El that I love her.” - simple as that. Must be something about Will that has him holding his tongue because after S3 I doubt he’d have that much trouble telling Lucas.

Are you embarrassed? If you thought it wasn’t that serious you wouldn’t have told Will that it was something you “can’t come back from”. Is love serious to you, Mike? Because you can’t love El in the way she wants, do you think you’re incapable of it? Do you feel wrong? Do you not want Will to know?

Hit a little too close to home, huh.

(and let’s not get into the "team, friends, best friends" scene they had together like what was the point in having them make contact a SECOND time.

They already established a connection between them. Mike could’ve asked to be a team after the "guess it's gonna be up to us again," and Will could’ve taken the painting offscreen (the focus shot of Will grabbing the painting gets me so bad like WHY), but instead they wanted them to blush and giggle over each other AGAIN before they got to the van.

Make it make non-Byler sense I'm begging.)

You’d think that’d be good enough, but Mike still feels conflicted and has to make it Will’s problem (actually, Will kinda made it his problem. The way they shot the triple take makes it seem like Will dragged Mike away for another talk because of how spacey he was being. Who knows.)

Tf do you mean you didn’t know what to say? “Maybe if I said that thing” so you DO know? It’s painfully cut and dry if you take emotions out of it. El wants Mike to say that he loves her, so to fix this, to come back from that fight, Mike has to say he loves her.

Why is it such an internal battle for him? If I were to take it at face value, I’d chalk it up to what he said in the van scene.

So your solution is to push your relationship to a point that has El crying and throwing all the loveless letters you sent to the floor? To tell her that she’s incredible and a superhero and that she should know how you feel about her because, despite the tears streaming down her face and her DIRECTLY asking you if you still love her, she must know how amazing she is too?

NEWSFLASH, Queerler! She’s learning just how much she doesn’t need you right now, so I guess it’s time to face your fears!

This isn’t what I meant, but go off ig (don’t, actually, this is awful for everyone involved).

No way you expect El to buy this. You’ve expressed this fear of "losing El" to Will, I’ll give you that, but nothing you’ve done IN FRONT OF EL has conveyed this. Your letters weren’t helping, and you being there in person only made it worse.

Eagerly awaiting the day Michael Wheeler stops lying.

Well, I guess he doesn’t lie ALL the time.

[acerathia]

equanimity || Li Shen | Zayne

Summary:

This was supposed to be a simple job: support Dr. Zayne with today's endeavor. But it all got ruined when a Wanderer burst in, leading to him overusing his Evol, and there's just one thing you can do about it.

Wordcount: 3.5k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Li Shen | Reader / Reader | MC

Tags/CW:

Minors and Ageless Blogs DNI!! pwp, aphrosidiacs/sex pollen (by accident lol), making out, handjob, blowjob, overstimulation, slight sadism and masochism (implied), reader being a service bottom, nipple licking and sucking, stripping, riding him o7, cockwarming, and as always, love hehe

Note:

something possessed me, idk man, is this anything? whoops, sorry for anything and everything atp klsdflkjsd

The hospital is familiar, the scent of sanitizer penetrating the air, with a flight floral undertone due to the plants scattered here and there. With sure steps, you make your way to the office you have visited countless times, and will continue to visit countless times, even if your own condition were to disappear someday. That is because your main reason for this visit isn’t a cure or treatment, it’s one person: Zayne.

It’s been some time since the last time you have seen him face to face, both of your schedules irregular and unpredictable, making it more difficult to plan for a date. Even now, your visit isn’t a personal one, but one assigned to you by your job. Well, volunteered for it. There’s no way you would have missed seeing him in any capacity. Maybe surprise him a little bit with your sudden appearance.

With a knock, you wait until his calm voice allows you to enter, just then do you practically burst into the room, a wide grin pulling on your lips. “Dr. Zayne, your protection has arrived!”

His gaze is already locked on you, and he raises his eyebrows. “And I assume that might be you, yes?”

With a couple steps, you’re standing in front of him, tempted to sit down on his table to be even closer to him, only restrained by the reminder that you’re technically on the clock.

“Well, isn’t it obvious? I am a hunter after all,” you nod, puffing your chest slightly with pride.

A barely noticeable smile tugs on the corners of his lips. “Then, Miss Hunter, I will be under your care.”

Just as these words leave his lips, the ground begins to rumble, bringing you out of balance, barely staying on your feet with his support, hands on your hips, pulling you closer to him. You hunter’s watch makes the all-too-familiar sound and you brace yourself.

“A Wanderer!” you shout to him, moments before the door bursts in splinters, revealing the creature which has been seeking chaos and destruction.

Yet, it hadn’t expected you and Zayne to be there. With a flick of his wrist, the Wanderer is stuck to the ground. You prepared yourself to finish it, when it shot something out of its body. Ready to be hit, you started retaliating, but you didn’t expect for a body to shield you from its attack. You curse as you feel his body slightly slump against yours and before you could take care of him, you defeated the Wanderer with a powerful shot.

Filled with panic, you help Zayne back into his seat, looking him all over, yet not seeing any fatal wound. Only his skin seems to be incredibly cold, too cold. Putting your hand directly onto his skin, you try to use your own Evol to help him regulate his ice. But it didn’t help. He’s still unbelievably cool to the touch.

This doesn’t help ease your worries, so you try to think of a way to get his temperature to a normal level while helping him get home, because there’s no way you’re taking care of him in his dusty and almost destroyed office. You did notify a nurse beforehand, and while he did give you a weird look on your way out, he only nodded and noted it.

Luckily, Zayne doesn’t live far away, so getting him into his place turns out to be easier than expected. But despite the effort he has put in, he could not overcome the cold slowly encroaching on him, making his limbs stiffen up, fingers covered in dark ice.

Carefully, you slip him onto the worn couch, fingers rubbing his cheeks to get some colors back into them. Nervously, you lick your lips. There’s a thought swirling through your mind, a perfect way to warm him up, yet it feels wrong to try it before you run out of choices. So, you caress his eyebrows, sighing as he leans closer to your skin.

“Should we try to warm you up with a nice bath?” you murmur, grasping at straw. Your Evol has never betrayed you like this before, your resonance with him has always been something you could trust. Until now. Now, when the coldness is swallowing him, it’s turning its head away from you.

Zayne clasps your hand in his, his eyes slightly hazy, yet clear enough to make eye contact with you. “I don’t need a bath. What I need is you.”

His cold fingers run over your arm, to grab your hip and to pull you to him, and you could not put up any resistance against him, his words making your brain freeze for a moment. That’s how you end up straddling him, hip to hip, his breath against your neck. And you’re starting to feel more conscious of him on you, against you.

His lips kiss your skin, making you shiver. His graceful fingers gradually slip underneath your shirt, the tips of his fingers eliciting another shiver and goosebumps spread over your back. They fan out slowly, trying to touch you as much as he can, steadying themselves pressed against your lower ribs.

The kisses he has been scattering like cold rain over your skin, lead over your jaw, until he stops with a final one on the corner of your lips.

“Share your warmth with me,” Zayne mutters before letting his lips dive towards yours, soft touches, coldness against your tongue, fog-like breath into your lungs, breathing you in, taking you for himself.

You sigh against him, slipping closer with each kiss, deepening your connection. Your hands stroke the back of his neck, slipping to his collar and slowly opening the buttons one by one. Taking your time in taking the usually put together doctor apart, one by one. With your fingertips, you graze his chest, already starting to take on a slight flush, leaving a faint trail over his abdomen, stopping at the waistband of his pants, creasing where his needs lie.

“Then, let me be your caretaker for the day,” you whisper against his lips, moments before you open his pants, letting your hand slowly slip inside.

A small wet spot has spread over his boxers, and the thought that the usually restrained Dr. Zayne desires you so, makes your insides warm and needy. And you want to see how strong his restraint in truth actually is. So, all you do is caress the outline of his length over the cloth, enjoying the twitch it elicits out of him.

Swallowing his moan with your mouth, you continue to kiss him, giving him your feelings on a platter, thawing him bit by bit, sucking on his tongue and exploring his mouth, showing him how much you desire and want him, how much you love him, allowing him to swallow you whole if needed.

Although, he doesn’t do that just yet, he might take you up on that offer with a little more coaxing. That’s why you carefully slip your fingers into his boxers, leaving a warm trail along his v-line until they meet his length. And even there, you only let the tips of them caress him, spreading your warmth over him, taking care of him slowly and delicately. Your thumb touches his tip in slow circles, spreading the wetness over him. Only when you feel him tremble against you, your name escaping his mouth in small pants, do you finally let your hand fully grasp him.

Maybe you’re even indulging yourself a bit, slow strokes with barely any friction or pressure, feather-light touches moving up and down. Yet, these wisps of warmth are more than enough to get him worked up, tension growing in his upper body as he grasps your hips for something, anything to ground him. His grip is tight, but careful to not leave any traces behind, to not hurt you. But you did want to experience him lose control, slipping slightly, leaving you with marks only he can give you and no one else.

So, you adjust your grasp around him, more pressure as the pace of your strokes begins to speed up with each jerk of your wrist. At this, you feel his hands clutching you with more intensity, holding onto you almost like Zayne is making sure that you’re still there, that your gentle touches, your warmth against his cold skin is not merely a dream pulled out of the depth of his conscious, something that can’t just slip between his fingers if he tries to reach you.

Murmuring your name over and over again, a constant reminder that you’re safe and with him, that you’re close to him, an incantation of your existence, of your blessings upon him. His lips were hovering over your skin, pants hot against it, and even with the rising tension, his teeth never meet your flesh, never indulge himself in your taste. You wonder if you could coax that out of him, too, someday.

The mere imagination of his teeth digging into you makes your insides flutter and your hand move faster. And instead of feeling his mouth against your skin, you can’t help but dig your own incisors into his shoulder, sucking and lapping at the spot, taking good care of him.

And it doesn’t take long until the tension in his body reaches a high, releasing with a silent snap, hips stuttering against your hand as he empties himself. His fingers dig into the softness of your hips, a dull ache, but satisfactory nonetheless.

While Zayne slumps against you, you pull out your hand to lick him off of you, making sure it’s visible to him, even holding eye contact as your tongue darts out to taste and enjoy him. Only then do you press your forehead against his, trying to gauge his temperature. Despite your work, he only has warmed up ever so slightly, still not enough, though. You bite your lips in thought, your nails softly scratching against his scalp as you think how you should get his temperature further up. And you suppose you could just continue as you did.

So, with him being limp in your arms, it turns out to be a rather easy task to push him onto his back, his body pliable and soft, just for you. For now, you keep your place on his hips as you lean down to catch his open lips with yours, pushing your tongue against his to tease him, to play with him. His hand finds the back of your neck and he presses you impossibly closer to deepen the kiss, to taste your soul and your love. You let your tongue press against his, pushing and pulling, a dance between ancient lovers.

Breathless, you separate yourself from him, a string of saliva still connecting you, the taste of him lingering on your tongue. One look at him, sharp lines, yet eyes as soft as a meadow underneath the play of the wind, makes your veins run hot, and you immediately press your open mouth against the column of his throat, teasing the skin with your teeth, but careful to not leave marks in places where other people might discern them. Just when you dive below that line, do you allow yourself to mark him, to scatter yourself all over him, bites and kisses and shades of blue. And you can’t help but lick at his nipples, biting on them until you let your mouth suck on one of them while your hand pinches the other, twisting and rubbing.

Just taking care of him this way evokes a reaction in him, his length already hard, pressing against your lower torso, beckoning you to take care of it again, to show Zayne desire and want over and over again.

With a last lick over his nipple, you let off of it, your mouth continuing to wander over his abdomen, taking care to litter him in your affection. Until you reach the mess that is his lower body, remains from your touches spreading over his clothes, belt unbuckled, yet covered in a way that feels more provoking than mere nakedness; someone so used to have control over his own desires, being turned into a mess with a couple of moves, clothes disheveled, and if you look up to him, mussy hair and hazy gaze.

You hook your fingers into the waistband of his shorts and you slowly pull them down, his cock immediately pulling itself free, hard, leaking, and oh-so beautiful. You hear him say your name, but instead of answering, you look up to him, holding his eyes in yours as you press a kiss on the tip, letting the tip of your tongue dart out to lick him, tasting his precum.

Before you even think of taking care of him properly, you begin to spread kisses over his shaft, fluttering touches, accompanied by the wetness of your tongue. Only once you reach the base, do you fully stick out your tongue, flattening it to lap over his whole length, feeling the veins over its surface and the way he twitches. And once again, you’re met with his glistening tip, and this time, you carefully take it into your mouth, letting it rest between your lips, letting him feel your wet mouth against himself, before you hollow out your cheeks, gently sucking on it, your tongue darting over his slit.

His hand grabs your hair in reflex and you feel the slightest sting, more than you could have anticipated from the careful Dr. Zayne. Feeling the need for more, you slowly move your head, taking him bit by bit, feeling him fill your mouth with each passing push. Sometimes you take your time to caress him properly, to take care of every part of him, bopping your head as your tongue works him, loves him. And with each stroke, each caress, each movement of yours, the tug grows in strength ever so slightly, his hips stuttering against yours, restrained, yet out of control, seeking more, more and more of you.

And then you reach the base, and you wished you could nuzzle yourself closer to him, yet all you can do is rub your forehead against his pelvis, before you slowly pull back, only to repeat everything again, just faster, teasing him more and more, and the exposed parts caressed by the tips of your fingers, never allowing him to have a bit of rest. Until the tension in Zayne is palpable, shivers running down your neck and when push comes shove, as he pushes his hips closer to your mouth before everything in him releases, his control slipping as he allows himself to relieve himself in your mouth, your name on his lips, a groan and a prayer.

Even while he continuously climaxes, you don’t let up, your lips around his tip as you suck and lick, prolonging his high, coaxing more and more out of him, allowing him to indulge himself in you. Not stopping, steadily keeping your pace, your tongue flat against him, feeling him twitch against your mouth once again.

But you let up, standing up, and let your eyes travel over the sight in front of you. His pants hanging around his knees, his usually creaseless button-up shirt rumpled, framing his tensing torso. His mouth agape, and his eyes, his eyes dark and filled with want, looking at you, desiring you, glowing like ice under the sun.

You can’t help but lick your lips, watching as his eyes focus on them. This simple movement brings an idea to fruition. You tilt your head slightly, showing the column of your throat, raising your hand to let your fingertips glide over the skin, free of any spots, for now. And you let them wander until your palm meets your breast, and you spread your fingers around the curve of your body, all while keeping your eyes on him, watching his every reaction.

His gaze follows your every move, his body tensing as the blood rushes lower and lower. His chest rising and falling in deep breaths, as if he’s still trying to get himself under control, after everything. You bite your lip to suppress a grin, feeling the thrill of your own control over him, making your own desires fluctuate.

Slowly, your palm caresses your lower torso, until you reach the hem of your shirt. And with a fluid motion do you rid yourself of the piece of cloth hiding you from his intense gaze. You excessively stretch as you do so, showing him everything you want to give him. You imagine hearing Zayne pant and swallow, just at the sight of you and without preamble your fingers find the waistband of your pants. With the tips of your fingers, you unbutton it and grab the zipper, slowly pulling it down, letting him hear every click. Until the fabric falls to the ground with a little shimmying of your hips.

For a moment, you sway your body under his stare, feeling the way it travels up and down, trying to freeze every frame in time. But even your patience has its limits, especially with all his reactions pulling desire into your gut, stoking the flame with each twitch, with each gasp, with each slow blink. That’s why you return to straddle him after allowing him a good look, pressing your hips against his, feeling his precum stain your underwear, mixing with your own wetness.

You lean over Zayne and give him a small kiss on the corners of his lips, savoring the sight in front of you, pupils blown wide and lust and love filling them. And you kiss him, slow, careful, tasting him and devouring him, as much as he devours and tastes and loves you. Softness meets softness. Tongue caressing tongue.

Until you move your hips against his, drawing the movement out, feeling his length slide over the barrier between you, so close, yet not enough, friction to get you going, but not filling like he would. His moans reverberate in you, and you swallow them greedily, picking up the pace bit by bit.

And something snaps, barely audible, but enough. Just enough for Zayne to slide your panties to the side, fingers spreading you open, pressing against your clit. You gasp, shuddering at the sudden coldness against your hot core. The same breath gets stuck in your throat, as you feel his tip meet your entrance, pushing into you without any warning.

You moan his name and clutch at his shoulders, as he ruts deeper and deeper into you, filling you, satisfying you, making you whole. His hands on your hips, fingers digging as he presses you closer to him, until your pelvis meets his. He stays like this for a moment, his breath hot against your neck, lips meeting skin, caring for one sensitive spot, kissing and licking, his teeth barely grazing you, ever.

Once you grow needy, you can’t help but grind yourself against his, seeking some friction against his fingers. Noticing your needs, he moves his fingers over your clit, slowly, in pace with the way he thrusts in you. Careful, languid, almost like he wants to draw it out, like he wants to feel you for as long as possible. Like he wants to regain some control over himself. You can’t have that. So, you push against him, moving at your own pace, all while you sink your teeth into his shoulder, at the same time you press yourself into him, sinking and taking him fully.

A barely suppressed groan escapes him, and his movements against you grow erratic, as erratic as they can be for someone like him, yet his fingers never let up, caressing you, taking such good care of your clit. Every thrust of his hip against yours hits the spot inside you, and he knows exactly how to fire you up, how to wind you up, each touch calculated for your own benefit.

Until you unravel over his fingers, with him inside you, clenching around his length as you moan his name against his warm skin, your thighs tightening around his hips, pulling him infinitely closer to you. And the mere feeling of satisfaction of your climax brings him to his own high, spilling inside of you, throbbing and twitching, your name falling from his lips over and over again.

You slump against him, snuggling to his warmth, thawed by your efforts and love, keeping him inside you, desiring to be as close to him as possible. He, too, wants to keep you close to him, winding his arms carefully around you and whispering your name and endless confessions of love and adoration. Something only meant for your ears and your ears only. You let your fingernails scratch softly at his back, murmuring your own commitment, vowing to love him, only him, to keep your eyes towards him, promising to stay by his side as he does by yours. Binding and forever.

[1indigoisles]

Thanks for the tag.

So there's two reasons behind my tumblr account name. Very boring actually. Indigo Isles is, for one thing, my pen-name, and for another I just thought those two words sounded poetic together. Didn't put a lot of thought into it really. The 1 is there because just indigoisles was already taken.

Open tag.

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[thomamaru]

Hierarchy of Intimacy (Chapter Nagi)

Synopsis: Nagi always thought it was a hassle when people in movies would sacrifice their time just to say goodbye to their loved ones. Who would risk all that just for 5 minutes for their partner? He would.

Tags: Nagi Seishiro x gn!reader, fluff, nagi regretting his nonchalantness

Author notes: this is a series based on a trend of tiktok. characters that will be included is nagi, yukimiya, rin, chigiri, isagi, reo, kunigami, sae, and bachira. If you want to add a character, you can request with a prompt :)

The sound of the train's whistle echoed faintly in the distance, blending with the quiet hum of cicadas outside the open window.

You were kneeling on the floor of your bedroom, folding the last of your clothes into a suitcase. Each piece of fabric you packed carried a mix of nostalgia and bittersweet anticipation for the new life waiting for you in another state.

College, you told yourself. It was just a temporary move, seven months at most, yet it felt like the weight of a lifetime hung over your shoulders.

In contrast to your swirling emotions, Nagi Seishiro sat across the room in his usual spot on the couch, controller in hand, intensely focused on his game. His silver hair shimmered faintly in the sunlight, his usual casual slouch making him appear as relaxed as ever.

But it baffled you—this was Nagi. Your Nagi. The same clingy, sweet, sometimes overwhelmingly dependent boyfriend who would sulk if you so much as hung out with someone else for an afternoon.

Yet here he was, calm and collected, even as you prepared to leave.

You placed another neatly folded shirt into the suitcase and glanced over at him. "Sei, are you sure you'll be okay without me?"

"Mmm?" His reply came distractedly as he furiously mashed buttons, his avatar onscreen delivering a devastating combo.

"Seishiro," you called again, firmer this time, "I’m serious. You know you’ve got to take care of yourself, right? Proper meals, not just snacks. And remember to water the plants at least twice a week—oh, and don’t forget laundry days either. I already sorted the detergent by color for you."

Nagi spared you a brief glance from his game. “You’re acting like you’re leaving forever,” he mumbled, lips twitching slightly upward.

Before you could counter his teasing tone, he set down the controller, walked over, and leaned down to press a soft kiss against your forehead.

"Chill. I’ll survive," he said, his warm breath tickling your skin. He pulled away with a lazy smirk and flopped back onto the couch. "It’s only seven months, right? You’ll be back before I even notice.”

You sat there for a moment, pressing your fingers to the spot where his lips had just touched.

His response was as casual and predictable as always, but for some reason, it still made your heart flutter. A chuckle escaped your lips. “You’re hopeless, Sei.”

The day passed quickly, and soon, it was time to leave. Standing by the door with your suitcase in hand, you turned to face him. “I’ll call you when I get there, okay?”

“Mhm. I’ll be here,” he said, still glued to his game.

It hurt a little—his seemingly indifferent demeanor. But you brushed it off, smiled to yourself, and closed the door behind you. As you walked to the station, doubts began to creep in.

Could Nagi really live alone for seven months? Would he remember to eat, or would he just subsist on snacks? What if something happened and you weren’t there to help?

Still, you shook your head. I’m worrying too much, you told yourself. Nagi was a grown man. He could handle this. Probably.

---

The apartment door clicked shut, leaving an unsettling quiet in its wake.

Nagi sat motionless on the couch, his controller resting loosely in his hands. His eyes flicked over to the empty space near the door where your suitcase had been moments earlier.

The same spot where you’d stood, looking back at him one last time, smiling despite the worry etched across your face.

He sighed, leaning back, telling himself to brush it off. Seven months was nothing. He’d keep himself busy with games, sleep, and... well, whatever else there was to do. You’d come back before he knew it. Right?

Except, the silence hit harder than he’d expected. Without the faint shuffling of your packing, the apartment felt unnervingly still.

His gaze wandered across the room, landing on the things you’d left behind—a photo of the two of you on the shelf, your hoodie draped over the chair, a forgotten hair tie on the coffee table.

His chest tightened as a heavy realization crept over him. “You idiot,” he muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck.

Why hadn’t he said anything more? Why hadn’t he stood up and at least walked you to the station? Why had he acted so nonchalant, like you leaving didn’t matter?

His mind replayed the moment he pressed that quick kiss to your forehead. It was supposed to be reassuring, casual—something to let you know he wasn’t worried.

But now? Now it felt like he’d let you walk out without really saying goodbye.

A pang of regret shot through him, sharp and suffocating. He’d always found goodbyes a hassle—so much drama and unnecessary energy. But this wasn’t just any goodbye. This was you. His everything.

In a rare burst of panic, Nagi shot up from the couch, throwing on the first jacket he saw. He slipped on his mismatched shoes in his rush, not even noticing as one foot found a sneaker and the other a slide sandal.

It didn’t matter. “I need to see her,” he whispered, slamming the door behind him.

---

The crisp air stung his lungs as he sprinted down the street, his legs moving faster than they ever had outside a soccer field. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d willingly run like this—certainly not for a game.

His heart pounded, not just from the exertion, but from the fear clawing at him.

What if he didn’t make it in time? What if you got on the train and disappeared from his sight for the next seven months?

The thought made his chest ache. His messy hair bounced with each frantic step as he weaved through the light crowds, muttering apologies to startled pedestrians.

I should’ve hugged her longer. I should’ve walked her out, carried her suitcase even if it was a pain. Why didn’t I tell her that I’d miss her? That I already do?

For someone who often lived in the moment, Nagi now found himself consumed by what he hadn’t done.

He couldn’t help but replay the scene of you leaving over and over, each iteration stabbing him with regret.

When the train station finally came into view, he pushed himself harder, ignoring the burn in his legs.

His mismatched shoes made running awkward, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding you before it was too late.

By the time he burst onto the platform, he was out of breath, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered. His wide eyes darted around, scanning every face in the crowd.

“Where is she...?” he muttered, his voice strained. His heart sank for a moment as he thought he might’ve been too late.

But then, his gaze landed on you, sitting by the edge of the platform, your suitcase next to you.

You were looking down at your phone, completely oblivious to the whirlwind of emotions spiraling inside him.

Relief flooded his body, nearly making his legs give out. But he didn’t stop. With a renewed burst of energy, he called out, his voice louder than he thought possible.

“(Y/N)!”

Your head snapped up at the familiar voice, confusion etched across your face as you spotted him stumbling toward you.

His hair was disheveled, his jacket crooked, and his shoes hilariously mismatched. “Nagi?”

When he finally reached you, he doubled over, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “You—” He gasped between breaths. “You left too soon.”

You tilted your head, still baffled. “Sei, what are you doing here? I thought you—”

Before you could finish, he straightened up, cupping your face in his hands.

The sheer desperation in his expression caught you off guard. His usual sleepy eyes were wide and filled with something raw—something that made your heart skip a beat.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft and unsteady. “I should’ve walked you here. I should’ve... done more. I didn’t want to just sit there and let you leave like that.”

Your heart swelled at his rare display of emotion. “Seishiro…”

He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath still uneven. “I know it’s dumb. It’s only seven months. But I already miss you,” he admitted quietly.

Before you could respond, the speaker announcement echoed across the platform. “Final boarding for train 308.”

Your stomach twisted as the realization of your limited time together hit you. Still, you reached up, placing your hands over his. “I’ll miss you too,” you said softly.

He pulled back, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead. “Call me, okay?”

You nodded, forcing a smile as you grabbed your suitcase and stepped toward the train.

Nagi stood frozen on the platform, his mismatched shoes planted firmly as he watched you board.

As the train began to pull away, you looked out the window, waving at him. He stood there, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his usual calm exterior returned.

But as the train disappeared from view, he muttered to himself again, “This sucks.”

And for the first time in a long while, Nagi truly hated the distance between him and what mattered most.

(*＾3＾)/～☆

[sundew199]

Harmless Prank

a/n: you know those videos of kids reacting to their dad shaving off all their facial hair? I thought this would be cute with Reiner 🥰

tags: reiner braun x f!reader, fluff, harmless prank on yours and reiner's daughter,

You recently saw one of those viral videos of a baby reacting to their dad shaving off their facial hair, and it gave you the greatest idea. Your daughter, who was just shy of turning a year old, had only ever seen her dad with facial hair. Even though Reiner's facial hair wasn't thick and taking up his entire face, it was still extremely noticeable when he shaved and after seeing all the reactions from the videos you watched after coming across the first one, you were dying to know what your daughter's would be.

Reiner was so against it at first when you brought it up that night in bed, saying it was mean to prank his baby like that and he already can't stand it when she cries and doesn't want to be the reason she was crying. But you were determined because it was the most harmless prank ever and his facial hair would grow back in no time.

After managing to convince your husband, you waited until the weekend to do it when he was off of work, sitting down on the floor in the living room with your daughter, distracting her with toys so she wouldn't notice her dad wasn't next to her playing. She was insanely attached to Reiner, had him wrapped around his finger the moment she was born and you swore she knew this fact too. Every time she got upset or wanted to be held, she was reaching out to Reiner first instead of you. It was hard not to take offense in the beginning when she was a couple months old, since she was your first baby, but their bond was so damn adorable it was impossible to be upset.

Hearing the sink water shut off, your grabbed your phone, propping it up against the stack of books you had on the coffee table, angling it to face the couch where you set your daughter down, keeping a close eye on her until Reiner started to come out and you could press record. The shuffle of his feet came into earshot and you tapped the red button, grabbing your daughter's attention to get her to look over at Reiner as he approached the end of the couch with a hand towel covering his mouth.

He was giving you puppy dog eyes, already feeling bad knowing she wouldn't recognize him and burst into tears. Yes you'd admit it was just a little mean, but god it wouldn't be the end of the world.

"Who's that baby? Is that daddy?" Gasping and pointing over to Reiner, watching your daughter's face light up seeing him, giggling at the towel over his mouth and clapping her hands once.

Without having to be told, Reiner dropped the towel and forced a smile at his daughter and out of the corner of your eye you could see her expression fall.

Her bottom lip quivered, looking at you and then back to Reiner, her pretty little eyes welling with tears as she realized that man was not her father. Not even a second later and she was wailing, reaching her arms out to you and hiding her face in your neck, and you let out a tiny laugh as you stopped recording and comforted her with pats on her back, holding her in your arms.

"It's still me sweetheart, it's still daddy." Reiner said as he rushed over, trying to get to look at him but that only made her cry harder when she peaked a look. You rocked her as you trying to fight off a grin, Reiner scowling at you with a pout and hands on his hips.

"I told you it was mean."

"Just give her a second, she's never seen you without facial hair."

After about a minute of crying and getting her to calm down, she took another look at goatee-less Reiner, whining and shying away but not crying. Reiner took her from your arms and cradled her like she were a newborn to his shoulder, kissing the side of her head and promising her that it was still him. You rolled your eyes, both of them so dramatic it was humorous.

"Mommy made me shave, I would never do this on purpose to you baby." He cooed, turning back to look at you with narrowed eyes, placing another kiss on her head. Your daughter came up from his shoulder, giving him a look, examining him to make sure that this strange man holding her was her father.

"You are so dramatic Reiner I swear to god."

He shrugged, turning back to look at his daughter and waiting for the final verdict. She giggled and smacked both her hands on his cheeks, smiling wide as she finally recognized him, smacking her little hands repeatedly on his freshly shaved cheeks.

Rolling your eyes again, you opened up your phone and played the video of her reaction, laughing under your breath as those two reunited. Editing the video just a bit to cut out the shaky end, you send it to all your friends and slipped over to Reiner give him a kiss.

[madamspellmans-met-tet]

🦇Ballentry Moor🦇

Joan Clayton x fem!reader

tags: Dark, Pining, Hurt No Comfort, very vaguely implied past assault, very subtext-heavy, Bathing/Washing, nonsexual nudity, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Unrequited Love?, Loneliness, lots of spit stuff for some reason?, SFW otherwise

summary: Once upon a time, Joan saved you and took you back to her cabin. You've been living with her ever since, and with time, you have developed feelings for her. The challenge is trying to make her understand that.

wc: ~ 2.5 k (Chapter 1/2)

*******************************************************

The fog never lifted from Ballentry Moor. A heavy blanket and smothering embrace at once, spreading gloom and offering refuge from witness' eyes. You had fallen victim to the moor, once upon a time, and lay in its murky soil, returned to and devoured by Mother Earth with vines slung around your wrists and ankles, until the swamp witch herself had cut you free.

You'd gone home with her, treading the same path you were following now in the muted indigo hues of twilight, back to her dilapidated brick house with a wicker basket full of mushrooms and roots on your arm. Stepping through the front door, the scent of vegetable broth boiling in the cauldron filled your nostrils. Joan stood next to it, with her back turned towards you, and stirred.

"Fortune smiled upon me today," you announced, heading straight to the kitchen table, where you set down your basket and began picking out mushrooms. "Harvest was good."

Joan acknowledged you with a hrmpf noise, as was her manner, and you returned your attention to the mushrooms, proceeding to wash them and taking out a chopping board and knife that could do with a sharpening. As you chopped them into slices and cubes, your gaze kept flitting to her, tossing basil into the cauldron, tasting from the iron ladle, pouring more salt into it as if it were not over-salted already.

"I feel it," she said, lifting her head and pausing her stirring.

"Hm?"

"You look at me with want."

The knife—suddenly forgotten about—escaped your control and cut into your finger instead of the mushroom. You hissed and dropped the knife with a loud clink, which prompted Joan to turn and size you up with a grim frown. Upon spotting the droplet of blood forming across the tip of your forefinger, she let the ladle fall into the cauldron and approached, grabbing your wrist to inspect the cut. You gasped when she took your finger into her mouth and sucked the blood off, then pushed your hand away, saying, "Paper cut. Cry, little babe."

You wiped your finger on your apron, cleaning her spit off it, in mild disbelief. The cut had already stopped bleeding. You finished chopping the mushrooms and took the cutting board to the cauldron, where Joan made space for you to scrape them into the broth. The steam wafted into your face and glazed it damp; your cheeks reddened too over the fire, but Joan's eyes on your movements had a similar effect.

"What is it you want, little mudbug?"

"Nothing of importance."

You avoided her eyes and left her proximity under the guise of putting the knife and cutting board away. Though the warmth behind your navel never ceased, neither did that in your cheeks. Joan hrmpf'ed again and tended to her broth.

-> continue on Ao3

[linklethehistorian]

Hi — OP here. I wanted to highlight some of the tags that I thought were worth showing from y’all insightful folks (especially those in other countries) who have been reblogging:

Also, since I’m getting a few people reblogging and/or commenting like I’m fearmongering and saying the situation is already doomed:

This was NOT my intent. I am well aware of everything that’s required for this to get passed. I’m well aware it’s a slim shot of it happening. This does not make it a non-threat. Listen to the voices around you — even those who do not live in this country. Listen to them, and take heed of their warnings. They know this situation by heart, from experience. They’ve seen it all before.

Listen to the people who know their history, who know history in general of situations that were similar. They speak the truth.

Me telling you that this will not be the end was not fearmongering and it was not an attempt to be demoralizing and it was not treating the situation like, or implying it was, an inescapable Armageddon. I know it sounds terrifying, but that’s because it is. And people need to see that. They need to think about it. They need to know what is at stake in the event this passes, however unlikely those odds may or may not be.

It was a warning. A call to action. A “unless we both as a country and as individuals act to stop it here and now, this will happen.”

The reason why I did not bring up the odds is largely because I was in a hurry to get this out, because I wanted to alert people as soon as I could. Because this it’s important. As I have said previously, this post was made very early in to this becoming public knowledge. There weren’t many places talking about it yet and I wanted to do so before people started flooding in with the dangerous, downplaying “don’t worry, it’s a 0% chance” rhetoric that would convince people it wasn’t worth acting against and that they didn’t have to do anything, because they’d think they could trust it would all just be okay.

And you should never just trust that it will all be okay, if there’s something you can do to help ensure that. The odds of the situation are ultimately entirely irrelevant when it comes to the necessity to act. You should always treat situations like this like if you don’t act, no one will.

As I have said in another post, while it’s understandable people want to comfort themselves, there is no such thing as a 0% chance, and there is also no such thing as slim odds unless you act in every way you can to ensure the odds are, in fact, as slim as you believe and hope them to be, and spreading anything along those lines is to play an extremely dangerous game that only helps your enemy.

We are not omniscient. We cannot read the hearts and minds of each individual member of congress and head of state and know in an instant how they feel, nor can we see the future. Betting on odds to save your life and your fate and the lives and fates of everyone you know and love when you could be doing something to at least help those odds is a fool’s game.

Do your research. Know your odds, if it helps to comfort you. Check out the links the kind people in the reblogs and comments have sent or offered you and listen to those around you.

But don’t ever assume that you don’t have to act. Especially on important matters like this.

Yes, part of the reason this bill got passed may have been a distraction tactic to get you to look the other way from other things going on; HOWEVER, THIS DOES NOT MAKE IT ANY LESS DANGEROUS OR A NON-THREAT.

Multiple things can be a threat at once. Something can be both a distraction and a serious attempt to alter the course of the American future. You can care about multiple things at once. You don’t have to choose. But if you do choose only a few, certainly don’t choose to ignore the amendment that could permanently alter how America runs and allow this man — or people like him — to have a grip over this country for 12 years each, and pave the way for lifelong dictatorships.

Thanks for your time and all the reblogs that help made this post spread. My blog is not super popular, so I never could’ve dreamed this would fly away like it has, but I’m so happy that it was something important like this that took off.

I love you all. We’re in this together. Protect your country in any way you can. Be safe. There is hope, but it’s hope we need to help carve out by our own hands. Not hope we put blindly into the hands of others.

Source

Transcript:

“BREAKING: A constitutional amendment has been filed allowing President Trump to seek a 3rd term in office.

"No person shall be elected to the office of the President more than three times, nor be elected to any additional term after being elected to two consecutive terms, and no person who has held the office of President, or acted as President, for more than two years of a term to which some other person was elected President shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice."

It was filed by Congressman Andy Ogles (R-TN).

Don’t let this slip by unnoticed. This is not just “one extra term”, it’s a warning shot. It’s a red flag. It’s an omen.

They are slowly turning up the heat in the pan. Do not be the frog who sits denying it’s getting hotter.

One extra term will become two, two will become three, and three will eventually give way to lifelong reign of each president.

Fight. Fight for God’s sake.

Contact your local representative of congress. Convince them we do not want this.

We are going to end up in a dictatorship.

@ikiyou

Please help spread this. I don’t usually get political and I don’t usually ask for assistance but this is important and you have more reach.

[hungermakesmonsters]

(It Is) What It Is

Sneak Peek

Plot Summary : When Billy Russo realises that there is a certain class of wealthy clients who refuse to contract with Anvil because of his playboy reputation, he decides to alter their perception of him. You’re just a down on your luck PA, just trying to get by so when Billy offers to pay you to pretend to date him, you can’t refuse. But the last thing you expect is for Billy to pull you into his secret world of lust and debauchery.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] There will be smutty themes throughout the story. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

A/N : Here's the first little sneak peek at my next Billy fic. I'm going with something slightly different for the reader character this time, so I hope you like what I've got planned. The first chapter will be posted on the 31st of January, and I'll be updating weekly. If you've already asked to be tagged, I'll tag you in the first chapter!

Sneak Peek

“Good morning, Mr Russo,” you said, heading towards his desk. “I’ve got your morning coffee and a couple of bear claws, and Mr Castle is waiting outside for your morning meeting.”

“Thank you,” he said, lingering at the window a moment longer before finally turning towards you. “Can you send Frank in and grab the files I asked you to prepare yesterday?”

“Of course, sir.”

You did as you were asked, sending Mr Castle in while you got the files from your desk. By the time you made it back into Mr Russo’s office, both men were perched on his desk, drinking their coffees and eating bear claws.

“However much he’s payin’ you, it’s not enough,” Mr Castle grinned at you, and that had the forced smile on your lips becoming something far more genuine.

It wasn’t so much that Mr Russo didn’t appreciate what you did for him - you knew that he did - it was more that he wasn’t particularly vocal about it. But you’d heard the horror stories of the PAs who’d come before you, the ones who’d quit mere weeks into working for him. At first you’d feared that it was him, that he was impossible to work for, but you’d quickly figured out that he wasn’t impossible, just... difficult. 

There was a lot of reading between the lines when it came to Billy Russo, and a lot of your time was spent trying to anticipate what he might want or need at any given time; when he was in a bad mood you’d found that food often helped, and frustration was usually mitigated by redirecting him towards smaller, easier to deal with tasks to distract him.

It wasn’t easy but you’d figured him out and, now, things ran pretty smoothly.

“Here you go,” you said, placing the files on his desk beside him. “I took the liberty of colour coding them; the green tabs are the ones most likely to want to engage Anvil’s services based on the research, orange means they could be convinced, and -”

“And what about red?” Mr Russo asked, pulling a file from the bottom of the stack.

The only file with a red tab.

“Red means it’s extremely unlikely that they would choose to offer Anvil a contract and that they’re probably not worth the money and resources that it might take to change their mind,” you explained, trying to sound as clinical as possible.

“And why do you think the Van Der Koy family wouldn’t be interested in contracting with Anvil?” He asked.

Immediately your cheeks started to heat as you tried to find the easiest (read: safest) way to explain it.

The Van Der Koy’s were old money, with dozens of high end resorts, hotels and casinos across North America. They were a literal goldmine for anyone who got to work with them. Landing a security contract with them would be worth millions of dollars, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that that was the file that Mr Russo wanted to concentrate on.

But how were you supposed to tell him that he was the reason the Van Der Koy’s would never work with Anvil?

“Well, the Van Der Koy’s have very old fashioned family values - it’s not about the money, it’s all about appearances and reputation...” you said.

“And what’s wrong with Anvil’s reputation?” Mr Russo prompted.

“It’s not Anvil...” you tried to explain, your voice turning quiet.

“Then what?” He asked, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone.

“Jesus, Bill,” Frank said through a mouthful of pastry. “She’s tryin’ to be polite.”

There was a silence for a few moments before Mr Russo finally seemed to realise what was being said.

“You’re saying that they won’t contract with Anvil because of my reputation?” He asked, and you gave the smallest of nods. “What’s wrong with my reputation?”

“Sir, I really don’t think -”

“You can’t expect her to answer that,” Frank said, speaking at the same time as you.

He looked from you to Mr Castle and back again, as if he really had no clue what you could possibly mean.

“I won’t get angry or blame you,” Mr Russo said. “I just want to know what you know.”

You didn’t want to answer, but you knew that you had to.

“Well, from what I was able to learn, it’s... it’s everything,” you said, unable to even look him in the eye as you explained. “The parties, the women - it sends a certain, uh... message...”

It felt like his gaze was burning into you as you fixed your eyes on his desk and the stack of files.

“What message?” He asked.

“She’s sayin’ the uptight, old money folks don’t like that you’re a fuck-boy who spends all his time with bimbos, Bill,” Mr Castle answered for you. “Now, could you stop makin’ her feel uncomfortable about it and let her do her damned job?”