#I won't be answering too many short asks if there isn't much to say just so ya'll know! Don't wanna be fillin' up mah profile with

[emotionally-intuitive-engineer]

hi engie!

how are you today?

Heya Honeybee! Ah still have some work ta be done, but ah'm gettin' through it pretty good.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

I am massively busy with work and finalizing my Big Bang, but this idea just won't leave...

Steve and Eddie are both actors. They're in their mid thirties, well established, but they never starred together in anything. Steve tends to be cast in the same type, the dumb but pretty love interest, Eddie has lots of indie and disturbing movies under his belt. But this time, they both landed something big.

They get cast in the new Batman movie.

Steve is, of course, Batman. He insists on doing his own stunts. He refuses to get dehydrated for his shirtless scenes because he knows how damaging it is to both young men and women alike, he's not going to contribute to shitty expectations. The director (Dustin, duh!) sees something in him other directors never have - a potential for depth, for internal turmoil. He gives Steve the chance to prove himself as an actor and Steve pounces on it.

He's still very hot.

Eddie is cast as the Joker. He is a fan of the comics and scoffs at how absurd and deranged the character is becoming. He gets hired because he immediately says he doesn't think the character needs to rely on cheap tricks and shock value to be terrifying. Cutting off his face? Not cool. He suggests to play the Joker according to one of the older comics he has - one where the Joker is actually absolutely sane, but hides it to never be held accountable for his actions. The only person who ever saw through his ruse was Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Joker took care of that issue very quickly.

The chemistry between Steve and Eddie on screen is insane. They go toe to toe, it's impossible to look away when they interact. Eddie utilizes his bright smile to the maximum, tweaking it just right within moments so it becomes unsettling. The first time he laughs, Steve gets goosebumps.

Steve encompasses Bruce's loneliness so well Eddie's heart breaks for him. Dustin finds him in the trailer, giving himself gentle slaps over the face and muttering "you're evil, damn it, you don't want to comfort the Bat!!".

Batgirl (Robin) and Harley Quinn (Chrissy) find their slow descent into love hilarious. They all become good friends on the set.

Hopper, an acting veteran who plays Commissioner Gordon, grasps Steve's shoulder after an intense fight scene and mutters: "Good job, Steve, but maybe don't stare at his lips so much?"

Robin doesn't give him the same courtesy and once Dustin yells "Cut!", she screeches: "NOW KISS!"

The movie is a hit. People love the cast and the story, some of the OG fans complain as they always do, but the ratings are great, there are many interviews, panels, all of that.

And of course, there's gossip about Steve and Eddie being a thing, which enrages the macho Batman fanbase. Their Batman isn't gay!

But the rumors quickly disappear after an award ceremony where Eddie is nominated for the best supporting actor. He wins, of course. And as he gets up to accept the small statue and deliver a speech with enough "fuck"s to give the censor a headache, he drags Steve up and kisses him in front of the whole world.

A week later, Steve and Eddie are together in front of a camera again, answering questions in an interview.

The host asks: "What do you say to those fans that are disappointed, who say that their Batman isn't gay?"

Steve just snorts, pulls Eddie closer and answers: "They're right. Their Batman isn't gay. But he's definitely bi."

Also the comic story I'm mentioning exits and is short but fantastic. 10/10 recommend.

Oh also. The first spark happens when Steve sees Eddie's hair and blurts out: "Please tell me they're not making you cut it shorter. It's too gorgeous for that."

Also because people were asking about the comics - it's Batman Black and White - Case Study and it can be found on Tumblr HERE

[radioapplerevue]

See a lot of questions scattered about regarding "Why do people even ship Lucifer or Alastor? They hate each other/Lucifer's married/Alastor's ace etc etc etc." And while I doubt most people are asking in good faith, I figured I'd give my answer anyway! In part because these two in conjunction with each other fascinate me and I want to talk about it.

First off, you have Alastor, this character whose whole shtick is trying to convince everyone around him all the time that he's the most mysterious and most dangerous person around. And... he's not. We know he's not. Hell, he's not even in tier 3 of "dangerous people in Hell." But it's very important to him that he is perceived that way, and he goes to great lengths to manufacture and maintain that image.

Then you have Lucifer, who is the most dangerous person in Hell, power-wise, by far. But he doesn't seem to give a shit about that at all. His power means little to him, he didn't want the throne, he doesn't do anything with this position that Alastor would do everything to have. Lucifer is a deeply broken individual whose only concern is his family, and he's not intimidated by Alastor in any way, and never will be.

So he was pretty much tailor-made for Alastor to hate. This guy who has everything Alastor wants, but doesn't give a shit about having it, who he can't scare. Ever. The only way he can get under Lucifer's skin is by digging into his emotional sore spots, and boy howdy does Lucifer have a lot of those. And here's the fun thing! Or one of the fun things, anyway. Most people, even in Hell, would never dare to try and upset Lucifer. Upset the King of Hell? That's suicide, right?

But Alastor knows it's not, because he sees two things right off the bat: one, Lucifer wouldn't do anything to hurt Charlie, and hurting Alastor would do that -- and two, it's just not in Lucifer's nature to do so. Surprising for the King of Hell, but nonetheless true. Lucifer's a showy guy, but he's not a violent guy -- even against Adam, he only toyed with him until Adam made the mistake of going directly for Charlie a second time. Needless to say, it takes a lot to make Lucifer get violent, and it's unlikely to be anything that only targets himself.

And thus sets the stage for what is already a really fun and interesting dynamic, and one that can become even more so with time. Because these are two characters who treat each other in a way that nobody else can or will. Alastor can poke and prod and peel back Lucifer's scars and peer directly at his insecurities. Lucifer can give as good as he gets and challenge Alastor and there's nothing Alastor can do to scare him off. In short, they can make each other confront things that right now just aren't likely for other people.

I like to think eventually, once they get over the initial "how dare he, this isn't allowed, I hate everything about this" stage, they begin to actually... enjoy it. Enjoy the back and forth, enjoy hitting the ball to each other's court, enjoy having someone around who won't back down. And Lucifer is, at his core, sweet. How unsettling it must be for Alastor, to see this extremely powerful man who is also just. Good. How over ten millennia of pain haven't changed that, even as they crumbled his heart into little pieces.

I think Lucifer would fascinate Alastor. And I think Alastor, with all his idiosyncrasies, and his ballsy manner of never backing down from a challenge, would fascinate Lucifer too. And there are so, so many ways you could go from there. Darker ways, softer ways. But there's so much potential, and I am finding it an absolute blast to explore.

As for the ace thing, hello, hi! I'm aroace. And on the sex repulsed side, even! I shouldn't have to reveal this in order for people to get off my back, but hey, there you have it. Now please stop expecting people to volunteer their sexual orientations just so you can be sure they have the... what? Right? To ship things? I enjoy this ship in all flavors. A lot of people have been taking the time to explore asexuality in their fanworks with Alastor, and it's been a delight to see! But in the end, fandom is a sandbox, and I don't care how you are smashing your dolls together as long as you're having fun. And if seeing them in a particular configuration is uncomfortable for you, there's nothing wrong with that, either... just back out, and move on to things more pleasant.

And goodness, don't go after real actual people in defense of fictional ones.

[lesbianpepsi]

Fuck it I love you | part III

pairing: sam carpenter x fem!reader

summary: when paired with Tara Carpenter for a project you were expecting a B or maybe even an A. Not falling in love with Tara's older sister, Sam

series masterlist

words: 1.642k

warnings: bad writing

authors note: a short one but next chap will be much longer :)

You let out a shaky sigh as you grab yet another tissue soaking in the tears rolling down your cheeks at an alarming rate.

Your heart feels as if it was cracking at the borderline cruel words that were said; the word 'why?' in your mind the entire time.

A ring from your phone distracted you from your heart momentarily, sniffling as you grabbed it and answered the phone.

"Hey Y/n, did I leave my watch on the coffee table?" Melanie asks you in a rushed voice as your eyes glanced over the coffee table to see the watch that Melanie owns.

"Yeah it's here." You croak out in a broken voice making Melanie's eyes widen dramatically.

"Y/n? What's wrong? I'll leave this party right now if you need me." She says seriously in a more hushed tone.

You shake your head as a watery chuckle escapes your lips. "No, no it's fine, stay." You insisted as your eyes glanced at the TV screen.

"Why're you crying?" Melanie asks you worriedly, fearing the absolute worst possible thing has happened to you. 

And it has. The fucking worst thing.

"I just finished Fleabag again." You inform her as more tears started swarming in instantly at the mention of the show.

Melanie groans loudly. "Fucking hell, Y/n, I thought something actually happened!" 

"Something has happened, Melanie. He told her 'it'll pass' that it'll fucking pass!" You sob again as you grab more tissues, your heart cracking even more at the still raw memory.

"You've watched that show so many times how the fuck does the ending still make you cry?" She asks you with a laugh now clearly finding your heart break hilarious.

"She said 'I love you' and he said 'it'll pass.' before saying he loves her too! How could I not cry?" You defended not finding your heartbreak over a TV show humour. 

She laughs again. "You and your shows. Chads coming over with shots, I'm off. Toodles."

"Toodles." You sniffle making her let out another laugh before hanging up the call.

You glance at your phone and roll your eyes at the low battery. Typical. 

Yeah, it's a Saturday night and here you are, alone in your apartment finishing Fleabag and experiencing the heartbreak that hurts just as much as it did the first time. 

Some might say depressing, you say it's the way to live.

With an exaggerated sigh you turn the TV off with the small remote before standing up, heading towards your bedroom to charge your phone.

You reach your desk where the plug is at but frown when you don't see that your charger isn't plugged in.

Where else can it be-

Fuck sakes you forgot it Tara's apartment.

Groaning you grab your phone which only has 3% and shoot the girl a quick message.

Me (20:47pm): hey tar, is it cool if i come over quickly? i forgot my charger there 🙄🙄

Tara🙃 (20:52pm): yeah ofc but-

Before you can see the rest of the text message your phone shuts off to a completely blank screen.

With an annoyed huff you stuff your phone into the pocket of your joggers and go to look for your shoes near the front of the apartment.

At least you saw the permission text you think as you shove your feet into your dirty, broken trainers that you refuse to throw out since shoes are so expensive. 

The walk to Carpenter's apartment is only twenty minutes and since the sun hasn't fully set outside you decide a walk won't do any harm. 

You're a bit annoyed that you can't listen to any music on the walk so you decide to do the second best thing, think about Sam.

She's just so gorgeous and so sweet with her friends and Tara, how could anyone not constantly think about her?

You've seen Sam a handful of times since the gym, all of them being at their apartment as you and Tara worked on your project. 

Tara and you have actually gotten through most of the project so unfortunately you only need to head over there around three more times till the two of you have completed the project. 

You can't help but feel relieved to be able to actually finish a project in time before the due date, but there's also a deep pit of disappointment lingering in you too. 

What if you never see Sam again after it? There'll be no excuses to come over there anymore unless Tara would invite you over. 

Wow, that quickly spiralled into just not happy Sam thoughts. 

Thankfully you stop yourself from thinking the worst case scenarios as you've arrived at the apartment complex.

Like routine you head up the stupidly long stairs since the elevator is still broken and after what feels like an eternity you reach their floor.

Knocking on the door three times you patiently wait for Tara to come open the door for you but to your joy it's Sam, looking as annoyed as ever; your heart swoons at the sight.

"What." She grumbled as her eyes travel you up and down, furrowing her brows at your shirt. "What the fuck is your shirt?" She questions before you even get a chance to answer her first question.

You look down at your shirt and giggle not remembering what shirt you're wearing. It's a yellow shirt with a pineapple in the middle wearing a pink thong, under it is the simple word 'Slut'. A shirt you got after your third re-watch of Brooklyn Nine Nine.

"It's from a show, you don't like it? It's actually really soft." You tell her with a smile instinctively feeling your waist to feel the soft texture. "Seriously, for around fifteen dollars and free packing this was a bargain." 

Sam hums as she stares at your shirt questioningly before raising her eyes to meet with yours. "And you decided to wear a shirt saying 'slut' in public?"

You nod your head proudly. "Why wouldn't I?"

"People will clearly judge you. Stare." Sam answers speedily as if she already knew what she was going to say.

You shrug your shoulders, a weak laugh escaping your lips. "People who are complete strangers? People who I'll never see again?" You say with a soft smile. "People will always judge, it's our instinct to judge whatever we come across. But you can't let that control your life and stop you from being you; stop that from letting you wear what you want or even like what you like. At the end of the day they're people who I'll never see again."

Sam doesn't say anything for a moment as if she's digesting your words, her eyes never leaving yours for a second. You don't say anything as you gaze back into Sam's cold eyes lovingly.

She leans against the doorframe as she runs a hand through her hair. "Why're you here, Y/n? Tara's not even in." 

Your eyes widen as you mentally groan, that was probably the rest of the text message she sent but you couldn't see. 

"Shit I'm sorry I didn't know. I sent Tar a message asking if I can come over to get my charger but when she texted back I only saw part of the message of her saying I can come over before my phone died." 

Sam sighs as she nods her head weakly stepping back into her apartment as she walks over to her couch, you take this as her letting you to which you do ever so gracefully, shutting the door behind you.

Your eyes avert to Sam's figure sitting on the couch as her back faces you with the TV playing on a low volume, one of your favourite movies playing on the screen.

"I love Little Miss Sunshine." You express with a smile walking towards Sam, resting your hands on top of the couch as you stare at the screen. "It absolutely changed my life, and the first movie I actually loved. Like fully loved." 

"It's okay." Sam says with a small smile on her lips as she watches the movie from below you. "I hated it in the beginning but I guess it's sorta growing on me." 

"There's a thin line between love and hate." You express your attention only focused on the movie playing on the screen.

Sam tilts her head up as she gazes at your side profile. "I wouldn't say I love it but I definitely like it."

You chuckle at her words, your eyes lighting up in the reflection of the movie that Sam couldn't help but focus on.

"It's growing, right? Give it time and you'll love it like there's no tomorrow." Sam hums very swallowing her eyes and focuses no longer on the movie.

"Did you love it right from the start?" She asks you. Finally you look away from the screen to look into her eyes, a gentle smile grazing your lips.

"Pretty much. You'll love it soon too, I bet you will." You tell her, thinking you're still talking about the movie. 

But Sam isn't, Sam isn't thinking of the movie at all.

"But I still don't like some parts of it or even understand it, how're you so sure I'll love it?" Sam tries again, blinking slowly.

You shrug your shoulders before moving around the couch to sit next to her, your thighs touching as you smile at her.

"Give it a chance, this is your first time watching it right?" Sam nods her head. "Then give it a chance, you might surprise yourself and actually really like it in the end."

"Go on a date with me." Sam abruptly asks, barely giving you time to finish your sentence. Her eyes gazed into yours as a small smile nervously appeared on her lips.

Holy fucking shit. 

[circlebuttons]

Coming down- Rafe Cameron

-

-Rafe is so Coming Down by The Weekened coded

A/N| i promise this is my last drunken/high Rafe crawling back to reader😭

-

Rafe Cameron has a bad habit of using partying and substance abuse to attempt to drown out his problems. His habits on top of his poor communication killed your relationship. He tried so many times over to quit, but the sensation of being faded and the bliss of being able to forget would also make him forget what you mean to him. It's never until he starts coming down, feeling alone, and lets reality sink in that he crawls back into your arms at night and now that you aren't there anymore he's beginning to spiral. 

As soon as you open his text, your phone rings again. You shut your eyes tight and take a deep breath before answering. You dont say anything and neither does he, both of you sit listening to each other breathe.

"I need you." hes calm, although slightly slurred.

You sigh into the phone, "You don't need me, just go to sleep Rafe."

"Well then I want you. I always want you." he declares, his voice containing a short burst of urgency that fades out.

"You only want me when you're coming down." you scoff at him, angry that he's putting you through any of this, angry at yourself for letting him.

"That's not true. You don't know what you mean to me." It hurt you to hear him speak like that because although he's prone lying to himself and you, especially you, it was true. You don't know what you mean to him because he's never told you. He never knew how to say it and because of that it kept you awake many nights trying to figure it out.

"Where's Topper?" You ask him, ignoring his comment.

"He left. I can't be alone right now, please-"

You cut him off, "Where's Kelce?"

"Sleep downstairs."

"I need you to go downstairs with Kelce and go to sleep." You tell him, patience slowly running thin, he's too old and he's hurt you too much for you to want to coerce him into bed like a child.

"I can't go downstairs." he mumbles into the phone quietly.

"Why not?"

"I'm outside."

You're stunned in disbelief at his admission. You take a deep breath before testing his bluff. "No you're not."

"I'm sorry, I am. They left my phone with me, I called an uber as soon as Kelce went down." He confesses, sounding selfishly sorry while you can't even begin to piece together why he's at your door. Kelce and Top are mutual friends of yours and take it upon themselves to make sure Rafe gives you space. They'll spend the night with him, locking him in his room, pocketing his car keys, and sometimes even taking his phone, but even exhausted, trembling, and nauseous Rafe is relentless and you know that. You say nothing before hanging up and making your way downstairs.

You pace, biting the inside of your cheek a bit before having the courage to open the door. You crack it at first, catching a glimpse of him sitting in front of your door with his head in his hands. He's quick to get up and face you once the door is open. "You shouldn't be here" is all you say to him.

"I know, 'm sorry." he emptily apologizes for the a thousandth time. He looks down at you and somehow transformed his sharp features into soft round ones, since he's still coming down he's quiet and dismal, everything he won't be once the sun rises. He looks so soft and sorry for the moment, it almost makes you sick. You don't even bother to accept his apology. You know it's never a good idea to receive apologies or promises from someone who isn't sober and you could smell a mixture of weed and tequila on him as soon as the door opened, knowing that there's way worse is in his system. You silently close the door behind him while he kicks off his air forces. He then stands and watches in silence as you walk towards the hallway closet to pull out spare bedding. The silence kills him, he wants to know what you're thinking and how you're feeling, but you give him nothing on the account of you feel queasy just at him standing there. You take your time calmly setting up the couch, before looking back at him, "There's ibuprofen in that first cabinet, leftovers and half a bottle of pedialyte in the fridge"

"Thank you." he mumbles while sitting down. He looks up at you waiting for you to say something. The eye contact is unbearable, he's looking at you like a kicked puppy and you feel like crying, screaming, and throwing up all at once. You just still can't find it in yourself to speak to him, so you turn to walk away. You're stopped dead in your tracks once you feel his hand wrapped around your wrist. You look down at where you two are connected and then back up at him, he's barely got a grip on you, but the only thing you can feel is him. His touch makes the hair on your neck stand up and goosebumps appear. Neither of you say anything, he just lightly pulls you towards himself. You curse yourself for the way your body submits to him, you let him pull down on top of him and he adjusts both of you to be laying down on the couch together.

"I am sorry" He's barely audible so you pretend not to hear him, but he holds you closer, repeating himself, begging for an answer from you. You say nothing, overwhelmed with emotions and thoughts. The toll he's taken on your mental is too much and you can feel yourself falling apart. Your head is pressed against his chest, so you listen to his elevated heart beat and before you know it hot tears are soaking into his shirt. He goes still before reaching down to cover the both of you in the blanket you had set out. Eventually you cry yourself to sleep in his arms while he clings to the feeling of holding you just incase it's his last time ever doing it.

[sarahreesbrennan]

sorry if you have already answered this, but are we getting any queer rep in Long Live Evil? 💕 i am super excited to see what you've cooked up for us either way!

I came back after I'd gone off on one, seeing the post had struck a chord and being thankful but fearful of my inbox. Let me say with delighted surprise that all the asks are very kind.

Thank you for this one, sweet anon. I am so excited and so nervous about my best beloved, Long Live Evil, and about coming back with a new book of my own after so long, when I believed for a long time it was hopeless.

I'm really grateful to find readers waiting for me. But I know readers are naturally more invested in characters they know: I extremely appreciate you taking an interest in the future.

So, short answer: YEAH you are!

Long answer: Long Live Evil wouldn't exist without its queer narratives.

C.S. Pacat and I were talking in our virtual Brookline Booksmith event recently about our favourite Disney villains. C.S. Pacat picked Maleficent, a fine choice. I picked Snow White's Evil Queen. We agreed we loved most of them.

Here's the relevant excerpt I was quoting in my last post from Carmen Maria Machado's In The Dream House, saying 'I think a lot about queer villains, the problem and pleasure and audacity of them.' Well... me too.

I think many of us have experienced feeling made wrong in some way - for not wanting what society said we should or being what we were expected to be - and that one step along that journey of discovery is going 'Okay, if it's wicked, I'll just BE wicked.' And that's part of why those characters appeal - because they seem free, and free of pain.

But modern storytelling isn't confined to coding, and audiences can now feel free to expect, not the certainty, but the possibility characters who aren't introduced as such still might actually turn out to be LGBT+. The essays I've read about Supernatural, Teen Wolf, Sherlock, Ted Lasso, Fox 9-1-1... I think the latest argued Jaime Lannister was bisexual. (Pretty persuasive.)

I remember reading the Raven Cycle going 'oh? OH.' I remember being at a writing retreat in 2013 and running through the halls screaming about Nico diAngelo. Ten years later we got a Nico diAngelo book co-written by Rick Riordan and the amazing Mark Oshiro. I watched Red, White and Royal Blue with a friend and she said 'honestly I hope the guys get together, but...' and I (having read the book) silenced myself with a herculean effort and watched her hopes come true. I didn't know about The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and almost dropped the book in a swimming pool. But I've also read and watched many things thinking, just maybe... oh, no. Still that hope existing is meaningful, the thought that if the story had gone differently, if this revelation had happened, if this realisation had happened, if, if, if...

Long Live Evil is a story about the story going differently and asking yourself questions about your own nature, and the escape to fiction of those who really need escape. The book is based on that 'if,' and the 'if' itself is joyous, and brings me back to the idea of gleefully transgressing the narrative that much villain love is based on.

It's also an ensemble story with a rogue's gallery of characters and multiple PoVs. (I was much inspired by the Six of Crows ensemble.) So it isn't about any one character's romance, and by the book's nature there exist many possibilities. A critique partner read and said 'I didn't know you were going THERE' and I responded 'Should I?'

I've never been one to confirm where stories are going, and I won't do so now. I'm not talking about any one character or telling you a direction.

I'm just saying yes to rep. It's baked in.

[stargirl-int3rlud3]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛.

steven conklin x fem!reader

🗯 ! swearing, flirting, mentions sex once if you squint, pretty much a cute lil fluff !

synopsis; after being forced to go to the country club by your mother you realize that maybe the country club isn't so bad and that you'll visit more often. especially if you get to see the cute boy handing out drinks. — ♡ ᵎᵎ

A bored facial expression had been plastered across your face ever since your mom instructed you to go to the country club located in Cousins. She told you to take something to one of her fellow mom friends who was currently relaxing at the country club's pool. Too busy with whatever she had invested her time to, she texted her friend saying you were going to bring said thing to her. Now here you were trudging yourself through the front doors of the country club, accidentally dragging in a few speckles of sand from the nearby beach that had collected in your flip flops.

You were at point where you just want to get this over with. Technically speaking, you weren't supposed to be here. You were supposed to be with your friends at the beach, swimming in the freezing cold ocean, getting sand stuck in places you'd surely find later. But clearly your mom had other plans for you, instead wanting you to do her chores for her. Who were you to argue though, not like it would've ended well on your part. You'd much rather be a few minutes late than not be allowed to go at all and spend your afternoon cleaning the house.

So now, you're here making your way to the country club pool. As if she has a sixth sense for you, your mom's friend, who was laying in a chair with sunglasses and a large hat on, immediately looks over to you waving you over to her with a big bright smile on her face. You awkwardly fumble over your feet and towards her.

" Oh my goodness! It's so good to see you " She announces pulling you in for a tight hug.

" Yeah, you too! " You speak with a fake smile now on your face.

Once you give her the item she so desperately needs from your mom, you assume you'd be on your merry way to the beach. How horribly wrong you are. She spent the next 20 minutes or so talking to you about anything she could think of in which you replied with short, simple answers hoping she'd get the hint that you want to leave. To your misfortune she did not. The thing or more so person to end her talkative streak with you was when she noticed her son was scurrying towards her with blood dripping out of his nose. You quietly excuse yourself, not caring too much if she had heard you or not. You pull your phone out of your pocket, noting that you were now almost half an hour late from the time you were supposed to be at the beach. As you're about to leave you decide that few more minutes so you could get a drink wouldn't kill your friends and now you're walking over to the bar. Hoping onto one of the stools set up at the bar a boy you hadn't seen here last year swoops around the corner, offering you a cute smile that subconsciously formed butterflies in your stomach.

" So what could I get for a pretty girl like you? " The boy's nervous flirty tone melts your heart ever so slightly and brings a soft red hue to your cheeks.

" Can I just get a coke, please? " You tell him in a hurried voice and as he ducks underneath the bar you lean forward as if you don't want to let him out of your sight, afraid he might leave and you won't see him again.

He pops open the can and sticks a colorful straw in with ease, a gesture that many wouldn't notice but you did as you were often just given the ice cold can, " Since you asked so nicely. "

The smirk that was now forming on his features, as you assume he finally notices the red color of your cheeks, makes your brain go feral at how a man could be so adorable yet so hot at the same time.

You stay seated at the bar for quite awhile, ignoring the buzzing of your phone in your back pocket, probably from your friends. The boy introduced himself to you as Steven and you introduced yourself. For the most part you tried to leave the boy be as you didn't want to be bothersome to his job, but he didn't make you feel that way at all. He dominated the conversation and talked to you more than you talked to him. Some would think that you clearly weren't interested in whatever Steven was talking about or asking you, but he knew better than that by your body language. He watched as you shyly sipped your coke, how you remembered everything he talked about, and how you stared at him through your eyelashes. God, he loved when you did that. It made his heart speed up and he swore their were hearts in his eyes when you would laugh and giggle at one of his jokes, no matter how corny it was. And when you had quietly and sweetly asked Steven for his number, he pointed to the napkin lying underneath your drink. Your eyes widen as you realize a set of numbers with a cute heart was written on the napkin and you had no idea how you didn't notice it before.

With a giggle you say, " Smooth. "

A few minutes to get a drink ended up turning into close to one and half to two hours. You had told your friends that you weren't going to be able to make it to the beach which in your case wasn't a lie.

Here you are now, sitting on the same stool you had been for a over an hour. You watch tentatively as Steven removes his hairnet and offers you his arm in which you gratefully wrap yours around.

" You don't have to walk me home. " You inform him as you guys exit the country club.

" And let a girl as beautiful as yourself walk home by your lonesome, I'd feel far too guilty. Plus, who wouldn't kill to spend more time with someone as lovely as you. " Steven fed you compliment after compliment and it made your increasing crush on him speed up.

You hide your smiley, blushing face into Steven's bicep which causes him to tilt his head more towards you, hoping to be able to see your face. You stare at how close he is through the corner of your eye and you wonder how people could think love and romance is dead when here you were being admired by a boy a you met a few hours ago. He looks at you as if you're a rare type of flower in a field full of common flowers when you've felt like a common flower your entire life. You felt special. He made you fell special.

And as he walks you up the steps to your house you wish your house was farther from the country club. You leave Steven's hold to unlock your front door, but you halt your movements as you hear Steven begin to walk away.

Turning around to be able to see him, you yell, " Steven! "

He spins around on his heels and when you don't say anything he jogs over to you. As much as he was hoping he'd be able to see you again, part of him knew that there were some girls who just liked to flirt and not talk to the guy again. Deep down he didn't really think you were that person, but he didn't want to assume anything too hastily, so when you called out for him it pulled at his heart strings and within seconds was right in front of you.

" Do you think-, " You cut yourself off trying to find the right words, " Would you want to hang out again, like possibly go on a date or something? "

" I would absolutely love to, pretty girl " The mix between the nickname and his whispery voice had your face turning an unnatural shade of red.

You internally gulp not knowing what to do next. Steven was a sweet boy, you hadn't been with many of those so this was partially new to you. You were used to being made out with and then the guy wanting to fuck you.

Seeing as you were clearly nervous and weren't making a move, Steven took this as his moment to shine. He grabs hold of your hands, bringing them to his lips as he flutters his eyes close and presses a sweet, sincere kiss to your knuckles. Your heart stops and you have to stop yourself from fainting right on the spot. Which leads you to unconsciously leave a kiss on his cheek.

Reghistering what you did you sqeauk out a, " See you! " before hiding yourself in the comfort of your own home.

You rush to your room throwing yourself onto your bed letting out fangirl like squeals and giggles from the mere thought of the boy who had just miraculously altered your perceptive on love.

While you kicked your feet in your room, Steven stood awestruck on your front porch lightly touch the place where your lips still lingered. He walked like that all the way home. When he walked in the door he was met by odd looks from Conrad, Jeremiah, Belly, and Laurel while Susannah had a curious smile and a spark of light in her eyes.

" Dude, who gave you the lipgloss mark on your face? " Jeremiah announced what everyone was thinking.

" What? " Confused, Steven takes a peak at himself in the nearby mirror and on the same cheek you had kissed minutes earlier was a clear lipgloss outline of your lips.

Without thinking Steven's eyes soften and a giddy smile is stamped onto his face as he carefully glosses his fingers over the mark.

" Woah...dude, you have to tell me who gave you that kiss. I need to kno who's got my best friend crushing as hard as that, maybe she has friends she can hook me up with, " Jeremiah laughed as he wraps his arm around Steven's shoulder, earning a playful glare from Steven.

Not wanting to talk about it at this very moment and just wanting to replay the moment in his room by himself where he didn't have to worry about teasing. He made his way up the stairs, pulling his phone out of his pocket only to be met with a message from you asking if he'd like to call you. As if his body knew him better than his mind, his pace quickened as he popped into his room, shutting the door and hoping to get privacy as he called you.

☆ | for my steven girlies <3!!

[abaddown]

Breakup

OK, OK, I'm going to go home and break up with her. But what do I tell her? "I deserve better." Jesus, no, definitely not that. Even if that's true, only women say that. "You deserve more." Now, that's pretty good. But she's gonna start to get all unintelligent and tell me I'm good just the way I am. That's the way it is. Haha. "I want to live." That'll take the edge off. I might as well say I want to fuck half of Europe. Let's see. "I think we should be apart now so we can be together later." That's not bad, but I don't want to be together later. I'd spare you the hysterics, but I'd be constantly harassed about when that later was. "I'm in love with someone." That seems pretty definitive, but she'd want to know who the bitch was, and it would start a never-ending interrogation about where I met her, when we met, was the sex good, do I regret it, did I think about her, why I didn't tell her, blah blah blah blah... "I cheated on you." Same thing. Oh God, the easiest thing would be to just disappear without a word, never pick up the phone, never answer her texts again. Okay, it's a little bit of a chick thing. "I don't want kids yet." And then she says, "Neither did she. "I want a baby now." She'll end up saying she does too. "I need to focus on my career now." I'm sure her mothering side would come out and assure me that she'll be supportive, patient, that I can build my career, that she's there for me and won't abandon me in the hardest times. Too bad. Wait a minute! I should make her want to break up. Then how much unnecessary crying and screaming would be saved. I'd pretend a little bit, "Oh, no." and then that's it, hat, coat, goodbye. But it would be too long a process to wait. "Something's wrong, this isn't working." I can hear her saying, "But what, tell me what's wrong, I'll change, just tell me what I can do differently! I know you love me, it's just a moment of desperation, believe me, we can work it out!" No, we can't, I don't want to. Okay, I've got a big mouth now, but I actually loved her and I still love her. Just not the way it should be. Like she did me. But I don't want to hurt her. She's a sweet girl. If I said, "I'm sorry, but I don't love you the way I should and the way you deserve. I'm sorry.", you know what? She'd start to tear herself up, eat her insides out, cry for weeks and look for reasons why she'd gone wrong. I don't want to hurt you. That feeling either comes or it doesn't. Or it comes and then it goes. I'm gone, what do I do?

If you break up with a woman, why does she always, at all costs, try to convince you that you're stupid and don't feel what you feel? I can just decide if I want to be with someone or not. Women, I swear, think that we men are so mentally retarded that we don't recognize when we really love someone. God, how many times have I listened to break ups and say "I know you love me. Deep down, you love me so much, you just don't realize it. You're really going to regret this." It's simply impossible to break up cleanly, without scandal. What do you have to say to that? Fuck, is it that late? Look, she's calling again, asking where I am, what I'm doing, when I'll be home. I'm gonna have to talk to her and break up with her. I'm gonna go. I'll call you later.

- Hey, girl, I'm home. What's all this stuff, you going on a trip?

- No. I'm moving.

- You're moving? Where are you going? Why are you going away?

- Out. You know why. I can't do this. Listen, I think we should cut this short. I don't know about you, but I haven't been happy in this relationship for a long time, and I don't think you have either. I think the best thing we can do is just quietly accept that this is the way it is and break up. We have no reason to be angry with each other, so we can separate from each other peacefully. I've got some stuff left here, and I'll pick it up sometime.

- But hey, wait a minute. Just like that? Are you seeing anyone? What's the matter? You want to talk about it or work it out? You're just gonna throw everything away? I don't get it. Is it me? But I love you. Let's talk about it. Let’s fix it!

- Forgive me, but I don't love you the way I should and the way you deserve. I'm sorry..

***

Then she walked out of the apartment. And I've never felt more in love with any woman in my life than I did with her, staring at the closed door.

[rustingcat]

Art

Lena didn't realise how dangerous it was to go shopping for baby stuff, especially with a Kara by her side.

Every little outfit and toy was the most adorable little thing she just had to have. Every single one. She held out some hope for Kara to somehow be the sensible one, or banking on her Luthor genes to make her see reason, but as much as she tried she was not immune to the irresistible power of baby clothes.

"Look! This shirt has pictures of dinosaurs in space!" Kara said, pointing at the little adorable shirt she pulled off from the shelf. Lena thought it was the most genius design she'd ever seen.

"Okay, that is cute. You can add it." Lena tried to sound authoritative but had a feeling she was somehow failing to do so.

"Isn't that too many shirts already?" Good thing they had Brainy and Nia with them at the very least to help keep them in line.

"But it's so cute!" Nia countered Brainy's sound argument. Okay, they were lucky to have Brainy. Nia was the worst enabler.

"Kids go through many shirts! Plus, we have two." Kara tried to solidify Nia's argument. Nia in turn collected a few more shirts for their pile in the hope that Brainy would agree.

"They go through many clothes mainly due to their many growth sprouts they experience in a short time, so there's no need to purchase thirty four shirts of similar size." He calmly explained.

"Thirty four, did we really get that many?" Lena asked, slightly concerned she somehow missed the amount they were carrying up to this point. "We should probably return most of them to the shelves, get some different size clothing."

"They don't have bigger sizes at this store, and this is the cutest thing ever!" Kara argued.

"We still have to put most of them away."  Brainy really had a point.

"How can you give up on those?" Kara pulled up a random selection of shirts from their cart, all just as amazing and cute as the rest.

"It's cute, but at the end of the day it's just some silly pictures, we can get them more stuff as they grow." Lena tried her best to resist the power of the shirt. She really should've stopped picturing the way it would look at their future babies.

"It's art Lena! It's important!"

"How?"

"It would help develop their creativity and innovation! Stimulate their mind to become whatever they want to be!"

Lena narrowed her eyes, studying her closely. "We can keep half." She sighed

Kara took that as a small victory and started to categories them as best she could given the circumstances (the circumstances being all of them being cute).

"You're gonna be one of those mothers who can't say no to your kids, won't you?" Nia asked in a hush tone.

"She was unable to say no to Kara, despite her ridiculous, yet not baseless arguments. So I very much doubt she would be able to say no to two little adorable toddlers." Brainy interjected before she had a chance to answer.

He had a point.

"You said that her argument was not baseless, does it mean we can get more shirts?" Nia tried.

Brainy swallow, obviously trying his best to remain the sensible one in the group.

"One." He eventually said. Nia was already by Kara's side.

"We're all doomed, aren't we?" Brainy asked Lena, his eyes trained on his wife and Kara who were already in a heated debate regarding the tiny clothing.

"Oh, yes. Very doomed." Lena answered back. Those kids were about to run them wild.

[onskepa]

It's ok how about them reacting to the romanian movie morometii you can find the whole movie on you tube on cinepub channel with english subtitles it's a movie which shows how the peasants în the interbelic period lived în Romania the rules of thisare the same from my request with the revenant still aplies if you want to of course:)

Okie dokie! So for this one, I imagine only the adults watching it. So enjoy~!!

P.S: I think this is the first time that I couldnt think of a title so im using the movie title instead.

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

Morometii

Mo’at sighed tiredly as she just finished the last patient in getting healed. Her age is getting to her, not as energetic as she was before. She isn't complaining though, any injuries are simply related to getting hurt during a hunt or taking it too far in training. So the tsahik cleans her tent, feeling very excited for her special plans tonight. 

A movie night with her family. 

Simplu, a fellow human from the base, made a high recommendation for mo’at to enjoy. Mo’at does not oppose it and is open to anything. Except for overlight high CGI movies. Those are an absolute eye sore to mo’ats aging eyes. How can anyone stand those? Too flashy for her. 

Either way, mo’at trusts smplu with her opinion. Even if the name is a bit confusing.

“Moro…metee?” mo’at repeated slowly. 

Simply chuckled as she held an old DVD box. “Morometii” she said, slowly so Mo'at could say it clearly. 

“Morometii” this time the tsahik says it right. 

“That's right,” Simplu praised. 

“Will it give me a headache?” mo’at asks. Simplu shakes her head. 

“No no, unlike the other films, this one is simple. It is black and white and gray scales, no dramatic shots or anything realistically fake” 

If mo’at had eyebrows, one would be raised. Her doubts clearly showed. 

“And the plot?” 

Simplu giggled, “what use of me telling you? That would spoil the fun” 

“And the children?” mo’at asks as she noticed neither her grandchildren nor the reef children were present. 

“They all went to watch something else,” Neytiri replied. 

“Simplu did mention that the kids might get bored with this type of movie, so I let them have a go ahead to watch something else,” Jake added. He and tonowari were making sure the ladies were comfortable with pillows plush and soft, ronal gathering the favorite snacks, and neytiri helping her mother get more comfy. 

“Won't simplu be joining us?” mo’at asks. 

The recommended movie is from Simplu's homeland, wouldn't she be interested to see? 

“Here! I'm here! Sorry I'm late, had to help the kids with the other dvd player” simplu shouted as she entered the area. Mo’at smiled in relief. 

Jake smiled, “alright, lets start this” and pressed play. 

The screen was filled with imagery, and like simplu said, it was black and white. Though, unlike the crips and clear vision, it looked grainy and much older. 

“Already into an interesting start” ronal muttered as she gets comfortable beside tonowari. 

The first shot begins with many views of objects, trees, the skies, all slowly to allow the viewers to see. 

“Already getting a sense of gloom jake comments as the slow soundtrack plays. Its lingering long notes, short haunting notes, give a sense that the movie will not be a happy one. 

The next shot was of an elderly man, staring straight at the camera as he smokes a cigarette. Unfamiliar animal sounds in the background. The shot changes to a lady waking up from what looks like a family pile. 

“Do humans sleep like us? Huddling together?” neytiri asks as she notices more people sleeping around the lady. 

“In the ancient times yes” simplu answered. 

The lady stood up and stared at the man who was smoking, speaking an unknown language. 

“Oops! My bad!” Jake stood up quickly to pause it and went to settings. 

“You forgot?” simplu asks, jake chuckles nervously as he nodded. 

“What are you doing?” Neytiri asks, seeing weird words on the screen. 

“Changing to english, so everyone can understand what's going on” Jake replies, after a fix, the movie resumes. And this time everyone can hear the characters. 

“I dreamed of a white piglet….”

The man and the lady began to speak, their words low and simple. Very straightforward. 

“Their clothes are interesting…” mo’at took note of. 

While they do mutter some comments, the rest of the na’vi adults let their eyes wonder if this new style of film. Or old.

As they see how the humans interact, Ronal and Neytiri couldn't help but admire how the overall land, the animals, and the people themselves looked. ‘Farmers’ as jake and Simplu would state. Farmers who take care of their herd and families. 

Not so far from how their own clans farm certain things. 

“Milk the goat! What will you eat?” 

“Crayfish!” 

“It seems through times women have not changed” Tonowari muttered yet earned a slap on his shoulder from his wife. 

“Nagging sure is a dominant trait in women” Jake agreed, only to also earn a harsh slap at the back of his head from neytiri. 

The scene changes to the youngest boy, waking up from what looked like a nap. Getting up he looks at his surroundings, it seems to be a small wooded area, the sheeps not so far from him. The music makes it almost an eerie feeling to the scene. The wind rustles through the trees, ripples forming from the water, the grassing swaying. 

“What are they doing?” neytiri wonders, seeing two young men hiding behind some trees as the sheep run towards the corn field. Making the young boy run after them. 

Before anything more could be talked about, the scene changes to the mother. A worried look on her face. Supper is ready she announces, her family members going to the home to eat. All the while throwing odd insults. 

“I never heard of such scolding like that” mo’at whispers. 

Simplu chuckles a bit, “that is romanian mothers for you” 

The scene goes on, the family having their dinner, all while the mother worries about the youngest son. 

“Telling the other to shut up, why can't they themselves?” Ronal says, not liking how the father and sons command their mother/wife. 

“Times were different, family dynamics back then were more strict” simplu explains. Though the explanation doesn't seem to satisfy the reef tsahik. 

“Hmf, still” 

“On the other hand we need money…The loan must be paid back in the fall” Morometii explains to his son. 

Money is often mentioned in the movie. Neytiri and mo’at only understand very bit how item transactions work in human customs, but never a whole lot. 

“Why is money so important?” neytiri asks jake. He sighs a bit, letting his mind go back in time. 

“For humans, it is everything. It is what made the earth go round as they say” he replies. 

“How?” she perseus. How can money make a giant planet move? Is it essential? 

“Money didnt always make the world go around. The early humans were fine without it. Only now, yeah, humans cant live without it” simplu adds. 

“Look, money is confusing even for adults, so try not to stress so much on it” jake tells. Simplu gives him a look, without him knowing. 

The scene changes to that of the youngest son and his mother. The mother provides some food for her child, wondering of his words. “What about Bisisica? What do you mean?” the mother asks. 

“This is really confusing…” ronal frowns slightly, still trying to understand what really is going on, even the names! There is so many people already! 

“It will all make sense later on ronal” simplu reasures. Though she can understand, while  she loves the movie, it took her a few watches to fully understand the whole movie. Then again, simplu’s first time watching it was when she was a child. 

The son replies as he enjoys his food, repeating what he overheard from his father and brother. 

“Woe betide you if you come up the hill! You won't have any joy left in you” the mother scolds. However her words left everyone, except for simplu, confused. 

“What does that even mean?” Jake asks. He felt so lost at that point. 

Nila and Morometii grab some axes and go towards the acacia tree. As they made their way, farther ahead in the field were echos of a weeping woman. Her cries reached far in the morning. Crying for a man named ‘ion’. 

“Oh that poor woman…” mo’at covers her mouth. Hearing the woman weep so much made her heart tug. Reminding herself. How mo’at would weep for her descended mate. 

Neytiri and ronal feel terrible as well. Never imagining themselves living a life without their husbands. Wondering what could have happened to the woman’s dead husband. 

But as the ladies feel pity, nila and morometii begin to cut the tree. While being watched from afar. The youngest boy seeing them cutting away at the tree. Letting his mind wonder back to a certain winter time. 

From hearts being tugged, nila and morometii managed to bring down the tree. 

“Why such a need? What did that tree ever do to them?” ronal hisses. It seems humanity has not changed even in ancient times. 

“The acacia wood is high value, that is why. When there were plenty, many humans back then would use acacia wood for how good it was” simplu explains. Ronal simply crosses her arms. 

“Bah! Holding a mimicking weapon and already I'm seeing the resemblance” Ronal complains. Barely 30 minutes into the movie and she is hating on Paraschiv. Nila is not too far from her hate list. Dressing up like soldiers and practicing the routines. 

“Has war already existed in that era?” tonowari asks. 

Jake and simplu made a face, “it has been for thousands of years” 

While the movie both in plot and making of it, war has always been there. Pretty difficult to get rid of in humans. 

“Nila! Where are you running off to?” 

“To the pre military service!” 

Morometii and what looks to be his neighbor, Dimitru, discusses the usefulness of serving military areas. Why work for the country when you can stay and work with your family? Seems something more in morometii’s ideals. 

“But nila won't be an officer even if there is no one else around” 

“Damn, seems he doesn't believe in nila” Jake comments. 

In Jake's eyes, nila seems odd. Not odd in being the weirdo of the family, but more odd as if nila is still somewhat like a child. Earlier fighting with paraschiv as if they were toddlers fighting over a toy. Morometii mentioned nila is 24, a full grown man. So why does Nila act as if he is younger? Even the youngest child acts wiser than nila. 

“Ugh, I never understand why men have the need to blow out smoke” mo’at gives a disgusted expression. 45% of the time morometii is smoking. Constantly. In what she knows of human biology, inhaling that much smoke can damage the lungs. 

“Why hurt themselves like that?” she asks. 

“For humans, it is a relaxing method. Eases their nerves and minds. But it does come at a cost” simplu answers. 

Understanding humans will forever be a confusing and difficult task. 

“What is he doing?!” tonowari shouts. 

Little boys were enjoying a game of hopping on top of one another. Enjoying their time together while one of the older sons of morometii along with the youngest interrupts their fun. Integrating each child until patience ran thin. To the point where the older son, who is an adult, is threatening and slapping the boys to get an answer out of them. 

It did not sit well with tonowari. 

How can anyone treat a child like that? Especially not of their own blood! 

The poor child that was being slapped confessed on who the perpetrator was, his voice shaking. 

Niculae, the youngest son, was being told to get them. Though the boy doesnt move. Much to his brother's frustrations. 

“No! No more!” neytiri looks away. Seeing the boy being slapped physically pained her. To what extent can humans be so cruel? 

“Sadly neytiri, it is our reality. Back then children were not treated with much kindness nor respect” simplu informs. She remembers back when she first saw that scene, made her feel the slap too. But the more she watched it, the more she became numb to it. Maybe not a good sign of how normal it is now. 

Jake nudges her to keep watching, not a good scene, but they will get over it. 

The music gets intense, making the situation become scarier. 

One of the boys did come up, telling how niculae broke their skull. Only to be rough handled by achim. The adult telling the boy to throw niculae to the ground. Clearly the boy was very uncomfortable. 

“Fight him now! Come on!” achim tells the other boys. All clearly frightened. The same boy threw niculae to the ground twice. Niculae fighting back. Taking control of the situation until he was over the other boy. Achim finally calling an end to it. 

Not far from what is happening, the group of women were watching, Doing nothing. 

“Do they not interfere?” ronal asks. The women just sit and not take action. 

“Back then it was easier and safer for women to not do anything. Letting the men sort it out” jake tells. 

Great, in ronal’s eyes, humanity hated women and children.

“A play?” 

The na’vi tilt their heads in curiosity. 

A man dressed in a silly costume is playfully scaring the locals that are around to see the entertainment. By hearing a signal, many more men dressed in old military-like outfits and made a circle to dance around in. Music plays and it becomes a silly cheery mood. 

Many laugh and seem to be enjoying the play. 

While in the background one of morometii’s daughters sneakily goes behind his back and meet in the glade with someone. 

“I hate this movie,” neytiri hisses. 

Polina, the girl who went to meet the gentleman, Birica, was no gentleman in her eyes. The girl confesses of whom she chooses to marry and earns a slap. 

“In frightens me to know you share blood with those people” mo’at turns to simplu. She shrugs a bit. 

“Things have changed over time mo’at. Its not the same as before” 

“Hopefully the change is better” 

“Oh certainly” 

“Maria, you should stop working and come to church to listen to the holy gospel. Your soul will rot in hell!” 

“I dont mind” 

“I keep forgetting how religious people were in those times…” simplu muttered. Any and all religion on earth was slowly dying as technology became its new god among humans, 

“What is hell? Has anyone returned from there?” 

Maria and Morometii clearly showing their shared blood as siblings. Work being favored over god. 

The words that comes from maria seems that of hopelessness and seeing no light. 

“At least she is keeping it real” jake says. 

In his eyes, Maria reflects how he viewed the world many years ago. What is the point of worshiping something that guarantees nothing? 

Except for when maria insults and  randomly slaps niculae. 

“Fools!” she shouts.

Another play has taken the scene. Morometii and his friends went to see the children displaying a cute play for many to see. A young girl wearing a pretty flower crown tells of what looks like a story. Many applaud her as a man tells of the winners. 

“First prize for boys! Morometii Niculae” the man announces. 

Morometii stands still as he hears the name of his son. 

Niculae walks up to the stage wearing his father’s hat as the instructor gives him a flower crown and a paper. 

“Take off your hat! Poor boy. I bought him that hate, and he doesnt even know how to wear it” morometii chuckles a bit. 

“Lies” simplu snapped. 

Everyone leans forward, just as the audience in the movie, they all stood silent to hear what poem the son wrote. 

“Stage frights?” Jake questions. 

Niculae gotten sick, unable to read his poem and was set aside. 

“Oh all of a sudden he cares,” neytiri comments. Seeing morometii showing concern for niculae. 

“Probably to save face” ronal says with the same tone.

It was time to reap. 

Morometii, his family, along with other farmers woke up early. Many hop on their wagons and horses and all head to the fields. 

Large lands of crops ready to be harvested. 

Using sickle blades, the family begins to cut away and have the weat be collected. 

This part piqued the na’vi’s interest. They were not exposed much in how farming is done in human standards. So this was in a way new to them. 

“Bending down like that, and with still so much to reap. Doesn't that hurt their backs?” tonowari asks. 

Simplu and Jake nod. 

“At that time, no machines existed to make farming easier. All done bare hands. And that is to feed thousands of people” simple explained. 

They more how the farmers worked. Taking what little shade is provided from the hot sun. Resting a bit and continuing with work. It looked like a fruitful harvest. Many work together to get it done. 

Simplu looks at the hard work, feeling an odd sense of nostalgia, “I wonder what it was like to eat real bread….” 

“father….I am going to school” 

“So go”

The family was eating their meal in silence. Only simple comments were shared. Nila muffles his laugh. Niculae looks at his father, “you’ll see”. He gets up and leaves. His other siblings smiling at him, silently laughing at him. 

“Morometii doesnt believe in his son” mo’at says in a matter of fact tone. Seems to hardly believe anything in the youngest son. 

“Simplu, just what else was normal in romania? Mocking a child for wanting to learn? Perfering to slack their way to life?” neytiri turns to look and simplu. The Romanian girl gulps at her sharp gaze. 

“Easy babe, you are making it seem like she has some fault,” jake says. 

“Many countries have different cultures. Just like your clans. Romania had its own….ummm…ways” simple replied. 

They continue to see the movie in silence until something else piqued someones interest.

The mother wakes up, noticing morometii wide awake as her children still lay asleep. Gripping her shirt, right where her heart is, Telling her husband of her worried for the youngest child, who wishes to go to school. Morometii carelessly saying to let the boy go. 

“I cant stand it anymore! I’ll go mad!” the mother weeps. 

“I will go mad with this movie!” neytiri onces again screeches out. 

“And I will go mad myself watching your insanity,” ronal growls. Having enough of Neytiri's loud comments. Yes she understands her frustrations but to shout every 5 minutes? It can get annoying really quick. 

“Alright, alright, lets cool down. We are almost done, baby, hey, lets try to just enjoy it alright?” jake does his best to calm down her wife. She rolls her eyes but silently agrees. For now. 

In the midst of the small dispute, mo’at listens carefully to what the mother is saying. 

“I dreamt of niculae was taken to the hospital. I went there. There was a little light at the morgue ‘oh god! The boy is dead!’ And I woke up”  

It was a very concerning thing to have as a dream. 

Mo’at can only see what else can occur. 

“Tita! Llinca! Hurry up!” 

When the tax collector returned, the daughters and sons of morometii quickly hid their things and horses. Morometii himself just layed on his bed with an empty look in his eyes. Perhaps lost in what to do. 

After hearing the possibility of achim not returning, and no money to pay. It took a toll on him. 

The tax collector and his assistant came with a full force. If morometii won't pay, then they will take their belongings. The wife fought against him to not take the cauldron. 

“Ruthless men, all of them” 

But none could have been more than paraschiv. 

Waking up his family, throwing items against his sister. Causing an uproar in his home. 

“What possessed you Paraschiv?” Morometii asks. 

Even in the morning, parachiv was different. Having an odd cocky attitude. Even slamming his bedroom door near his mother. 

“Break! Bang! What else are you able to do!?” the mother shouts. 

Jake looks at the ongoing scene, “maybe he has had enough?” 

“I break, I bang, are they yours?” the son asks. 

The mother had her daughter call their father again. Parachive laughs. 

“You think I'm scared of him? Those days are long gone” 

“Damn, never mind. He is in a rebellion phase” jake corrects himself. The sudden mood change and overall personality of parachive is certainly questionable. 

Even more when he demands something, only for his sister to bite back with her words. That ticked him. 

“How can he slap her like that!?” 

Parachive went for the trunk when his sister, llinca tried to stop him. Only for parachiv to slap and hit her. Screams and cries were heard. But parachiv got what he wanted. And morometii seemed to be on his side. 

“Really, who is the bad guy here?” jake was starting to question just how much of a poor victim morometii is. Slapping his own wife as she cries in distress. 

“As you like” mormometii says in calm defeat. The sudden voice change when speaking to his wife compared to speaking to his sons. 

“And he lets them get away like that?” ronal says, astonished. There is so many things wrong in her eyes. Mother being disrespected, hitting a sibling like she was an enemy, favoring the sons in a spoilt way. None of that would be tolerated. 

“Oh wait a sec” 

2 minutes later Morometii went to his sons, mostly paraschiv and beat the shit out of him with a stick. 

“That's more like it” neytiri smirks. Enjoying paraschiv screams and cries for his father to stop. 

“You show hound!”

Scolding and yelling, morometii lets his voice rise as he lectures his sons. The mother and daughters try to stop him from hurting parachiv any further. 

“The sons should be grateful for what they have” neytiri liking the words morometii speaks. 

“Parachiv and nila….they ran away. And they took the horses” Catrina tells morometii. She and her daughters had long dreaded expressions. 

There was a long pause 

“Alright, get the little one ready” morometii said before walking away. 

Niculae looked as his father and at his mother with an odd smirk. But it disappeared in a instant. 

All while moromettii goes into the barn, sitting down to gather himself before making a big decision. 

“He is going to sell that land” jake is predicting. And correct he was. 

Slobbery, a farming neighbor, is willing to buy the land he wants from morometii. Both the land that is from morometii’s long gone sister, and the plot behind his home. 

The next scene, niculae and morometii get on the wagon with a recently purchased horse. Catrina cries as she sees her son become farther away as morometii takes off to the road. 

“He is going to school afterall” mo’at says. Feeling sad for catrina. Her world falling apart right before her eyes. 

Morometii and niculae sat in silence in the wagon. The cold foggy air hitting their faces. It was hard to see ahead and know what was in front of them. They were like that for a few minutes before morometii stopped to ask. 

“Niculae, where are we going, son?” 

There was no direct answer, only turning left and kept on going. 

The credits rolled in, thus ending the movie.

“Well that was…. interesting” jake commented. Having mixed feelings about it. 

“It's one of your favorite simplu?” mo’at asks as she gets up. 

“Not exactly a favorite, but one I grew up with” simplu answers. 

Ronal and Tonowari get up as well, all stretching from sitting down so much. 

“Those people, I am still confused and lost. How did the romanians lived?” ronal asks. Simplu smiles, feeling a bit giddy. 

“If you are interested I would be delighted to teach you” 

Ronal and tonowari shared a similar nod. 

“Yes, it would be interesting to learn of your people. Some parts did not sit well with me however” tonowari says. Simplu nodded in understanding. 

“Fair, there will be many things that may not seem fair or right in your eyes. But that was how it was back then. When facing a never ending struggle, people get desperate and dont think right” 

While they wanted to discuss more, they noticed how late it gotten. 

“In a better suited time, you can be our Romanian teacher” mo’at lightly joked. 

“Oh I be honored” simplu smiled.

Finally it is done! I had to re-watch it like three times to fully understand it myself! I did purposely not mention the heavy political stuff since politics itself is confusing.

Ngl some parts made me a bit uncomfortable but hopefully this turned out to everyone's liking! Until next time! See ya!

[lady-phasma]

How did Feyd treat Lady Margot like what was your sense of the scene onscreen? Like do u think he may have assaulted her in his own way even if it wasn't shown or did she have him do what pleased her physically using her powers? I've got questions lots!!! Do u think he knew of the successful pregnancy or was he like I don't care? Love ya!!!

What a great ask! I am so flattered and excited that you asked me! All that love right back at you!

So much here to discuss and I have had a few conversations about one of these questions with various people in the past couple weeks so I've definitely been thinking about it. I don't want to get too serious and heavy but I will talk about consent a bit.

All this makes me want to write a breakdown of Margot's assessment (and maybe that's something people would be interested in).

So, The Voice. I've read various opinions that he followed her and knelt willingly. I have the movie audio I could upload to support my perspective but I won't bother with that here. I don't think she says "put your right hand in the box" with the Voice but I know the other commands are not with his consent.

The following is conjecture/headcanon. I think he would have had sex with Margot without the Voice and her Bene Gesserit tricks, but he wasn't given the opportunity to make that decision. I think he is very promiscuous, but discerning. Having said that, "desire and humiliation" are his weaknesses. So would he have wanted to humiliate her for using the Voice on him? Perhaps. I have yet to decide whose humiliation is his weakness: avoiding his own or causing it for others.

I think many of us can agree that Feyd isn't going to be the nicest guy in intimate situations no matter how we imagine him. I can't believe that he has had time to fall in love with Margot, but, just like Paul, he has had dreams of the Bene Gesserit who was sent to test him. There may be some intimacy present already. However, we know he passed the Gom Jabbar test, would Margot have needed to use the Voice again after he passed? If he had failed he would have died and if he passed he might have enjoyed the pain so much that he needed very little convincing.

(Fun note: in the book the Reverend Mother says about Paul's test "We seldom administer this to men-children" so did they have to wait for Feyd's coming of age?)

Here's where I'm of two minds: I want to indulge in my little hyperfixation and imagine him being autonomous and having rough, fun, raunchy sex because he chose to. I also don't believe he had much choice in the matter. He was part of the Bene Gesserit breeding program and few people from these great houses have had much choice in that in the last 90 generations.

Cognitive dissonance is the answer. Both conflicting beliefs can be held at the same time. That's probably the most unsatisfactory answer ever, but hear me out. One scenario paints him as an unwilling victim and the other as an amoral psycho. I like either of those options. I'm actually having some fun ideas about a Feyd x Margot short fic I could write about the unwilling victim personality as I type this. That is why cognitive dissonance is fine with me in fandoms. I can eat my cake and have it too.

Lastly, in my headcanon, Feyd has a breeding kink so he would have cared but I don't think he knew in the movie. That's just speculation on my part. I definitely read and (will) write fics with breeding kink for this psycho because he would love to pass on his genetics. As many of you know, I rarely write breeding kink but for this man, I am making an exception.

[girlwiththoughts13]

Things I understand

Dallas Winston x F!Reader

Warnings: None

Word count: 1k

~~~~~

I know there's a lot of things they think I don't know. Maybe it's because they think i'm too kid-ish or what not. But being 14 didn't mean I didn't understand the way things worked.

For example I knew Dallas Winston and my sister were ruined. Ruined for any other person than each other. Since the day Dallas blew into town at the ripe age of 13 and I saw his gaze (one that was frightening to say the least) land on my sister, I knew that was it.

She'd practically fly down stairs after a rumble and blow past all of us, her own brothers, to get to him. She'd grab him by his bloody hands and pull him into the bathroom. He'd sit on the toilet while she stood between his legs to dress his wounds. Dally would look up at her and just stare, I don't exactly know what he was thinking but I have a few ideas, ones that make me sick.

She'd say "I hate when you fight" he'd always respond with "I know, I won't anymore", Lie.

Or the way she'd stand by the phone gripping it with every bit of her strength, twirling the cord with her finger, giggling at whatever he said on the other side from bucks bar.

This was the way they were from the time they were 13 and 12, and now that they're 17 and 16.

Darry would usually have a problem with someone such as Dally being anywhere near his baby sister but there was too many years there, to much history, we trusted Dally with her, knew he'd take care of her no matter what. Knew he'd die for her. But boy when it rained it poured.

"God he's such an asshole, we're done Pony I swear, Done!"

"Was you sister born that way or was she dropped on her head"

I'd sit and listen to both of their complaints, knowing they'd get back together before anyone had anytime to even find out they'd broken up in the first place.

That's why seeing her--while I was lounging on the porch with Johnny waiting for Dally--show up with a boy I'd never seen before, made me start to sweat.

"Who's that with your sister?" Johnny didn't turn away from the pair in front of us who were whispering back and forth, all smiles and soft laughs.

"No clue"

"Well he better get out of here before Dal shows up" I shrug at him and wait for her to part with this strange greaser to begin the integration. All while praying silently that Dally doesn't suddenly decide to be diligent on time.

Finally she parts with the boy with a wave and he starts down the street. She watches him leave for a few seconds before turning to face us and begins her short walk to the porch. "Who was that?" I say, all authoritative like those cops that round up greasers by the lot.

"A boy from my homeroom, isn't he cute?" She sways her body back and forth her soft pink dress moving with the action, if you didn't know her you'd think she was a soc. "I don't think he'll be anything if Dal finds out" Johnny buds in. "Yeah he'll be here any minute" I add

"So? he's not the boss of me. We're over" She places her hand on her hip before nudging us roughly out the way to reach the door behind us. She turns quickly on her heel and says "You two better not tell him a thing, James is taking me out to the double tonight and I won't have Dally ruining that too". She doesn't wait for either of us to respond before she disappears into the house.

Me and Johnny look at each other, our faces turning into a grimace. "James? What kind of name is that"

"A stupid one" Dally's gruff voice cuts through the silence after the question and startles me for a second. What's that saying about the devil?

"Hey Dal, you all set?" Johnny asks, no doubt to distract Dally from asking a question, that we'd answer without meaning too. Dallas nods as he stares up ahead. "Aye Pony, your sister home?".

"Uh yeah, just got here" He nods once again and looks aways quickly, making his way toward the street. "She was pretty mad" I say. Dally chuckles and says "She'll get over it".

As we made are way around town, scaring kids, and crashing diners; just killing time before the movie later at night started, Dallas told us bits and pieces of their fight, nothing major. But then again none of their break up were ever serious. "What if she doesn't?" I ask.

"Huh?" Dally looks over at me, I don't know how my sister handles it but having Dallas Winston's full attention was scary. "What if she doesn't get over it?" I clarify. Dally looks down in thought and when he looks up again he has his dangerous face on. "She say somethin' to you?"

"N- no I was just wonderin ", I backtrack. "Yeah well stop wondering, once she stops being dramatic, we'll be fine". He seems to be convincing himself of this more than me or Johnny who's been silent since we pasted a group of socs.

We make it to the double and enter through the side. And to my excitement, sit behind Cherry and her friend Marge? A cheerleader from our school that I guess you could say I had thing for. From the corner of my eye I could see my question earlier is still plaguing Dally and it was about to show in the worst way possible. I watch him lean forward and begin his way of flirting. Not that he even cared about Cherry or any other girl for that matter. This was just his way to get back some control that he felt he was losing.

"Are you a real redhead?" Cherry giggles at the question. Girls like her, socs who've been sheltered from the real world always want a tiny taste of something wrong. But everyone here knew that it'd never happen. That you could look as much as you want in a store and as long as you didn't buy anything, no foul.

Cherry would never buy anything.

I must of dozed off because the next second, Cherry is practically throwing Dallas off her. She was brave in the way she told him to shut his trap and made threats to call the police. I watch Dallas nuzzle his head into Cherrys shoulder, never one to take no as an answer. He wraps his arms over her as she struggles to break free. Somewhere along the line Dallas falters and then all at once stops and looks straight ahead. I follow his line of sight, and see my sister with James. They're lingering right outside of what I can only assume is his car.

Cherry notices the sudden switch and looks over her shoulder at Dallas to study his face because as much as she may deny, having his attention is fun and she knows as I do she could easily fall in love with him.

Dallas being silent is never a good thing. Without taking his eyes off the scene he asks "Who the hell is that?". I could see by the way his arms fell to his sides and his hands clenched into tight fists, he was about to burst. "James" I say. He looks over at me and then back. Not saying anything else he stands and begins to walk over.

"oh no" I whisper. Cherry turns her whole body toward me and asks "What happened?", I tell her the truth, "That's my sister and her and Dallas are complicated" That was the whole honest truth. We all look toward the oncoming conflict. I see Dallas shove 'James' out the way and grab my sister by the upper arm. Dragging her forward, all the while she tugs and leans her whole weight back to halt him. I could see her mouth moving a million miles per minute, no doubt cursing him up and down. Dallas just stops and turns and then takes the sides of her face in his hands and leans down to kiss her. One of his hands leave her face and go down to the small of her back to press her close, sightly lifting her off her feet.

When they part I see my sister smile, wide. Though his back is to us I know he mirrors her expression. They begin walking back to us. Dallas wraps his arm around her shoulders, her left hand resting around his waist while the right reaches up to hold his dangling hand.

"Tell Darry I'm staying at Bucks tonight"

Ruined once again.

[echobx]

Timeloop - JJ Maybank × fem!reader part 2

summary: y/n meets JJ for the first time and she doesn't know that it will turn her whole life upside down, literally

warnings: none

word count: 1k

author's note: this is so short but I promise I have a vision. pls be patient with me 😭

masterlist part 1

There's a certain type of person in this world who only thinks of themselves, only wishes the best for their own good, not caring about anyone else, ever. And no matter how much I pride myself to not be this person, my actions have made me into a person like that. Selfish. Egotistical. Narcissistic, maybe.

It starts on a Tuesday, perfect sunshine, warm, bearable 72 °F with a light breeze that is blowing through the trees next to our new house. My room is filled with boxes, most of which contain stuff that I won't even need here. Too warm for that. But I spend my day unpacking, anyway. It's a fresh start, and my parents could have picked a way worse place to live than the Outer Banks.

“Y/n, we're going out for dinner. Come on down!” My mom yells from the foot of the stairs, and I quickly grab my phone and my headphones before running downstairs to meet her. It's just my dad, my mom and my little sister. We left the rest of the family behind, not that I am looking forward to seeing them again at Thanksgiving…

“Can you take the headphones off, honey? We're trying to have dinner,” my dad complains after we sat down and a girl around my age hands us each a menu.

“Hi, I'm Kiara, I'll be your waitress for the night. Welcome to the Wreck,” she says, with a forced smile. “Just call me over when you're ready to order.” And as quickly as she appeared, she's gone again. My eyes follow her inside the establishment, where she starts to talk to a group of boys. One of them turns his head to look at me. Tall, blonde, muscly but not scary looking. And as quickly as his gaze was on me, it's gone again.

After dinner, we make our way out of the restaurant, and while my dad pays, I turn to look back at the boys. They are still just hanging out in a corner, joking around and not paying any mind to the people around them. I like how careless they are, how free.

“Honey?” my mom speaks up and rips me out of my thoughts, pulling me with her towards the door and away from the boys.

The next day, I wake up with a headache. My diary is lying on my face and I have ink stains on my fingers.

A shower helps with the stains and lifts my headache just enough to let me survive breakfast, so I think. But my mother has different ideas.

All morning, she keeps asking me why I was so interested in those boys the night prior, and I really don't have a good answer for her. Maybe because they didn't have parents around them all the time. Maybe the fact that they seemed somewhat mysterious still. Maybe, just maybe, I had, for the first time, actually found someone interesting with a single look, and not because I had to dissect their personality to find the bits that complimented my own.

“I don't know, mom. I don't even know who they are. Can you please let it go,” I huff after she posed another question.

“Fine. Did you finish with your room?” she asks instead, and I sigh in relief.

“Yes. Well… I only need a few poster strips and stuff to decorate, but I'll go buy something later.”

“Sounds lovely,” my dad notes, his eyes solely fixed on his tablet while reading the paper.

“Anything new in the world?” I ask and take another bite of my toast.

“Nothing too important. You can read it yourself if you'd download the app,” he replies.

“Oh no, she can't. Y/n has too many pictures of ugly men on her phone. No storage for news,” my little sister laughs loudly, and I wish to sink down into the core of our planet earth. As if having a five year younger sister isn't already punishment enough. That's also not true. I love my sister, but she also drives me crazy with her 11-year-old brain.

“I'll read it later on my laptop,” I say and my dad just nods.

Getting out of the house feels like finally being able to breathe again. I have learned to take my diary with me everywhere I go, not wanting to have last year's incident repeated where my sister took my diary to school and read it aloud to all of her friends and word had gotten around and soon after every teenager in my area had known my secrets. And not even the funny ones. No, my sister had decided to only share the most embarrassing part of my life. For example the fact that I follow a strict protocol when talking to anyone, even my closest friends at the time. And they all had made fun of me, or mocked me or just called me all kinds of vile things because of it.

But that doesn't matter now because this is a new start. I'll find better friends. Preferably ones who I don't have to pretend for. Ones that don't make me feel the need to script out conversations long before they happen.

“Woah, easy there, princess,” a voice rips me out of my thoughts, firm hands grasping my shoulders. “You good? You nearly ran into that shelf.”

“I'm fine, thank you,” I mumble before picking up my head, blinking twice, and a third time. He's even prettier from up close. Disheveled blonde hair falling into his face that is adorned by the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Perfectly matched to his pointy nose and the pink lips.

His eyebrows furrow and I look away, hearing him clear his throat and feeling him drop his hands.

“Thank you for that,” I mumble and smile while looking down, too scared that I might get lost if I look at him for too long.

“Yeah, it's no problem, at all,” he drags out his words and takes a step back. “Just be careful next time.”

I nod, and he's gone, but I'm still nodding. Fate isn't something in my area of expertise. I have never had any luck of any sort whatsoever. But running into him the day after seeing him for the first time- Maybe there truly is something out there that plays our cards, and it played mine just right.

please don't copy and/or post my work onto other platforms! ~e©ho

taglist: @redhead1180 @spideysimpossiblegirl @drwstarkeyy @princessmaybank @ijustwantttoread @kys4-20 @immyowndefender @julczimocarz @m2m2m2 @th3eternalersi @chiaraanatra @yourmumstoy

[fandomfluffandfuck]

Bucky with a beard and eyeliner. Steve can’t. keep. his. hands. to. himself.

(not at all inspired by what I’m currently thinking. No sir)

For reference, my ask box is no longer open for requests, but this is from before I closed it, so I will be writing for this ask.

What kind of eyeliner, though-?

No, this isn't just an excuse to look at Seb in makeup. What do you mean?

Like, we have options:

War paint?

Femme fatal?

Witch?

Which witch?

Rockstar guyliner?

I'm always trying to go in order of writing from oldest to newest, and this ask is so new, but... I can't fucking resist talking about this exactly now, so... have a variety of ideas based on these different eyeliner styles:

War paint

Ever after since the first glimpse Steve has of the ghost Natasha told him about, the ghost haunts Steve's nightly dreams. They're not... bad dreams, though, so perhaps "haunt" is the wrong word. It's just that the ghost won't fucking leave the walls of his mind.

Steve can't tell, yet, if he loves it or hates it--having his subconscious entirely focused on the single moment he's had thus far, face-to-face with the ghost. It depends on when he's caught, if he'd say he loves or loathes it. Is it so late at night that it's actually early morning or is it in the sobering light of day?

It's just that he was so fucking striking.

All wrapped in leather and darkness, as wild as a dare thought up by hot, young blood after too many drinks and rowdy, saucy questions of truth. His inky black head-to-toe uniform, his long, deeply colored cascading hair, his concealing muzzle, and, in dizzying contrast, his striking, light eyes made all the more alluring due to the paint messily defining them.

Something about him, if he weren't a walking danger, feels as if he walked directly off a runway. Untouchable but so fucking desirable.

Especially his eyes. They're cold and callous yet, deep down, so alluringly familiar. Steve can't pin it down, but something about them draws him in. He has questions and no answers, which is all too much for Steve; he is nothing if not recklessly curious, and if he were a cat, he'd be dead nine times over.

Steve wants to see those eyes close up. He wants to see how they glint in low light. He longs to see emotion reflected in them. He wants to know what it's like to see his dark lashes get heavy and his pupils swallow up that steel-blue color. He wants--

He wants and he can't have.

So, his subconscious has latched onto the ghost with his captivating, secretive existence slipping through Steve's fingers like sand and leaving him with just a few grains.

He clutches onto the grit, waking him up in the middle of the night again and again. His chest is heaving in the pale moonlight when he comes to--his baby pink nipples peaking through his white t-shirt, turned transparent with how much he's sweating, shoved up nearly all the way to the swell of his pecs, bunched up beneath his armpits, exposes his abs that clench as he continues to pant and struggle for enough oxygen to feed the fire burning inside him. His thighs are spread wide beneath mused sheets. The image of those eyes staring down at him hangs over Steve. They glint with interest--a cat toying with a mouse--nearly the same color as the cold, sharp blade of a knife and pressing against Steve with the same intensity.

Steve gasps on his next panting inhale, short of breath. He's feverish. He's burning up. He doesn't remember what the ghost was on the cusp of doing to him in his dreams. It doesn't matter. He doesn't need anything more than the arousal throbbing through his sleep-vulnerable body and his hot, shaking fist.

After pulling down his boxers, it hardly takes five, six pulls before he's biting his lip to smother a ragged, pent-up moan, painting himself white, picturing those damn eyes, contrasted by dark black paint.

Oh, god.

With his orgasm draining from his slack, limp body, Steve is so fucking confused. He doesn't even know why this keeps happening to him! He's confused and guilty and exhausted. There's no fucking reason he should be this fucked up by the ghost, but he is.

He is.

He can't stay away from him, dreaming of him, his eyes, but also everything about him. The cold, smooth leather of his uniform and his metal arm against Steve's furnace hot, bare skin while he stares down at him; the thick, hot plunge and pull of his cock inside him, fucking him on his back, between his legs, rutting it out missionary so he can glare down at Steve (and maybe wrap that metal arm around his throat while he's at it); the rasp of his jaw (Steve doesn't know if he's clean-shaven under that mask, fully bearded, or just with stubble, but he fucking wants to find out) against Steve's naked, slick cheeks as he eats him out viciously, his eyes never breaking their gaze while Steve struggles to not let his own roll back into his skull. Ngh. Steve can't stop. All he thinks about is the ghost and his captivating eyes, emboldened by all that black paint.

Femme fatal

Steve has been consumed by the precarious sensation of being suspended on an exceedingly thin layer of ice above a normally strongly churning body of water. Just a paper-thin layer of frozen water between his life and death, and he's straining his ears to hear any possibly cracks under his feet. Or, perhaps, really, he's already plunged through and has been pulled out by a good samaritan bystander, but now, as a result, he doesn't trust the ground beneath his feet, whether it's ice, permafrost, or concrete. He will walk on eggshells for hours to come.

Either way, the sensation is due to the miraclous fact that Bucky is here.

Home.

He's standing in Steve's apartment's bathroom, dressed down from the decrepit uniform he's been living in day after day on the run from HYDRA, putting himself back together piece by piece, to a pair of borrowed sweatpants and a loose t-shirt that hangs open around his neck, exposing his sharp collarbones.

He's without his suffocating mask now, lost to the rubble of the past and freshly shaven, leaving a mess of hair in the sink. He's brushed his hair and washed most of the grime and paint from his face. It's just the barest layer of darkness around his eyes now, dragging Steve's gaze irrevocably to his pale blue irises. Even through the mirror, hesitantly shadowing him, he can't stop staring.

Bucky was always a looker, the Bucky Steve remembers.

This Bucky is every bit as alluring. Steve can't stop himself from admiring him, especially now that he's within touching distance. He's vowed to himself that he won't do anything, not until Bucky's ready but...

As Bucky runs a washcloth over his entirely too handsome face one last time and locks his eyes onto Steve's through the mirror...

It can't be helped.

It can't be helped the way Bucky whirls around quickly and lunges forward into Steve's space. His mismatched fists suddenly curl into Steve's t-shirt while his wild eyes search Steve's. And, in response, Steve lets himself open, trusting him implicitly. Whatever he wants. And, for himself, he lets all his wants, all his hopes pour into his eyes--baring his soul to Bucky. This new, raw version of long lost lover, letting him see it all.

And that's all it takes.

Bucky is barely an inch away from him, and it makes the impact that much more intense after he reads the look in his eyes, words passing silently between them. It's blunt. Point-blank range.

Their lips collide harshly. Ravenously.

Instantaneously, Steve's whole body can't help but go limp, giving up the fight and welcoming the vicious claim that Bucky is laying on him, pressing bodily against him, forcing Steve back against the wall, consuming him, his tongue in Steve's mouth, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, and his growl of hunger vibrating into Steve's chest, igniting his own hunger again, adding to the flames. He's desperate. They both are.

Steve's head is spinning. He clings to Bucky, hands on his shoulders, willing Bucky to never let him go again. He needs him.

He needs him here.

He needs him inside him.

Bucky knows.

And he's wrapping himself around Steve like a boa constrictor curls around its first kill in months. Starved and desperate. Throbbing with blood lust like never before. Primal hunger.

Steve whimpers into his mouth. He has no air in his burning lungs, but he can't bear to break away, especially not when Bucky does. He takes just a mere second, yet still too long, to spit lewdly onto his fingers and then draw Steve's pants down, breaching him with his fingertips in a way that burns and hurts but still feels so good. It feels like everything he's been missing. It's raw and painful, but Steve needs it to hurt. He needs it to be sharp so he can be sure it's real.

It's so fucking real as Bucky prys his tight muscles open and loose, and carves a place for himself inside Steve.

Where he belongs.

Inside Steve.

Bucky fucks him like an animal, smashing Steve into the bathroom wall, rattling the towel racks and cracking plaster, making Steve scream behind clenched teeth--it feels so fucking unbearably good. Hot. Steve is lost to the sensation of being fucked. He's whole again. He's crying. Sobbing. Shaking so badly that he can hardly cling to Bucky, his legs wrapped around his waist, his arms slung around his shoulders and neck, his body tight and wet with spit around his cock.

He missed him so bad.

He missed him so bad he thought he was going to die of heartbreak. He thinks he's going to die again now, but he's going to die because he can die a satisfied man now. He's so full.

He's blinded with white-hot, agonizing pleasure.

He's shooting off untouched between their heaving, feverish bodies and crying, begging for Bucky to keep going when he pauses, thinking Steve too overstimulated to continue.

No, no, no! Please! Keep going! More!More!More! You have to! Need it!

So, Bucky does. He goes and goes and fuckd until he's cumming and crying too. The last of the black around his eyes smears and spreads down his cheeks in streaks that Steve desperately laps up with his tongue. He wants him. All of him. He needs it. Every fucking bit--salty tears, tattered memories, and old scarred over wounds.

Jesus Christ.

He's home.

Witch

Shockingly, the thing that wakes Steve up is not the splitting throb of his headache as agitated by the rising sun or chirping birds, the bone dryness of his mouth, or the regret (or embarrassment, depending on how you look at it) he certainly should be feeling after letting himself get talked into a completely unnecessary drinking game despite his non-college-years age. What does wake him up, however, is the grumbles of someone else in his bed.

Bucky.

When he cracks one eye open, then the other, tracking the source of the noise, Steve finds that it's Bucky.

Who else would it be anyway? A dog pile of all his hangover-nursing friends on the floor of his apartment? A stranger? A couple of strangers? Nah. Just Bucky.

It's always Bucky.

And Bucky is pretending to be asleep still despite having woken up to his own post-halloween-party hangover, grumbling to himself and burrowing deeper into his pillow. His pillow that, yikes, Steve thinks to himself, wincing, will need to be washed once they've both washed down painkillers and soaked up the leftover festive-flavored, too-strong of alcohol with a greasy brunch.

That pillowcase will have to be washed thoroughly on account of the makeup slathered all across Bucky's face. The face of makeup was a part of their festivities. Now, it's s smeared and rubbed all around his face, a powdery white foundation emphasizing red lips, darkly lined but brightly shadowed eyes, and thin yet expressive eyebrows--he was a magician for Halloween this year.

(Steve narrowly avoided being his assistant bunny and would've been if he hadn't worked up some resistance to Bucky's puppydog eyes by now. He's not immune. No one could be. But after so many years, he's got to be a little bit resistant in him.)

Regardless, Bucky looks silly in the sobering (ha) morning light. He's sleepy, and his makeup is still, somewhat on, it's just moved around all his face or been buffed into his skin. Yet...

Steve blinks blearily, trying to push the thought--the feeling away as it rears its head within him.

Unfortunately, though, when his vision clears again, nope, it's still there.

That feeling.

What should just be a goofy, funny look in Bucky's dorky, handsome face isn't. It's that, yeah, but it's more, too, because in his sleep, Bucky's beard has started to grow back in, the stubble on his jaw pushing through his makeup to announce itself. It's a fucking a shadow that calls to Steve darkly, bringing up shivers all across his skin, and whispering to him reminders of what it's like to kiss Bucky first thing upon waking up...

The morning breath is more than worth it in exchange for Bucky's rough, unshaven face scraping against his jaw and turning Steve red and raw. He's likes the feeling. More than likes. All that roughness against him makes him feel delicate and small and ravished by comparison. It adds just that much--that extra sensitivity--to the hot, smearing kisses that Bucky will inevitably paint thickly from the corner of his lips down to his jaw and farther onto his throat, his collarbones, and ending up at his chest with his lips and tongue so lush and sweet and his teeth so mean.

That god-fucking-damn stubble has Steve craving Bucky.

He wants its roughness against him.

He wants those lips on his.

He wants Bucky's tongue in his mouth, claiming him.

He wants Bucky's groans against him, vibrating and so deep, and he wants his own moans to be swallowed down by Bucky, taking them deep inside his body.

He wants Bucky to talk to him, to tell him how pretty and innocent he looks in his sleep, how he wouldn't mind if he'd go back to sleep so he could have his way with him anyway he wants... it's not like Steve helps out anyway, pillow princess motherfucker, so he might as well go limp and snooze through their fucking. Right, sweetheart?

Steve whimpers out loud at his own train of thought, spacing out while staring too intently at Bucky, hyper-focused on his jaw. On the stubble right there. So fucking close.

He wants him.

And, Jesus, with the makeup, he'd really make a mess of Steve, now wouldn't he? He'd be red from his stubble against Steve's smooth skin, and he'd be red from the lipstick and--

Exactly then, Bucky's eyes slide open. Any trace of annoyance that'd be expected from his grumbling and pillow nuzzling is gone, replaced with intrigue. He's been hearing Steve's thoughts loud and fucking clear apparently and just decided to pop in to see what mischief he can make of them. What kind of mess can he make of Steve?

Shit, though. Wait.

--stubble and lipstick aside, Steve is unprepared for those eyes to open because, shit, his eyes look so, so fucking blue. Bluer then he remembers from last night (most of which is a blur anyway, thank you drunk Steve who's only goal is to get drunker to piss of morning, sober Steve) thanks to their smudged charcoal lining. It's the perfect contrast.

And Steve can't move. He's been caught staring, pinned like a butterfly to a cork board beneath that stare. Any more heat and he'll burn up, an insect underneath a magnifying glass in the sun.

"Good dreams, punk?" Bucky raises his eyebrows at him, a slow, thick grin spreading over his bowed mouth.

Steve licks his lips, his gaze dropping in embarrassment but really just catching an eye full of Bucky's sinful mouth, "something like that." He answers in a sleep-rough voice.

Gah.

Why is he such a fucking sucker for everything about Bucky? He's so weak!

Witch 2

College theater major Bucky backstage for his latest production, Steve's an art major, he's been roped into painting part of the set, making out in props closet, handjobs over clothes, making out until their lips are swollen and raw

Steve never imagined as an art major that he would get roped into the performing arts. He's always been a visual artist, not a performing artist. There's a big fucking difference. Yes, both types of art. Both creative. Both are valid. But, Jesus Christ, they couldn't be more different in Steve's mind. He's comfortable in visual art and incredibly passionate about it, but if he's asked to perform art? He would tell that person to go fuck themselves. The thought of being on stage like that? No. He would shit a brick.

So... yeah, it's unclear even to himself how the hell he's gotten himself into the theater at his college. It's just happened. He's here. And, against all odds, he's fucking thrilled he's here. Painting background sets for the student productions is fun, but that's not what is so enticing. That is all due to Bucky.

Bucky is a theater major.

The first theater kid that Steve's had the pleasure of interacting with beyond surface level and...

Pleasure sure as shit is the right fucking word. Because, as it turns out, all the jokes about theater kids? Yeah. They're true. At least, they're true for Bucky. Outrageously flamboyant and queer and horny.

Just during just the latest production cycle, Steve has (a) never been better fucked and (b) gotten to cross various locations off his sex bucket list thanks to that fucking horny twink who can most often found in a character's costume with theater makeup swiped across his face, emphasizing his pouty lips and big, blue-grey eyes.

The props closet? Check.

The dressing room? Check.

On the actual stage? Check.

In the auditorium seating? Check.

Jesus Christ, he can't get over it, he has never been better fucked then he is when immersed in Bucky's world of performing arts. He should've done this in high school. Oof.

The props closet was during the stretch of rehearsals where Bucky's character isn't needed. So, he doesn't have any real reason to be out on stage or around the edges of the stage in the shadows. Like. He should be around and not wander too far away. But he doesn't technically have to be. And the props closet isn't too far!

So, why not pile into the tight confines of the overflowing prop closet? Why not slam the door behind them and try to keep it down because they aren't that far and no one wants their chill, acting headspace to be ruined by Steve's pitchy groans while Bucky goes down on him, using that fucking soft, pretty mouth for evil? It's fucking fun.

It's great.

Bucky's mouth is so good. Like, illegally hot. He deep throats like a fucking champ and swallows and hums and can do things with his tongue that make Steve go cross-eyed. He can do all that and still look up at Steve, composed as ever.

Of course, staring up at him with that signature eyeliner ringed around his eyes, making them appear bigger and darker--better to see from the audience and even better to see close up.

Jesus.

Steve loses it way, way too fast--like it's embarrassing--shooting down Bucky's throat and stifling his guttural sounds of pleasure by biting into his fist so hard he tastes blood. It's bad now, and it's gonna be worse when he has to watch Bucky swagger out onto stage to perform with puffy, swollen, red lips. Naturally acting like there's nothing going on. It's all innocent. He always looks like this.

Fucked-out.

The dressing room was a rush between scene changes. Like, the props closet was a quickie--slamming doors, giggling, moaning urgently into fiery kisses, bumping noses, fumbling hands, and all--but if the props closet was a lower-case quickie than the dressing room is a quickie with a capital Q.

Bucky fucking shoves him inside the dressing room, pushing him roughly, hands squeezing at his waist and digging into his shoulders. No nonsense. Just down to fucking business. Fucking business. Ripping off his costume for a quick change, already half-naked before the door even clicks shut behind them, and bending himself over the closest piece of furniture.

Yeahhh, he's horny as shit.

He's so fucking hopped up on adrenaline and desperation that his hands are quivering as he spreads his shapely cheeks apart to show Steve where he's all clenchy and achy. Steve is fucking dying to get his tongue on him. Bucky is dying to have his tongue on him. They're a fucking sick pair. Wicked and dirty and depraved.

The second the door is shut and they're aa alone as they can be with thin walls and a thin door, Steve eats him out with fervor--shoving his tongue all up in there, lapping at his hole, sucking on his heavy balls, biting at the fat of his ass, and moaning against his salty skin because he's sweaty from baking underneath the stage lights and that should be gross but it really isn't. He tastes good. Hot. He tastes like a fucking man. He tastes like Steve wants to fucking keep going.

He could eat him out for hours. Days. If only he had the fucking time.

They don't have time right now because it can't be more than a handful of moments of heaven, not even seven minutes, before Bucky is getting his trembling legs underneath himself and shoving Steve off of him. He's fucking terrible.

God, Steve wants him so much. He wants a piece of him. He wants all pieces of him. He wants to consume him. Have him. Jesus Christ, he's so horny, too. They both are. They're freaks.

Good.

Bucky smirks over his shoulder at him, but that's the only thing Steve gets before he's a blur, throwing himself back into clothes, different clothes this time, neatly tucking his erection up out of the way and tearing out the door to go back on stage.

He leaves Steve wanting.

Desperate.

Steve is breathless as he rushes out, unable to get a full lungul of air in. All he can do is lick his lips and moan low in his throat, aching for more as if he's the one who's just had a tongue up his ass.

This is unfair. It's evil.

He's not sure which of them is worse off: Bucky on stage with something to focus on, freshly physically pleasured and hard, or Steve without anything to do but agonize over how much he wants to eat Bucky alive. They're both denied. Aching. Strung out. They're both going to claw desperately at each other with the next quick change. Bucky's not going to cum that time either.

He's not gonna cum during any of their quick changes. Quickie quick changes. He's not gonna cum until they get back to Bucky's or Steve's dorm. It's just gonna wind up and up and up. Edging. Sharpening. It will be delicious, the final release.

Woof.

The actual stage was after hours, everyone gone, the space totally clear, just them and enough space to really fucking spread out.

Bucky spread eagle.

Steve over top of him.

Bucky deeply arching his throat and back and just letting himself feel all of it. All the pleasure. Spreading his legs wider as if he can spread any wider, get sluttier. He can't get any more needy. More wanton. His moans are fucking ragged, so deep and sharp that his entire fucking chest heaves as he struggles to breathe.

Steve sweats and groans as he fucks, animal, smothering his sounds in Bucky's shoulder. He's so close to sinking his teeth into him. God. He's trying to be smooth, but he's not. There's too much arousal to be found in lying across the stage. He can't be smooth.

He's losing it.

Groaning louder, breathing harder, soaking in being naked and in the limelight where he can put Bucky on display. Every gorgeous fucking inch of him. His sweat glistening skin, his heaving chest and hard nipples, his curved, heavy cock, jis spread thighs, his open, wet hole, his quivering, tensing muscles, his slack face.

His pleasure.

All of him.

Every glorious inch deserves to be worshipped and displayed. Lavished with lust-dripping attention. Placed on a pedestal for all eyes to see, but no one else can touch. Just Steve.

Only Steve on stage with him, divesting him of everything but his bare, raw needs. Stripping him down to his bones. He's perfect and too much.

Steve can't hold on for another moment, hitting his orgasm head-on and biting harshly into Bucky as he finishes inside him, knowing he'll wear the mark on his neck proudly. That big fucking hickey. Dark and obvious. High on his throat. On him like an anniversary gift--a beautiful necklace. His Bucky. Displaying himseld. His sweet mouth twisted up, watching people blush at him and feeling it light him up inside with smoldering coals, aching to do it again.

Steve fucking loves how much of a slut and attention whore Bucky can be. It's fucking ideal. There's never been anything hotter.

Well... maybe there's been one thing hotter...

The auditorium seating was also after hours without anyone else around to get in their way, leaving them to get tangled up and fucked out, drunk off of each other.

Bucky, the little minx, had pulled Steve into the empty audience, pretending they were ready to leave and finally get outta there. He wasn't ready to leave, though. Nah. Of course, not.

Instead of leaving, Bucky shoved Steve down into a random fucking seat and unbuckled his belt to slide his jeans down his legs--only doing the work that absolutely had to be done to get his cock out. Steve had no choice but to shiver, suddenly heart-racingly exposed and cold. He didn't stay cold for long.

First, his dick was stuffed down Bucky's throat. A fucking sudden flash of hottightwetgood. There and gone. Then, Bucky rose up off his knees and slithered into his lap, making himself right at home.

Shit.

Apparently, through the whole fucking practice, he was wearing a buttolug because... why not? It's Bucky. He does whatever the fuck he wants. And what he wants is always what feels good.

Slut.

The look on his face is more than good--sweet, slack, and heated like chocolate on a triple digit temperature summer day--as he doesn't just sit in his lap but bounce.

Steve couldn't give a fuck about the buttplug or the shock of how long he's been wearing it. He couldn't give less of a fuck about where the toy ended up. All he can care about is how Bucky's body is eating him up. Swallowing him whole. He's so fucking hot inside. So wet, too. He's clenching, throbbing, around him and it feels too fucking good to be true.

It's unbearably hot.

Bucky writhing, bouncing, and arching in his lap, holding on so tightly to the arms of the folding theater chair they're in that the plastic creaks. It doesn't fucking matter. Nothing can matter but this. And it's cause Bucky is throwing his head back with the pleasure inhibiting his body, finally stuffed full with cock after hours of inadequate silicone, and projecting his voice to echo throughout the entire goddamn theater. It's like he wants someone to break in and find them, following his all too obvious, too obscene sounds.

His moans are loud and needy and so fucking erotic that it makes Steve glad he's sitting down, more than a little afraid that if they were in any other position, he'd have started to shake and maybe even collapse under the weight of those moans. He sounds good taking cock how he wants it, bouncing fast and grinding deep as he fists himself greedily.

He's desperate.

How long has he been this desperate?

How can Steve make sure he's always this desperate?

'Cause this is certainly as good as it gets. Bucky is putting on a whole goddamn production just for him. But, it's sincere. This isn't an acting production. This is real. He needs this. He loves this. And all Steve's gotta do it sit here and melt, too close to the crackling inferno that is Bucky taking what he needs. He needs a lot. Steve barely needs anything but Bucky's hot clenching body and he's ready to cum embarrassingly quickly.

Christ.

Guyliner

Steve never, ever fucking expected himself to fall for a random ass guy in whatever bar in the middle of the town that he expected to leave immediately after turning 18, but didn't, with the guy straight up telling him that he was just here for the night, crushing drinks, and about to bounce... forever, hitting the road in his beat-up touring van.

Although, Steve never expected that guy to be hot as hell, smooth talking and too charming, looking even hotter behind his drum kit because. Yeah. Who would've guessed that Steve would end up a groupie?

Steve would've been the last person to think that of himself, not that there's anything wrong with being a groupie, it's just... not him. And, sure, he's less a groupie and more boyfriend to that hot as fuck, charming drummer, Bucky, but still.

How'd he get here?

How'd he get here, reclining back on his shitty, saggy sofa clinging one-handed to his phone tuned to a livestream of his drummer boyfriend's band and the other hand wrapped around his cock? His legs are sprawled into a wide manspread, giving himself room to work, his spine is anything but straight as he slouches into the worn-out springs and cushions, and his eyes are glued to every blurry pixel of the stream. He's fucking starstruck, watching too close. He's starstruck all the time. Every time he sees Bucky again after a stint on the road, every time he sees him perform through a screen, and especially every time he sees him perform in person. How did Steve make it his whole fucking life up until meeting Bucky without realizing that the drums are sexy?

Everything about Bucky is sexy. Everything about his instrument is sexy. Everything about Bucky playing his instrument is sexy.

He's on stage, in his own spotlight, in his element just beating the shit out of his kit. Slamming his feet and rallying his arms and heaving his chest to breathe through the sweat. And, fuck, is he sweating. Steve has been watching the entire show, deeply, animally reveling the way he's gone from composed to glistening to melting. Sweatier and sweatier with his muscles fucking rippling, using his entire body, getting into it. There's pure fucking passion etched across his face.

When the camera zoom-cuts to him, focusing fully on Bucky for the part of the song that is all drumming, Steve holds his breath in anticipation. He knows what's coming. He's gonna--

YES! Steve's heart pounds in his chest 'cause he fucking nails it. He's a well-oiled machine up there, on stage, doing what he does best.

Dun! Dun! Dundundun! Dun!

He hits every fucking beat and even has time to throw his sticks into the air, catching them without even fucking looking. It's effortless. It's fucking magnetic. Steve doesn't need to be in the room having his ears blasted to feel it rattling around his ribs. And, shit, seeing the way he kills it, the look he has on his face, the rhythm of his body...

It does Steve in.

He whimpers, tightening his grip around his dick. It should be embarrassing, jerking off to nothing but live music and getting off so hard, but, Jesus, he can't be embarrassed. He can't be anything but hot.

Bucky is so outrageously hot.

Every time the camera cuts to him, he's hotter.

Hotter. Sweatier. And getting to the fucking point where his makeup is melting off of his pretty face. His eyeliner running down from around his eyes the way it does when he lets Steve fuck him in the back of the tour bus after a show, riding high on adrenaline from performing, and crying with how good it feels.

Pure relief.

Fucked so good.

That big, bad drummer up there on stage reduced to a crying, overwhelmed mess beneath Steve. It's no secret amongst fans that Bucky is model hot--movie star hot and Steve knows too many of those fans would kill to fuck Bucky, just one night.

So, the knowledge that he's the only one that gets to have him? Shit. That is what leaves him riding high. He doesn't need a big performance in front of thousands of fans to get him there. He just needs the performance saved for behind closed doors, giving it to just one person.

Giving it good.

Yet, the livestream is not enough. It's enough to get Steve off, but, Jesus Christ, it's not enough. He wants to be there.

He desperately needs to be there so they can fuck nasty in his bunk on the tour bus, in whatever hotel room he's put up in, in the venue dressing room, everywhere. Anywhere. He just wants to fuck him. He wants those smeared eyeliner eyes peaking up at him salaciously between his thighs while he gives him beard burn, sucking him off. He wants--

They don't switch often when Bucky's on the road, generally the full-body workout of drumming night after night leaves him too weak to do much but let Steve fuck him until his brain leaks out of his ears but... God, with so many weeks of separation between them, Steve doesn't care about what's realistic. He's just hungry. He's starved. And he wants those fingers inside him--fingerless gloves on.

Further, the depraved thought of Bucky's drumsticks inside him cross Steve's frantic, messy head. He wants them. He needs Bucky's fucking drumsticks in him. Deep, deep inside him and beating him up deliciously like he hits his kit. Bucky can make music with him, making him moan and whimper and gasp.

Anything.

Steve needs anything but his own fucking fist. He's going insane.

He needs his goddamn rockstar, crazy hot boyfriend.

He just can't fucking deal with it. It's been so long since they've been together in person. Steve's so pent up. And it's to the point that his fantasies don't make a lick of sense anymore, firing through his head so urgently, boiling up and over and making him cum hard with the cheers for an encore ringing in his ears, tinny through his phone speakers.

Yeah... yeah, one isn't enough for when he's strung-out like this. Maybe he needs an encore, too...

Steve's eyelids drop shut, squeezing himself and shivering all over with the oversensitivity.

Yeah.

He's still hard.

(I kinda forgot about the beard for a lot of this 😅 but hopefully, it was still worth it, lol!)

[ughgoaway]

Yes so many constant teacher reader thoughts! What about early dating when she's had a really hard week at school, maybe she's been staying behind for parents night or something and is absolutely exhausted. She's not replying to Matty as much or just giving him short ideas and him being Matty starts to worry that she's having second thoughts about their relationship

Omg people having thoughts about my au is so cool… and this is such a good thought. 

You and Matty have only recently started dating, maybe a month and a bit? And matty thinks it's been going perfectly, but he can't help but feel insecure about the relationship. He is so madly in love with you and has been for so long. He can't help but be nervous he's going to lose you. And he can't bear the thought because he's only just managed to get you. 

You reassure him when he asks that you want to be with him, that you were also pining over him for months, and that this is exactly what you wanted that whole time.

And Matty believes you, for the most part. But there's always that sneaking thought of “what if”. What if she hates me? What if she regrets this relationship? What if she thinks im wrong for her? What if this is all wrong?

////

it's been a stressful week at work. You have parent evening at the end of the week, which means it's lots of late nights preparing everything you're gonna say to each parent. It might seem easy to talk to parents about their kid's progress, but it's one of the worst parts of being a teacher.

It seems parents either think their child is an angel on earth or the spawn of Satan. You say one thing they can improve upon, and suddenly, a parent is jumping down your throat, “How could you? My little Amy is perfect!!” or they start scolding the child in front of you “You are useless! Why can't you just focus for 5 bloody minutes??” 

So you've been fucking exhausted all week, and you've cancelled on Matty twice. You had a date on Monday, but you saw the pile of work on your desk and messaged to reschedule for Wednesday.

Matty then didn't hear from you all of Tuesday or Wednesday, so was already nervous you were mad at him. But when you text to cancel on Wednesday? His heart fucking dropped.

You must be second-thinking this whole thing. Maybe you decided the risk to your job was too much, or maybe Matty isn't how you wanted him to be. 

But in an attempt to stop himself from spiralling too much, he texts George and details his worries. Of course, George simply calls him a twat and says “Trust me, she likes you. It's sickening being around the two of you for more than 10 minutes.”

Matty wants to tell George he and Charli are no better, but he leaves it for today and takes his friend's words at face value.

So he texts back saying it's fine and that he misses you. and each minute that passes by with no response is killing Matty slowly.

After 45 minutes of silence, you just reply “<3”, which doesn't exactly help Matty’s mental state. 

He texts you every day, and each day, your responses get shorter and shorter. Until it's Sunday, and he hasn't heard from you since Friday evening. 

It's then he decides you must be rethinking this, rethinking him. there is no reason why you would be ignoring him otherwise. And it fucking shatters him, he goes into break-up mode before any break-up even happens.

He drops Annie off at Hanns and stops at Tesco, grabbing ice cream, red wine, and tissues. He wants to feel like a girl in a shit romantic comedy, so he's gonna do just that. 

2 bottles of wine later, Matty thinks it's the perfect time to call you… despite it being 3 am. Needless to say, you don't answer. But Matty being Matty, he leaves a wine-drunk voicemail. 

“Heyyyyy y/n. It's Matty. Your boyfriend. I think… anyway, im just calling to say you can just dump me, you know? You don't have to be nice or anything. I won't turn Annie against you. But I don't think I could even if I wanted to, m’ pretty sure she likes you more than me already. But whatever… I've had a few bottles of wine and just thought I should call and tell you im fineeee. Totally fineeee. So yeah, if we’re over of whatever, you can let me know. Because im fine. Like so fine…. Okay, bye.”

And with that, he passes out on the sofa, spilling wine on his rug that he will be forced to scrub tomorrow.

///////

It's 7 a.m., and Matty's head is banging, so much so it sounds like someone is hammering on his door. Oh, wait. Someone is hammering on his door.

He stumbles off the sofa and catches a glance in the mirror, his eyes are hollowed, and heavy bags sit beneath them. Half his curls are flattened and stuck to his head, whereas the others are sticking on end like he had been electrocuted. 

“Ye-” he starts to speak as he opens the door, but you storm in talking before he can even get one word out. 

“BREAK UP WITH YOU? WHY WOULD I BREAK UP WITH YOU?” You stand in Matty’s front room with your hands on your hips. clearly, you had stormed straight over here from your flat, not even bothering to get out of your Halloween pyjamas (it is like May btw <3).

Matty rubs at his eyes and blinks a few times, “what?” he asks, coughing as he finishes because Jesus Christ, his throat feels like it's full of sandpaper. 

“...do you seriously not remember?” you shake your head at Matty with wide eyes, and he nervously shakes his head, and he swears he can almost see the steam coming out of your ears. 

“Matty. You called me at 3 in the morning telling me to dump you. Why the fuck would you think that? Why would I ever dump you?” your voice is softer now and you've come closer to Matty, and he can see any rage you might have had was never really anger.

It was fear. Pure fucking fear. 

“Oh.. that,” Matty says shyly, rubbing at his face and pulling it down. 

“Yup. that,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Okay, im so sorry about that,” Matty starts to explain, desperate to get you to understand his fucking crazy brain, “I had a few bottles of wine and my stupid anxiety took over. You hadn't really spoken to me this week, and you cancelled our date, so I convinced myself you were having second thoughts. And drunk Matty thought the best course of action was a long rambling voicemail reassuring you that you can dump me.”

You nod slowly, and Matty seemingly can't stop his word vomit, “And you can if you want to! But I really don't want you to. Like at all. Im actually kind of obsessed with you, if im honest” Matty steps closer to you and pulls you into his chest. 

Your arms remain limp at your sides for the first few seconds, and Matty wants to die. But just before he pulls away, your arms slip over his shoulders, and your fingers wind into his curls at the back of his neck.

You burrow your head in his neck, and Matty can feel you nodding, “Okay. That makes sense” he breathes a sigh of relief. Thank GOD you didn't dump him then and there. 

You snap back and look at him intensely before saying, “But just so you know, I was planning for parent's evening this whole week. That's why I was so quiet. And I would never break up with you just by ghosting you. And if im being totally honest, I would never break up with you in the first place. or ever, really."

Matty nods and can't help the smile that comes on his face, you don't want to break up with him. ever.

You snap your fingers in front of his face before he can get too happy, “Hey don't you start smiling. I’m still pissed off at you… but you are especially cute in the mornings, so I feel you’re trying to manipulate me into forgiving you... are you?”

“Well that depends, is it working?” he teases

“Maybe... Shut up.”

[thequeenofsastiel]

Frankly, I'm not remotely surprised that she lost. I didn't think for a second that she would win. I didn't want to say anything on here because I didn't want to put bad vibes out just in case it would do anything to make her lose. But now that she's lost, I want to put in my two cents as to why.

There are several factors. First, I think being a WOC and the daughter of immigrants was an issue due to misogyny, racism, and xenophobia. The second was that for all that people said she won the debate, she didn't give any kind of good answer when asked how she'd improve the economy and combat inflation. I think people underestimated how important that was, because I think the main thing Americans are concerned about is the economy and inflation. People were able to buy more groceries under Trump, and the importance of that cannot be overstated. She also should have distanced herself from Biden, given how unpopular he is.

But I think the main thing was the genocide in Gaza.

Too often, Democrats have made the mistake of courting moderates and Republicans and ignoring progressives. I get the mentality behind this. They assume that there's no chance in hell most of us will vote for Republicans, so they think they don't need to inspire us at all. But they don't consider the fact that by giving us nothing to believe in, we won't want to give our vote at all.

Don't get me wrong, I don't think that the reaction to this foolish move should be to just sit back and let Republicans run the country into the ground. I believe in harm reduction, and I will always vote for the most progressive party that I think has the chance of winning. But I can understand why progressives who are more short-sighted than me would stay home. I think the lack of attention to progressives is why Hillary lost in 2016. Biden, on the other hand, worked with Bernie Sanders and actually courted progressives. Along with that, people were horrified by the pandemic. But people have short memories, and the images of mass graves and giant refrigerated trucks housing corpses has faded enough to not matter as much as they should. And the only thing Kamala did to court progressives was to pick Tim Walz as her running mate. She even said that she'd appoint a Republican to her cabinet.

So Gaza. Progressives are the ones who are the most horrified by the genocide occurring. We aren't called "bleeding hearts" for nothing. All Kamala needed to do was express support for Palestine. Call it the genocide that it is, and say that she'll stop selling weapons to Israel if they don't stop targeting civilians. But she didn't do that. She made it clear that she wasn't willing to protect people from genocide if it was politically inconvenient.

So progressives rebelled. We shouldn't have. We should have been cognizant of the fact that Trump will make it so much worse. At least with Kamala there was a small chance that it might get better. Now I don't see a future in which Gaza isn't completely leveled and annexed, along with the West Bank. But many progressives couldn't bring themselves to cast a vote for someone who made it clear that she would sit back and let a genocide happen. I don't agree with that choice. I think it was privileged and short-sighted. But I can understand it. Kamala sacrificed the progressive vote. And I think that at the end of the day, that's why she lost. Kamala fucked up. Progressives fucked up. And now the world will suffer.