#LOVE that fucking AMA though

[rafikisboy]

got bored of scrolling twitter for porn and went to re-read the bill cipher ama instead

sometimes I am just a parody of myself

[housethemd]

One Life For Another

(What if Amber had been the one to survive the bus crash instead of House? Snapshots of Wilson’s life after House. Wilson/Amber, eventual House/Wilson. Just read and you’ll understand.)

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

“Where’s House?”

Amber asks, shortly after her eyes open. Wilson smooths back her hair, thinking she’s just confused, concussed.

“Shh, you were in a bus crash. You’ve been unconscious for nearly 24 hours. You’re going to be okay though.” He reassures her, kissing her forehead.

“Where’s House?” She repeats.

That’s how they find out House was in that crash too. He’d forgotten his wallet at the bar, so he’d been taken to Princeton General as a John Doe. That’s why Wilson only got the call about Amber.

When Wilson gets there, House only has a few hours left. The damage is too extensive. He’d need multiple organ transplants to save him, and he qualifies for none of them because of his addiction. Conceptually, Wilson knows that House would be unlikely to survive regardless.

Amber checks herself out of PPTH AMA, refusing not to be at her boyfriend's side. House is in and out of consciousness, the high doses of Morphine he’s being given make him drowsy.

It’s 3am when House wakes up for the last time. He’s surprisingly lucid, and Wilson knows what that means. He’s seen it time and time again in his patients. It’s like the universe grants them one last chance to say their goodbyes, to make their peace.

“Always knew I’d go first.” House’s voice is rough and quiet. Wilson has to lean in close to hear him.

“Me too, I didn’t think it would be quite so soon though.” Wilson laughs through his tears.

“On the contrary, I think I’ve lived longer than I was supposed to.” House says.

Wilson knows he’s talking about the infarction. He always knew House felt he should have died then, but Wilson always tried to reassure him that it obviously wasn’t his time, and besides, misanthropic bastards are supposed to live forever, aren’t they?

“Oh Greg.” Wilson is starting to shake as he fights the urge to break down.

“S’okay Jimmy.” He soothes.

“Cut throat bitch.” He addresses Amber now.

“Yeah House?” She’s wiping her own tears away, watching someone die is always hard, especially when it’s someone your loved one loves so much.

“Take care of Jimmy for me, okay?”

She finds she can only nod.

They all know it’s time. No one wants to say it, but they all know.

“I love you, Greg.” Wilson says, squeezing House’s hand and leaning close.

“Love you too, Jimmy. You’ve been the bestest friend a fucked up guy like could have asked for.”

Wilson can’t respond through the sobs. House’s eyes are glassy and unfocused. Wilson leans his face on House’s shoulder. His friend is dying.

“See ya, boy wonder.” The words are drawn out and slow, as House says them with his last breaths.

The monitors alarm as House flatlines. Amber rubs circles on Wilson’s back as he sobs loudly into his dead best friend's shoulder.

———————

Wilson gives the eulogy at House’s funeral. It's an open casket. House’s parents had his body dressed in a dark gray suit with a white shirt and a black tie. Wilson hates that they put House in a tie. House always hated ties. They should have put him in a blue shirt, not a white one. He always looked best in blue, it brought out his eyes. Not that you can see his eyes now.

He talks about how House was a healer, how many lives he’d saved that no one else could. How he cared about people, but only when no one was looking. How much he’ll miss, how much he misses him.

He sobs quietly as they lower the casket into the ground. He doesn’t want to make a scene, but if he’s leaning heavily on Foreman, no one says anything about it. Amber never lets go of his hand.

Blythe comes up to him and thanks him, “For being such a good friend to Greg.” He thanks her, tells her that her son was a very special man. He doesn’t know how to tell her that for everything he did for House, House did just as much for him.

——————

A year goes by.

Amber encourages James to talk about House. She knows how important that relationship was to him, and she never wants him to feel as though she’s forgotten. She doesn’t want him to think she expects him to forget.

They buy a house in the suburbs. It has three bedrooms, a large backyard, and a massive living room. It’s perfect for housing a baby grand piano. Despite the fact neither of them can play it, James keeps it.

He kept all of House’s instruments, they were all incredibly important to House and James couldn’t bear to see them go; there was so little that was truly important to House. But while the guitars get put away in cases and stored, James wants the piano displayed. After the movers had left, James just stared at it for a while. Eventually he said,

“He used to play for me when I’d ask. He was quite talented. It was… nice.” Before he went back to unpacking boxes.

Three months after they move into their home, they go out for a night on the town and James gets down on one knee. She says yes, but also says she won’t change her name. No way will she be the fourth Mrs. Wilson.

That night she wakes at 3:30am to an empty bed and the occasional sound of piano keys. She pulls on the shirt James discarded when they tumbled into bed before she creeps just far enough down the stairs to be able to hear him without being seen.

“I missed you a lot today. I asked Amber to marry me. She said yes, but she’s keeping her name. Thinks ‘Mrs. Wilson’ is cursed or something. I know you’d agree with her.”

There is the sound of piano keys being played randomly.

“It won’t be the same. Getting married without you there. I know it’s silly, I’ve done this three times before, but it’s a big day and I wish I could have my best friend by my side.”

Amber creeps back up the stairs. She’s happy James talks to House. She knows his therapist suggested it, and she’s glad to see he’s listening.

——————

Their wedding is small. They end up not doing wedding parties because James can’t bring himself to have anyone but House as his best man. Amber doesn’t mind. At the reception they light a candle “for those who couldn’t be with us” but it’s really just for House.

———————

Eighteen months after their wedding Wilson is standing in one of the PPTH delivery rooms.

“It’s a boy!” The doctor doing the delivery announces.

As Amber dozes that night, Wilson cradles the small bundle that is his son. He looks down at him with awe. The birth certificate sits next to him on the side table, signed by both him and Amber. It reads:

Michael Gregory Wilson-Volkais

He’d been worried about asking Amber to name their son after House. But she’d only smiled at him, and said she thought Gregory made a lovely middle name.

———————-

“Dad, who’s that with you in all the pictures?”

Michael is ten, and they are flipping through a photo album Amber just completed. She insisted they include pictures from before they met, because she was in her mid thirties and he was in his early 40’s when they met, meaning they both had a hell of a lot of life before each other.

“That’s your Uncle Greg.” Wilson answers, as they all stare down at a collage of images of himself and Greg.

“But I thought you only had two brothers, Uncle David and Uncle Danny.” Michael says, confused.

“Greg wasn’t my brother. We met at a medical conference when I was 28, and after that he was my best friend.”

“If he’s your best friend, why haven’t I ever met him?” Michael questions.

Wilson lets out a deep sigh, putting his arm around his son.

“Because he died, Buddy. Before you were born.”

“Oh.” Michael hangs his head, clearly feeling bad. The boy was cursed with his father’s empathy.

“It’s okay. It’s nice to talk about him. Did you know you’re named after him? Your middle name ‘Gregory’ is after your Uncle Greg. Gregory was his full first name.” Wilson tells him.

Michael thinks that’s pretty cool, and they move on to other pictures in the album. That night however, Wilson sits down with a glass of scotch and the album. He sips his drink and reminisces about the moment each picture captures, and all ones that weren’t captured on film.

———————-

At sixty-five Wilson lies in a hospital bed. His wife of twenty-three years is on one side of him, and his twenty-one year old son is on the other. Dying of cancer isn’t how he pictured his life ending, but having family around him makes it somewhat bearable, or maybe that’s the morphine.

He hates to leave his son so early, but that’s the danger of having kids later in life he supposes. Michael is only in his last year of his undergraduate degree - premed. He wants to be an oncologist like his old man. Wilson wonders if watching him die of cancer will change his mind.

He’s said his goodbyes, and slowly light and sound fades away. Strangely, or maybe not, his last thought is not of his wife or son, but of Greg House.

See you soon, old friend.

———————

“Wasn’t expecting to see you for another twenty years at least.”

He recognizes that voice. As he slowly opens his eyes he realizes he recognizes his surroundings too. It’s a forest in upstate New York. He and House used to go backpacking here. They’d spend weekends camped out, cooking everything over their campfire and sleeping side by side in sleeping bags in a two person tent.

He finds the source of the voice seated on a tree stump, and there he is.

“House.” Is the only word he manages.

“In the flesh. Well not really, but you know what I mean.” House smiles and laughs.

He looks like he did the night they met, dark hair and unshaven face. Jeans and a band t-shirt under a leather jacket. Wilson looks down at himself and realizes he’s similarly dressed, his own jeans and McGil sweatshirt. He touches his face and realizes he’s also back to the age he was that night.

“I missed you.” He tells House. It’s true. He didn’t realize how much until right now.

“Come on Jimmy, walk with me.”

House takes him down a narrow path that leads them to a small lake. Wilson remembers it from their camping trips. The only difference is now there is a small cottage next to it.

“So, what have you been up to?” House asks. Like they aren’t dead, like this isn’t some strange afterlife they find themselves occupying.

“Not much. Married Amber. Had a son. Named him Michael Gregory, after you.”

They stare at each other for a moment before bursting out into stomach aching laughter. After they finally stop they wrap their arms around each other in a tight hug. They never hugged much when they were alive, but now it feels right.

“What got you?” House asks softly in his ear.

“Cancer.” Wilson tells him.

“Wow. That’s… ironic.” House says as they pull away.

“Yeah. Yeah it is.”

They make their way into the cottage. House will give him a tour of it, and when the sun begins to set in their version of heaven they’ll lay down together in one bed without question.

In life they never seemed to get things right, and then their time together was cut short.

In death they’ll get it right.

[pastryland]

charlos completed fic recommendations

If any of the authors of the fics mentioned here or are tagged and don't want their fics to be here, please let me know and I'll remove it!

Will update this list periodically

❤️ = favorite

⭐️ = I love fics by this author in general

❌ = triggering themes

🔥 = explicit

punctuated all wrong - 7k - ❤️ ⭐️

Prompt: "I don’t know if someone else agrees with me but I’m a sucker for the whole person A falls in love with person B but they think they don’t deserve person B’s love trope and I’d love to see how it would play out with charlos (not saying who’s person A and who person B, even though that should be pretty obvious)"

head over heels - 44k - ❤️ 🔥

“Oh, really, you think that you, Carlos Sainz, somehow have a kink so fucked up that I wouldn’t be able to handle it, do tell me what it is”, he says, “is it spanking maybe, I’m sure you think that’s beyond taboo, you want to drape me over your lap, punish me for being a bad boy?”, Carlos shakes his head, a small glint in his eye, “Bondage then? Do you want to tie me up?”, another shake of the head, “Whips? Paddles? Feathers?”, Carlos continues shaking his head and so Charles leans in further, his voice dipping lower as he continues. “Maybe you’re into age play then”, he pushes closer, so their faces are only inches apart, “do you want me to call you daddy?”, the air between them feels like it’s on fire as Carlos breathes out a hot laugh, giving another miniscule shake off the head. “Then tell me”, Charles demands and waits as Carlos seems to consider him for a moment, before leaning forwards so his lips are next to his ear, his breath hot against his skin, sending shivers cascading down his body. “Love”.

i feel so much, i feel so numb - 23k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥

As long as he’s known what a soulmate is, he’s known his soulmate’s name. Carlos. Scrawled along the delicate skin of his right wrist.

can't sleep 'til i feel your touch - 8k - ⭐️ 🔥

“I could...” Carlos trails off, and Charles drops his hands from his temples, looking at him curiously. “You could, what?” “...give you a hand.” He says it so casually that it takes Charles a minute to even attempt at understanding what he means. ~ ~ OR: Charles develops insomnia, and the only thing that helps is...Carlos?

the trials of 2022 - 33k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥

A partial summary of the 2022 season, as told by Charles or Carlos, following each race.

dice che ti ama (ma lo sai che mente) - 2k - ⭐️ 🔥

But Charles smiled, dimples out and about, back against the wall of Carlos’ driver’s room. Like he knew he wasn’t in danger. Like he hadn’t entered a lions’ den looking like a three course meal. (Like he knew Carlos was all bark and no bite, and toying with the metaphorical rubber band —stretch, stretch, stretching— wouldn’t ever make it snap into his straight nose.)

Almost Total Wreck - 2k - 🔥 - also has Pierre/Charles

He imagines telling Pierre about it: he spat right in my face and I came like that it was so good, and he’s already replacing the man’s orgasm with his own, making his wounded sounds as he drags it out kicking and screaming, so that by the time he’s done his stomach hurts with it, his head pounds like a fever, more ache than pleasure but that’s what pleasure is, isn’t it?

worthy is the lamb (thank you for the price you paid) - 12k - ⭐️ ❌ 🔥

Predestined (adjective): [ˌpriːˈdes.tɪnd] If you say that something was predestined, you mean that it could not have been prevented or changed because it had already been decided by a power such as God or fate.

my blood is singing with your voice (the saints can't help me now) - 13k - ⭐️ 🔥

He was there. (God was also there.) Carlos walked towards the altarpiece (and the back with the white t-shirt) breathing through his nose like a bull. The cross on his chest wasn’t warm because it got a little chilly at night. He turned. “Carlos.” “Hey, Charles.” “You say my name weird.” Carlos swallowed. “Oh—” “I like it.”

all the king's horses, all the king's men - 38k - ❤️ ⭐️ 🔥

Carlos Sainz was eight years old when he fell in love. (For the first time.) It was at a race track. (It wouldn’t be the last time.)

little of your love - 5k - ⭐️ 🔥

in which Charles gets accidentally knocked up by Pierre, and he’s determined to raise the baby himself. Carlos is having none of that.

I Fell for Your Magic - 10k - 🔥

Charles had been the one to decide the sun rose and set with Carlos Sainz Jr. And it was Charles who had unexpectedly fallen in love with his teammate over the last couple years.

last night - 24k - ⭐️ 🔥

Rule #1: When you go to America, don't lose your virginity to your best friend's roommate. Charles fails Rule #1.

internal mechanics - 15k - ⭐️ 🔥

"Charles was with someone at the gym," Carlos hisses into the phone.

are we out of the woods yet? - 10k

Charles takes a few moments to consider it. It doesn’t sound like him at all. “So I really wanted it.” “Yes,” Carlos repeats, and then frowns. “Do you think–” His voice hardens just the slightest bit, leaning into… something that Charles can’t really place. “I didn’t make you do it.” Charles shifts away from him, staring at the other wall instead. “Of course. But anyway, I don’t know. I don’t remember it anyway.”

mind over matter is magic - 6k - ⭐️ 🔥

Carlos leaned on the side of the pool that overlooked Singapore at night. Arms crossed over the ledge — Carlos almost wanted to look down below. Feel the swoop in his stomach at the realization of how high up they were, relish on it. But, he rationalized, looking at Charles Leclerc usually had the same effect.

the hours i lost - 3k

Charles thinks he was foolish to be afraid of this, of Carlos. He thinks he was foolish to let himself get this far. He thinks he should have given in years ago. He thinks he’ll regret everything once he’s sober.

all the same old places - 13k - ⭐️

Charles stares at Carlos, then. Right at him. His eyes haven't changed, either. They're still the same shade of green - almost blue, even more so in the warm light of the sun. For reasons unknown, Carlos feels like smiling.

Pouring - 10k

At the age of ten, it's easy to talk about how his soulmate will be someone tall and certainly a brunette, because no one really knows what to expect until the moment they actually meet them.

Ballad of a Thin Place - 39k - ⭐️ 🔥

Thrust into the aristocracy after marrying a baronet's daughter, Charles, now a lord, struggles to adapt to the quiet life of an estate in the English countryside. Desperate for the connection and compassion that is lacking from his wife, he pursues a torrid affair with the handsome gamekeeper on their estate, a man who has a past he's trying to escape...

you bring me back to life - 1.8k

Charles said nothing, instead opting to ask him how he had been doing in his racing career. Arthur excitedly relayed everything that he could remember, from paddock gossip to results from race to race. It felt good to be surrounded by family. Not for the first time, he wished that he would have stayed. It is too late anyway. If he dwells on the past he’ll lose his present.

[dootznbootz]

Weeping of the thought of Paris. Btw, what do you think of him as a character? :0

If it's okay, ama add my own little ramble about something:

i genuinely think he'd be so guilty if he reunited with Hector, Priam, Hecuba and rest of his siblings and/or people in hades.

Imagine seeing your dead family, you people in the underworld, because of you. Imagine him seeing Cassandra, who was taken by Agamemnon and killed mercilessly by Clytemnestra. And that never would've happened if the war wouldn't have happened.

Everything could've been amazing. Everything.

But honestly? I don't think Hector would blame Paris for everything. He wants to but damn him he can't bring himself to hate his own brother. And Paris thinks, he wants Hector to hate him, he wants Cassandra to hate him, he wants everyone to hate him. But they just can't ;-;

I don't know how in character or out of character this is. I haven't read the Iliad in a while,,, but it just feels right ;~;

I need them all to hug NOWE

I have such complex feelings on Paris that it's like, hard to describe. I'll go into like, your ramble first though. :D As I think you're right, in how he is definitely guilty about his FAMILY.

And yes, Hector even says "It hurts me that everyone hates you, but at the same time I do not blame them." I think he's mostly guilty about his siblings and family.

Now for MY feelings about the guy as a whole and not his guilt in death

Any time I read this pretty boy dummy I am left like this:

He is somehow more confusing to me than Odysseus. I don't know why. I can't tell what the fuck he wants in the Iliad.

He could easily achieve peace if he just let Helen go fucking home like she wants to yet he wants the fighting to stop. Why doesn't he? I don't think I remember Aphrodite ever strongarming him into "Keep Helen here".

Like...I don't know how to describe it. As he's clearly a victim of fate as well with the Apple and all. How was he to know that the most beautiful woman in the world was actually happily married with a child? How was he to truly know that she would not love him and could never love him without Aphrodite's help?

But...He also already had a wife and child before this too. Oenone and his son. He left to go get milk and then started a war? "Sorry, Oenone, sorry lil one, I got the chance to have a better wife and better life so toodles~."

In some ways, I think this is a very neat contrast to Menelaus in how he left his wife and child behind to start a life with a new one, while Menelaus is willing to go to war to bring the wife he loves so much back home, safe and happy, with him. Back to their daughter who they both miss so much.

Like...he's a victim of fate too...But I get REALLY bothered by how like, he says NOTHING really like, to reassure Helen. We don't really get any sort of "Oh, Helen, I didn't know it would be like this. Please don't cry." or even a "This whole thing sucks, why don't we make the best of it?" like Priam or Hector do. and that really really fucking bothers me. Why are you so chill with her crying?

Or like, okay, so Idk for sure if it's ever implied that Paris is afraid of Aphrodite as well and she's somehow making it so that he just...doesn't wish to give Helen BACK. He lost the fight against Menelaus in Book 3 but he still pulled a "Hey, so I lost but I don't wanna let Helen go back. How about money instead?" I don't know if that was Aphrodite whispering to him or WHAT but the fact that your "wife" is crying and wants to go home and, if Aphrodite has nothing to do with his decisions, you give fuck all about that??? I've mentioned it before, but in a way Odysseus and Helen go through similar shit, and Paris is to Helen what Calypso is to Odysseus. (vice versa more like but you get my drift)

BUT!!! As I mentioned many times already (lol) I DON'T KNOW IF APHRODITE WAS MAKING HIM. Like Calypso did what she did because she's a goddess and just doesn't care. but he's MORTAL. so Idk exactly how to feel as that complicates things. So he's like Calypso but also NOT.

He's strange in that he's selfish (leaves wife and child for "better Wife", kidnaps that "wife" and she's sad and he just kind of doesn't really talk about it, people are dying and he doesn't wanna fight even though HE caused it (though like yeah, he was a shepherd), but like, just so passive too? like he doesn't even really defend himself when Hector calls him out but he also doesn't act like he REGRETS IT.

In some ways, idk, I think I plan to write him possibly being afraid of Aphrodite (as like...to make him THAT fucking selfish and uncaring just feels so fucking bad and icky. "So she's crying and I could return her home any time but I don't want to because she's hot. Yeah people are dying and pissed off but have you considered that crying 'wife' is hot?") but he's also trying to be carefree in how "Hey, we're both stuck in this now. Why don't we try and make the best of it, eh?" And then Aphrodite kind of doing shit to make Helen comply.

And that's another thing that bugs me, idk if Paris is asking Aphrodite to "help him out" but if he is? Like pulling a "Hey, my ego is wounded as I nearly died and now people are mad. Can you make Helen come and hang out with me?"

*sighs* Paris is such an enigma to me honestly. I just weirdly have a hard time understanding him. Idk if I'm maybe too much of a Helen and Menelaus fan (as a ship and as characters lol, they both hate this man) but I don't know. I DUNNOOOO

[nickybloodhead]

You made the Latina reader with earlier James get into my head, I'm obsessed!! I read your last post about him meeting her family and it made me think about something like: She has a SUPER conservative father (who doesn't like James very much) and he always forbids her from seeing him or things like that, and on some nights (when he can't go visit her climbing out of her bedroom window) they have phone sex :/ (it's so cliché but i love it so much)

Uh this thing about your dad hating your boyfriend is so latino coded, plus I love cliches too.

That would be funny, wouldn't it? That your dad doesn't like James and that's why he tries to prevent them from seeing each other, of course you guys are always looking for a way. When James found out he could come through your window, you both made it a nightly habit.

He would quietly walk into your room, you would be a laughing mess and you couldn't help but push him into your bed to kiss him. You'd get a little naughty, he'd be groping every part of your body until one thing would lead to another and you'd end up having soft, quiet sex, all for the sake of keeping the bed from creaking and making noise.

However, being careful wasn't enough, one night your father is in the yard and sees James hanging out of the window about to come in, that of course, doesn't like him. James had to run down the street at full speed while your father chased him threatening to kill him, you admit it was a little funny to see that damn scene out of a movie, what was not funny was the punishment your father gave you, a whole month locked in the house without going out, oh, and he also blocked your window. It was fucking frustrating not seeing your boyfriend, but at least you had his late night phone calls.

"Maybe your dad went a little overboard with the punishment" James spoke on the other end of the line, you chuckled and lay down on your bed.

"You think so? It's like being in prison, mierda, it's so boring" You complained quietly so your parents wouldn't hear you, you sighed wearily. "I miss you, mi amor."

"I miss you too, beautiful, I miss being able to spend time with you, kiss you, hold you...touch you" Those last words sent an electric shock throughout your body, you pulled your legs together and blushed, thoughts quickly began to go into hotter territory.

"It's a shame you can't come do all that, because, you know, you'd find me wearing just your shirt and my panties... Se que amas verme así" You smiled dumbly and closed your eyes, your heart was hammering faster and faster, your breathing became heavier, through the earpiece you heard James gasp and grunt.

"You're right, I love seeing you like that baby. Fuck, you're killing me here, you know that?" his voice had become huskier. James was on the couch, he had spread his legs for comfort and had unzipped his fly as his jeans had become uncomfortably tight. You licked your own lips and sighed, your hand slowly traveled down your chest, abdomen and finally between your legs, just a slight pressure of your hand on your sex.

"Have you thought about me, guapo? Because I can't get you out of my head, I can't stop thinking about what we did a few days ago in your truck" James groaned on the other end of the line, his hand squeezed his erection a little over his boxers as he remembered how she had managed to ride him in the back seat of his truck.

He remembered how tight she was, the wild way she had claimed his lips, she had taken everything from him at that moment, he needed her again.

"You were so wet then.... Tell me pretty, are you wet now?" you whimpered in response and nodded even though he couldn't see you, your fingers slipped under your panties and pressed two of them right over your clit, you gasped and bit your lip.

"Yes, I need you" You looked towards your door to make sure it was locked, with your hand you pulled your underwear down a little. "I would love it if you were kissing me right now, tocándome bien rico"

"Shit, I love when you say things like that" James pulled down his boxers and took his cock in his hand, stroking slowly up and down. He closed his eyes and let himself be carried away by the suggestive images his brain was providing him about you, he could see how messy your bed was, you lying with your legs open ready for him, ready to take it good like you always did.

You could hear his heavy breathing, sure he was already touching himself just like you, all you wanted was to have him here to fuck you once and for all, to have him replace your fingers with his tongue, the very thought of him eating your cunt made you squirm a little and increase the caresses on your sensitive bud.

"I can hear you touching yourself, baby, tell me how it feels" James murmurs, grunting with each tug he gives his cock, you moan a little and tighten the grip you have on the phone.

"Se siente tan bien, though I wish it was you." Your vision is a little blurry from the overstimulation, you feel how soaked you are and how you're dripping on the sheets, you bite your lip to avoid making too much noise, so that only a few squeals are audible, James is going crazy with desire, jerking off a little faster.

"I'd love to be there too, believe me, I need to bury my cock in that tight pussy of yours" You moan a little louder than you should and immediately hide your face in your pillow, you hear James chuckle. "Even without me there you're loud, huh?"

"Fuck James, I'm about to…oh, carajo!"

You feel small spasms in your abdomen, a pleasant warmth runs through your body as your back arches, you muffle your moans against the mattress and bite the covers to contain the scream of relief that is about to escape your lips, you cum deliciously as you listen to James' praise, of course at some point in your ecstasy you let go of the phone. You lie on your back on the bed, catching your breath, your thighs slick with slick.

"Are you still with me, baby?" You hear his distant voice call out to you, you shakily pick up the phone again with trembling hands and settle it close to your ear.

"Still here…" You sound completely relaxed, soft words slipping from your mouth. You knew he hadn't cum yet, so you decided to help him with that. "You know, if you were here, I'd love it if you'd cum in my mouth. Para probarte todo, mi amor”

You heard him grunting and panting, heard the sound of skin against skin, giving you the image of him stroking his length with fervor, a particularly obscene moan along with a few curses let you know he had cum. You let him pull himself together, that had been an intense session, but it was inebitable, they hadn't spent that much time apart and they desired each other.

"Still with me, Het?" You teased him, managing to draw a chuckle from him, laughed with him and sighed contentedly. "I really miss you a lot."

"I know honey, but I'll keep calling you every night without fail, okay? Until that month of punishment is over."

"Promise?"

"I promise beautiful, now go get some rest…I love you."

"También te amo."

What a roller coaster of emotions, but I'm a bitch for fluff so there you go.

[makingmylifebetter]

Disclaimer: So this is the timeline I had to do for my own sanity and that I’m sharing even though it’s obviously just conjecture (based on observations and as objective as I could make it though so🤷🏼‍♀️)

I know fuck abt shit so if I have my facts wrong just correct me!!!💓

My official Jikook timeline I did to stop being insane:

They’ve met in 2012 (fact)

Jimin started to hardcore flirt with JK in 2014 (fact because I do not see how could these be interpreted as jokes, there is no punchline, there is no lead up, no one is laughing, it’s repeated)

JK starts to reciprocate some time later and they are a couple for sure for sure in my mind when gcf in Tokyo hits (conjecture based on logic but also my personal life experience so yeah AMA)

2018 they fight. And I think that continues. Sorry but it’s just my opinion and my opinion is they started to get messy. Getting together and being v happy and breaking up to the point it translated into public appearances. Not much though. I think it’s significant that the BTS was thinking abt breaking up as a group. I think jikook wasn’t the reason but it contributed.

They break up permanently 2019-2020

Jimin flies back for JKs birthday. They reconcile and decide to be friends but

They’re still messy. They fall back into it and fall back out.

They’re still like this to this day. Mess ensues of getting closer and getting back to old habits and knowing it’s bad so separating/putting distance between each other while still loving each other fiercely. Very big push and pull energy

The joined enlistment was proposed by BH (sorry, this is what I thought since I heard abt it. I know it’s very close to peoples hearts but I can’t lie)

Jimin pitches AYS, they do the travel show for Army to have content while they’re away but also to reconnect and figure shit out

Genuinely this is something I felt for a long while and SO FAR these two episodes of AYS made a lightbulb inside my head light up. I have friends like them. I know people like them. I want to believe in fairytale romances but a lot of the times people love each other and are the bestest friends but they still relapse into old habits (especially if they’re the easy comfortable option).

Yet again I DO NOT aim to offend anyone. Just get my opinion out there in hopes of reaching other similarly minded people and discussing stuff and things💓

[luneemeritus]

I love the Brazilian Portuguese translation of PotO 🥹

"All I Ask of You (Reprise)" is so much heartbreaking, because Erik says "ele só te ama pois te ouviu cantar", which translates to "he only loves you because he heard you sing", holy fuck it's so accurate! Raoul didn't recognize Christine until she sang, while Erik tought her how to sing and saw a much deeper and more meaningful person aside from her singing talent. And still on the AIAOY Reprise, he finishes saying "tudo o que o Fantasma só pediu", which translates to "all that the Phantom only asked", much more desparate and pleading rather than demanding.

My favorite line comes from Christine during "The Final Lair", she says "não estás mais só" which translates to "you are not alone anymore" 🥹 she WANTED TO GO WITH HIM!! SHE WANTED TO SHOW HIM LOVE AND AFFECTION AAAAAAAA, she was there for him!! But he decided it was better to apart their ways, even though he loved her more than anything... i'll cry. I'm proud of my Brazil 🥹🇧🇷❤️

Thiago Arancam (Erik) and Lina Mendes (Christine) ☝🏼

[twilghtkoo]

in which, yeonjun looks amazing on tv and you can’t do anything about it

pairings. yeonjun x (f) reader

genre. fluff

warnings. yeonjun at the ama’s TT

-

“baby?”

“junnie!”

he lowers his head to hide the blush that forms on his cheeks, biting his lip to contain his smile even though you can’t see him and he’s away from his members at the moment.

“hi baby, did you see me?” he asks.

on the other side of his phone, you have your tv paused on the boys in the middle of another one of their interviews. all of them look amazing tonight. but your boyfriend who’s in los ángeles, surrounded by all these other celebrities and fans that get to witness in person, your godly handsome, black hair, tall, lover.

it pains you honestly. only seeing him through a screen. you can only imagine what cologne he used.

and lord did you look on twitter for more photos of your man.

stressing out, with your free hand running through your hair.

“yes i did see you, you fucker!” you exclaim into your speaker, yeonjun frowns at the name.

“what?”

“baby, you looked so fucking hot tonight but your across the fucking globe and it literally pains me.” you admit, punching the pillow that’s on your lap with your fists.

he giggles, “really? i looked hot?”

“yes!” you whine. wishing that he could be here right now so you can devour every single ounce of him. you wanted his necklace dangling over your-

“baby?”

“huh?” you shake your head.

get your head out the gutter!

“i said i wish you were here with me.” he tells you. he wanted you to come along with him, wanted you to experience this huge breakthrough with his members.

you sigh, “me too. but you have a flight tomorrow morning so i’ll see you very very soon.” trying to lighten his slightly down mood even though you’re also missing him deeply. even if he was only gone for a couple of days.

you hear him take a deep breath. “yeah. i can’t wait to see you…”

“yeonjun hyung!” you hear beomgyu’s voice echo through the speaker.

“aish…i gotta go baby, wait for me at home?”

you smile, “of course my love.”

[danielmolloystits]

break up with your girlfriend, i'm bored (1/2) (Armand/Daniel, Lestat/Daniel)

Summary:

“Armand?” Lestat looks at him very seriously, then. “He has neglected you?” Daniel laughs, though there isn’t much humor in it. “That’s one fuckin’ word for it, sure.” “Oh, mon ami.” Lestat’s eyes are round and wet like an animal’s. “A prize such as yourself does not deserve this terrible treatment.” He shrugs. “You get used to it.” “No.” Lestat grabs one of Daniel’s hands in both of his own, making such intense eye contact with the journalist that it starts to grow uncomfortable. “You deserve better. You must understand this.” “Okay,” Daniel agrees, shifting a little in his seat. Anything to move past this point in the interaction. “I deserve better.” “Good,” Lestat says, nodding resolutely to himself. “This is why you should let me fuck you.”

Pairing: M/M (Daniel/Lestat, Armand/Daniel) Rating: E WC: ~1,600

In his furry lime-green rock star coat, Lestat sort of looks like a Muppet.

“You look like a Muppet,” Daniel says, because it’s true. And also because he’s very drunk. The couple the two of them had split must have had a combined blood alcohol content that could level an elephant.

They’re currently at a VIP booth in a shitty nightclub in the Village. Daniel thinks they were meant to be doing something for the book, but they lost sight of whatever goal that was some number of hours ago.

“What is a Muppet?” Lestat asks with his head tilted, yelling to be heard over the obnoxious EDM beat. His French accent is more pronounced when he’s sloshed, apparently, because the vowels and consonants slur together like a watery porridge. He scowls, evidently hearing Daniel’s thoughts. “Excusez-moi, Monsieur Molloy, that my refined and romantic native tongue is lost on you.”

“I never said anything about your tongue,” Daniel argues, just as loudly. “S’your accent that’s shit. I’m sure your tongue is fine.”

Lestat looks at him suspiciously. “Are you ‘negging’ me, Monsieur Molloy?”

“In hindsight, introducing you to Reddit might have been a mistake.”

“Ah, but they love me there!” The blond sighs dreamily, a serene smile crossing his features. “Finally, my incisive wit is getting the recognition it deserves in the form of their so-called karma.”

Daniel snorts, says, “I’m not sure our publicist would have signed off on the AMA if she had known you were going to post hole, though.”

“You have to give the people what they want,” Lestat protests, solemn and sage-like. “And it was tasteful!”

The journalist raises an eyebrow at that, but otherwise says nothing.

“I can hear your thoughts, Monsieur Molloy,” Lestat reminds him with an edge of danger, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “And it was tasteful. You certainly seem to have a vivid recollection of it.”

“What can I say?” Daniel shrugs agreeably. “You definitely gave the people what they wanted.”

Lestat beams at him, then, brighter than any of the lights in the Manhattan skyline.

Twenty minutes later and Lestat is crying. He and Louis are currently in the “off-again” part of their whole on-again/off-again deal, and it’s clearly hitting him pretty hard.

“No one will ever love me,” he sobs, eye makeup streaking down his sculpted cheeks. “I will be alone always.”

“Hey, bud,” Daniel tries, awkwardly patting him on the shoulder. “That’s not true.”

“You do not understand what it is like, Monsieur Molloy,” Lestat sniffles, looking up at Daniel with a trembling pout, “to be abandoned so many times.”

“I’ve got something of an idea,” Daniel mutters, and now he’s rubbing small circles into Lestat’s back. “I’m no stranger to being left.”

This seems to only break Lestat’s heart further. “But you are so beautiful! Who would ever leave you?”

“I’ve been divorced twice.”

Lestat makes a wounded noise. “I am sorry to hear that. But it is a different matter entirely,” he says, “when your fledgling, a being borne of your own blood, does not want you.”

“Yeah, well,” Daniel deadpans. “It’s not like my Maker is too interested in me, either.”

“Armand?” Lestat looks at him very seriously, then. “He has neglected you?”

Daniel laughs, though there isn’t much humor in it. “That’s one fuckin’ word for it, sure.”

“Oh, mon ami.” Lestat’s eyes are round and wet like an animal’s. “A prize such as yourself does not deserve this terrible treatment.”

He shrugs. “You get used to it.”

“No.” Lestat grabs one of Daniel’s hands in both of his own, making such intense eye contact with the journalist that it starts to grow uncomfortable. “You deserve better. You must understand this.”

“Okay,” Daniel agrees, shifting a little in his seat. Anything to move past this point in the interaction. “I deserve better.”

“Good,” Lestat says, nodding resolutely to himself. “This is why you should let me fuck you.”

Daniel sputters, coughs. “Pardon?”

“He has mistreated you terribly,” Lestat explains, as though it ought to be obvious. Daniel supposes that it is, to him. “And he hates me. It would make him, how you say, ‘triggered.’”

“We really need to get you off of Reddit.”

Lestat stares at him with all of the earnestness of a schoolboy and all of the tortured emotion of a lovesick puppy. “Please, mon cher, allow me to do this for you. It is the least I can do to repay your kindness in sharing my story.” He pauses. “And the rat bastard has it coming, if I am to be perfectly honest.”

Daniel considers, then, that the other vampire might need this just as much—if not more—than he does. Besides, it’s not like Lestat isn’t 6-foot-something of stone cold hottie.

All things told, he’s had harder decisions to make in his long and storied life.

“All right,” he says. “Fuck it. Let’s bang.”

For a revenge screw, Lestat is taking this surprisingly seriously. He’s brought Daniel back to their hotel, to the luxury suite he demanded as part of his rider, and he’s currently nosing along the hard length of Daniel’s cock with a level of reverence more befitting a prince.

“You are a prince,” Lestat says, pressing a chaste kiss to the vein that runs along his shaft, as if to punctuate his point. “I would like very much to show you what you are worth.”

He seems much more sober now, focused in like there is no world beyond the four posters of this ridiculous canopied bed.

Daniel’s fingers curl in the sheets as Lestat replaces his lips with his tongue, tracing the stolen blood that throbs underneath the skin as though he’s trying to take Daniel’s pulse. “Fuck,” he curses, hips bucking up a fraction in search of greater contact.

“So sensitive,” Lestat murmurs, as his tongue continues to map out the journalist’s skin. “What a pity that Armand did not take proper advantage of you.”

He sucks the head into his mouth, drawing a low hiss from between Daniel’s teeth. “We don’t need to talk about him.”

“No?” Lestat asks, pulling off to grin cheekily at him. “So you would not be interested to know, then, what he is saying to me right now?”

“You’re talking to him?”

“Showing him, actually,” Lestat corrects, dragging his tongue back down to the base once more, “what it is he is missing out on.”

Something about that makes Daniel’s cock harden even further. He may possibly be a little fucked in the head. Oh well , he thinks, tangling the fingers of one hand in Lestat’s silky hair. Might as well lean into it. “If you’re trying to tease me to death, I have terrible news,” he says aloud. “That ship has already sailed.”

Lestat chuckles where his open mouth is pressed against him, the low rumble of it reverberating all the way down to Daniel’s bones. Patience, mon ami, he tells him telepathically. Some things are meant to be savored.

“Sure,” Daniel says, biting back a moan as Lestat continues languishing in his slow exploration of the journalist’s body. “But could you maybe savor it a little faster?”

Lestat ignores him, obviously enjoying himself far too much to dignify that with a response. “Do you want to know what Armand is saying, as he watches me worship you?”

And Daniel isn’t sure how to answer that, really, but he figures the high-pitched keening noise that escapes his throat probably suffices.

“He is saying that he will break all of my fingers,” Lestat continues, peppering filthy, wet kisses all over Daniel’s cock. “That I am not worthy to touch you.” He gazes up at Daniel, his eyes gleaming with a lurid sort of mischief. “Do you think I am worthy to touch you, Monsieur Molloy?”

Without warning, he slides Daniel into his mouth down to the root, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Hard.

“Fuck, yes,” Daniel groans, head lolling back and the hand in Lestat’s hair tightening its grip as the other vampire begins to bob up and down in earnest. “So fuckin’ worthy, baby.”

Oh, he really did not care for that, Lestat says inside of his mind.

Good, Daniel thinks back. I hope that motherfucker suffers.

Lestat brings his hand up to work in tandem with his mouth, stroking Daniel exactly the way he likes it, as if he’s been watching him masturbate since he first learned how. And, fine. Maybe Daniel gets it now—why so many vampires have lost their entire goddamn minds over this one hunky Frenchman. Because, God, the man is like a fucking Hoover, he thinks, and he can feel Lestat preening at the silent compliment.

It’s embarrassing, almost, how quickly the other vampire has him on edge, his eyes squeezing shut as he forgets himself in the sensation of Lestat’s soft lips, Lestat’s playful tongue. He isn’t going to last long, he knows, and he doesn’t even care; he’s too busy relishing in the sinful decadence of it all, in the way his pleasure builds and builds to a deafening crescendo.

Then, right as he’s tumbling over that glorious precipice, two things happen at once. First: Lestat releases him with an obscene, wet plop, so that Daniel’s release streaks hot and messy all over his face.

Second: the door slams open so hard it rattles on its hinges.

[slutforwholesomeness]

Life Update (20/06/2024):

It's my birthday! I'm still ill, so I'm not having the best time, but fuck it, we ball. I wanna do an AMA today (even though my asks are always open), so if you have any questions, don't be shy, ask away! I hope you all have a lovely day ❤️

[uhhhreaperalt]

Reaper Collective Intro!

⚰︎We're BODILY 18! We're a Fictive heavy, Traumagenic DID system of 200+ [medically recognized!!] and uhh yeah!

We're also schizophrenic + AUDHD

english is NOOTT our first language so pardon if there's any misspellings or any of that.

⚰︎ Current hosts and frequent fronters

Keith/Cameron/BF [Co-host#2 ] Michael/BB [Co-host #1]

The intro's of these two will be color coded to the colors above!

Michael/BB

I'm a 25 y/o Trans masc.

I also happen to be aro/ace.

I'm a punk guy.

I do my best! I don't rlly know what to put here lMAO

I love family; it's what's closest to me, personally. I'm also a gatekeeper + an anger holder, but I end up making sure nobody does anything stupid /lh

That's bout it, got any questions for me; please ask!

Keith/Cameron/BF

HII :777

I'm Keith or Cam but call me whatever !!! , I tend to sign of with /kei or /BF! maybe xxbeef if im too lazy to color the text so if you see that, it's me!!

I'm 19; and I'm a Genderfluid pansexual [I'm also poly, got so much love to give </3}, though I prefer masculine pronouns!

BB IS my big brother, so only I get to bully him /j

I do have two partners in sys! Our Pico, and Our Girlfriend! I do not shut up about them but! And I will permanently be fucking up our likes and Spotify wrapped forever until I die /j

I'm also a soother + caregiver !! I do my best but I'm kind of "jumpy" if that's the right word!

Frequent fronters [more to be added]:

Billy/Yourself

22 - transmasc

Pansexual + demi

Prefers he/they but doesn't really mind any as long as they're not feminine

#1 in sys for actually getting shit done [gold star for him]

Protector+ Symptom/Trauma Holder + Regressor [adding that because he's regressed like once.]

also freakishly tall but lit one of our sweetest people. though he tends to speak very formally!! Just an FYI <3

AMA! <3 more intros to come! If you need / want to dm us, PLEASE ask for our disc we're NEVER on our tumblr mssgs and often forget tumblr is a thing. also, if you need to reach us here; @ us at here, or @zerooup! this is our main as of rn though!! or if its super urgent pls send us an ask... we're a bit not smart when it comes to tumblr.

Discord is @/zerooup. ! please ask before adding me so i know to expect reqs!! we love interacting with people but sometimes i explode mentally and forget what im doing </3 promise we're not ignoring anyone!!

Feel free to tag us in stuff if you'd like!

TAGS.

xxrc yaps - usual ramblings and yapping

xxrc vents - vents

xxbeef - from cam/keith

xxMichael - from michael

xxBilly. - From billy

xxrc announcements - updates and otherrr important stuff main blog @reapercollective ! as i want to keep my main and @zerooup seperate

[bellamer]

I’m sorry but I still refuse to believe that the love interests in Mass Effect aren’t skilled enough to at least send Shepard a handwritten note that says “U Good ?” when she was on house arrest. Kaidan, sure, he’s a boy scout and as much as he’d want to he’d decide against it but Thane is an assassin and Garrus was a vigilante hunting down criminals I refuse to fucking believe that those two wouldn’t or couldn’t find a way, I refuse. Thane and his little “I was blocked” excuse is straight up cheeks and even though Garrus is busy he’s the only one in game that I know besides Jaal Ama Darav who calls you pet names and actually calls himself your boyfriend , that man is head over heels, ain’t no way he wouldn’t have found a way.

I’m just in serious denial right now don’t mind me.

[dootznbootz]

Im going to be so so so so so so so so so so soooo fucking for real. I hate Circe x Scylla with every FIBER every INCH OF MY BEING

Why? Because it's honestly victim x abuser

Ik we all like our toxic yuri, but let me out it this way: There are two main versions of Scylla's myth, that is, where Scylla is turned into a monster.

In one, she's turned into a monster by Circe for rejecting Glaukos. Which- She literally got her entire life TAKEN AWAY BY CIRCE because she rejected some dude she didn't like. And that Circe happened to like

Scylla didn't do anything wrong, that's just Circe being a bitch

And in another one, she runs away from Glaukos when he tried to charm her. And yadaya he went to Circe to ask for a potion to charm Scylla. Circe thought the gods wouldn't like something like that (idk that's what happened in the myth. But we all know our Greek mythology so this is kinda weird-) and offered to be Glaucus's lover instead. When he refused her, she got so angry and jealous she turned innocent Scylla into a monster.

SHE TOOK SCYLLA'S WHOLE LIFE AWAY BECAUSE SHE WAS PETTY 😭😭😭😭😭😭

And NO Circe book, Circe didn't feel sorry about it.

I love Circe so much, like so much, but Scylla deserves someone so much better. Justice for Scylla I feel so bad for her. Girl rejects a guy she didn't like, and then gets morphed into a man eating monster

And also, ama need people to stop trying to put all the blame on glaucus and trying to justify Circe's actions. Just please acknowledge your "girl's girl girlboss doesn't need no man feminist icon" is actually a really terrible person. Shipping Circe with Scylla is like shipping Hera with one of the innocent women she killed for sleeping with Zeus (even though they didn't have a choice most of the time), it's literally just so ehh for me

And I'm not here to hate on anyone who likes the ship, but me personally? I hate it so much bro

Oh, I absolutely get where you're coming from. In general, when it comes to "toxic ships", it'll always be so much fascinating to me to just have them fucking hate each other. No romance or attraction and/or "hate-fucking".

I can understand the appeal of toxic yuri in a way (I've always preferred yuri in general over yaoi lol) but like, I think it's juicier even to have that visceral fucking hatred. Especially from Scylla's end. And even then, Circe talks mad shit about Scylla in the Odyssey.

In there lives Scylla. She has a dreadful yelp. It’s true her voice sounds like a new-born pup, but she’s a vicious beast. No mortal man would feel good seeing her, nor would a god who crossed her path. She has a dozen feet, all deformed, six enormously long necks,      with a horrific head on each of them, and three rows of teeth packed close together, full of murky death. Her lower body she keeps in her hollow cave, out of sight, but sticks her heads outside the fearful hole, and fishes there, scouring around the rock for dolphins, swordfish, or some bigger prey, whatever she can seize of all those beasts moaning Amphitrite keeps nourishing in numbers past all counting. No sailors                 yet can boast they and their ship sailed past her without disaster. Each of Scylla’s heads carries off a man, snatching him away                         right off the dark-prowed ship. [...] Why won’t you yield to the immortal gods? She’s not human, but a destroyer who will never die— fearful, difficult, and fierce—not someone                you can fight. There’s no defence against her. The bravest thing to do is run away.                              If you linger by the cliff to arm yourself, I fear she’ll jump out once more, attack you with all her heads and snatch away six men, just as before. Row on quickly past her, as hard as you can go. Send out a call to Crataiis, her mother, who bore her to menace human beings. She’ll restrain her— Scylla’s heads won’t lash out at you again.     

(Book 12, Johnston)

(I think it's interesting how Circe yells at Odysseus about how he won't yield to immortal gods but that's a bit outta context AND an entirely differently thing.)

It's kind of a curious thing in which Circe seems to imply that Scylla was BORN as a monster based on how she mentions Scylla's "mom". I don't know if this is just "Homeric version" of the myth or what but it's something neat to think about.

And honestly? My Circe, being the wacky potion making scientist gal I have her as, would probably be even more of a bitch in how "ooooo experiment time." only to realize "Oh wait, I made her too scary and TOO powerful. hm. nevermind. Not going near her."

With Circe and shipping, idk, I've always felt like she'd be like "messy". It's not that she's not capable of love, I think she's just like, so much of a "I do whatever the fuck I want" that she probably wouldn't really respect her partner's boundaries. She's like Maureen from "Rent" and/or PotC's Calypso where the only reason why she didn't see Davy Jones after he waited was "It's in my Nature".

In which she's just like "Look you either want me as I am, meaning I do whatever the fuck I want, OR you leave."

Like she loves, but she's not like, a ride or die partner. (I mean Odysseus was an experiment to her, as that's how she views mortals in my stuff. She thinks Mortals are kind of gross. She only has sex with him once because of this.) She's FwB with Hermes in my stuff as well, as yeah, Gods are less "gross".

Honestly, I think if people wanna ship Scylla with someone, I think Caribbidis would be fun?? Monster Wives??? (HOT) Both were cursed, they're close to each other, etc. Like, idk how much sentience Caribidis has, being a giant fucking mouth, but idk. maybe they could chat and bond?? even just as friends.

[blouisparadise]

Upon request, today we have a rec list of bottom Louis fics that are based on Louis' solo songs, Harry's solo songs, or One Direction songs. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) Sweet and Sour, Hearts Devoured | Explicit | 1,756 words

Note: This fic is inspired by One Direction's song No Control.

Louis wakes up in a hotel bed to find Harry's not beside him. He starts remembering their previous night together, and when Harry returns to find him jerking off, he decides to bring him to orgasm himself.

2) Little Black Dress | Not Rated | 1,973 words

Note: This fic is inspired by One Direction's song Little Black Dress.

Based on the song ‘Little Black Dress’ by One Direction.

3) No Control | Explicit | 2,368 words

Note: This fic is inspired by One Direction's song No Control.

"I'll make this feel like the first time."

4) Your Good Time | Explicit | 3,070 words

Note: This fic is inspired by One Direction's song Temporary Fix.

Louis and Harry meet in a bar when Harry's date is an ass.

5) Blue Lights To Dreams | General Audiences | 3,741 words

Note: This fic was inspired by Harry's song Little Freak.

“I’m glad we’ve made it so far,” Louis said, smiling widely, giving a second look to the diamond ring in his ring finger. “I love you H.” After a few seconds Harry grinned at him and responded, “I love you more than anything else Lou, I’m happy that you are the one I’ll always come home to everyday”. The view of the Caribbean waters made their date better, but not perfect because that was a Harry and Louis thing, to be perfect together. “I’m glad we’ve made it so far,” Louis said, smiling widely, giving a second look to the diamond ring in his ring finger. “I love you H.” After a few seconds Harry grinned at him and responded, “I love you more than anything else Lou, I’m happy that you are the one I’ll always come home to everyday”. The view of the Caribbean waters made their date better, but not perfect because that was a Harry and Louis thing, to be perfect together.

6) I'm Your Goodnight | Explicit | 4,310 words

Note: This fic is inspired by One Direction's song Temporary Fix.

Louis is bombarded with Larry questions from an interviewer after the 2015 AMAs, and becomes too overwhelmed to stick around for the after party. He bails on the band and goes home to his LA apartment to spend the night there. After a couple hours of constant tossing and turning in bed, Louis can't get his mind off of the interview from earlier so he calls Harry looking for some comfort.

7) Please Master | Explicit | 4,344 words

Note: This fic is inspired by Harry's song Carolina.

“I was staring at you”, Harry says quietly, his fingers dancing on Louis’ heated skin, “earlier, on the dancefloor. I know you noticed me. But you’re used to people staring, aren’t you?” Though the question comes with a chuckle, it feels to Louis as though he is being scolded. Scolded, for he is desirable, and innocent, and untouched, and irresistible. Words, all of which were said to him by Harry as he requested his company for his endeavors for the night. It was the manner in which he said them, with a drawl so slow it reminded Louis of the way he liked to pour honey in his tea in the afternoon; through a spoon slightly tilted, each drop a triumph of its own. Most he had liked how the words had melted his mind as hot water did to honey; persistently, inevitably. And, much like he does his tea, it appears he prefers his company – sweet, steaming, and alone. “I think you enjoy it. The staring. I think you find pleasure in knowing you are wanted, a thrill in being chased. How boring”, Harry says, appearing indifferent to Louis despite the cruel nature of his words. “It’s a pity. You enjoy feeling like a slut, but all you need is somebody to fuck the seductive little brat out of you.”

8) I Can't Get You Out Of My Mind (I Still Crave It) | Mature | 4,520 words

Note: This fic is inspired by Harry's song Complicated Freak.

"You're an idiot," It was Lya's time to interrupt. "Why would you want another guy when you already have yours? Don't you ever get tired of those silly games?" "It is different!", Louis defended himself again, mouth open. "How come is it different?" Lya asked again. "I love Harry," it was easy like breathing. "He's the love of my life, I'm going to marry him," Louis looked around, until his eyes looked with Harry's, glossy and vibrant. "That guy was just a hook."

9) One More Taste Of Your Lips To Bring Me Back | Explicit | 5,469 words

Note: This fic is inspired by One Direction's song Love You Goodbye.

“I should go.” He dropped the box. Harry stepped closer. The hand around his wrist left, going to hover over the curve of his hip where the jumper had ridden up. Harry wasn’t touching him and Louis felt frustrated that he wasn’t taking the opportunity for escape. He took a step back, breath hitching when Harry followed. “You-I haven’t seen you in a skirt since…” Harry trailed off, his voice filled with too much emotion for this to be the short, simple goodbye it was supposed to be. Louis swallowed harshly, but offered, “Since the AMAs after party at Niall’s.” Harry nodded slowly, his eyes drifting up and over every inch of Louis, drinking in the sight as if it was the last time. It is, Louis told himself, it’s over. Leave. Leave. “Fuck. You, you look so pretty, I- dammit,” and then Harry was finally looking at Louis' face, eyes sharp and darkening into something that Louis was familiar with. He couldn’t breathe with Harry’s eyes on him, heavy. His heart was stuttering unevenly and he jumped when his back hit the wall, gasping softly. “Why?” Harry asked, his fingers finally brushing the hem of his skirt.

10) Just Stop Your Crying (It's a Sign of the Times) | Explicit | 5,864 words

Note: This fic is inspired by Harry's song Sign Of The Times.

My own imagining of the inspiration for Sign of the Times. Featuring boys in love, even after all this time.

11) Stockholm Syndrome | Not Rated | 17,985 words

Note: This fic is inspired by One Direction's song Stockholm Syndrome.

"You see, I don't see insanity as a burden or a horrible thing anymore. I chose to be insane because that's the only time I truly feel free."

12) Strong Enough | Explicit | 20,791 words

Note: This fic is inspired by Louis' song Fearless.

Five years after Vertigo goes on hiatus, the band comes back together for a benefit concert. Can Louis and Harry work through their complicated past, or are some wounds too deep to be healed?

13) What's Left Of My Halo's Black | Explicit | 22,464 words

Note: This fic is inspired by Louis' song Holding On To Heartache.

A year after a devastating breakup, Louis is still trying to put himself back together - but getting over a breakup is hard when you work as a wedding planner. Thankfully, his coworker Harry is the most supportive friend Louis could ask for. But Harry has some secrets of his own, and they send Louis' world spinning off its axis all over again.

14) Hash Brown, Eggyolks. I Will Always Love You | Mature | 26,883 words

Note: This fic is inspired by Harry's album Harry's House and unreleased songs.

Harry loves watching Louis, it never gets old or boring for him because everytime he looks at him he finds traces of something new he didn't find the last time and it always left him in awe to call Louis as the love of his life, he get to call him his and he get to know someone as amazing as Louis. The way there's a small mole underneath his chins and traces of freckles wrapped around his cheeks like constellations. Louis is so beautiful to just sit and admire what he's like and the small omega didn't even know how beautiful and how important he is for him. That's why whenever Louis would get inside his head and be an insecure mess, harry would kiss every tear away and would fill Louis up with love. He never wanted Louis to go to a drop again because of it so he always makes sure to give him enough of everything he will ever need. Andy place down their orders as harry was still lost in staring at his muse that Louis was quickly arranging their food in the way he loves to. "Okay we've finally got our hash browns, some nice sunny side up egg yolks.. and what else?" Louis rambled, trying to organize the many food his alpha had ordered for him. "I love you."

15) Somebody's Got Your Trainers On (It's You) | Explicit | 28,000 words

Note: This fic is inspired by Louis' song Saturdays.

Louis hasn't thought about Harry since half an hour after the shift started, when Krystle told him that she was binging Gogglebox last night and therefore didn't get enough sleep - a sure reminder of Harry’s temporary Gogglebox obsession. Five hours isn't much without thinking about someone, but that's as long as it gets. Louis came to terms with that two years ago. When Harry walked out the door with his stupid New Balance trainers and never looked back.

16) The Pink Album | Not Rated | 31,039 words

Note: This fic was inspired by Harry's debut album.

They don’t really discuss how hard it is to be in this situation, or to be doing the things they have to do to continue being together. It’s just something they don’t talk about, and that’s alright. Or maybe it isn’t, but they’ll cross that bridge when they get to it.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[previousloversandmuses]

FREQUENCY: Episode 4 - A Solider Boy Story

FREQUENCY:  A Soldier Boy Story

EPISODE 4: “Virginia Woolf”

WORD COUNT: 4815

PAIRING: Soldier Boy X Reader 

WARNINGS: (NSFW) Foul language. Mentions of, and graphic depictions of sex. TRIGGER WARNING: Offensive slurs. Violence, depression, and mentions of suicide. 

A/N: This story is dark, and covers mature themes. The main character, as well as other major characters, are offensive in nature, and may offend some people. Please peruse with caution, and remember that this is fiction. Reader discretion is advised. Please message me for any questions, comments, or concerns. 

Masterlist | Taglist

No but seriously, if you're easily offended, this episode is not for you. Please remember that I am a writer, and the things my characters say are not my personal beliefs.

John was the closest thing I had to a romantic partner. We would have sex, he’d complain to me about something, and then I’d beg him to get revenge on Vought. We both understood each other well, and knew the other person's likes and dislikes. I knew what pissed him off more than anything, and he knew niche things like I didn’t like mustard. I knew he was unbeatable, and he knew that I was breakable. That was in comparison to Maeve, obviously. 

We would be fucking, his hot, suped up skin slapping into mine with unrelenting fervor. I wouldn't just feel him in my cervix, no; I’d feel my bones rub against each other, I’d hear my joints brace for impact as they tried desperately not to shatter. My fingers would grip whatever surface I was closest to. I’d hopelessly try and grasp for some sort of leverage, my knuckles popping, and turning a stark shade of white as I clenched tighter, and tighter as he pierced into me from behind. 

I’d be too overwhelmed to speak. Choking on screams, the breath being stolen from my lungs. He would get so into it, he’d forget how fragile I was in comparison to him. I’d try to pry myself out of his strong grasp, flopping myself down onto the mattress like a fish out of water. He’d pull away then, letting me go, and admiring his painting of broken capillaries on my asscheeks. I’d be bruised for weeks on end. One time I had to go to the hospital. A nurse asked what I did to myself, I told her I fucked The Homelander. She laughed, and said, “good one.” 

I remember he and I getting into a big fight because he used to follow me around town when I would’nt answer his phone calls. I told him he had no right to put a leash on me, and if he wanted to do that then he could just ask me to be his, and we’d call it a day. He never wanted that commitment though. And if I’m being honest with you, neither did I. To get back at me for ignoring him he started fucking Stormfront. The Nazi. Yeah, I saw that one coming. When she died he came crawling back. 

I stood by my open door on my balcony, wearing nothing but a pair of underwear. He knelt below me, his arms wrapped around my waist, resting on top of my ass like a shelf. He smashed his face into my lower stomach, placing gentle kisses, and speaking into me. He was begging me to forgive him. I gazed off into the distance, acting angry with my arms crossed over my chest, pouting. But if I’m being honest with you, I never felt more powerful than in that moment. The strongest man in the world begging for my forgiveness? I gave in very easily to that one.

I stayed up all night last night worrying about SB. Should I just tell Ama? Should I be honest, and let her know I’m housing an enemy of the state on her property? What if she didn’t buy the love story? What if she kicked us out, and I couldn’t get my revenge on Vought? What if John finds out, comes to find me, and kills everyone in his path, including my super weapon? There would be laser burns in the earth from here to timbuktu. 

See, in the beginning I was NOT planning on referring to SB as my boyfriend, or partner, or whatever. I didn’t even think that far ahead. In fact, I’m not even sure what I was going to refer to him as when the time came. But now that I’m here, and now that she has assumed that we’re an item, I guess there is nothing else I can do. He would be my fake boyfriend, and I would be the awkward girlfriend who didn’t like showing physical intimacy. I’m sure that wouldn’t be too hard to believe.

I mean, I could show physical intimacy with him, I could try, at least. But hell, I barely knew how to show it with someone like John, and he's been seeing me naked for almost four years now. 

I roll out of bed with a groan. I definitely didn’t get enough sleep. I open the blinds, and squint as the beaming morning shines in on me. High UV index, I think, or, I feel. Sunscreen is definitely a must. Looking out the window, I smile as a few of the res kids run around, spraying each other with a garden hose. That joy is short lived as I turn to see Soldier Boy SITTING NEXT TO FIVE OTHER UNASSUMING ADULTS, AND HAVING GOD KNOWS WHAT KIND OF CONVERSATION WITH THEM HOLY FUCK-

I scramble out of my bedroom, tripping over the pillows I piled onto the floor last night before I fell asleep. I rush over to the front door, only to catch myself in the reflection of the microwave. Yeah, let's not go outside in underwear and a skimpy tank top. I bactrack into the bedroom, sliding on a pair of jeans, and a bra. I trip over the pillows one more time on my way out.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Ama beams from a beach chair set up next to SB. He turns around to see me, as does everyone else in the area. 

Five different people come up to hug me, and say hello. I gracelessly return the gesture. Why does everyone here insist on touching me? I almost faint as a small toddler runs towards me with sticky fingers. Thank God someone lifts him up before he can get close. He smells like maple syrup. It makes me nauseous. I fucking hate kids. 

“I didn’t realize everyone woke up so early around here.” I mumble, moving over to an empty chair in the circle of adults. 

“I would've thought you’d be a light sleeper.”  Ama taunts.

“I usually am,” I respond. I turn to SB now, taking in his expression and overall vitals. He's calm, that's good, I think. “How did you sleep?” I ask him, squinting my eyes in his direction.

“Well, thanks. What about you?” He beams. Bastard.

Like shit, I think.

“Peachy.” I say, smiling back. I roll my eyes as I look off into the distance. This was going to be a long three months. 

Some of the other people begin to walk off back to their homes. Ama goes to wrangle her son and her boyfriend. I look up at her.

“Where is everyone going?” I ask.

“Most of us are going to get our day started. Feel free to tag along or chill out here, I don’t really care.”

“Awesome. I think we will probably get our bearings today. Maybe next time though.” I say stiffly, with a synthetic smile. 

She smiles back at me as she walks over to her trailer.

I sit uncomfortably, gripping the chair's armrests. He turns to me slowly with a raised eyebrow. 

“Are you always this awkward?” He asks.

I whip my head over to him, slightly offended.

“I’m not that awkward.” I defend.

“Right…” He drags. “And I’m twenty five.”

I scoff at him, standing up, and walking back over to our trailer. 

“Where are you going?” He asks.

“Getting my day going.” I respond curtly, leaving the door open for him to follow me.

I head inside, going into my room, and beginning to make my bed. He leans on the doorframe, and watches as I struggle to readjust the fitted sheet onto the mattress. 

“Back in my day you’d have that done before you even left the room.”

“Well, unfortunately, this isn’t 1940.” I sneer. 

“How old are you anyways?” He asks, his eyes burning a hole into my ass as I tuck in the top sheet under the mattress. 

“Twenty-two.” I say without turning around. 

I hear him whistle behind me, sighing. I move closer to where he is to grab the pillows off of the ground, putting them back onto the bed. 

“Not everyday you shack up with a dame eighty years younger than you, huh?” He jokes.

Looking at his face I can tell this bothers him. I decide not to poke fun at him about it.

“Well, you don't look a day past thirty-five.” I reassure. 

He smiles weakly at that. He moves back into the kitchen as I finish up on the bed. He pulls a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket, and goes over to the gas stove. Leaning down, he lights it on the burner. He lets out a few puffs before he takes a deep inhale, pulling it out from between his lips with his thumb and forefinger. He leans against the counter in the kitchen as he watches me make my way back out of the bedroom, and onto the couch. 

“So, do you have a plan?” He asks me. I look up at him.

“Oh, for the summer?” I question back.

I reach for the remote, turning the TV on. I leave it muted as I search for a news channel. Still no talk of his escape. 

“Yeah, do you have anything planned out?”

I sigh, thinking about all the fantasies I’ve had in the past.

“Well, for a long time I just hoped I could get them all in one room and then blow them up.”

“Ah,” He laughs. “Now I know what you need me for.”

“Well,” I start. “At first I just thought about using regular bombs, but no one was willing to help me do it. Then I realized they still had you alive somewhere, and thought to myself, he's a living bomb. Plus, you’re a tough man to kill. It’d be damn near impossible for these people to have any sort of defense against you when the time comes.”

He nods at me. “You do any combat?” 

I laugh a little at that.

“My abilities are strictly senses. I’m just as weak as a civilian, if not more.”

“If not more? What the fuck does that mean?”

I sigh, pulling my hands up to try and begin to explain to him. 

“Picture a thunderstorm,” I start. “You have a four year old kid who's deathly afraid of thunder. That fear isn’t going to physically stop him from getting to the storm cellar, is it?”

“No, guess not.” He says, watching me intently.

“Okay, then picture me. If there is a loud clap of thunder, and my hearing is the way that it is, a sound that intense will implode my eardrums. It will shake my body. The lightning will literally blind me. I remember I used to have to wear these noise canceling ear covers when I was a little girl. They worked, of course, but sometimes too well. I’d find myself being able to hear the blood pumping in and out of my heart. Then the neurons firing in my brain.”

“I guess you have a point,” He says, then realizes; “But your plan, with the bombs. That's loud. Wouldn’t that just be your worst nightmare?”

I take a deep breath.

“Well, I’ve never been around much of a sound like that before, I’ve only ever heard detonations from a great distance, like in Russia, and such,”

His eyes widen in awe as I continue to speak on my story. 

“But I’m assuming if I were in close proximity to something like that I’d surely just…die?”

“Ah, so it’ll be just me there then?” He inquires.

“No, I’d definitely be there,” I say, shaking my head. “Not to get dark, or ruin a nice moment, but…y’know…”

He looks around, confused. 

“No, I’m afraid I don’t know.”

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I would die happy? And I would be getting revenge on the people that ruined my life, and would hopefully go out quickly, without incident.”

“So this is a suicide mission?” He grills, moving in closer to me.

“I don’t think about it that way,” I say. “This is a childhood dream coming true.”

“Yeah, well, my childhood dream never involved sacrificing myself for the sake of revenge.”

“Well, to each their own.” I shrug, standing up, moving to put my shoes on. 

“What about my family? How will I end up finding them without your help?”

Oh yeah, I think. That. 

I look up into the ceiling for a second, rubbing my chin in thought.

“Ah,” I say, beginning to tie my shoes. “I’ll leave you a note.”

He watches as I stand up to leave the house. 

“Where are you going?” He asks, concerned. 

“A hike. It’s too nice of a day to stay inside, plus, I like to listen to the trees.” 

I go to grab the door latch, feeling his gaze burning a hole into my back. 

“You can come if you want,” I offer. 

He sighs in content as he follows me out of the house. 

When I was younger, when I lived in West Virginia, I used to hike all the time. I’d go out to the most remote point I could find off the beaten path, and sit with my hands cupped over my ears. If I quieted my mind enough, I could hear past the blood pumping in and out of a bucks heart half a mile away. I could hear past the thunderous flapping of a hawk's wings. I could hear past the cartilage rattling inside of a snake's tail. If I got quiet enough, I could hear the plants working. Living. Existing. I’d listen to them breathe carbon in, and exhale oxygen out. If I put my hands against the hard ground, I could feel their roots fill up with nutrients, and send the Earth's goodness back up into the trunk, and into the branches of the tree. I would completely envelop myself within the soil, becoming one with the flow of nature.

Life was simpler then, a time without distractions. A time without worries or a deathwish. A time without a prehistoric supe trailing behind me for an hour and a half not saying a single word.

I smell it as he pulls it out of his pocket and up to his mouth. 

“No.” I say simply.

He groans from behind me. I hear the flickering of a lighter anyway. I stop in my tracks, turning around to face him. He’s cupping a firm hand around a tiny joint. It's comical in comparison to him. As he exhales he looks up at me. I glare at him, my arms crossed over my chest.

“What, no hash either?”

I don’t say a word, just continuing to glare.

“I don't know what stick you have up your tight ass, but someone needs to pull it out.”

I roll my eyes, beginning to walk away from him. 

“Sometimes I swear you're mentally retarded by the way you act around other people.”

I stop again, turning around, and holding a finger up to him.

“Okay, first of all, no one says that word anymore. Second of all, I just want some peace and quiet. No distractions. But this entire walk you have been huffing and puffing, and now you decide to light one of the worst smelling things in the history of the planet, with a shitty, cheap gas station lighter from the middle of fucking nowhere that reeks of propane.”

He holds his hands up in defense, laughing at my irritation. 

“No reason for the hysterics, sweetheart.” 

“God, you’re a sleaze ball.” I groan, stomping off as far away from him as possible on the trail.

“Am I?” He asks.

“The quintessential sleaze ball, actually.” I gripe.

“Now doll, you’re just hurting my feelings.”

He catches up to me easily, trying to irritate me more. He walks right next to me now. I try to move faster, take bigger strides, but it’s no use. My sprint is his equivalent to a slow walk through the park. 

“I can always leave you alone and go fuck off to Costa Rica.” He beams.

I look at him from the corner of my eye, glaring.

“You say the word and I will happily let you exist without me. Doesn’t that sound nice, sweetheart?” 

“Fine,” I stop. “You can get the fuck out of here.”

He stops now too. Turning to face me, he holds his joint in one hand, and talks with the other.

“Hey nutcase, last time I checked you fuckin’ got me out! You really think I want to be spending my first taste of freedom arguing with a suped-up schizo-tard?”

I cross my arms, gritting my teeth.

“Then leave, I already told you once before.”

I pluck his joint out of his fingers and throw it onto the ground, smashing it into the dirt with my boot. He rubs his hands onto his face, growing angrier by the minute.

“You’re psychotic!” He yells.

“Okay! Leave then.” I begin to walk off, as fast as humanly possible without committing to a full run.

“I can’t leave!” He screams.

I stop and turn around to face him. He looks down at the ground in defeat.

“Look, wacko, I can’t go anywhere unless you give me information on my family. That’s the only reason I’m even considering helping you. You give me that, and I will gladly leave you alone.” 

Ugh, the fucking family, I think. God damnit. It was a good idea in the moment, but now it serves as a constant reminder for my immense guilt. I should've never, ever said that. I can’t stand to be around this guy, but I don’t want him to know I’m lying to him. He would be crushed to know.

“Look, I don't mind helping you,” He starts. “As long as I get what I need when the time comes. Just fuckin, chill out a little bit, please.” 

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. I clasp and unclasp my strained hands. 

“Okay,” I breathe. “Okay, you’re right.”

He sighs in relief, beginning to follow me again as we make our way back down the trail. 

“You owe me for that reefer by the way,” He adds. “And, if we could get some new clothes for me too, that would be nice. I’ve been wearing this for a few days now.”

I smile softly as he stomps behind me.

He didn’t understand why modern women were so whiny. So ridiculous and dramatic. He didn’t understand why they wore pants so tight you could see the outline of their G string through them-- not that he was complaining. He didn’t understand the point of platform heels outside of a strip club, or the fact that they had women with penises working inside of the strip club. 

As he walks up and down the aisles of the local consignment store, he can’t help but grab articles of women's clothing, and hold it up in awe. A black shirt without sleeves, small enough to be worn by a child, with the phrase “I’d do me” on the front of it in hot pink writing. He shakes his head, hanging it back onto the rack, and catching up to his brooding handler. 

She makes small talk with an elderly couple. The old woman holds up two shirts, putting each one up against her husband's skin, seeing which one looks best against his tone. Freak has her hand up to her chin in thought, squinting her eyes at the older man.

“See, I feel like the green is too harsh against his skin because he's so pink.” She states.

The old man groans, the older woman nodding along with her.

“See, I told you Steve, you don’t look good in this color.”

“I have to wear green, Marie. Everyone who's in the wedding party has to.”

“Well, I’m sure Junior will make an exception for his Papaw. And no one told me to wear green.”

“Cause you’re not in the damn party!”

“Well I should be, I'm only the groom's flesh and blood!”

Freak looks flustered, rubbing her hands down the front of her face. She can sense him behind her. Whipping around, she grabs him by the arm, presenting him to the old couple in front of her.

“I really wish I could stand here and help, but I have to go shop for my… husband.” She announces.

The couple turn to face him now. The old man stares at him with squinted eyes. The old woman takes off her glasses and gazes at him from top to bottom.

“Do I know you, son?” The old man questions.

Freak's face goes stark white.

“Oh, don’t be so senile,” Says the old woman. “These two just moved to town!”

The old woman turns to her now, leaning into her ear, whispering.

“I’ll tell you what though, he sure does look old enough to be your father.” 

SB rolls his eyes at that. The old woman's version of a whisper was just lowering her voice a few octaves. 

“Say, how old are you anyway?” The old woman asks. 

“Thirt-” Freak starts. He finishes for her though.

“A hundred and two.” He says with a smile.

The elderly couple look at him with their jaws dropped, then turn to each other and start laughing. The old man wipes under his eyes, pulling his own glasses off, beginning to clean them.

“You’re quick witted, son, I’ll give ‘ya that!” Says the old man.

As the older couple walks off, he pats SB on the back. They laugh their way into the tchotchke aisle. 

SB and Freak smile at the two of them as they walk out of sight. Freak turns to him, slapping him on the shoulder.

“Are you fucking crazy?” She asks in a hushed voice.

“They thought it was funny.” He shrugs.

She rolls her eyes as she pushes her cart into the mens denim section. 

“Not funny. Don't do that again,” She disciplines. “What’s your waist size, by the way?”

He makes a face, looking at different pairs of pants on the rack.

“I don’t know woman, that ain’t my job,” He states, leaning into her ear. “And I’m not a queer either.”

She turns to him, glaring. 

“You’re telling me you've never bought your own clothes?”

“Never been my job.” He states plainly.

She sighs, looking him up and down. He’s muscular, thick, manly. All things she can indeed admire, but tries not to for the sake of a professional partnership. She swallows those thoughts down before they can resurface again. 

“You’re probably a 38 or 40.” She states, her mouth going dry, grabbing a couple pairs of jeans.

He nods, whatever the fuck that means. 

They stay in the store a little while longer. He trails behind as he watches her pick up certain garments, and hold them up to his face. She never asks him for his opinion. He doesn’t care to give one anyway. Hell, what does he know about fashion? He was only thirty years out of date. She was much more tolerable when she wasn’t talking. Although he didn’t mind her being so headstrong. Different for a woman, indeed. Attractive? Most definitely. 

He was a lot more outgoing back in the day. More willing to have conversations with people he didn’t know. He knew what things were hip, and what to say to people as they passed him by on the street. But everything has changed now. You don’t smile at anyone as they walk past you. Apparently everything he says is far past expired, and comically vintage. Like a carton of sour milk. He's offensive, generally vile, and disrespectful to women, cripples, nutjobs, and other races besides his own. Yet, everything he does now was a social norm at some point. It was praised. It was normal. He was normal.

He follows her up to the cash register like a lost puppy. The person checking them out has downs. They really hire anyone these days, huh? He thinks to himself, rolling his eyes. It nauseates him to see. The woman at the other register has to be over a hundred. She moves like thick tar, and shakes like a withdrawing alcoholic. What has the world come to?

The two of them walk out to her shitty car. He offers to put everything in the trunk for her. She agrees, bringing the cart back over to the front of the store. So much for chivalry being dead, huh? They drive off without a word. She can tell he’s hungry, she's heard his stomach growling for over an hour. She stops to get him a cheeseburger, and suggests they run by the liquor store so she doesn't have to go back out later. 

She runs inside, walking back out with a twenty-five dollar bottle of jack, and a carton of marlboro reds. He remembers when whiskey was seven dollars even. The world has gone to shit. 

When the two of them finally arrive back home after a long day, the sun is just beginning to set on the horizon. She begins to unload the car, as he leans against it, lighting a cigarette. Before heading to the liquor store earlier they swung by the Dollar General for some groceries. She waltzes back and forth from the car, and back up to the house, stocking the cupboards more and more with each trip. 

In the distance, Ama walks towards their trailer, an elderly man by her side. He assumes they are here to greet the whackjob. He yells for her.

“Hey Virginia Woolf, looks like you got a visitor.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Tell them I’ll be out in a second.” She calls back, a hint of exhaustion in her voice. 

Her eyes grow tired and heavy as she puts everything away. She feels like her arms weigh a ton each. Sleep is always something she has needed to exist as a normal person. Although “normal” she's sure he'd disagree with. Virginia Woolf, she thinks. This guy must really think I’m nuts. 

“Ben!” Ama calls.

He turns around, puffing on his cigarette. He smiles at the two of them, reaching his hand out for a shake. The elderly man looks much older than Ben physically. He meets his hand firmly. The old man takes SB in for a second, looking him up and down curiously. 

“Nice to meet you, Sir. Thanks again for letting us stay on your land.”

The older man's eyes widen, holding his finger up to the sky as if he's gotten an idea.

“That’s it,” He beams. “Have you ever been told you look like Soldier Boy?”

A shatter comes from within the trailer. She had been eavesdropping on the conversation as she always does. So much for that new plate. She begins to pick up the mess quickly. Making sure to get all the glass pieces off the floor and into the trash can. Then she makes her way outside.

“Gee, I used to beg my parents for his action figures back in the day. Of course, we were never allowed to have them.” He continues.

Ben stammers on his words for a moment, trying to find the right way to de-escalate this situation. But she swoops in like his knight in shining armor.

“Goodness, I haven't seen you since I was what, sixteen?” She runs up to him, wrapping him in a big hug. 

She and the elderly man walk off into the distance, going to sit on the rickety front porch swing attached to the roof of their trailer.

Ben takes a big sigh of relief, going back in on his cigarette. He walks back over to the car, resting against it, and watching as the two of them catch up with each other. 

Behind him, Ama slips out her phone. She pulls up google, then proceeds to type in “Soldier Boy”. It’s pure curiosity. She’s just wondering if they really do look alike, or if she has to worry about Eduda's dementia. As she scrolls down the image search, she intakes a deep breath, accidentally dropping her phone on the ground. She feels sick as she squats down to pick it back up. He's the spitting image. 

Masterlist | Episode 5 | Taglist

Taglist: @Sl33pylilbunny @Lanassmarty @Sydneyyyya @1-800shootmeplease @muhahaha303 @nancymcl @speedyrebelfan @ghh05ttt @agentorange9595 @let-me-luve-you @peachytits @darkdahl @deans-spinster-witchs-favoritestch @soggybasementfries @ladysparkles788 @madamthemoo @lyarr244 @sadlittlecountessess @mickaelly007 @mrscountryclub @vtheoneandonly @decadentanchorwerewolf @wonderland2022

[usedpidemo]

Update - 2nd year anniversary! (plus a reflection, and future plans).

Hi everyone! π here.

Today, May 13th, is the day I officially opened up this blog and began writing degenerate and immoral stories! 2 fucking years have passed, how time flies. So much can change in a year, and so do some of the stats!

First work: Sandwich - Red Velvet Wendy (published 05/13/21, 4:03 a.m.)

Highest note count: Awards after-party affair - Itzy Yuna (published 10/23/22, 1167 notes)

Number of works published: 80 fics (1 fic every 9.1 days)

500 followers: June 18, 2021 (36 days or 1 month, 5 days)

1,000 followers: October 12, 2021 (152 days or 4 months, 30 days)

2,000 followers: June 18, 2022 (401 days or 1 year, 1 month, and 5 days)

3,000 followers: November 12, 2022 (548 days or 1 year, 5 months, and 30 days)

Follower count: 3,953 followers (5.4 followers a day)

I wish I had something awesome lined up to celebrate this milestone, but I don't have anything prepared XD I've been busy and lazy at the same time. (Is that even possible?)

Actually, yeah, I do have a whole week's worth of cool things lined up this week! If I can even follow through with this one...

Monday: AMA

Tuesday: Reader Poll

Wednesday: ???

Thursday: ???

Friday: ???

I don't want to make the fun section of the update elaborately long, so I just want to say thank you so much to everyone for the support! Even though I'm not as active or as productive as I used to be, your eagerness never wavered, and you guys enjoy me talking about random shit on the side, whether it be song lyrics, Pokémon, or literally posts without any context to them. I love you guys. Here's to another year 🧡

Everything else from this point is a brief reflection and introspection of what I've been feeling since then. You can ignore this if you wish to do so.

So today marks the second anniversary since I opened up this Tumblr and became a degenerate writer. The work I've been putting up is getting worse—in a sexual and filthy way, not objectively—and my mental health has been getter much, much better! When I made the same anniversary post around this time a year ago, I was at an all-time low, mentally speaking. I really felt like I had not much left to give at that point, my skill has stagnated, and I thought there wasn't much for me to improve on. If you asked me if I had any future plans for this blog, I'd say I'd be done by the end of 2022, if not sooner.

It's now 2023, and I believe I'm as good as I can be right now. Slumps happen for a reason, and you can't always win, but it's how you bounce back from the lowest of lows that you reach highest of highs. And I believe I can still get better.

Genuinely, not to sound arrogant, because Lord knows I'm not the best fanfic writer—fuck no—I'm not anywhere close, even in a theoretical top 1000 list, but I do think some of my finest work have come up in my most recent fics. I don't know, it feels more polished and there was more effort and deliberation put into it. The numbers don't lie, either; every single work I published since May 2022 has over 400+ notes, and I've even passed the 1000+ note barrier twice! It goes to show that you guys are enjoying what I'm putting out as much as I love making them, slow and difficult it may be. I can fondly smile at last year's additions to my masterlist and say, "I can't believe I did that."

I do want to apologize if my output rate has drastically slowed down, and if I'm not as active as I was before. It's unfortunately part of the sacrifice needed for better quality control, and also because I have more personal commitments to attend to. 2023 has been fantastic for me so far in almost every department, except maybe physically—I could use more exercise—but that can be worked upon.

I do believe I'm on borrowed time. Again, look at the gap between fics over the past six months ago, and it's only going to widen once I enter my third year of college. I also have to begin considering what hobbies and other things I should do to occupy my free time, so I can be more productive as a person. This isn't to say I'm definitely quitting, but I expect more responsibilities to be shouldered onto me in the future, and having time for myself is going to be pretty much a birthday gift with how rare it might be given, and I'd prefer spending my time off recharging and relaxing instead of stressing over inconsequential or 'fun' things.

There's a lot of people I want to thank specifically, because while I was struggling with my own personal battles, they've been encouraging me to continue fighting and have been absolute lads—and lasses—throughout the past year. When I needed someone to talk to that wasn't my therapist, they were there, and I took solace in their comfort and companionship. I can't tag you guys, but if you're reading this—Chunk, Raf, Peach, Aaron, Sol, V1n, Iz, Ddeun, C.o, Kaede, Frisky, Smite, Shaun, Sins, Jett, Eros, Prael, Ken, Cray, CJ, Sooya, Gray, Svn—I sincerely thank you. God bless each and every single one of you. And to Tim, I really hope you can see this, but I'm truly, truly sorry. I hope we can find a way to bury that fracture in our relationship in the past, and we can reconcile. If not, then I just want closure and peace for the both of us.

So in closing, I want to thank you so much for sticking with me through the bad times and prospering with me through the good, and I'm always humbled that you've taken a chance on me when I started, when I was a hopeful newbie, two years ago. Now here we are. I appreciate every single one of you, be it a fellow writer, a reader, or a lurker.

With grace,

Peter / π