#THATS STRICTLY A JOKE . HE IS AN OPEN MINDED MAN.

[hikiclawd]

"Jimmy having fangs is probably an error, most likely the party devs forgetting Ray's mouth shape has em..." But consider the following;

Extra:

Do not go to the goth club without garlic those vampire goths aren't just dressing up !!!!

[azucanela]

FAULT | BAKUGO KATSUKI X READER

SUMMARY: Y/N accompanies her mentor, Aizawa Shouta, to the homes of her fellow students after the incident at Kamino Ward. One moment with her classmate Bakugo Katsuki stands out in particular.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

WARNINGS: injury, insecurities, self-blame, is damn a curse word?

A/N: this is chill, i wrote it pretty quickly because i wanted the idea out of my head and onto the computer screen so lmk if its bad pls ashdkjashdjh

“Why exactly is she here again?” 

Toshinori Yagi, better known as the Pro Hero All Might, stared at the girl that stood beside Aizawa Shouta. Scrolling on her phone with one hand, and the case that held her hero outfit in the other. Y/N L/N, one of the top students in Class-1A, and the entire Hero Course. Since she’d gotten in on recommendation, her name had been on Principal Nezu’s list of potential successors. After seeing her skill, he understood why, and to gain Aizawa’s favor? That was a talent in and of itself. 

Shrugging, Aizawa brought his capture weapon and scarf further up around his head in an attempt to shield his face, they’d already been harassed by reporters about a dozen times and he didn’t want to be in any of the photos, “we have training after this.” 

It appeared this young girl was also Aizawa’s protege, though the man would likely never admit it, Toshinori could tell he’d taken a liking to the young girl, and taken her under his wing. She’d received additional training from the Pro Hero just like Midoriya received extra training from Toshinori. 

“So... I can go retrieve young Midoriya?” They’d just left his house, and now they were heading over to Bakugo’s. Y/N knew him fairly well, he’d insisted they train together when she’d scored better than him on quirk tests, and then he insisted they study together when she’d performed better on written work as well. In exchange, he helped her with the more physical aspect of being a Pro Hero. Her least favorite part if she was honest. But it was worth it, training with Bakugo was difficult, but it had certainly helped her improve. 

Their time together had gone from... strictly competitive to competitive and fun she supposed. Y/N had found that after spending a while with Bakugo, it was easier to understand that he had his own way of expressing his care for you. When Y/N forgot to bring lunch, he’d call her an idiot but he would share his own nonetheless, and this was a frequent occurrence so Y/N was shocked when he’d told her to stop trying as he’d slammed another lunch down in front of her.

He’d made her lunch everyday since then. Nobody dared comment on it purely out of fear for their life. It was an unspoken rule not to discuss the way that Bakugo treated Y/N, the different way he treated her. Of course, this was a rule Kaminari and Kirishima broke frequently, earning them quite a few —empty— threats. 

Watching her teacher, Y/N rose a brow as he practically glared at the former Number One Pro Hero, “absolutely not.”

The man opened his mouth to protest, only for Y/N to interrupt before the pair of teachers could argue, “I’m not interrupting anything by waiting outside.” Looking up from her phone, she offered him a smile, “if one of the parents happens to have a problem with it, I don’t mind waiting in the car.” Sitting outside was much more enjoyable than staying in the stuffy car with the scarily silent chauffer, but if she had to do it, then she would.

Aizawa gave Toshinori a look as Y/N spoke, and the man simply sighed in acceptance. “Onto the home of young Bakugo then.”

Y/N had been to his house a few times. Whenever the café they usual studied at wasn’t open, they either went to her home, or on rare occasions, his home. Of course, Bakugo had ensured his parents weren’t home whenever they did this, though Y/N wasn’t sure why. Regardless, most times at his house they’d get sidetracked, much to Bakugo’s dismay, and end up in his kitchen.

Pulling up in his driveway, a smile found its way onto Y/N’s face. She’d suggested numerous times that they have a picnic on his neatly trimmed lawn, though Katsuki shot her down most of the time. 

Stepping out of the car and sitting on the steps that go up to his front door, she watches as Aizawa and Toshinori enter with few questions from Bakugo’s mother. She looked a lot like him if Y/N was honest, and from the sound of it, they also shared a similar personality. Y/N could hear their yelling from outside.

Smiling at the sound of Bakugo yelling out insults, Y/N let out a small laugh as she leaned her head back against the wall. Though her laughter came to an abrupt stop when she heard what his mother yelled next.

That it was Bakugo’s fault he’d been kidnapped. 

Y/N found herself sitting up as the boy grew silent, coming to a stand to see if she could see his living room from the window beside the front door. But there was no view of Bakugo himself.

Perhaps thats because he was the one slamming the front door behind him, coming to a stop when he noticed Y/N’s attempts at snooping. She immediately turned to him, trying her best to look normal, though it was clear he’d noticed what she was doing. They made eye contact, and Bakugo opens his mouth, only to shut it as he narrows his eyes at her, “how much did you hear?”

His voice is oddly calm as his stare pierces into her soul, and its an odd change of demeanor for him, one that takes Y/N a few moments to understand. 

He was embarrassed. 

If Bakugo was honest, Y/N was one of few people he actually respected. She’d exceeded him in certain areas of school, and helped him improve in more ways than one. To make matters worse, despite his intent to get through his years at UA without a... distraction. Y/N had somehow wormed her way into his heart, no matter how hard he tried to keep her out of it. The fact that she’d come to his rescue when he was kidnapped, despite the potential consequences, hadn’t helped. She’d seen him at his weakest. 

“Bakugo-” 

His name alone is answer enough as Bakugo lets out a noise of frustration, moving to leave, only for Y/N to grab his hand despite the pain that spreads through her own at the feeling of small explosions emitting from his palm. Yanking him back towards her, Bakugo is opening his mouth once more, likely to yell at her for her idiocy as he attempts to remove his hand from her grasp. But Y/N doesn’t relent as she sweeps her foot under his leg and knocks him down, effectively allowing her to straddle him and hold him down.

“Let go of my hand you damned idiot!” There’s a panicked look on his face as he speaks, but the only thing Y/N can think of is the fact that he hadn’t threatened her yet. He hadn’t aggressively shoved her away with his free hand, nothing.

No, his concern was different, and Y/N’s concern probably should’ve been the same seeing as she could practically feel her skin sizzling from the heat of his own, but at that moment, she didn’t care as she grinned down at him, “bet you regret teaching me that move now, huh?” 

He pauses his writhing beneath her, chest heaving as he glared, “are you serious-”

“You know, what your mom said isn’t true.” This makes him go silent, and Bakugo finally allows his head to fall onto the grass as he looks away from her once more. “It wasn’t your fault Katsuki.

Bakugo inhales deeply, “I ruined All Might-”

In response, Y/N uses her free hand to push his shoulder harder into the ground and hold him still, “no! You didn’t.” 

“Didn’t I?” He finally manages to snatch his hand away from her, flipping the two of them over, Bakugo plants his hands beside her head, the grass singeing black because of the misuse of his quirk. Almost instantly, he frowns, “I can’t even control my stupid quirk-”

“You have some of the most impressive quirk control in the class, is that a joke?” Y/N brings both her hands—including the one that probably would’ve hurt a lot more had it not been for the adrenaline flowing through her veins— to his face, and as Bakugo brings his hand to her wrist, Y/N wonders if he’s going to rip her hands from him as she speaks, “Katsuki it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t ask to be kidnapped, and at the end of the day we are just kids. You can’t be expected to save yourself against villains.” His hand remains on her wrist, but he doesn’t remove it from his face as Y/N inhales deeply. “If anything it’s my fault-”

“Shut up.” The hand still beside her head clenches, tearing at the grass. “Shut up.” He repeats, exhaling sharply as his eyes squeeze shut, Y/N realizes this is because a tear successfully managed to fall down his cheek, despite his attempts to prevent it. “Don’t be dumb.” He practically growls at her, trying to hide his pain with aggression once more. 

Brushing her thumb against his cheek, Y/N offers him a smile, “then I guess its nobody’s fault.” 

He’s silent for a moment, eyes piercing in hers as he tries to figure out what to say. “Sure,” he grumbles in response, gently pulling her hand from his cheek, Y/N allows him to examine the damage, his brows furrowing at the sight of charred skin. He doesn’t say anything as he does, but Y/N can practically see the thoughts running through his minds at a million miles per hour. His fingers brush over the now raised skin, and when Y/N flinches, Bakugo’s fingers immediately leave her palm, causing her hand to drop.

Pushing herself up on one forearm, Y/N presses a kiss to his cheek, and she can practically feel his skin warm as she speaks, “it’s fine.”

He averts his gaze from her as her cheeks redden, “ I hurt you-”

“I’m fine.” Y/N disregards his words as she moves out from under him.

Bakugo’s brows furrow as he moves to a stand as well, “come over next weekend,” his words sound like more of a demand than an invitation.

“Sure, but can I ask why?” 

He grabs her uninjured hand, moving to bring her back inside his home, “let’s get something to help with your hand.” Bakugo doesn’t turn back as he continues, “and I owe you a picnic.”

Needless to say, it was a very nice picnic. One that Y/N left with a boyfriend.

A/N: this idea came to me at exactly 9PM

​

[justsomefluff]

Can you do an ateez reaction where the reader gets jealous??

of course I can! took me a while lmao but thank you for being patient, here ya go, precious!

Hongjoong:

Low-key super oblivious to your jealousy

Like he’s having such a good time at whatever event your attending

Kind of gets lost in the fun

Loves making new friends and meeting people who share similar interests

And don’t get me wrong, you’re happy that he is happy

And you are so proud and love listening to all the compliments he gets on his work

You know how important feedback is to him, but you also know that praise is his weak point

(He deserves every bit of it too)

But some people really just don’t know where to draw the line

Sometimes people skip past his work and start complimenting his physical attributes and making flirtatious remarks about his great personality

Like yeah… I know his personality is great he’s my freakin boyfriend

If you say something like that under your breath and Hongjoong catches it?

LMAO

Giggling and excusing himself from the conversation immediately

Thinks its really sweet and funny, but also wants to reassure you

Maintains a steady balance of his attention on you and on networking for the rest of the night

Seonghwa:

I feel like Seonghwa is the type of significant other to be really in tune to your needs and just generally good at picking up on what you’re feeling

So if he thinks that something is bothering you or making you uncomfortable in any way?

Bye. We are leaving.

If you are somewhere that you can’t really leave (like an important business gala or something idk what famous people do)

He will just take you outside for a breath and a conversation

Tries to take your mind off of whatever you were thinking

Assures you that everything being said inside is strictly business related

YOUR BICEPS ARE NOT THEIR BUSINESS

He chuckles at you a little bit and pulls you into a hug when he thinks no one is watching

Will lead you back into the event and just do things to subtly remind you that he’s there with you

Physically and mentally

Holds your hands, keeps an arm around your waist, or just stands close beside you during conversations

Super sweet and just wants you to be happy and comfortable

Yunho:

Don’t take this the wrong way but…

He’s gonna make fun of you

Hard.

Like for real

“Oh you thought-? HA”

And if you’re pouting at his teasing, he’s gonna laugh more

Even though he’s dying inside because you’re so cute

Will say stupid, annoying things the whole time

“Ooh, would you look over there? My ex”

“That person has been checking me out all night, maybe I’ll go say hi”

And you’d whip around every time like ??? ‘Scuse me???

PSYCH

You’re like two seconds from slapping him in front of his boss and all his peers

But then you see that adorable, goofy grin of his

And all your frustration just sort of melts away

You know he only jokes because he finds it ridiculous

Like why would he ever look for someone else when youre right there?

But I’m sure you’ll find a way to get him back for being a brat somehow

Yeosang:

This one will not understand why you’re jealous

More the type to let you simmer while simultaneously doing things to soothe you

Will rub your back or your arm during conversations

Will brush a hair back from your face every now and then

But he’s not just doing these things to remind you that he loves you

No no

He is also doing these things so that whoever is hitting on him will take the hint

Like?? Shut up?? Go away??

And in the end, you forget that you were jealous and you’re more just irritated

Like quit saying weird things to my man

When they finally go away, you both look at each other with big eyes and sigh really loudly

But then you’re laughing because did that really just happen?

And he’ll tease you a little bit for being jealous before you both go back to talking about how creepy the other person was being

Low-key making fun of them; making up new ridiculous compliments that fit their vibe

“Oh, Yeosang! You know I’ve been a fan for oh so very long and I’ve loved watching your muscles grow!”

Discomfort pretty much forgotten, you just go about your night like that didn’t even happen

San:

Okay this fool

He thinks you’re really cute when you’re jealous so he’s gonna make it worse

Will be super sugary sweet with whoever is flirting with him

Thanking them and complimenting them back

Too bad the compliments are empty and he’s only using them to make you pout a little more

Eventually he ends the conversation because he thinks you’ll catch on to his evil plan if he keeps this up much longer

Drags you away into a quieter area of the event

“Were you jealous?”

He’s smirking because I mean… duh

“You were doing that on purpose weren’t you?”

If looks could kill he would be belly-up in the pool rn

But then he’s laughing and apologizing and trying to justify himself

“I mean how could I resist when it makes you look like this cute baby oooo”

Full squishing your cheeks in public like… sir

But he does it enough that you’re smiling again and batting his hands away from your face

When he realizes that he was successful in returning your mood back to normal, he’ll pull you back into the party

Mingi:

Does not realize you are jealous

Oblivious

Carries on the entire night like everything’s cool

Totally didn’t participate in mutual groping with some random fans

An awkwardly placed hand

An accidental brush against the wrong body part

I mean you know its not his fault

But ooooohhh did it make your blood boil

Literally doesn’t even mention it until you’re home because he genuinely doesn’t think anything happened

And you’re like??? Hello???

You touched their butt???

And then his face goes so red

Like you think for a second he’s gonna explode like those old airheads commercials

“I TOUCHED THEIR BUTT???? THATS SO EMBARASSING NOOOOOOOO”

But then you’re laughing at him because he is more horrified at the situation than anything else

He face plants on the couch and just yells into the cushions for a minute because my god how could he not realize

#mortifiedmingi

And then you’re the one comforting him explaining how the fan surely knows it was an accident and blahblahblah

But at least there was an easy solution to your problem lmao

Wooyoung:

I think that he will actually be concerned

Like if he realizes that you’re jealous he’s gonna think that he did something wrong

Even if its someone else’s fault that you were feeling that way

Hes gonna feel responsible

And he’s gonna wanna make you feel better

Will make some excuse about one of you not feeling well and hightail it out of there

When you tell him you didn’t have to leave the event just because of that he’s like Nono

And he’s gonna spend the rest of the night giving you his undivided attention and making sure you feel loved and cherished

Like I think he is gonna be genuinely worried about how this kind of thing will make you feel

Always wants you to feel safe and secure in your relationship

Never wants anything to damage your self esteem either

So if he thinks any of those things are in jeopardy, he’s gonna do something about it

Might tease you for it sometimes, but darker. emotions are something he tends to be gentler with and more serious about

Jongho:

Does not get the memo

Jealous? Who?

Has to be told by the members lmao

And sees you sulking somewhere away from him

Then he’s rushing to you like a confused puppy

Sits with you quietly for a minute because he doesn’t even really know what to say

“I feel like a bad boyfriend now” is what he chooses to open with

And then youre not jealous anymore

youre in protective mode

“Noooo, baby, why would you ever feel like that youre the best boyfriend ever”

And then he’s like??? Thought you were upset???

And you’re like… maybe

But who cares? Because he’s still a good boyfriend

I mean you know he cant babysit you at events and stuff and youre always happy when he’s having fun

Youre just a little selfish sometimes and want him all to yourself

But who can blame you?

And he completely understands because… well he feels the same way about you <3

[yamithediaperdork]

Draco’s New Daddy (Harry Potter)

From one of the great pure blood families and with a brilliant future ahead of him, Draco Malfoy these days was living a very much different life then he had even planned on. unable to land a job at the ministry of magic due to well, everything his family had done under he who should not be named, Draco found himself working odd jobs until the day he'd happened to run into a old classmate from Hogwarts: Miles Bletchley. Miles was apparently doing well from the fine clothes he was wearing compared to the blue jeans and formally white t-shirt but now mostly gray that Draco was wearing. He'd invited Draco out to lunch, and after assuring him he'd cover the bill, they had gone off and talked for hours.

As it turned out Miles was a gent of sorts for special young men who had certain..looks..and got them one night 'jobs' so to speak that payed well and of course took a modest percentage of the money as he wasn't doing this for fun. Draco knew how to read between the lines and blushed at the offer that was being made. "Listen Draco, with your looks, your frame and honestly..well..how some people feel about your family, I can promise you a lot of money for 1 to 2 works work at a time. And lots of clients." Miles said, chugging a butter beer. Draco was drinking something a little stronger and his bale cheeks were flushed, though from the offer or the wine it was hard to say. They had a private booth and Miles had cast a spell to give them further privacy, though he'd stressed what he was doing wasn't strictly illegal, it was gray area and best not to draw attention to it either way. "let's not beat around the bush Miles, you want me to be a prostitute." Draco said. "In a way yes, though in others no. I promise you'll never have to have sex with anyone who hires you unless you want to." Miles said. "..So loads of cash, and not getting my ass plowed..what's the catch?" Draco asked, raising a eyebrow and having more then a few doubts. "the catch is that each of my boys plays out one role for the lonely wizards of the world. One boy plays the part of a human dog,anther a sissy girlfriend, anther a maid and so on and so on. Any sex is to be agreed upon by both parties and I have my own branch of well..enforcers shall we say..who deal with clients who break that agreement." Miles said. "Bloody hell.." Draco said, shaking his head. "And what role would you have ME play then?" he was pulling his glass to his lips and started to take a sip when Miles told him. "A nappy boy." Draco spit out his drink and looked at his old school friend in disbelief.

And yet he'd ended up taking the job. Miles was true to his word that Draco never once found himself sucking dick or taking it up the ass, though he'd been forced to smog with more then a few men. And it was mostly men who hired him. people who loved seeing the pure blood in massive cloth nappies and a baby bonnet sitting on the floor and shaking a rattle. the fact that even after a year of doing this job he could still blush so bad while doing it only endeared him to his daddies and mommies. And Miles had been telling the truth at JUST how many clients he had. If Draco had so wanted he could of worked every days of the week for a month and still of had at least 2 clients a day. The only horrible part of the job (well aside from the general shame) was having to make BM's in his nappies. Oh how people loved to bounce him in a smelly nappy on their laps with a fat dummy in his mouth and chuckle as the tears rolled down his cheeks. Still it wouldn't be too much longer Draco figured before he could retire. he wasn't blowing though his money this time like he had before and was careful to save even coin he could, only treating himself to luxury items once a month. (In fact, he was so good with his money Miles had Draco speak with other of the working boys about how to better manage their finances!) He'd been relaxing in his modest flat and reading the paper when a Owl had arrived from Miles, telling him of a urgent client who was willing to pay triple the normal fee for a session with the nappy lad tonight, despite Draco having made it clear he was taking a few days off to treat a embarrassing little problem. His diaper rash. Miles note made it clear that it was up to Draco, but he strongly urged him to accept. apparently this client had used other boys and wanted to try something new and some vague threats had been made about dropping the service altogether. "Shit. Guess it's time for me to be the company man." Draco muttered and sent a message off saying he'd take the job, and asked for the location of tonight's 'daddy' Apparently Miles had figured Draco would do that because just as he sent his owl off, anther one appeared with the info he asked for. wondering just how well his agent knew him Draco went and packed up his work bag and headed out the door.

His work bag was a black duffel bag, filled with Nappies and plastic pants (and Panties) in his size. not that he wouldn't of minded if his clients supplied for him but some just went all cheap and others went over the top and expected him to go halves with him on it. if he brought his own supplies it just worked out better. He had some t-shirt and bibs in there, along with his selection of dummies and a bonnet, and most embarrassingly to him, a dress. It'd been a give from the first mommy he'd had and he'd promised to keep it even though he hated  the thing. Still, you never know when someone else might want him in a dress and this one again fit him to a t. One of his recurring daddies had tried to get him a proper diaper bag but Draco had drawn the line there since he had to think of how that would look walking to and from his daddies or mommies places. The Hotel where the big shot daddy was staying wasn't far from Draco's place so he walked, it was late enough out that not too many people were on the streets unless they were outside of a pub having a smoke. 'The wacky duck..some people shouldn't be allowed to name things.' Draco thought with a smirk, reading the sign. it wasn't a high class hotel which was good because it meant not having to fuss too much with the front desk, nor did it look like a cheap and easy place which meant a lot Friday night party animals around to make it risky. walking in he did go to the front desk and a young lady was behind it and smiled at him. "Excuse me miss, I'm looking for room 201?" He asked in a polite tone. She gave him a huge smile and giggled a little, making him a little nervous. "Ohhh one of his boys huh? second floor, right next to the lift." She said with a wink then asked. "So what's YOUR gimmick?~" "...Not to be rude but I don't believe thats any of your business. Thanks for the directions." Draco said, face turning reds he turned and walked fast for the lift, he chuckles ringing in his ears. getting off on the second floor, room 201 was right where she'd said it was and he made his way over and knocked on the door. five fast knocks and then three knocks with a space of 3 seconds between them just as the note had said to. He could hear movement in the room and tried to banish all thoughts of discomfort away and focus on being a good boy for his daddy. 'your a little nappy boy. your a little nappy boy..' He chanted in his head, and put a big grin on his face that vanished as the door was opened up. "Draco? what are you doing here? I'm expecting..company.." Harry mother fucking potter said, going from looking confused to smiling. "I..I think there's..been..a mistake." Draco squeaked out. of all the people in the world he LEAST wanted to know about this job, Harry potter was number one, with Hermione at 2 and Ron at three. "oh I don't think so little man." Potter said, looking totally delighted. "Thought I wish Miles would of told me YOU were going to be my little nappy boy. I'd of doubled my offer. Now, are you going to come in like a good boy or does daddy need to spank?" as Harry spoke he moved to the side and gestured for Draco to come in. The mental image of him over Potter lap and the phantom pain of it made a hand go to Draco's back side and he sprinted into the room and Harry closed the door behind him. "Good Boy."

Draco looked around the room, it was at least decently furbished and even had a muggle telle on a night stand and then turned his attention to potter. the 3 years since high school had been more then kind to harry who was tall, broad shouldered and handsome while Draco could of passed for a 11th grader after shaving. "I'm going to set a timer once our session starts.I've paid for two hours and I intend to get every last second." Harry said then walked over and sat on the large bed, and patted next to him for Draco to sit. The blond nodded slowly and walked over. "Look, I know this must be a bit of a shock to you finding out you'll be getting babied by me, but to be fair it's not like I ever thought you were into anything like this." Harry said, giving a warm smile. "I ..I um..See..Miles just offered me the job..and..I rolled with it..I-I thought you were married to Ron's little sister though? so what are yo-" "Doing playing around with a bunch of fetish bitches? Me and Ginny have a understanding, I can play with them but no sex and then she doesn't have to bark like a dog or wear nappies." Harry laughed. Draco nodded, that kinda made sense. "Um..I..I don't know if I feel comfortable with you..seeing me in.." Draco mewed softly. "Draco I thought we settled this. I paid for this,so you ARE going to be my stinky little nappy boy. I wasn't Joking about spanking you if I-" Whatever Harry was going to say was cut off as a pot of fear escaped from Draco's  backside, making him shut his eyes and bury his face in his hands mortified. "heh, seems like you're more of a little boy then you thought if just the threat of a spanking can motivate you that much." Harry chuckled and then pulled Draco in for a one armed hug. "Not a little guy all the time." Draco whined, and KNEW how bad it sounded. "it's just a job!" "Mhmmm I'm sure. Well since it's just a job let's get started. I was told you'd bring you're own supplies?" Harry said, clearly not believing a word Draco said, and making him give a huff and a pout. Which really, wasn't helping his case. Draco got  up off the bed and stormed over to his duffel bag and picked it up, bringing it over and dumping out it's contents. "See? only a professional would have THIS much of a selection to make for his customer!" he said, then the color drained from his face as Harry picked up the dress. "Heh, do i wanna ask?" Harry asked, holding it up. "..I'd prefer you not." Draco said in a small voice. "oh and plastic panties too~ How adorable! Sorry though Draco, I'm more into diaper BOYS. Maybe next time though." Harry said and winked and Draco found himself wishing he could melt into the floor. "T-That's ok." he mewed weakly. Harry chuckled and looking over the odds and ends made his choice. "Alright, I'm going to start the timer. any more attuide and it'll be you over my lap little man. Understand." Harry said, reaching for a timer that was on his nightstand. "Yes Daddy."

Now on the clock Draco waited for his first order from Harry. "Alright now little man, first things first, I think it's time you lost those silly big boy clothes. lord knows HOW you've kept your pants dry this long but I'm not losing from my damage despot when you tinkle all over the floor just because you wanted to play pretend and act like a big kid." Harry said. Draco nodded and slid his green t-shirt off first, then his blue jeans leaving him in a pair of blue briefs, though he paused for a moment to kick his pants and shirt away from him. "Awww, cute briefs, though too bad there's no print on them." Harry commented. "Lose' em." Draco bite his touage, Harry wasn't the first person to think he'd be adorable in animal prints or worse and he doubted he'd be the last, still it was a sore spot for him so he turned away as he slid the undies off to semi moon his 'daddy' and it was only with a stab of pain hit his cheeks he recalled about his diaper rash. "Ohhh I see why somebodies been a grumpy Gus! Poor widdle Draco has diapie rash!" harry said, sounding sympathetic but as Draco looked over his shoulder Harry was smiling ear to ear. "Is somebody not using enough nappy cream? or just sitting in his poopie nappies for ages because he likes the feeling?" "I..I do not! I just..I.." Draco fumed and went to go on a mini fit but BARELY caught himself before he'd earn a spanking. clenching his teeth he hissed though them. "My last client likes boys getting nappy rashes and didn't let me use power or cream if you MUST know daddy." "aww, don't worry! I'll use lots." Harry sand and then took 4 of the thickest terry cloth diapers Draco had and laid them out on a changing pad that was where a small rug had been. "wasn't there a rug there? what happened to it?" Draco asked, pointing and confused. "..Draco come on, we're wizards. what do you THINK happened?" "Oh..yeah.." feeling sheepish and covering his front with his hands Draco made his way over. (it wasn't that he didn't think harry wasn't gonna see them anyways, but LOTS of clients liked the all fake modesty bit.) "Lay on your tummy first so daddy can take care of your poor cheeks buddy and move your hands silly boy." harry said, taking a jar of rash cream from the pile and opening it. "Oh, the extra baby powder scent brand. very nice." "I..it's..what the customers like." Draco squeaked out, moving his hands and letting his 6 inches show though like a good boy he was bald down there. "Huh. that's cute." Harry commented seeing the larger then normal cock and Draco paused as Harry stared. "heh, just because I wear diapers for a living doesn't mean I'm tiny!" Draco said with a hint of pride. "And I'd agree except I know a enlargement charm when I see one." Harry said and snatched his wand up and in one swift motion, Draco's 6 inches because 1 and a half. "H-HEY! YOU CAN'T JUST" Draco yelped up, eyes having gone from wide in horror to filled with fury. "You know how much that bleeding cost to get done so it would stick around!?!" "Draco, one warning. attuide dropped or over my knee and a slipper on your buns." Harry said then added. "I'll give you a little extra to pay for your next charm." Draco clenched his fists but then took a deep breath, reminding himself he was a professional damn it then in a calm voice replied. "I can technicality end the session now potter..your not allowed to use magic on me without my consent. But I'll take you up on your offer." with that he laid himself down on the mat, with his buns up and turned away from harry. "of course admit it. you want someone to treat your owie bum." Harry said and then started to coat the cream on the boys back side. Having found his favorite black and green dummy on the mat, Draco just popped it into his mouth, not dignifying potter with a answer.

His bottom coated with cream and powdered, and then his front looked after too, Draco had to admit Harry had done a better job then he could of on his own and it was feeling much better as Harry pinned the thick nappies shut on him. Picking up a pair of clear rubber pants Harry smiled down at Draco. Lift your legs please little one." Draco suckled on his dummy and nodded, helping daddy slide them over his feet and ankles and then lifting up his bum without being told so daddy could get them part way up over the diapies. "Hmm, mighta gone too thick..or we just need to use a little gravity." Harry said. Before Draco could go to ask what he meant by that, Harry had lifted him up and was holding him up by the rubber pants. not wanting to fall backwards as harry semi bounced him, Draco whined behind his dummy and leaned forward, semi hugging Harry as he got the rubber pants over the diapers. "awww, I love you too~" Harry chuckled and standing Draco on his feet, kissed his cheek bringing a fresh blush to the blonds face. the dummy fell from Draco's mouth and while Harry caught it Draco started up again. "I-I don't, that's not! Look I just didn't wan-" Draco started to whine when the dummy was popped back in his mouth and despite himself he started to suckle on it again. "you don't have to be bashful with me little man. Lots of your fellow workers have started to swoon over me." Harry said. Draco huffed and glared, but kept the dummy in his mouth.

Harry smirked, Draco was just TOO perfect like this and such a fussy baby he hadn't even noticed that the dummy had been enchanted with a little charm used by parents who's infants/toddler were backed up but refused to take their medicine. the more Draco suckled the stronger the charm would get and with how huffy he was and the rapid suckling he was doing.. "what down you come take a seat on daddies lap and let him fondle that big fat nappy butt of yours?" Harry said and Draco squirmed like crazy but let himself be lead over. He was a little disappointed he hadn't had a chance to spank the little guys behind, he'd  gotten a pair of slippers JUST for that, but then again the little guy had nappy rash. 'once it clears up though..' Harry thought with a grin. there was no way this was gonna be a one time thing,that was for sure. Sitting on the bed and Draco on his lap side saddle style, Harry smirked as the big baby (oh sorry, professional) put his armed around Harry's neck and leaned in with his head on Harry chest/shoulder 'God, who's falling for who here?' Harry wondered, a flush coming to his own face. "You know you really are too cute. I was going to make my nappy lad crawl around and humiliate himself, but with you, I'll just read you a story. would baby Draco like that?" harry asked. Draco nodded and smiled a little behind his dummy. "There's just Onnne little thing..you have to keep your dummy in. otherwise I'll have you making a got out of yourself. got it?" Harry added. again Draco nodded and Harry poofed a nursery book out of thin air and started to read.

Draco squirmed slightly as he sat in daddies lap. this was..well..alot nice then his normal clients treated him and he did indeed find himself maybe kinda slightly crushing on Harry, and it was giving him butterflies or something in his tummy. He closed his eyes and suckled on his dummy, listening to Harry read and enjoying the hand that kept patting on his Nappied behind. "-and then the big bad wolf..Heh, Still awake little one?" Came daddies voice and Draco opened his eyes and nodded, giving a smile from behind his dummy. "Just checking. If you wanna go for a little nap I can pause the timer, just let me know." Harry said then leaned down and kissed Draco's forehead. Draco squirmed, the idea f just going for a nap and then waking up to be babied more suddenly felt really tempting! Still it was better to get the job done and maybe just kinda hint he'd be open to a longer session next time. He wasn't even sure how much time was left, just that daddy had been reading to him and he'd gone into a total little state he wasn't used to. "You ready for me to go back t-" Harry started to say but then he was cut off as a loud but muffled poot escaped out Draco's behind, and warmed up Harry's hand. "oh, Is somebody about to make presents like a good boy?" harry asked. Thankfully the nappies cut down on the smell but Draco whined, something he'd eaten was NOT agreeing with him because that fart had been rancid! he reached up and removed his dummy and looked at Harry with a sheepish smile. "Uh..sorry,know that stinks I don-" He started to say but anther poot forced it's way out with gusto, almost hurting and harry laughed. "I think that answers if somebodies gonna make BM for daddy." he said then wrinkled his nose. "About time too from the smell of things little guy." "I-I swear I used the potty earlier today! I don't know why i-it's guhhh!" Draco cried out as a super wet fart erupted and he mewed. "M-Maybe we should reschedule this..this is gonna be toxic!" "oh no, it's ok, I don't mind a stinky boy. and I paid to have the whole floor to myself so no ones gonna complain." Harry chuckled and shifted Draco on his lap. Now instead of sitting side saddle he was back to Harry's front and his bum on Harry's right leg, with Harry holding his arms and kissing the back of his neck. Draco..wasn't exactly how he felt about al of this, normally he would of charged extra for the neck kisses but daddy was kissing and nibbling just in the right places. "oh! Oh!! Daddy!" Draco mewed like a little needy boy..no. a little needy BABY. "Be a good boy for daddy baby Draco, Make me a nice BIG present." Harry coo'ed into Draco's ear. Be a good boy. Jesus. just the words were driving Draco wild and his little nub was twitching as the command took hold and he started to grunt and push. "Y-Yesh daddy! I'll be a good boy! da bestest boy!" Draco cried out. His rosebud opened wide and muck rapidly poured out, filling up the seat of the nappies so fast that Draco also seemed to get taller! as the filth filled the diaper and the smell filled the room, Draco drooled and moaned as Harry went back to assaulting his neck with kisses. "Good boy Draco! Such a good big stinky boy!" Harry coo'ed. Draco mewed happily and kicked his legs, not even minding the smell or feel and only semi lifted himself up for a few to keep going and gasped as the muck started to fill the front of his nappy, coating his cock and balls. "Oh! Oh! Daddy i wuv you! I wuv going popie fer you!" Draco baby babbled on and as even as he farted and kept going. Harry chuckled and lifted the big baby up and turned him around, but still on his knee. "And I love you. now you almost done?" Harry asked. "Uhh.." Draco looked unsure and make a scrunchie face that had Harry biting his bottom lip and there was a few sputtering farts then nothing. "I fink so." "Good, who wants to play horise?" Harry asked with a loving smile. "Oh but da-da..dat'll make my BM go all over mah nappies." Draco said, biting his lip now. the sensation of being picked up and sat in his mess had been well..wonderful! "Don't worry about it. That's daddies job to worry about those things." Harry said and then kissed Draco on the lips, deep and hard and the little professionals mind and self control was gone as the kiss broke off. "So..Horise?" "hehehe ya ya! Horise daddy!" Harry smirked and getting Draco to hold onto his shoulder and putting his hands on the big babies sides, started to bounce him with his knee. gently at first but then picking up more and more speed as he went on. the smushing of the mess was having it's effect as Draco gasped and moaned and leaned forehead, face in Harry's chest as he was getting closer and closer to making a sticky in his diapers. it went without saying that he had flooded them though he couldn't be sure when and god he was just..so..close.. BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ! the ride stopped and Draco was trying to figure out what had happened and what was that noise, as daddy sat him on the bed. "Looks like our time is up buddy. But this was VERY fun. we should do it again sometime." Harry said., turning off the timer and kissing Draco's cheek. "Buh..buh..I was bot ta." Draco mewed and whimpered. "I know buddy, but like you said, your a professional. If you're free tomorrow night I would LOVE to book anther session." Harry said, chuckling at the look on the blonds face. "I..But..I.." Draco's mind was frazzled, and he was finding it hard to even think. "I put some extra gold in your diaper bag for you little guy.to cover you're penis enlargement charm. though i think a little cock looks better." Harry said, sweeping the baby stuff back in the duffel bag and handing it over to Draco. The blond was just so out of it, wanting more, so horny he barely realized he was being ushered out the door with his pleas of five more minutes ignored. A final pat on the butt and a kiss on the cheek and Draco was out in the hall and numbly made his way to the lift, thinking about how good being with potter had felt and how amazing he was. It wasn't till she stepped out onto the first floor and started to make his way into the lobby and heard a snort then lots of laughter he realized he'd forgotten to change back, and was still in just his soiled nappy and socks. "So I guess THAT'S your gimmick huh?" the clerk asked. "I..I..I'll be right ba-" Draco started to say but was cut off. "Ohhh Sorry. Mr.Potter has made it clear once one of his guest is back in the lobby, they're not to be allowed back into his room. Sorry sweetie, you'll have to go home like that." The clerk said, though her tone made it clear she was far more delighted then sorry. Whining loudly though happy that he kept his flat key in his duffel ba, the big stinky baby started the normally short but tonight long walk home.

the end

[tigerdrop]

u know u could put out the weirdest most fucked up shit and we would still love it. obviously don't share stuff if it makes u uncomfortable but for every single thing you find embarrassing there's something several times worse

i really hope ur ready to stand by these words b/c im about to tell you about.......showdog dogboy gordon. for five thousand fucking words

look. listen. hear me out. my dear kogo introduced me to an idea and it has not left my mind since: showdog......dogboy......gordon

like.........you know.......its about. dogboy. submitting while benrey dolls him up and makes him look nice. maybe hes been a lot......fuzzier since he got forcibly nintendogged. and maybe benrey cracks a joke about it, maybe the joke gets pulled out a little too far. b/c its the two of them, and thats what they do. its jokes. games. jokes being riffed upon and thinly-veiled dares being issued until gordon freeman finds himself standing awkwardly next to a grooming table in nothing but his underwear while benrey tells him to chill the fuck out. puts that collar on him. after all, he wants to look nice for his friend, right? they say a dog is mans best friend

this definitely would not be the first time a joke or a game went too far and they ended up fucking at the end of it, but this is......this is a whole level beyond. this is definitely, like. theres a Lot going on here. but neither of them are breaking character yet so

and. you know. if youre feeling really insane. like me. if youre feeling just fucking diseased. you can make benrey.......pretty big here. make gordon dogy-sized next to him. not like, tiny, but enough that gordon, ordinarily a Big Guy, feels......small. a little emasculated

and.....yknow. gordon could be collared and chained to the table. like a real dog. not a lot of slack on that thing. and maybe hed be.......muzzled, too. if hes the kind of dogboy that gets snippy at scissors

its really good also for.....benrey being fully clothed and gloved up while gordons almost entirely bare. i know dog groomers dont strictly have to wear gloves. but still. not that it was really going to stop me if he wouldnt actually have a reason to wear gloves. i would make him anyway b/c ive lost all dignity

ITS ABOUT. THE HORNY FUCKING GAME. like they could talk about it if, if they wanted, if they were normal about it, b/c in this scenario they have absolutely fucked it out before (b/c i cant imagine any other fucking way gordon freeman acquiesces to this unless hes Aware that theres gonna be dick touching involved), but they are not normal and they are not going to break kayfabe even if it kills them

and like......i think the muzzle thing is......good. its really really good. b/c benrey can get real fuckin mean and tell him that hes gonna have to be a good boy and keep his teeth to himself if he wants it off so that benrey can make him look less like shit

those new canines of his are awful pointy. is gordon sure he can handle it? can he get a grip on his dogy side for fucking long enough to let benrey take a straight razor to his face? of course he can, he thinks, b/c hes not a fucking dog, okay, hes still a guy, and hes here to prove it and just. behave. while benrey manhandles him and grooms him and brushes out his fur and files his fucking nails. hes not in thrall to his instincts whether they be animalistic or vulgar. and hes definitely not going to cave and ask benrey to touch his fucking dick while he does this

> i enjoy the thought of benrey posing gordon as he pleases but never directly touching him, lifting his leg to get under his upper thigh or stretching the skin of his belly taut as not to nick him. so concentrated on gordon but feigning ignorance to his building arousal, ignoring it

> that art jordan did where gordon is on the table and has the collar on. his chest is shaved into the shape of a heart and that made me so DFUCKING CRAZY I STARTED BARKING AND SNARLING AKLSJAKDJFS

YEAH.....ITS......its shaved into a heart on purpose. and i left that in the first version i posted but nobody said anything about it so i just whistled and walked away

> LIKE. the emasculation of it....the fucking. possesiveness. theres also an undercurrent of like tenderness to it that made me fucking go apeshit

its such a fucking power move too. like. thats not gonna grow out for awhile. every time gordon freeman looks in the mirror for the next few weeks hes gonna be reminded of how fuckin debased he was

just..............consider........the trust hed have to put in benrey for it........benrey holding gordons jaw very firmly in his hand and showing him the straight razor and being like "yo.......uhh......this things sharp. dont wanna make a mess......better, better sit real fuckin still. sit boy. dont move." and sitting rigidly after benrey says something like that while tilting his jaw up to look directly athim is one of the hardest things gordons done in his life. hes sweating and hes making himself dizzy by trying not to breathe too much

he can just......he can see exactly where gordons jugular is fluttering madly under the razor and where gordons adams apple bobs as benrey skims stubble off his throat and rest assured that benrey is getting off on this just as much as gordon is

big......big hands on his face.....turning him every which way.......running his thumb over the clean line of his jaw to feel the results..........i think its just, its a cool scenario. to think about. but instead of this being just a normal "gordon freeman gets shaved" scenario, hes half naked and chained to a table and also has dog ears for some fucking reason

but also this is just like......his face. its the "trimming him everywhere" thats the really fun part

> like...the moving down his body....touching almost clinically by moving part of him around to get everything...yknow....

casual.....clinical.......nervewracking to be on the receiving end of

> thinking about him having to restrain his horny is fun, but it’s especially fun when you think about how he’d spend hours like that, hard and dripping, since friend benrey wants to be so through

> YES CLINICAL, ALMOST INDIFFERENT

fucking. hours. of just laying there anxiously running his mouth and laughing and gasping when benrey moves him like its nothing or touches him somewhere that makes him jump......like.......benrey with something whirring as loudly as those clippers in his hand doesnt exactly inspire confidence......but hes weirdly good at what hes doing and hes got a broad palm flat on gordons stomach to hold him in place/get him to chill out......but it just makes gordon sweat and flush and hes trying so hard to stay still b/c benrey keeps demeaning him when he squirms too much......like, what, is he scared? thinks benreys gonna cut his other arm off with a pair of hair clippers? get real. calm down maybe.

but thats not really the reason why hes acting weirdly ticklish about the whole procedure. (its because of the Scenario, man. gordons trying so hard to be normal in the face of the awareness that this is one of the most insane things hes ever gotten hard for, but we all know how strung out this dude gets at even relatively normal shit. so much so that benrey will just stare at him blankly and ask "uhhh, stop moving please? thank you?" b/c gordons so handsy ordinarily and he keeps trying to move his hands when he talks)

> listen. what if he....absentmindedly like...pet. him. on the stomach. just doing the motion cause it soothes normal dogs so when he feels gordon squirming he strokes heavily down. repetitive...but hes not even focusing on that, hes like intent on getting the part hes trimming just right gordon freezes up and stops breathing for a second to flush all over. benrey’s hand is so hot on his stomach, and he can only focus on how good it feels,

> squirmy because he feels like he’s gonna die if his dick doesn’t get touched and all his instincts are screaming to disobey and hump benrey into the ground (not like he physically can with the restraints but)

eventually benreys gonna have to get down to brass tacks and shave and trim all of him

> and like the whole time. the whole goddamn time gordons just in his boxers absolutely throbbing with it and like. benrey's hand moves to his stomach and like the waistband of  his boxers. yeah. all of him.

can you imagine. gordon freeman desperately trying not to be horny while his best friend kneels between his legs and hooks those fingers in his waistband and starts peeling them off and completely fucking failing at it but hes still gotta try, right. whether hes cis or trans this idiot is so horny that his underwear is just. ruined

> i still cant stopr thinking abt. in the pictures you drew jordan. the way benrey is. delicately touching gordons dick/pussy to get a better angle for shaving

Y. YEAH. ITS POTENT. IMO. gordon having to pretend like hes not fucking horny in the slightest while benrey just kind of clinically moves his dick around and laughs at him when it twitches......ITS A LOT.

> the amount of willpower gordon is exercising not to fuck up into benrey’s palm when he’s loosely holding his dick to shave all the hair around it is honestly impressive

hes trying so fucking hard. hes shaking. look at him. tail thumping weakly against the table

just......like......i was thinkin about benrey getting gordon stripped bare while he stammers and rambles because he is so very fucking turned on right now and hes so embarrassed by this that he just stares firmly at the ceiling and humiliates himself ranting about how its a totally normal response and plenty of guys get erections during prostate exams and benrey has no idea what the fuck hes talking about

> this was th. part. ...benrey ignoring his boner and his rambling like "yeah alright. stay still for this part though for real" and gets to work. gordon absolutely mortified but hes breathing real shallow cause he doest want to get nicked here of all places so. and benrey placing a hand on his thigh to push them open further so that he can get a better angle and gordon's leg shakes. its quiet until benrey says to himself "'youre bein still. 's good." and gordon's dick visibly twitches at that and he shuts his eyes quickly and turns his face away. also i was still thinkin,,,,bout how the little praise straight up goes to gordon's head and his tail might also thump a lil faster on the table.

> would benrey notice? probably. maybe not say anything at first but just let a real evil smirk spread on his face, laughing a little. and then say lowly when hes focused on his work, "really like that huh. lil dogboy. you like being good?" and gordon lets out a harsh breath, stomach jumping. doesnt respond but his tail moves even faster. benrey's wrist brushes the head of his dick and he lets out a small sound, which turns strangled then he actually takes his hand and presses his dick to the side so he can get right below his stomach. its detached, hes just holding it pressed to the crease of his hip, but gordon's dick throbs under his palm and dribbles precome against the gloved fingers

> Okay, so, part of the grooming process is, of course, bathing the dog. And luckily, Benrey has a wonderful tool to help him with this. A hand-held shower hose with a lovely little shower head with very nice settings to help our little showdog get... clean.

> Imagine, if you will: Gordon, on all fours and chained up to keep him upright as Benrey slowly, methodically, wets him down. Lathers him up. Works his hands all over his body, from tail tip to the top of his head. Massaging into his belly. Rubbing inside his thighs. Cleaning every part of him. Every part.

> And the shower head occasionally dips down, pulsing, right to a sweet spot between Gordon’s legs, the closest thing he’s got to attention the entire time they’ve been playing this game. He’s so close, so GODDAMN close to getting what he wants, but every time Benrey realizes he’s getting somewhere... ... He moves it. To spray his back. His head. His chest. Anywhere but where Gordon wants it.

> Gordon is shaking. His legs are trembling, the table is wet and slick. He’s having such a hard time staying up on all fours, he’s panting and begging and losing his footing and EVERY TIME he loses his footing, well, the collar and chain choke him and force him right back up. And Benrey is just watching. Grinning.

> Waits for him to get his composure.

> And does it again.

just......like.......jesus. gordon would be. shaking. his whole body. panting like a dog. trying so hard to stay still. but he keeps trying to spread his legs wider when benrey reaches his thighs and he keeps slipping and accidentally choking himself and hes nearly at the breaking point trying to keep himself together but benrey runs a big, warm hand along his side and makes a passing comment on what a good boy hes being and gordon almost fucking yells from how overwhelmed he gets

i want gordon freeman fucking obliterated. i want him to suffer first from benrey jerking him around and then being made to jerk himself around, trying and failing to keep his shit together.....and when benrey tells him sumn like, hey no, dont lay down........even if your arms and legs are shakin, you gotta stay up bro.......its so fuckin demeaning and gordon just spits out "im trying!" and benrey buries his free hand in gordons hair like hes gonna tug in retaliation, but instead he just scratches gordons scalp in a way that feels really fucking good and asks "you gonna bite? huh? gonna bite me? when im treatin you so nice......jeez, man" and that takes him back from the brink a little

hes just always keeping gordon on his toes. switching settings. dragging it out and making gordon shake from head to toe, sometimes putting on one of those real powerful pulsing jets to overstimulate him and make gordon yelp and just work him up into a trembling mess struggling to stay upright. snarling in ugly frustration when benrey yanks the showerhead away just as gordons starting to Get There. it feels like it must have been hours that hes been being bathed like this and teased from occasional glancing sprays with the waterhead to direct stimulation while benrey chuckles at him and just blandly comments "youre shaking." and gordon stammers out hotly "of course im fucking shaking, you keep fucking with me and i just wanna--" and benrey takes him by the chin and makes gordon look up at him and says, laughing at him under his breath, "dogs dont talk, bro"

ike.......at this point u might think "surely thats enough. throw the guy a bone." and that maybe, now, gordon freeman will get his dick touched like he deserves. you owuld be wrong. benreys not done here. gordons gotta come down from that table, get toweled off. and when benrey unclips that leash from the table, gordon just fucking collapses. his arms and legs cant really hold him up right now......hes being strung out like a violin, drawn to maximum tautness before being let go all at once just before he snaps.

and this is where benrey plays a little nice.......dries him off and blowdries him a little, brushing out his hair and his tail. hes committed to the bit, okay? he said he was gonna make his best bro look nice, so hes gonna make gordon look nice. this whole time hes letting gordon come back down.....and its......its kind of frustrating, if benreys just gonna decide to leave him like this and drag him outta here  and call that the end of the game, but its not the worst thing in the world right now. for the first time in hours hes not being asked to do something. he doesnt even really have to move his own arms and legs.

but No. hes still not done. theres something theyre forgetting........gotta clip your nails, bro. its the last thing on benreys docket, and gordons embarrassed for a different (but taxonomically similar) reason. all the personal attention and the bizarre intimacy of it makes gordons mouth start running, just to get his mind off it. pretend to be normal! surely thats gonna work when the guy who nearly gave him a nervous breakdown from being edged and toyed with beyond belief is now at his feet, filing nails and running curious thumbs over the tendons and muscles. benreys almost more lost in it than gordon is at this specific point. (hes been doing nothing but jerking gordon around and its hard work. he deserves this.)

gordons been good. really fuckin good. didnt even nip his fingers. benreys best friend deserves a treat.

> look. hes been so fucking good the whole time. not moving and not touching himself, not breaking the tension they have with each other, staying so still. i think he deserves something nice. but like gordon doesnt expect it, he expects to just be jerked around and let go. benrey tells him to stay on the table and he complains about it like "im done now. you. you said we were done" but benrey comes back with a fresh pair of gloves and gordon tenses until benrey places a hand on his chest and tells him to calm down. he was good. rubs at his chest and stomach, slowly pushing him down onto the table while gordon squeaks when benrey parts his legs.  hes mostly soft now but he hears benrey doing something and then rubbing a slick finger around his hole and he lets out a little "oh god. oh god. " that turns into a moan when he presses in.

> gordon's calmed down a bit but its goddamn embarrassing how quickly he gets wet again, dick throbbing a little. and i think. hm. i  think it would be very fun to do overstimulation in this way now too since hes been edged so much that hes actually fucking desperate to come

> i think he should be be fingered until he howls and comes like 3-4 times. he's finally finally getting what he wants i dont know if he would know what to do. hes probably embrassed as all fuck from the way he acted that whole time, but when he starts getting fingered all that stuff just blanks from his mind and its so, so hard for him to not just chase that feeling and whore himself out. the opportunities for whoredon dialogue when hes that desperate are like  saying shit hes cant even think about like "god - please f- fuck." and benrey's only got one finger in him but hes so wet already that benrey tries a second and it slips in easily. he crooks his fingers and gordon fucking keens, thighs shaking.

the fuckin. the agony in his voice when hes hoarsely begging benrey "do not stop do not fucking stop i cant take it" and just. slamming his fist into the table and being so fucking loud, oh my god, this guy is loud

> the thought of how loud he would be crazed me im just. just. him laying on the fucking table, eyes shut tight and moaning high and loud while he pulls tightly on his own hair, clenching hard around benrey's fingers

i think it would just be cool if. uhh. the thing that finally breaks gordon. gets him to just Let Go. is benrey catching him trying to choke back his words and his sounds and just laughs at him, like, "this is the easy part man. you wanna be a good dog? better, uhh.....better beg. cmon, boy. beg." and gordons hips jerk and the subsequent praise he gets when he actually does it makes him just.......snap.......Bye

> and what if.......benrey doesnt remove them as gordon comes down from that. he just waits a few seconds while gordons still panting and then scissors them and wrings a strangled sound out of gordon, whos hips move down again. and the heat starts building again in his gut and he cant even get out full sentences anymore, just bits and pieces while he fucks onto benrey's fingers. m. maybe benrey's growling out shit like "thats it, cmon. been good for me all fuckin day. you want more?" and gordon nods his head without even looking but he hears a thump and sees benrey kneeling between his thighs and he. licks up from where his fingers are to his clit and he just seals his mouth on it and sucks and that makes gordon come a second time, thighs clamping shut around benrey's ears.

i just......i lvoe......overstim.......and i think gordon freeman should have his pussy eaten until he cannot fucking take it anymore

maybe......even.......maybe after gordon comes a second time. benrey doesnt stop sucking and licking. at first it seems like benreys just working him thru the orgasm, but then he just keeps going. and gordons sensitive, hes too fucking sensitive, each time benreys tongue swipes over him he jerks and tries to close his legs. frantically gasping that he did it, okay, he got gordon off, voice getting high and broken, but benrey just pulls back and looks at him flatly and then very deliberately. spreads his legs wider in one swift movement. and pins them with his big fucking hands. and just looks him in the eye and says "i know, dude" and puts his mouth right back on gordon anyway. and gordons legs twitch like fucking mad but benreys so strong and he cant move and hes slamming his fist on the table again from how overwhelming it is, tears prickling in the corner of his eyes, howling into the open air how benreys killing him, hes fuckin killing him, why does he like jerking gordon around so much........and benrey glances up and breaks the seal of his mouth around gordons dick and mutters something about how he must not be doin his job if gordons still talking

i want him to howl wordlessly with frustration and grab benreys hair and yank him closer as gordon rounds the corner from "the agony of getting sucked off when hes hyper-sensitive" to "the agony of chasing yet another orgasm". i want this dude to be tonguefucked until he wails!!! I Want Him Ruined. meat: massacred. pussy: destroyed. i think it would be cool if gordon freeman was wailing at him for more, dont stop, benrey, until benreys got two big fingers back in him and is squeezing in a third alongside them and hes so fucking tight from having just come twice in a row, but the groan gordon lets out when its finally inside him is so guttural and low it makes benrey blink and shiver

and i think that for the grand finale benrey should smash that dogboy pussy. thanks for coming to my TED talk

hes been going thru this shit for hours. taking his time to really screw gordon freeman up good. and its been so fuckin worth it just to hear all the fun new sounds gordon made (cuz of him, he reminds himself). benreys been awkwardly adjusting his dick in his pants for way too fucking long, and gordons been watching him do it. staring at it. saliva collecting at the corner of his mouth. he was achingly hard the whole time he was giving gordon a glorified pedicure. and he didnt even ask to shift forward from where he was kneeling to let the arch of gordons foot press against his dick. its been just as hard for benrey to keep control and stick to the rules of the game as it has been gordon, and this dude oughta get to crush mad pussy okay

> the thought of this is kinda making me insane actually so. im just. h. im just thinking about how it would go down like. augh. i think that gordon would be shaking from his third consecutive orgasm but like. he can keep going. and he finally gets a moment to breathe and look at benrey whos just a mess. hair messed up where gordon gripped it, red faced, mouth dripping with his own drool and gordon's slick and hes remembers like. this guys so fucked up over this, god. and hed been thinking about his dick the whole time, even though he thought he wasnt gonna get anything out of it for a while. hes been wanting it. and so like like he doesnt want to play any more games. hes been good he deserves this.

> benrey's still got three fingers in him so he kind of just pushes him back and breaths out "fuck me". benrey's actually absolutely dazed from everythin and has to process it like "huh. wh" but gordons like "just fucking do it, cmon. im not gonna say it again" and benrey finally actually registers it like. "y-yeah. okay." and he barely has any time to think before gordon's hauling him up onto the table. starts fumbling to get his pants and shirt off and gordons practically tearing at his clothes which doesnt fucking help. letting out little growls maybe like "fucking. jerking me around this whole time fuck you. can see how much you wanted it" and they finally manage to get them off and gordon pulls him on top and ruts against him. its finally now clicking for benrey that fuck. this is actually happening and he pushes into him with a low sound and gordon's thighs and tail go still and taut until he bottoms out.  gordon's fucking panting and clenches down on him and they both let out a little sound and benrey starts fucking into him slow. but cmon. this dudes been pent up the whole goddamn time. its barely any time before hes gripping gordon's hips and fucking up into him fast and hard, hips slapping against gordon's at a desperate pace. he probably tries to make it last but he cant, hes been edging himself too long. im going to fucking die see ya everybody

thinking about just how fuckin bad benreys legs would shake from the effort of pushin in reaaalll slow b/c gordons so fucking tight after having gotten off 3 times in a row.......trembling from the effort of trying to hold himself back......and gordons nails digging into the back of his neck and dragging down his back to leave long red furrows behind....... gordons eyes screwed tightly shut while the only thought on repeat in his head is "oh my god hes big hes so fucking big" and he can barely fuckin speak

> like yeah he had three fingers in him but this is so goddamn much. thinking about...gordon's hands clawing into back involuntarily from the stretch, letting out little cut off pants while his legs shake a little from it. i just. like the thought of his tail pointing out stiffly and trembling too. the absolutely wrecked sound he would let out when he bottomed out, all of that tension kind of leaving him in a drawn out deep moan. benrey shifts just a little to get a better grip on gordon's thighs and it causes him to yelp a little cause its so fucking much just from that movement.

> benrey's trying not to move but his hips are twitching from holding himself back and gordons letting out little. sounds that are making him insane. he pulls out just a little and that makes gordon let out a whine. and when he pushes back in gordon lets out breathless "fuck!" like its been punched out of him. even going this slowly is making him fucking shake like a leaf. hes squeezing his eyes shut tight heaving deep breaths, chest rising and falling fast. hes so full be can barely think. and benrey's just fucking stupid with cumbrain and hes saying all kinds of filthy shit like "h - fucking - so fucking good for me. so good. nnh. best. best friend -" and that makes gordon let out a whine. the praise has been getting to him the whole time and just. again with the loaded phrase of best friend. like the possesiveness of that. that combined with the near-overstimulation of getting filled makes him actually kind of lose it. his thighs clamp around benreys hips and his toes curl and pulls benrey's hips forward to make him thrust into him, so he stop going slow. bye. goodbye

[albapuella]

How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure (Chapter Two)

AO3

Fandom: Homestuck

Summary: How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days AU Dave needs to win a bet; Karkat needs to write an article. Shenanigans ensue.

Tags: Humanstuck, alternate universe - no sburb session, POV switches galore, implied/referenced child abuse Author’s note: This story is the result of a jam session I did with aceAdoxography on the davekat thirst federation discord server. This one's a little out of my usual wheelhouse, but I hope you will enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. New chapters every Saturday/Sunday. Didn’t bother with the formatting this time: You want the fancy formatting, go to AO3 :D

Day 1:

Despite his slacker appearance (and life-style, to be honest), Dave was always punctual. He'd even made an effort to look the part of a guy going on a date with another guy: jeans with only a few holes at the knees, his favorite record shirt, and a red hoodie—all freshly cleaned. So freshly cleaned that the sweater was still very slightly damp. Well, whatever, it'd be fine. They were having dinner first, and that meant he'd have plenty of time for the thing to dry out before they went to the movies where the main thrust of Dave's doki-doki plan would commence.

Karkat arrived a few minutes later. He wasn't dressed to the nines, but it was at least to the sevens. It occurred to Dave, as he watched him approach, that he hadn't known how tall Karkat was. The answer was slightly shorter than Dave but with a more solid build. Stocky. Or maybe that was just the black sweater he was wearing. Then again, his legs looked pretty solid in the black pants he was wearing, too. Either way, he looked good.

Dave gave him an appreciative whistle which made Karkat's eyes narrow. Not the reaction he'd wanted. “Looking good, Karkat,” he said quickly, hoping to smooth over any feathers he might have inadvertently ruffled. “I'm digging the whole sexy college professor thing you've got going.”

“Uh, thanks,” Karkat said with evident disbelief. “You, uh, you look good, too.” He straightened up. “You said we were doing dinner first.”

“Yep.” Dave held out his arm. “I’m taking you to my favorite place. A lot of people think it’s wack, but I’m buying, so if you really don’t like it, at least it didn’t cost you anything.” When his date didn't immediately take his offered arm, he shook it invitingly. “It's not too far from here.”

Karkat looked from Dave's arm to Dave, suspicious. Then he sighed and laid his hand on Dave's arm, his hold tighter than Dave had expected it to be considering his earlier hesitation. “Okay. Fine. Sounds great. Let's go.”

---

The first thing Karkat noticed when he took Dave's arm was that his sleeve was damp. Then he noticed the feeling of the arm beneath his fingers. Despite looking thin enough to break, there was some muscle here. As they walked to what was apparently Dave’s favorite restaurant, Dave just kept talking. If Karkat had been offered a thousand dollars, he doubted he could have remembered any specific details of the inanity he'd been subjected to. A nervous talker. He'd have to put that down in his notes.

Dinner went much the same. Dave talked at him while Karkat sat there trying to eat his food (overpriced, faux Italian—of all the places Dave could have chosen, he'd picked a fucking Olive Garden? That was going in his notes, too.). In all honesty, Karkat tried not to pay too much attention to what was being said. First, he'd already determined that most of what came out of this man's mouth was completely meaningless nonsense, and second, if he actually listened to any of it, he'd be hard pressed not to respond to the idiocy. While Dave had no evident compunction about swearing, Karkat wanted to get through at least this first date without screaming.

All right, so that was an exaggeration. Some of what Dave said was actually pretty funny. In a hopelessly awkward sort of way. Karkat hated that Dave's clumsy compliments were making him blush. Clearly, the man had brain damage... which also explained the rapping that Dave kept doing (completely unprovoked!). By the time dinner was over, Karkat was only too grateful that their next destination meant that Dave would have to stop talking.

---

Since Dave had picked the restaurant, Karkat had picked the movie. Some romantic comedy chick flick Dave couldn't be bothered to remember the title of. Still, it gave him an opportunity to sit right tight next to Karkat and eat his weight in popped, buttery goodness, so he really couldn't complain.

“What’s the deal with that dude?” Dave whispered. “I thought he was already tight with that other chick. What gives? Is he cheating on her?”

Karkat made a noise like a cat being stepped on but softer. “Dave,” he whispered back, his tone full of the same sing-songy patient impatience that Rose would use when she thought Dave was being particularly dim, “if you were paying attention, you'd already know that that 'dude' is that 'other chick's' cousin. They are probably not romantically involved. I know you're from Texas, but that's not how it works above the Mason Dixon line.” Then he ducked his head and took a long drink from his soda. “Sorry. Just-just watch the movie and be quiet.”

Dave blinked. He'd been starting to think Karkat wasn't going to open up at all. At least, he'd had fuck all to say during dinner. Even if it had been an incest joke at his expense, it still was nice to hear Karkat say something. Something that wasn't just non-committal noises or unenthusiastic agreements. He leaned against Karkat's shoulder to whisper, “It's not true, you know. About Texas. We don't fuck our cousins; I mean, we do, but not first cousins. We're strictly second cousins only. It's a rule. Of course, none of my second cousins are as hot as you, so I'd be willing to make an exception. Just this once.”

This earned him a light elbowing to the gut and a low growl, but Karkat didn't push him off.

By the end of the movie, Dave had gotten five more elbows to the gut, three startled bursts of laughter, two creative insults (quickly joined by muttered apologies), and one “Will you please just let me watch this movie?” Over all, Dave felt like he'd succeeded in charming the hell out of this motherfucker, thank you very much.

They'd walked out into the open air, a nice breeze whisking away the smell of popcorn and sweat from the movie theater. “I had a lot of fun, Karkat. Thanks for coming on this date with me. Do you think we could do this again sometime?”

Karkat blinked at him, a clear look of surprise on his face. “Oh, uh, sure.” He shook his head. “I mean, yes, I'd love to go on another date with you.”

Dave's heart leapt. “Awesome. You can hit me up on Pesterchum. Or I can hit you up. How about I hit you up?”

“Fine, that's... that's fine.” Karkat's smile seemed uneven. “I'll be looking forward to it.”

Although Dave was tempted to try for a kiss, he didn't think he ought to press his luck so far on the first date. Karkat had loosened up some while they'd been in the theater, but out here under the streetlight, he looked nervous again. The last thing Dave wanted to do was chase him away. “Okay then. I guess I'll see you later?”

A slow nod. “Yeah, later.” Karkat was stilted and contained again. Restricted, like a hermit crab stuck in a shell that was too tight. It wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all. Dave had caught a few glimpses of the real Karkat tonight, and the sight made him hungry to see more.

Dave watched him walk away, admiring the view with a new goal in mind: he was going to get Karkat Vantas out of his shell if it was the last thing he did. Getting to rub him in Rose’s face at her wedding was only going to be a bonus.

---

* Never shuts up. Not even during movies. Especially during movies. Attention span of a gnat. From Texas. Doesn't know how to use a dryer. Finds me attractive. Probable brain damage. Funny. Charming. Obnoxious. Never takes off sunglasses. Olive Garden.

Karkat sighed and set down his pen. He'd tried his best to be as cordial as he knew how to be, and he still hadn't managed to last for the entire four hours without insulting his date. Multiple times. Oh well. At least Dave was apparently brain damaged enough to find rudeness terribly amusing (if the way he'd kept bugging Karkat during the movie had been any indication).

He'd been surprised when Dave had actually asked if they could go on another date. Karkat knew he hadn't made the best impression, and yet Dave wanted to spend more time with him? He looked over his notes, trying to ignore the surge of happiness that filled him at the thought. It didn't mean anything: Dave was clearly an idiot, and after a few more days, Karkat was going to start on the offensive. Whatever meager promise there would have been in this fledgling romance, it was still doomed from the start: like all of Karkat's relationships.

Day 2:

It was all Dave could do to wait until the next day to pester Karkat. He didn't want to come off as too eager, after all. Didn't want to put Karkat off. But Dave was only so strong.

TG: so i was thinking TG: if youre not busy TG: we could go to the park this afternoon TG: watch the grifters and maybe get robbed TG: or you could come to my place and hang TG: is it too soon to do that? TG: asking for a friend TG: this is dave by the way TG: i dont know how many people youre talking to TG: not that its any of my business TG: i wouldnt want you up in my grill asking me who im talking to CG: IT IS SIX O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING ON SUNDAY. TG: yea and youre up anyway CG: BECAUSE YOU WOKE ME UP. WITH YOUR TEXTS. THAT YOU SENT JUST NOW. TG: oh shit sorry CG: IT'S FINE. I NEEDED TO GET UP ANYWAY. CG: YOU WANT TO HANG OUT WITH ME? WHY?

Dave frowned down at his phone. Was Karkat fishing for compliments or was he being serious?

TG: because its fun to hang out with you TG: thats how this works right? TG: i thought we could watch another movie TG: at my place TG: or your place i guess if that works better for you TG: ive got popcorn if that sweetens the deal at all CG: YES. BECAUSE THE WAY TO MY HEART IS MICROWAVED POPCORN. TG: fucking called it CG: … CG: FINE. I'LL MEET YOU AT THE PARK AT 2:30PM. IS THAT ACCEPTABLE? TG: perfect ill meet you by the giant yo CG: YOU MEAN THE OY/YO. TG: tomatoes tomotoes karkat

Dave watched the little “CG is typing” message run for almost a minute, feeling his nervousness grow. What had he said that required a novel length response? He managed to reign in the impulse to apologize preemptively, but it was a struggle.

CG: OKAY. WHATEVER. I'LL MEET YOU THERE.

He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Fine, good then. Nothing was wrong.

TG: im looking forward to it TG: its not hard to intuit TG: when we come out to debut TG: sit by the yo then well go round TG: downtown get the lowdown TG: before we get busy in the hissie TG: partake of the fizzie cause we got a duty TG: to watch the fuck out of this movie CG: RIGHT. SEE YOU THEN. BYE.

Dave shrugged. He couldn't expect Karkat to really appreciate his off the cuff rhymes so soon after waking up, he supposed. Maybe they'd land better later. Flat reception or not, the important thing was he'd gotten Karkat to agree to come to his apartment. He looked around, frowning. Maybe he should clean up a little.

---

Jesus Fucking Christ. Karkat tossed his phone on the bedside table with a groan. It had been all that he could do not to curse out Dave like there would never be a tomorrow. Considering the fact that he was currently planning to go to the apartment of a practical stranger, that much might just be true for him. He lay in bed a little longer, out of spite mostly—he could never get back to sleep after being woken up—, before getting out from under the covers. First things first: notes.

* Inconsiderate asshole. Horrible rapper. Calls the OY/YO “the YO”. Doesn't know the right way to express “tomatoes, tomahtos”. Wants to spend time with me. Insane. We have that much in common.

Thanks to Dave's wake-up call, Karkat had plenty of time to eat a hearty breakfast and start his article.

“How to Lose a Lover in 10 Days or Less: A Comprehensive Guide to Becoming a Future Romantic Failure” BY KARKAT VANTAS

Since you have decided to read this article, I will assume that you are looking to learn the art of ruining your relationships without the mess of all that trial and error. Maybe you enjoy breaking hearts. Maybe you are the kind of masochist who enjoys getting their heart broken but is at a loss as to how to properly sabotage your relationship yourself. If you can manage to follow these simple steps, you will be well on your way to the same bitter loneliness that usually only the most unlucky in love get the privilege to experience. 

The first step is the victim. For the purposes of this article, I picked one that is particularly obnoxious and brain dead. You may have different qualities you are looking for in a potential short-term partner. Ultimately, the most important thing to consider when you plan to lose a guy (or gal or enby) is that you make certain they are one you do not mind losing. That way you can start the process without any regrets.

The second step is the hook. Laugh at their dumb jokes; accept their stupid compliments; ignore their mangling of the English language (in my case, his horrible rapping); and generally be as agreeable as you can manage. A severe lack of intelligence in your short-term partner can be a boon here, though you will find most people are not immune to flattery. You need to make certain that you have your short-term partner well and truly interested in you before you attempt to lose them. If you try to lose them too soon, you will miss out on the full relationship ruining experience.

A little too informal, maybe, but a fine start. Depending on how well this afternoon went (assuming he wasn't murdered and stuffed in a closet), maybe Karkat would be able to start on step three. He was able to stomp down his nascent guilt with ease. After all, Dave wouldn't have been interested in him after the novelty wore off anyway.

---

The afternoon was a little warmer than the evening had been, but Dave still wore his hoodie. It felt lucky, and it was still clean. More the latter than the former, but the point stood! He sat down on the bench next to the giant yellow YO installation and waited. While it was tempting to shoot a message to Karkat, he decided against it. He’d be seeing him in less than ten minutes, and he didn’t want him to think he was clingy. Which he wasn’t. Totally not. Dave Strider had never clung his whole life. Ask anyone. Except Jade. Don’t ask her. 

He noticed his leg was bouncing and put a stop to that noise. He was a cool operator. He had this thing on lock. The date yesterday had gone good, right? Karkat wouldn’t have agreed to see him again if he’d had a terrible time. He pushed back his hood and ran a hand through his hair. Nothing to worry about. He’d have a date for Rose’s wedding and continue sorting out the mystery that was Karkat Vantas.

Dave heard the crunch of gravel and looked over to see Karkat approaching. Another sweater combo, but gray this time. The guy had a style he preferred, clearly. It was fine: he looked great. He stood and closed the distance between them. “Hey, Karkat.”

“Hey,” Karkat returned, frowning. Of course, that seemed to be his default expression. “I brought a movie to watch,” he said gruffly. 

Although Dave had been hoping he’d be able to pick the movie this time, he wasn’t too cut up about it. It might be a little early in the relationship to bring out The Room anyway. He wouldn’t know. “Sounds great. My place isn’t too far from here.” He held his arm out. “Shall we?”

Again, Karkat regarded his arm with suspicion. “Why do you do this?”

“Do what?”

Karkat opened his mouth before seeming to think better of whatever he’d planned to say. “Never mind.” He took Dave’s arm. “Let’s get going.”

As they walked to his apartment, Dave tried to keep the conversation flowing, but Karkat’s subdued responses quickly killed his enthusiasm. “I feel like I’m talking too much,” he said finally. 

Karkat mumbled something which sounded suspiciously like “You think?” before he shook his head. “No, of course not. I’m just a little too tired to, uh, participate, that’s all.”

Dave winced at the reminder of his first faux pas of the day. “No problem, dude. I got us covered. I got words for days.”

“Months even,” Karkat added before ducking his head. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

Nudging Karkat’s side, Dave laughed. “Nah, man it’s true. I’ve got words for fucking years.”

Karkat smiled slightly. “Decades.”

“Centuries.”

“Eons”

“Until the next motherfucking epoch, I’ve got words, Karkat. So many words. All the words even.”

Karkat snorted, covering his face with his free hand. “Damn it, Dave. Stop making yourself likeable.”

“I think that’s the point of this whole thing,” Dave pointed out reasonably. “Dating, I mean. It’s not like the old days where your dad and my dad decide if you’re worth enough chickens to trade me for, you know. These days I get to decide for myself how many chickens I want to be traded for.” He gave Karkat a mock critical eye. “How about it, Karkat? How many chickens could I get for you?”

“I don’t know,” Karkat said, his mock serious tone almost too close to a serious tone for Dave’s comfort. “Let me look in my pocket.” He made a show of staring down at the pocket containing his free hand before sliding the hand out and flipping Dave the bird. “Is this enough for you?”

Dave laughed. “I’m sorry, Karkat. You must have at least five chickens to ride this ride.” He felt his face flush but pushed onward. “I guess you’ll have to settle for a movie, and maybe some pizza.”

Karkat was grinning, and Dave decided right then and there that he wanted to keep seeing it. “Maybe next time.” As though to intentionally spite him, Karkat frowned again. “Are we almost there?”

“Yeah, man, just a little further.” As they continued their journey to his apartment, Dave felt himself frown. What was Karkat’s deal? He was a lot more fun when he let himself be himself. Dave didn’t like meanness for meanness sake, but he enjoyed a good joke. For some reason, Karkat seemed to think he shouldn’t joke around? Why? His frown deepened. Karkat also apologized a lot. And he was so often deferential even when it was obvious he had OPINIONS he wasn’t sharing. The pieces were adding up to a disturbing picture. 

Maybe after he was done hanging out with Karkat today, he should hit up Rose. She’d know what to do.

---

Karkat’s expectations for Dave’s apartment had been fairly low, and he’d been pleasantly surprised. While not as meticulous as his own apartment, there at least weren’t empty food containers on every surface or dirty clothes everywhere. There was an overall shabbiness though: the feeling that the occupant didn’t care overly much about the apartment’s upkeep. The futon in front of the television was ancient and threadbare as were the carpets. The posters hung on the walls were dusty and faded, and there was a sort of mildewy smell. Still, as previously mentioned it was clean (more or less), and there were no obvious signs of a hidden murder dungeon (not that there would be if there were one, naturally). 

“Nice place,” he said for politeness’ sake. 

Dave beamed like a little boy who’d gotten just what he’d wanted for Christmas. “Thanks. It’s not much, but it keeps the rain off.” He gestured towards the futon. “Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink? I’ve got apple juice. And water from the tap, I guess. I could go pick up some beer if you want to go that route, or--”

Karkat held up his hand, hoping to stem the tide of suggestions. “Water’s fine, thank you.”

“You’ve got it,” Dave said before tilting his head and making twin awkward gestures with both hands involving his pointer fingers. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

It wasn’t until after he’d disappeared into, presumably, the kitchen that Karkat realized he’d been making finger guns. What a dork. Not that Karkat was any more suave, but he liked to think he was at least less childish. He tried to supplant the rush of fondness he felt by recalling just how pissed he’d been with this manchild this morning. It was not one hundred percent successful.

Dave returned with two glasses: water for Karkat, and apple juice for himself. “Take a seat,” he insisted as he set the glasses on the coffee table (sans coasters). “It won’t bite.”

Gingerly, Karkat took a seat on the ancient futon. The padding was so thin, he could feel the bars beneath. It was going to take a while to become unbearable, and he hoped this hang out? date? didn’t last long enough for that to happen. Just as he’d been about to reach for the water, suddenly uncertain whether he actually ought to drink anything Dave gave him, Dave flopped down onto the futon beside him like a sack of gangly flour. “Dave!”

“S’up?” Dave asked, grinning. 

“Don’t ‘s’up’ me--,” Karkat managed to stop himself from calling Dave an asshole, but only just. “Just don’t ‘s’up’ me. Speak like a normal person.” He realized he was making a mistake as soon as the words were out of his mouth. “Sorry, I--”

“Dude,” Dave said, his grin dropping away, “Karkat, you don’t have to apologise for every kind of mean thing you say. I’m a big boy: I can take it.” 

Karkat supposed he shouldn’t be surprised: he’d never been good at pretending to be a good person. If he could have managed that feat for any length of time, he wouldn’t be in this position. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said as dryly as he could. 

“I’m serious.” Dave sat up and turned to face Karkat head on, and Karkat saw his own annoyed expression mirrored in the black lenses. “I haven’t known you very long, and maybe I shouldn’t say anything, but--”

“You’re right,” Karkat interrupted, feeling his tenuous hold on his temper slipping. “You shouldn’t say anything.” After taking a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything he didn’t mean to, he spoke again. “Let’s just watch the movie and eat some microwaved popcorn. Does that sound like something we could do? Or would you like to keep pretending you have some deep insights into my character as though we’ve known each other longer than three days?”

Dave raised his hands, and Karkat realized he’d sounded far more aggressive than the situation warranted. At this rate, he wouldn’t even get a chance to lose this asshole! Nice job, Vantas: stellar work. “No, you’re right. I’ll step off.” Dave said softly. He got off of the futon with far more grace than he’d flopped onto it with. “You just put the movie in, and I’ll, uh, I’ll make the popcorn.”

Karkat watched him go before putting his head in his hands. Well, fuck. As though this whole situation hadn’t been awkward before. He should just leave. Just leave, forget about his stupid article, and stop dragging this stupidly likeable idiot down with him. He should. 

He stayed where he was. 

---

Dave took maybe longer than he absolutely needed to to prepare the popcorn. As much as he liked to consider himself a smooth operator, he could tell when he’d made a mistake, and he wanted to give the guy in the other room a chance to cool down. What made it made it worse was that Karkat had been right to get mad at him: Dave barely knew him. In his place, Dave would probably be pissed, too. 

Even so, Dave didn’t think he was wrong about the conclusions he’d come to. It was obvious that Karkat was, for whatever reason, putting on a show for Dave’s sake. Honestly, it was kind of creepy. If he understood why Karkat felt the need to do that, he’d feel better about it.

But it wasn’t his business. Not yet. Maybe you had to reach a certain level on the boyfriend echeladder before that kind of thing was something you talked about. It would probably help if they were actually boyfriends and not just newly dating, too. There seemed to be at least one obvious solution to that problem.

Dave could be patient. After all, he still had eleven days or so to get Karkat to at least like him enough to be his plus one at Rose’s wedding. It wasn’t all he wanted anymore, but it'd be enough to start with. As Rose had so often told him, start with small goals. 

He poured an obscene amount of butter over the popcorn in the bowl and headed out to the living room. Karkat was bent over, fiddling with the DVD player, and when he looked up at Dave, his mouth was curved somewhat upwards. “What movie do you have for us?”

Karkat stood. “Coming to America.” He made his way back to the futon and sat down as though worried he might fall through if he sat down too quickly. “It’s more comedy than romantic, so I thought you might enjoy it more.”

That sounded vaguely familiar. “Okay.” Dave joined him on the futon, taking care not to startle him this time. “Let’s get this party started.”

---

Karkat had hoped bringing a comedy would hold Dave’s attention enough to keep him from talking through the whole thing. He’d been mistaken. Yes, a lot of what Dave said was funny, but it just never fucking stopped. Finally, Karkat couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed the remote and paused the movie. Then he very deliberately set the remote back down. “I want you to listen to me, Dave. Are you listening?”

Dave looked confused, but he nodded. “Yeah, I’m listening. Do you have something you want to tell me? I’m all ears. Lay it on me.”

God, he couldn’t even listen without rambling! “Would it kill you to shut up?” He saw Dave’s eyebrows peek over the tops of his glasses. A part of him told him to reconsider his current course of action, but naturally, Karkat could never abide by a piece of good advice. “Would it literally cause you to drop dead if you couldn’t expel your idiocy out of your mouth like a goddamned septic pipe full of half-formed metaphors and bullshit? Would your head explode? Can we try that experiment and see what happens?” Karkat felt his fingernails biting into his palms and realized he’d clenched his fists. “What do you say, Dave? Wait, I’ve changed my mind: don’t say anything. Let me bask in the gentle ethereal glow of silence for a moment. Can you do that for me, Dave? Can you let me bask? Will the endless flow of words finally cease?”

‘No’ was clearly the answer to that question since Dave was already opening his mouth. Then, to Karkat’s utter shock, he shut it again. His expression wasn’t ever easy to read with those douche shades he insisted on wearing all the time, but now it was completely closed off. Even the eyebrows had lowered back to their original position.

Silence stretched between them. 

Karkat felt sick to his stomach. Shit. Shit. He really just couldn’t do it, could he? Couldn’t pretend even for a few hours that he was a normal person. Well, so much for this experiment. Time to write off this little adventure. Was it worth even trying to apologise? Before he could decide, Dave made the decision for him. 

He was clapping. “Damn, just got owned,” he said, a wide grin splitting his face. “You owned me, Karkat. You should feel proud. Not everyone gets own this,” he gestured to himself. “I just hope you know what you’re getting into: I’m barely house trained.”

For an embarrassingly high number of seconds, all Karkat could do was blink. “You’re not mad?”

“Fuck no,” Dave said, still grinning. “I’m a big kid now. I’ve graduated from diapers all the way to pull ups. It takes more than a finely crafted, well-deserved take down to take me down.” The grin softened. “This is what I was trying to say before: I want to date you, not some weird super agreeable version of you. If you want to tell me off for talking too much, fucking go for it. You’ve got a way with insults--it’s a gift. Frankly, I’m insulted you’ve been keeping it to yourself.”

“There’s more where that comes from, asshole,” Karkat said before he could stop himself. To his amazement, Dave still seemed more amused than anything. A strange mixture of anger and fondness welled up inside him. “Stop grinning at me, and watch the fucking movie.” He picked up the remote and hesitated. “You don’t have to be silent,” he said, still feeling a little guilty over his earlier outburst, “just maybe less talking?”

Dave made a big show of running a zipper over his lips. Then he immediately ruined it by saying, “Scouts honor, Karkat. My word is bond. You can cash that shit at the bank.”

Karkat tried to picture Dave as a boy scout and failed. “Right.” He pressed play and the movie resumed. Of course, Dave still talked during the movie, but the sheer volume of words had slowed to a moderate stream rather than the full-bore blasting Karkat had been subjected to earlier. As he sat there on the futon, occasionally answering Dave’s stupid comments with barbs of his own, he felt warm in a way that was only nominally connected to the temperature of the arm he was leaning against. He felt… content.

---

Overall, Operation Hang Out had been a big success. It had been rocky in places, but again, overall, Dave felt like he’d hit his major mission objectives. A movie was watched, pizza was consumed, and Karkat finally, finally, did something other than apologise every time a hint of the person he’d met at the cafe had come through. He didn’t necessarily want to keep pissing Karkat off, but that bitch fit he’d thrown had been epic. 

Karkat wasn’t the kind of guy Dave had expected to find himself interested in. At least, he’d never thought he’d have a grumpy asshole kink. Not that he hadn’t enjoyed the more quiet parts of Karkat’s visit, too. It had felt nice to sit on the futon with someone leaning against his shoulder. Dave wasn’t a sap, no, not a suave guy like him, but he couldn’t deny he’d like to do it again some time. 

He considered texting Rose as he’d planned to earlier before deciding not to. After all, he’d managed the first crisis all on his own, and she might consider it cheating if he got her help. No, for now at least, this bird was flying solo.

---

* Clean apartment. Finger guns. Puts too much butter on popcorn. Also talks during movies outside theater setting. Likes getting insulted. Kink?  Wants to date the “real” me. Delusional. Comfortable arm. Had a nice time. Had acceptable time. Clothes in his shower??? 

[baroquebucky]

Request : your ex boyfriend whom you broke up with on good friends comes to visit on a birthday party organized by your current boyfriend Bucky. Bucky feels overshadowed and threatened . Angst and fluff pls

A/N: okay i am LIVING for this honestly, jealous!bucky is a fave !!!! sorry if this sucks :-( keep requesting pls

You didn’t want a famous Stark party for your birthday, you wanted a cute small get together with all your friends and your boyfriend. You had college though, and you were an avenger, so time didn’t really exist for you. Let alone enough time to plan a whole party. So of course you dropped small hints to your beloved Bucky.

“you know these two colors go really well together” “oh this cake is SO yummy!!” “i think this playlist is perfect for something like a laid back but FUN party!” “oh these decorations are amazing”

These subtle hints continued for about a week, not including the bundles of texts you would send him while in class or when you were bored or walking the dog you had, and yes, you forced them to get a dog. And now tony created the little guy his own room, catered to his every need, but of course he preferred you over everyone else and was very protective of you. One time while cuddling on the couch he tried to bite bucky because he thought he was trying to kill you, let’s just say bucky flinches a bit now when the pupper jumps on you.

“Okay team. T minus 10 hours until show time. I need Tony and Rhodes on decorations, Bruce and Natasha on food duty- STRICTLY DESSERTS AND CAKE PLEASE, Clint and Sam on food food duty, Steve and Thor you’re on gifts, I’ve compiled a list, and i am over seeing everything as well as inviting everyone. ARE YOU READY TEAM” Bucky gave out the orders, everyone nodding their heads as they all put their hands in the middle. “This has to be PERFECT Y/N needs to know how much we appreciate her, assemble on 3!” “1, 2, 3” “ASSEMBLE” the heroes yelled out as they scrambled to get everything to perfection. People fighting over which super car to drive.

You however were already in class, running late but with iced coffee so it’s worth it. As you jogged into class rushing to your seat next to your ex. Yes your ex, you guys were great friends though so it was okay, you loved Bucky and he trusted you. “hey man i woke up early but still managed to be late? How does that even work?” You said slightly out of breath setting you bag down and pulling out this classes respective notebooks. “You always find a way Y/N” y/e/n smiled at your frantic actions.

As class came to a close you put away your things and headed to the colleges outdoor area, it’s where you hung out with a few people until your next class. “Mind if i join you today?” y/e/n asked you, “of course not! Cmon before i miss the dog i always pet” you beamed at them as you lightly jogged to meet the canine you loved. Your paths crossed only at that time of day and you were never late, you and the dogs owner, Angelica, became somewhat close thanks to this golden retriever. As you made slight small talk, you ended the conversation and you headed in different directions. As you talked to your ex and your other friends joined you they gave you a cupcake and sang you happy birthday. Time flew and before you knew it you were headed to your next class, ready the day to be over and to get home.

you checked your phone briefly before your class started and saw a text from bucky.

buckaroo: do you still talk to y/e/n ?

you quickly composed a text, yeah i just talked to him for like an hour rn lmao

You hit send and put your phone away as your professor began to talk about the upcoming test you had. After a few hand cramps from taking notes too fast, and trying to not fall asleep, the lesson was over and you were almost free. You had to go to the library quickly to get a book you needed for a report. As you made your way to the library you quickly replied to some birthday texts from friends and playing people back at iMessage games.

After getting the book you headed back to the compound, ready to shower, relax for a bit, and then party it up with you friends. But thats exactly what happened, but not in that order.

“T MINUS 30 MINUTES! HUSTLE PEOPLE HUSTLE IM 100 YEARS OLD AND I MOVE FASTER HURRY IT UP” Bucky shouted as the team finished the final details. It was beautiful, Bucky knew you would love it. The people he had invited flooded in as they were told specific places to hide to surprise you.

“Hey Bucky!” y/e/n called out to the super soldier. “Oh hey, it’s James by the way” Bucky said immediately dreading whatever came out of this assholes mouth. You said that he wasn’t that bad, just didn’t work out dating, Bucky however hated his guts, he lost you, the most amazing thing is all the nine realms and didn’t even feel bad about it. He wanted to punch the guys face in but he couldn’t get blood on the decorations. After forcing himself to your ex walked away and Bucky had to take a deep breath in to collect himself.

“T MINUS 39 SECONDS SHES HERE” Tony yelled as everyone took their places, Bucky grabbed a bouquet of your favorite flowers and opened the door. “hey doll, how was your day?” Bucky smooth talked you with a kiss on the cheek as he hid the flowers behind his back. “Pretty good honey and yours?” You asked hugging him and setting you bag down by the door. “Close your eyes” Bucky started firmly, you chuckled and did as you were told as he led you to the middle of the room. “Happy birthday doll” Bucky whispered in your ear as you opened your eyes.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY” everyone yelled popping up with squeakers and those little blow out things you always loved. You stared in awe as you observed even the smallest of details, not one thing you had said had been left out. You looked at bucky who handed you the flowers and your eyes began to well up with tears. “It’s perfect baby” you smiled getting on your tippy toes to kiss him on the lips quickly. Bucky smiled and quickly kissed you back. “Go have fun baby” he smiled at you as you hugged him one last time before running off to your friends.

About an hour had passed and Bucky could not find you. And someone he spotted you in the corner of the room. With y/e/n. His blood ran cold as you smiled and laughed with him. He saw the way your ex looked at you, the way he put his hand lightly on your arm when he told a joke, and the way his eyes raked over your body as you got another drink. He hated it. As he began striding over to him, his metal arms whirring as he clenched his fists, a strong hand bragged him pulling him back. “Don’t buck. The last thing she’d want is a fight.” Steve told Bucky as he let out a shaky breath. Staring at you as your red dress fit you perfectly and you laughed at what was probably a horrible joke. You snatched his arm from Steve’s grip and walked the other way, the lights bouncing off his metal arm.

“Look at them. Look at her Steve, she’s all laughing and smiling and everything. He’s flirting! Just right there Steve!” Bucky huffed as he ran his hand though his hair angrily. “Go talk to her then” Steve said drinking some of what Thor brought him.

“Maybe she doesn’t love me anymore” He whisperered, watching you lean into your ex while laughing at something he said. He couldnt stand anymore of it.

Bucky stormed out as he headed to the fifth floor where the dog was and where the beautiful view of the city was. “Hey buddy” Bucky said softly as his chest sank lower and lower. The dog- Ace, sat next to him as his tail wagged glad to have some company. “Does she even love me anymore? I mean she’s so beautiful and I’m actually 100 years old. And did you see how she was acting with her ex? Her ex! As if i didn’t plan this whole fucking party for her, buy her exactly what she wanted and make everything perfect? And he suddenly waltzes in and she’s laughing with HIM?” Bucky furrows his eyebrows as he huffs out in anger his complaints. Ace lowly barking and making noises almost agreeing with him. “It’s like she has no respect for herself now” Bucky said immediately regretting his words.

“Wow.” A sad voice echoes behind him. He and ace quickly got up as he saw your standing a little bit behind you two. “No self respect huh? I throw myself at every guy? That’s what you’re saying?” You said angrily, hands shaking from either sadness or rage. “No Y/N you know i don’t mean that” Bucky pleases striding towards you grabbing your wrist. “Don’t touch me.” You stated voice cold.

“Well what the fuck do you expect? I do every fucking thing you tell me, hoping that you can at LEAST validate my efforts and be with me during the party I threw for you. But no. You’re off with you Ex of all people laughing and completely ignoring me.” Bucky said voice raising only a bit. The hurt was evident in his voice, but you were going to give in.

“I thought you trusted me? Do you think something is going on?” You looked at him, knowing that would make him feel bad. “No but it’s just seeing you look so happy with him, hurt.” Bucky whispered.

“Knowing you can have him and any other guy and be normal and live a normal life, with someone who isn’t as broken as I am, someone who doesn’t have to wait two months before being okay with holding hands. Seeing you so happy with him makes me wonder if you’re gonna find someone better and realize you can do so much better than the horrible thing I am.” Bucky whispered not being able to look into your eyes. Your chest hurt from hearing the words leave his mouth. You hated when he was like this.

“Look at me James.” You states sternly grabbing both of his hands in yours, putting two fingers under his chin and making him look at you with his blue eyes that melted your heart.

“I love you. Only you. I don’t care if i can have a ‘normal’ life. If normal means not you, i don’t want that. I want you James Buchanan Barnes. I want you and every one of you flaws. I want you and your good and bad days. I want you and only you. You’re my soulmate and nothing can change my mind. I understand if you think he was flirting and honestly he probably was, which is why i was laughing so much. He probably thinks he can take me back to make me like him again, but little does he know you could snap his neck with your pinky” you smiled at he let out a slight chuckle to your last comment. He pulled you into his chest as you wrapped your arms around him.

“I’m sorry for being such a loser on your big day” Bucky mumbled into your hair as he kissed your forehead. “You’re my loser, the party is still perfect angel” You said kissing his jaw. He stared down at you with pure love in his eyes. “We should probably go back and open presents huh” He smiled kissing your lips between each word. “mmm maybe we should” You said closing your eyes and savoring the moment.

The two of you left Ace to sleep and headed out silently as Bucky told you his plan to threaten your ex. You laughed at his fake macho voice and kissed him once more. “Thank you for everything bucky, really it’s perfect” you said sincerely. “Anytime doll” he smiled as you entered the booming room packed with all the familiar faces. As you wondered off to find something to cut the cake with, y/e/n came up to Bucky.

“There you are! Been looking for you, where’s Y/N?” He asked slyly. Bucky stood a little taller and let the light catch his metal arm. “Listen kid, I’m gonna tell you this once and only once. You flirt with my girl one more time, you try and ‘threaten’ me or try and overshadow me by hanging out with my girl, and I’ll make you wish you were dead. Hell you might actually be dead. Is that clear?” Bucky said in a deep voice close to his ear. He frantically nodded and quickly scampered away as you came back smiling.

“When will you ever learn James” you teased giving him a nudge and leading him to the table. “They gotta know who you belong to babygirl” he smirked as you blushed. “You’re just a big softie” you teased as you two enjoyed the rest of the night together and with friends.

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Stay Ch. 16

Master List

Pairing: Natasha X Reader (Female)

Summary: You have a gift, the ability to see other people’s innermost secrets. For years you used it to gather intel for the highest bidder when you take on The Widow. After she becomes more than a mark the two of you spend years stealing moments. Post snap you wait in your designated meeting place, look back on the sordid past you share with the woman you love and hope against everything that she’s still alive.

Warnings: Angst, and fluff, and feels oh my!

A/N:  So yeah I swear I wroth an authors note for this... but idfk what happened. 

ANYWAY! Thank you all for being so patient while I got my life together. This one is also short and sweet (guess that’s the mood I’m in). However, y’all should know me by now. This is just the calm before the storm. 

Hope you enjoy this one my pumpkins! 

Tags are open!

@mywinterwolf  @disagreetoagree  @breezy1415  @peachthatdrinkslemonade  @5aftermidnight@jeromethepsycho  @marvel-randomness  @daniellajocelyn  @katecolleen  @yanginginthere@wonderlandmind4 @piensa-bonito @for-the-love-of-the-fandom @lesbian-girls-wayhaught @siriuslycloudy2

March 2007

At some point in the last five months, you’d stopped recognizing yourself. The woman in the mirror wasn’t Y/N. Her hair was different, down to even the eyebrows. Her accent distinctly that of a life long Londoner. She worked for an independent UK couture fashion magazine, chose wine over whiskey, and was distinctly heterosexual.

When the chance to work this job requiring deep cover came up in December you jumped on it. You didn’t want to be you anymore. The you that couldn’t be with the woman you loved. The you that was heartbroken. The you who was beginning to doubt that you’d ever be happy. Fuck her.

Being Charlie Daniels was far better. She was, of course, a real person. Just one who was now living comfortably in the Bahamas courtesy of MI6. Even legit agencies had use of freelance talent every now and then.

Settling into her life had been easy. Not setting her boss on fire or blowing his brains out daily was a different task altogether. Turned out that a magazine was a great front for a crime empire. Lots of international travel, young and beautiful and desperate men and women, money exchanged in countless untraceable ways, on and on. And this fucker was happy to take advantage of every single disgusting avenue it opened up.

You almost had everything you needed to hand to MI6, get your obscenely large payout, and get on to another gig while they threw all of these bastards into cells to rot for the rest of their miserable lives. Just one more trip. After whatever horrible things they lay out in Tokyo you’ll be set.

Tokyo is one of those cities you can lose yourself in. Like New York but better for its interesting balance of vibrancy and grounded reserve. You absolutely love it.

The whole point of the trip, at least on the surface, was to focus on Fashion Week Tokyo. Honestly, there was a part of you that wished this was your world. Nothing but runway shows and after parties. Writing about the latest trends rather than delving into the inner workings of the worlds miscreants

Oh well. It was nice enough to pretend. You had to admit that you’d miss Charlie Daniels once you shed this skin in a couple of weeks.

You’re sitting two people down from your boss at an underground show. The level of security here screams that there are other things going on behind the scenes but it’s still a room filled with a who’s who of the Japanese and international fashion communities.

This was your third show of the day, and you knew there would be a party after where you’d have to schmooze all while plucking information from your unsuspecting fellow guests. You’re exhausted. So rather than pay much attention to the show you let your mind wander.

When she walks out you feel her rather than see her.  Slowly you turn your head to stare dumbstruck at the model walking onto the catwalk. Your heart begins beating against your ribs, your mouth goes dry, your hands shake.

It takes every ounce of control you have to keep your emotions in. To not scream “Natasha!” at the top of your lungs. To not grab her and run for the hills. Charlie Daniels and her easy life be damned. It’s hard but you manage.

As she turns and comes back down, passing now closer to you, her eyes don’t graze  the crowd at all. Head up, shoulders back, she walks the runway like she’d been doing it for years.

The rest of the show is maybe ten minutes but it feels like years. You know the models are all attending the party. Eye candy for the high end guests.

It’s fairly easy to ditch your coworkers in the crowd as you try to find the best vantage point in the room without being too obvious. After a solid twenty minutes, you find yourself planning an escape route. Most of the models are milling about but she’s no where to be seen. You will find her.

But you know you can’t skip out just yet. At the bar, you order a red wine and make yourself seen. Charlie would never miss the whole party after all. You spend a bit chatting with designers and a few models, feigning interest in the whole thing until you hear your boss call out to you.

“Oy, Charlie!” Carl’s voice alone makes you want to put him down. When you turn he’s waving you over to the bar. Sighing heavily you head over.

You’re about ten feet away when you see her, head back laughing at something Carl or his friend had said. Both men are far to close to her for your liking and the hungry look on Carl’s face sets your blood boiling.

He slings an arm around your shoulders and you carefully coach your face to not show disgust. “Charlie here is my best writer. Doin’ some pieces for us on this whole thing,” he waves his other hand around wildly.

“Good to meet ya, Charlie, I’m Dan,” the other man, clearly American says.

“Likewise,” Natasha doesn’t react to the accent at all.

“This here is-”

“Natalie,” Natasha cuts him off, extending a hand to you. Holding her eyes with yours you take it. It’s like touching a live wire.

“Natalie is an American model working here in Japan. May be a good topic for a piece.” He ribs you leaning closer, “And a good piece for the office eh?” Suddenly that MI6 money seems far less appealing.

“I’d love that,” Natasha beams. “Why don’t you guys go mingle and Charlie and I can chat!” The men exchange a glance, but there’s plenty of fresh meat around to sink their teeth into.

Carl flashes you a greasy smile and a wink as he walks away. Thinking clearly that you’re going to snare this woman for him. You, unfortunately, had a few others. Not something you were proud of. Demands of the job you told yourself.

“She’ll take a vodka neat,” you tell the bartender.

“Yes,” Natasha smiles at him, “Whiskey for her. Makers if you have it.” He thinks nothing of it and makes your drinks.

“So, how’s modeling in Japan?”

“Probably about as good as writing for a sleazy jackal.”

You laugh, “That bad? What’s the goal.”

“Getting a cover,” you commend the clever word play.

“That’s a good goal. Long term?”

“Something like that.” She takes a sip of her vodka, “How long are you here?”

“End of the week.” Your skin itches to touch her. The men are rounding back. You hold her gaze and shift your eyes back to them. She catches on.

“Perfect! It’s so hard to have a good interview here, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely. Why don’t you come by my hotel?” You whip out your spare key card. “I’d love to get your story for the mag, maybe do a full feature.”

“A feature would be excellent exposure!”

“Wouldn’t it?” Carl slides up next to her. “We can get you all the exposure you could want Ms. Natalie.”

“Charlie was telling me all about it.” She flashes him a coy smile. “Thank you so much Charlie! I forgot I have a late fitting tonight for another show so I’ve got to run. But we’ll chat soon yeah?”

“Absolutely! It was so good to meet you Natalie.”

“Same! Bye!” She hurries through the crowded room and disappears.

“Busy girl.” Carl quips. “Whiskey?” You look down at the glass by your hand.

“Some guy sent them over,” you gesture to Natasha’s lipstick stained glass. “Seemed rude to refuse. Can’t stand the stuff though.”

“That’s a mans drink,” Carl laughs at his own perceived joke and you force a smile.

Somehow you make it through the rest of the evening. You’d refused to allow yourself to hope that she’d be here, too obvious to come the same night, better to wait. Kicking off your shoes you head straight to the mini bar and crack open a whiskey, downing it in one gulp.

“You really need to be more careful,” Natasha’s voice comes from the bathroom. “I mean not even checking around. Sloppy.”

“Charlie Daniels doesn’t have to check for Russian assassins in her bathroom,” a smile pulls your face so tight it hurts.

“Well, Natalie Rushman isn’t a Russian spy. So…”

You let your real accent resurface as you pull her into your arms, “Natalie Rushman, I don’t know if that’s clever or lazy.” She kisses you hard, tongue sliding over your lips hands gripping your ass.

“Mmm,” she hums. “Kinda like the accent.”

“Oh?” You revert to the clipped posh Londoner sound. “Would you rather be with Charlie? I hate to break it to you, she’s strictly into dick so you may need to get a bit creative.”

Natasha’s head falls back with laughter, “I’m always into a challenge but,” she cups your face in her hands, “I’d much rather Y/N, she’s got a cute accent too.” Your kiss is soft this time, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, honey.” Gently you push a strand of hair out of her face. “Is this smart? Are you gonna get-”

“I’m good. I wouldn’t be here if I thought there was risk.” She pulls away and tugs you toward the bed. “There’s no surveillance on me here, I check in every week, that’s it. This is strictly to build a cover.”

“Cover for what?” She gives you a sideways glance. “Right. National security.”

“Do you really want to talk about work?”

Smirking at her you push her back on the bed. “Maybe later.”

You lean down to her but she stops you by planting a strappy heel in the center of your chest. Trailing your fingers down her leg you snag a knife from her thigh holster. Carefully you slide the blade under the straps, the incredibly sharp edge cuts through the thin suede like it’s nothing.

“Those were very expensive you know,” eyes sparkling with desire.

You slip the shoe off and toss it aside. “I’ll buy you a new pair.” Your lips press against her ankle.  

Everything in your life until her was so fleeting. Even your own name, the sound of your own voice, who you were… But with her, you were grounded. You weren’t anything but her’s, you were Y/N.

Suddenly you’re overwhelmed. Caressing her muscular calf you just stare at her eyes. Emerald green, dark liner, lids heavy with lust and exhaustion.

“Natasha…” Your voice cracks and you fight for composure.

“Y/N? What is it?” She shoots up, cradling your face in her hands.

You shake your head, unable to really find the words and unwilling to send this storm of emotions to her. “I just…” You cover her hands with your own. It’s not that you don’t want her, you do. But…

“Can we just… I just wanna hold you…” Her expression immediately softens, eyes sparkling a touch with tears. “Sorry… I… I just…”

“I’d love that, baby.” Tenderly her lips brush yours, then your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids as they flutter closed.

You shed your clothes and crawl into the plush bed. Holding tight to one another you spend hours drifting in and out of sleep, covering the other with soft kisses. Before the sun rises your hands wander southward.

This time you don’t fuck one another senseless. It feels like you’re trying to memorize every curve, every sound, every subtle thing that marks being together. You both know you many not get to do this for some time. The knowledge aches but it doesn’t make having her any less sweet.

Post Snap

You lean your head back on the wall behind the booth. The crying man from last night is gone, you find yourself hoping that he’s resting peacefully somewhere… even though you know it’s pointless to hope for such things.

There are more people filling the bar than there was before. The TVs are off, radios turned up, reporters frantically trying to determine what happened. It was global, that was clear. All planes grounded, trains stopped, communications spotty due to damaged cell towers.

A man speaks frantically to someone who seems to be a friend that he was heading to Nuremberg from Budapest, how the roads are almost not navigable. He doesn’t know if his family is even still there but he has to find out.

Despite his distress, your lips curl a bit at the mention of Budapest.

[oswald-privileges]

Loudmouth

(I wrote some statement fic. It’s been a heck of a while since I wrote anything for fandom.)

Statement of Ulla Ness, regarding, um... a peculiar transformation. Original statement given March 14th, 1999. Audio recording by Christopher Peake, in an… unprofessional capacity. Statement begins.

I still don’t see why I had to come to you. I know you have an email address, so wouldn’t it have been easier to just scan the form and send it to me? Hell, I would have taken a physical copy sent to me in the post. It would have been slower, but it would have meant I could have stayed at home. But no. I asked, and you just gave me a lot of waffle about how you have ‘strict acquisition policies’, alongside directions that had been copied from google maps. Which I know, because I checked.

It’s not that I’m lazy, you understand, far from it. I used to have what I regarded as quite the active social life. But recently that’s become impossible for me to maintain, for a number of reasons. Which are also the reasons that I’ve come to talk to you.

I used to be quite a religious person. Still am, I suppose. I’m not entirely sure. I was a member of the congregation of Saint Mary’s, a small anglican church in a small, anglican village up in Lincolnshire. Not everybody there was particularly devout, but it wasn’t one of those places where it especially mattered. It was more about the sense of community we had. Catching up with each other after communion on Thursdays, singing in the choir, arranging cake sales or coffee mornings as fundraisers for whatever bit of the building had fallen off now. I’ve been attending since I was little, and more or less grew up with the congregation.

I miss it quite badly, if I’m being honest. I’ve always been the sort to need other people, but I didn’t realise quite how much losing them would affect me. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone and all that, I suppose.

It started with another fundraiser, a jumble sale this time. I had volunteered to help manage the event, so I was in charge of sorting through the items that people had brought in for us to sell. Like I said, not everyone there was strictly devout, and didn’t always take care with what they decided to donate. Some people seemed to use it as more of an excuse to toss legitimate junk in our direction and call it a good deed.

This was definitely the case with Mister Ashley. He attended purely because his mother was too old to walk by herself, and I rather think that she insisted that he stay with her throughout the service. It was definitely at her behest that he took part in any communal activities. She would always announce that he would be happy to run stalls or make tea or some other menial duty, while he sat by her side, stony-faced, and saying nothing at all.

The only time I remember him giving any sort of reaction was when when his mother announced that her Jamie would be happy to donate some of his shop’s excess stock for the jumble sale. I remember, he turned to her with the strangest look on his face. At the time, I thought it was one of badly suppressed outrage. I assumed that she had simply gone a bit too far in volunteering his services; Mister Ashley was a second hand book seller, and owned the Jabberwock Bookshop just off from Memorial Square. It can’t have been all that easy to turn a profit. Thinking back on it now, though, and I wonder if his expression was something sharper than just anger. If it could have been alarmed, almost panicked. But I believe that is likely be nothing more than hindsight colouring my memories. If he had had some way of knowing, had been frightened of something like that which came to pass, then… well. I cannot honestly say I ever truly liked James Ashley, but neither can I believe that he would be as cruel or as cowardly as to not have said or done anything.

As it was, he brought the books to the side room the next day, where I was going through the donations and sorting the sellable items from those things too broken, torn, stained, or just plain unusable. I had just set aside yet another jigsaw- this one with almost two thirds of the pieces obviously missing- when he knocked on the outer door. In spite of the heavy rain, he wasn’t wearing a coat, hat, or boots. He didn’t say a word to me when I opened it, just shouldered his way in, dropped a heavy cardboard box on the floor by the unsorted donations, and walked out again. He did this three more times, leaving the door swinging behind him, letting in strong gusts of wind and rain, and reinscribing a damp trail of rainwater on the carpeted floor. Then he was gone as abruptly as he had arrived.

Ashley had taken better care to protect the books from the rain than himself. The cardboard was soaked through, but the books inside had been wrapped in several layers of plastic sheeting. They were stacked upright, and had been fitted in without any attempt to force too many into a single space. They were all, without exception, worn, faded, and almost completely without interest. Paperback romances long since out of print, old text books, children’s encyclopedias. It was rather a relief, if I’m honest. I could just reach into the boxes, grab a book, give it a flick through, and place it on the “for sale” pile.

I was about halfway through the last box when my fingers brushed something that did not feel at all like paper. It was dense and yielding, and ever so slightly damp. I recoiled, shock and disgust crawling their prickling way up my arm. My fingers looked clean, but the ghost feeling of something sticky still clung to them.

My first thought that it was some nasty practical joke. That Ashley, stung by his mother’s willingness to give away his stock, had put something disgusting in there by way of relieving his feelings. But that would have been ridiculous- he was a grown man, for goodness sakes, not a slighted child. It was more likely that the plastic keeping the books wrapped up had slipped, and allowed the rain to seep in through the sides. That was the more likely explanation.

It seemed as though I was right when I looked into the box properly, and saw nothing there but more books. But when I reached in again, all I felt was rough, dry paper. Confused, I went through the contents more slowly, looking where I placed my hand and at the books I chose.

I didn’t feel it again until the fifth book I picked up, that same almost-damp feeling. It was broad and set in landscape, almost like a sketchbook. It was dense with pages all jammed together- dense and heavy. It flopped bonelessly in my hand, and I needed to support it from underneath before I could read the title.

Hymnal, it read. The gold letters gleamed wetly on the slick cover.

It appeared to be full of sheet music. No titles or lyrics, just scratched staves and notes that meandered up and down the lines as though drunk. The smell that rose from the pages as I turned them was odd and unpleasant. I wondered if the leather binding them hadn’t been properly cured. Those areas of page that weren’t covered in music were full of sketches, but so dense and overlapping that I couldn’t tell what they were supposed to be. And, I realised with an unpleasant start, the cover beneath my hands was warm, as though I was touching a live thing.

Suddenly, I’d had enough. I was sitting here, working myself up over an old, graffitied book for no good reason. I shut the thing hurriedly, and it snapped closed with a heavy slithering of pages. I caught the soft part of my forefinger on one of them, and a tiny bead of scarlet began to well from the wound. The stinging was welcome- it gave me something to focus on, mundane annoyance drowning out the confusion that had been threatening to become fear.

I dropped the book onto the discard pile. I couldn’t sell something like that, that much was obvious. Then I picked it up again, and dashed through the rain to the rubbish bins outside. I tossed it in, and followed it up with as much of the discard pile as I could bag up in one go, burying the thing underneath threadbare scarves, broken plastic dolls, and half used art supplies.

I felt a little better when it was done, but not much. Whatever those hymns were praising, I don’t think it was Our Lord.

The cut on my finger didn’t heal like it should. It stopped bleeding without any trouble, but the edges became raised, reddened and sensitive to the touch. I dabbed at it with antiseptic and did my best to put it out of my mind. I succeeded at first. I had plenty to keep me busy, both at church and at my workplace, and for a day or two, I completely forgot about it.

At least until it opened up again.

I don’t remember what caused it, or if anything caused it at all. Just that I was reaching for something, and there was the feeling of… unpeeling, almost, the cold feeling of fresh air on wet skin. I checked to see if the cut was bleeding again.

Instead of a cut, I found myself looking at a tiny, fully formed mouth.

The raised, reddened edges I had thought were a sign of infection had become minute lips. They were slightly parted, and behind them I could see the tiniest slivers of white. And behind that, a dark space where something wet shifted.

I didn’t look at it for long. Already I was reaching for the first aid kit, hastily covering the cut- the mouth- with a plaster. I was already convincing myself that what I’d just seen was some kind of infection I was too squeamish to look at, and that since I couldn’t feel any pain, I should probably go to the doctors, in case it was nerve damage or something. The impression of having seen a mouth rather than a cut was an unpleasant trick my mind had played on me, and one I didn’t feel like closely examining. I told myself I had imagined it.

I hadn’t, though. I could taste the soft fabric patch on the plaster.

I really did mean to go to the doctors. Mouth or no mouth, whatever was happening to the cut on my finger worried me. I even got as far as making an appointment. But the next day I went into work, and there was an accident involving a slippery patch of floor and a very, very sharp knife that I was carrying at the time. I ended up with a nasty slice parallel with the underside of my ribcage.

This time, it was obvious how quickly it stopped bleeding, how it was practically dry before I even changed the gauze once. How the scabs began to flake before I even touched them, leaving nothing but those raised, reddening edges around the cut itself.

I didn’t go to that doctor’s appointment. I don’t think it would have helped me if I had.

It took longer for the second cut to open, but when it did, I could stand in front of the mirror to properly see the flat, white, human teeth, and the tongue that moved behind them.

It didn’t feel alien. That’s what surprised me most. I was scared, of course I was scared, I was growing new bits, opening up in places that I shouldn’t- but that was just it. It was my body doing this, not some… weird infection or surgery. Whatever was happening, it felt like an extension of myself.

I could move them, I found. Not as consciously as I could my original mouth, the one in its proper position on my face, but sort of like moving a limb after it’s fallen asleep. It took concentration, like I was working through partial numbness. Like I needed to focus to wake them up.

I didn’t spend very long doing that, though. I would realise with a start that what I was doing wasn’t normal, it wasn’t sane. I would pull my shirt back down or re-plaster my finger with a feeling almost like shame. I wasn’t as scared as I should have been, and that in itself was somehow a lot more frightening.

I’m not clumsy. I can’t be, considering the sharp tools I have to handle at work. But I started to accumulate injuries. Innocuous things at first. Paper cuts from the prayer books during mass, scrapes from the edges of the metal benches at work. And then other things. Pushing down a door-handle would lay my palm open as though I’d been struck with a metal ruler. The pressure of my jacket across my shoulders would tear the skin. I woke in bed one morning to discover that the folded sheets around me had left cuts going from my hip to my collar bone.

Every single one of them bled, reddened, and opened.

The mouths started to become restless as their number grew. They tried to chew on the clothes I wore to cover them, and if I didn’t focus, they would let out soft, but audible moans or sighs. I tried to quiet them. I even tried feeding them, though I only did that once. It seemed to help, but the mangled sensation of swallowing with a throat that seemed to be lodged under my right kidney was so disorienting I couldn’t bring myself to do it again.

I hadn’t stopped going out altogether. I left the house less, certainly, but as uncertain and uncomfortable as my changing existence was, I didn’t want to give up the company of other people altogether. I get lonely easily.

So, one Friday, when when there was so little skin left under my clothes and gloves that no new mouths could easily form, I patched my face and neck with gauze, and went to take my place in the choir again.

Nobody really seemed to notice anything different about me. I had all the right stories lined up for when I was asked about what had happened to my face, but almost nobody did. A few condolences, a few jokes, and that was it. People apparently preferred to gossip about the death of Mrs Ashley, and how her James had stopped coming to church now, and how they had known his heart wasn’t in it all along.

It felt awful. There I was, standing in the middle of them, skin to skin almost, with the most fragile disguise imaginable hiding a secret that would ruin their perception of the world for good- and they were too wrapped up in their own smug assurance of their own piety to notice. I offered up a brief prayer for patience, but like all my prayers lately, I don’t think I was offering it to the God whose praises we’d all gathered to sing.

And when we raised our voices together for All Things Bright And Beautiful, and I opened my mouth to join in, and then opened my mouth again, and opened my mouth again, and opened my mouth again- I wasn’t singing praises to that God either.

I didn’t realise that the others had stopped at first. It wasn’t until I glanced to one side, and saw Julie Wright staring at me with her powerless mouth open and unmoving, that I realised I was singing in harmony with myself.

I broke off, suddenly embarrassed and frightened by the way that they were all looking at me. There was something like awe in their expressions, but there was something else there too. Something that shuddered and recoiled. I desperately tried to remember the words I’d been singing, if I had gotten them right. I had the horrible sense that I might have subverted something holy.

Adam Bromley was the one to break the silence.

“Well now. You never told us you were getting private training!”

And just like that, the spell was broken. The unexpressed disgust sank back beneath their faces, and the others took up the idea almost with relief. A beautiful voice, they told me, what trick did they teach me to make it resonate like that? I forced a smile and said something non-committal and when we took up the tune again, I was careful to sing only the words that were on the page in front of me.

My own relief was short-lived. When I got home, I found the skin I had left was being pulled apart by the restless movements of the mouths. Blood stained the underside of my shirt, and I couldn’t stop the moans and hissings any more than I could have controlled a spasm or a muscular tic.

I didn’t sleep that night, and called in sick to work the next day. I lay on the bed, and stared up at the ceiling, trying very hard not to move.

It wasn’t any use. My skin had become so fragile that even getting up and walking to the kitchen caused it to split, the blood barely having time to dry before the wound began to twitch and whisper. All my fascination was gone now, as were all my attempts to ignore what was happening. All I did was lie on the bed, and let myself slowly drown in my own body. I lived like that for a week.

When next Friday evening came, my entire body burst into song.

I writhed and moaned and hummed without will, without choice, throwing out snatches of hymn before discarding them as not what I wanted, not right. And for the first time, the indistinct murmurs and whispers grew louder, began to form words. Prayers that had been chewed out of shape, pleas for more, more mouths, more brothers and sisters, to come out of hiding and join the great curdling of flesh.

This went on for the entire night.

That was when I decided that I needed to do something. I’d let… whatever this was go on for too long, long beyond the point of saving myself. But I wanted to tell someone first. So I dragged myself to my computer, and searched as best I could. It’s difficult to type with only a confusion of tongues.

And that’s where you came in. You aren’t special. You were just the closest place that didn’t either ignore my emails, or reply with not so gentle suggestions that I see a psychologist.

I don’t think I’ll be leaving my home again, once I get back. I doubt I’ll even bother uncovering, although there’s no-one there to see me. For all that I wanted to let someone know, I don’t want to be seen.

The cupboard below the stairs locks from the inside. I can push the key out from underneath the crack in the door.

Whatever is happening to me, I won’t allow it come to fruition.

Post-statement follow-up: There wasn’t anyone under the stairs when I went to check. The lock on cupboard door was broken, and so was the one on the back door. Either Ms Ness was, um… successful in her attempts to… halt her transformation, and a housebreaker with some seriously questionable motives took what was- what was left of her. Or she wasn’t. And her resolve either waned or the situation was, um. Taken out of her hands. Or. Whatever she had instead of hands.

I wasn’t… going to record this. It’s not my job, strictly speaking, but I was reading some of the old statements, and this one just… sort of caught my eye. And I’ve seen the Archivist and some of the others do recordings, and it just looked so… I wanted to try it out. I’ll be taking the tape with me, though. None of the others need to know about this.

[avengersnthings]

Assistant: Part One (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Request: no problem, I understand that! so, maybe can you write about a Steve x reader, when the reader is his personal assistant? idk I really want to read about this hahah, so if this is not a problem I'll be very happy ❤️ and thank you for your answer, you're so sweet! Xx

and 

Anything with steve rogers x reader, no OC please 😂 make the reader male, female, the daughter/son, whatever 😂

Requested By: @barneshuh , Anonymous

Word Count: 1,610

Warnings: Swearing, Fluff

A/N: Hello, lovelies! Yes, it is I! I am back from the dead and have actually wrote something! Sorry I haven’t posted in forever. I have been so busy with everything and just have had no motivation to write whatsoever. But, I finally had an idea and then this happened! I like it and I hope you do too! I set this request up where if you guys want a part two, it could totally happen ;). Well, I hope you enjoy and let me know if you want a part two! As always, if you wanted to be added to the tag list just let me know.

Tag List: @mp938368 @generalantiope @thatgirlsar @jumperswellies   @quicksoldier @kitkatgaming @marvelfandom-stuff @itsmaytimetosaygoodbye @agentraven007 @marvelgoateecollection @thaniya82 @thats-so-rhyan @hymnofthevalkyrie @themanwiththemetalarm @mslaufeyson 

MASTERLIST

“No, Gary, I need those files by two,” You said quickly into your phone that was nestled between your ear and shoulder as you tried to balance the stacks of papers in your arms.

“Are you sure, (Y/N)? I can’t just give them to you by four?” 

“No, Gary, you can’t,” You snapped as you rounded the corner. “Do you know why, Gary?” You asked as the sound of your heels clicked against the smooth marble floor. You didn’t even allow him enough time to even ponder your question. “I need them by two because Captain America-” A small gasp came from the other line of the phone as you said that. “Yeah. He needs those files so he can begin to plan the next mission. Now, do you want to be the guy that ruins the next Avengers’ mission because you were too damn lazy to just print out some lousy files and get them to me on time. Get them to me by two, got it?”

Before he could reply, you hung up on him. Shifting the load of papers to one arm, you knocked on the glass door. Waiting patiently behind the door, you watched as Mr. Rogers’ (the Captain America) eyes snap up to you. Mr. Rogers quickly pushed back his chair and came to your rescue by opening up the door.

“Geez, (Y/N). They couldn’t have sent an intern to help you carry all of this?” He asked as he went to take the load from you, but you brushed him off as you set the large pile on his desk with a resounding thud.

“What’s the point? I could handle it,” You breathed out as you fixed your pencil skirt. “I mean, c’mon. Captain America’s personal assistant should be able to handle herself.”

Rolling his eyes at your comment, Mr. Rogers sat down in his chair as you lent against his desk. “(Y/N), you can ask for help y’know. Or you could’ve called me. I could have helped.”

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “I can handle myself, Mr. Rogers.”

Running a hand down his tired face, Mr. Rogers gave you a tired look. “How many have I told you to call me Steve?”

“About a thousand,” You grinned as you handed Mr. Ro- Steve- a stack of papers. “These just came in, and they need your signature. I could have just forged them for you to make your life easier, y’know.” You teased, earning a disapproving glance from Steve. 

“While I would have liked to have less work, it’s-”

“It’s not right,” You mimicked Steve, dropping your voice down an octave as you puffed out your chest and fell into line just like a soldier. “Permission to leave, sir?” You said as you stared straight ahead, once again just like a good soldier.

“Permission granted,” Steve laughed out as he too stood up. With a quick salute to the man in charge, you marched out of his office to go find Gary to get your damn papers. 

As you marched out of Steve’s office, he couldn’t help but shake his head as he laughed quietly to himself. As he looked up, he couldn’t help but admire your retreating form as you stopped to talk to someone. Man, she looked beautiful today, Steve thought to himself before snapping out of his thoughts. No, Steve told himself. She’s your personal assistant. Your friend. You can’t think of her that way.

“Knock-knock,” Sam barged into his office, further snapping Steve out of his thoughts of you and your little pencil skirt today. Narrowing his eyes at the super soldier, Sam followed Steve’s gaze to find it fixed on you. A smug grin forming on his face, Sam nudged Steve with his shoulder. “I take it (Y/N) just stopped in again?”

“Wha- Oh, yeah,” Steve cleared his throat. “She just dropped off some paperwork for me.”

“Man, you are so lucky to have a personal assistant so hot,” Sam grinned as he picked up a piece of paper from the mountain on Steve’s desk. Quickly glancing over the words on it, Sam tossed it over his shoulder uninterested. 

“Really, man?” Steve grumbled as he bent over to pick up the discarded paper. “And don’t talk about (Y/N) that way.”

“Why? You were thinking it,” Sam teased as he sat in the chair across from Steve. This earned a scowl from Steve which only made Sam’s grin widen. “And it’s totally true. My assistant is a guy from Cleveland who tells terrible jokes and wears the same shirt three days in a row. And you get her. It’s so unfair.”

“What can I tell ya?” Steve said absentmindedly as he read over the pile you gave him. “Life’s a bitch.”

“Whoah, you kiss (Y/N) with that mouth?” Sam teased, quickly ducking as some random object was thrown at his head. “Geez. Touchy.” The room grew quiet after that as Steve focused on his paperwork and as Sam sat across from him. “I bet you want to kiss her though, right?”

“GET OUT!” Steve shouted as Sam ran out of the room, laughing like a maniac. 

Quickly ducking his head back into the office, Sam looked at Steve. “Y’know, we do have that party at the end of the week that Tony is throwing for everyone. You should take her as your date.” 

Before Steve could answer, Sam ran out in fear of getting another thing thrown at his head. But Steve didn’t throw anything. He just sat there, thinking about what Sam had said. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea.

As the week further progressed, Steve kept thinking about what Sam said about him taking you to the party. Every time that Steve had made up his mind on whether or not he was going to ask you, you walked into the room. When he decided that there was no way that you would say yes and that he wouldn’t ask you, you walked into the room with that beautiful smile on your face and Steve would want to blurt out the question right then and there. When he decided that he was going to ask you, he would get so nervous that he wouldn’t say a word to you and instead stood there awkwardly as he knocked things over. Why couldn’t he just act normal around you?

“Steve?” Your voice rang out, catching Steve’s attention. It was Friday and the party was on Saturday. If he was going to ask you, it needed to be soon.

“Yeah, what’s up?” 

“Brought you those files from Gary, finally. Sorry they took so long,” You apologized as you placed the papers on his desk. “Also, Mr. Stark wanted me to remind you about the party this Saturday. He said something about you having to bring someone and that you, and I quote, ‘Can’t just bring Barnes and make him wear a dress.’ Whatever that means.”

A blush had spread across his cheeks at the mention of Saturday. Somewhere in the back of his mind Steve just knew that Sam had gotten to Tony to make sure that he had to bring a date. “Oh, uh, thank you. I honestly forgot about Saturday.” Lies, all lies, Steve thought as he looked at you.

“Okay, well, if you don’t need me anymore, I have to go get some work done, but if you need anything, just let me know.” You said, turning towards the door.

Now or never, Rogers, Steve thought as he watched your retreating form. “(Y/N)? There is something that I need you to do.”

“Anything.”

“What are you doing this Saturday?” Steve quickly asked as he watched your face shift into confusion.

“Um, nothing. Why?”

Oh gosh. Deep breath. “Would you be willing to go to the party on Saturday with me? Strictly as a friend, or as a work relationship. No! Not a work relationship!” Oh God, shut up, Rogers! “That’s not what I meant. I don’t just see you as my assistant. I see you as a friend and kind of more than a friend, I mean, you are absolutely stunning and I would love it if you would go to the party with me as my actual date, not just a friend taking another friend sort of thing, unless you only want it to be like that. Oh God, I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I’ll just shut up now.”

Steve stood there waiting for your answer, probably as red as a tomato as he watched you. Your face still displayed confusion as you just stood there. Well I fucked that up, Steve thought, hanging his head in rejection.

“Pick me up at eight.”

Head snapping up, Steve found that the confusion on your face was replaced with a large smile. “R-really?”

“Yeah,” You smiled at him. “I think you are pretty stunning too.” You brushed back your hair when you said that, a little bit of embarrassment peeking through. 

“T-thank you,” Steve breathed out, his own smile fixing on his face. 

“Not a minute late, Rogers,” You winked as you leaned forward to kiss his cheek lightly. Quickly pulling back, you walked out the door, leaving Steve a blushing, giddy mess as he leaned against his desk, hand touching his cheek where your lips had just been.

“YES!” Steve shouted out in victory, throwing his hands up. Doing a quick victory dance, Steve sat back down in his chair and looked at the clock, urging it to go faster so it can finally be Saturday, the day he gets to take you out on a date.

Assistant: Part Two

[beanjuice-duh]

13, 14, 21, 22 and 48 for davenchurch?

Squee~! fav noncanonical pair! 

13. Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?I headcanon Merle as PANsexual (pun intended) and also polyam. The reason because I like the idea that Merle has this very open and loving relationship with people. He is an emotional man, jokes aside Clint portrays Merle to be a very deeply emotional and invested character between his mindful interactions with Lucretia, John, and his boys and family. Merle is the peacekeeper to me and what is more peaceful than old daddy Merle having a loving relationship with Davenport (and Lucretia and temporarily John) 

I headcanon Davenport to be gray-Ace panromantic. He has a very strictly business feel to him so its hard for me to think up what his intimate life would be but I think a moment that stuck out with me and I rolled with it was how intimate of a moment the cardgame was. Davenport and Merle had a very close moment without it needing to be more than just that and it sorta fit. Davenport gives me that feel that he finds intimacy in romance and love in so many different ways. (Also like Merle and his plants, he has a very deep romanticized connection with his boat) 

14. Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)The obvious for Merle he has his wooden arm, one eye, the canon stuff. I don’t know if its an abnormality really but I really like the hc of Merle having the ability to grow tiny flowers in his beard. I also really love the idea that Merle has shitty eyesight and wears huge glasses, so now he wears glasses AND the eyepatch and it just looks fantastic. 

Davenport is prone to lockjaw out of stress and teeth grinding, he probably has some high blood pressure problems which is where Merle’s calm and lack-a-daisy personality comes in to help. For a gnome Davenport is actually on the taller size and is a full forehead taller than Merle. Davenport also has some ocd like tendencies. 

21.Turn-ons? Turn-offs?Davenport isn’t sexually active, if he is it is very, very specific. But as a whole Davenport is attracted romantically to jazz and the arts. He’s a lover of dance and paintings. So Merle dancing really gets him going with just happiness of it all. Making Davenport laugh is probably the key to his heart. 

Merle is attracted to plants. Thats about… OH and he really likes hair. He is a big fan of beards and body hair, facial hair. Davenport’s mustache and how groomed its kept, Merle is all over that. Totally twirl’s Daven’s stache and makes it springy. 

22. Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?Davenport would probably look at the paper and stare at it for a long time. He wouldn’t be sure what to do with it at first. Then after a while he would start jotting down a list of things he needed to do that day in order of most important to least, then in alphabetical order then in what could be done fastest to what would take the longest. He’d finish only after someone snatched it from him because he’s spent the whole day fixed on the paper. 

Merle would start making origami out of it. Really bad origami too, but he’d give it to Davenport and be oh-so proud of his crappy creation. 

48. How do they express love?Davenport expresses his love very subtly. Even more so than most, he’d take breaks (which is rare of him) or time off for a few days for a one-on-one get away with Merle. Any alone time he makes, really is his way of expressing love. His time is very precious to him, Davenport works on his own strict schedule and any divergence from it means a lot. 

Merle on the other hand is very open about it. Probably not so much loud and scream it off the top of his lungs but he’d be very shameless. Making lunches, making gifts, coming up and saying things in front of anyone. Very frequent and casual, “I love yous” in passing while landing a peck on the cheek and even more casual hand holding and motioning, “yeah I’m dating the captain, ain’t he neat?” 

Ask me HCS

[skythief]

Analyzing Sheith, with a dash of discourse.

unoriginaltoast

replied to your post

“Cordially inviting any and all anti’s to come at me bro Whether it be...”

Can I just add, that many antis throw around the word "pedophilia" and first of all, that's a disgusting accusation to make of someone imagining FICTIONAL characters in a relationship. And second, it does not apply. Like the literal definition does not apply. Would a 25 year old with a 17 year old be cool IRL? Probably not but it's not pedophilia and it's also FUCKING FICTION JFC. God I wish I had the time to worry about what fictional characters people shipped.

Sorry for that brick I just have been wanting to say that for so long, hope you have a spectacular, wonderful, idiot free day <3

You may definitely add that. I certainly forgot to. 

It really depends heavily on context for that 17-25 thing. It depends on the relationship and maturity levels of the two people in question. I know there are 25 year olds that are still running around this site screaming about “problematic ships” like its the fucking plague. And then there are people in my life who grew up in drug houses, who struggle because their families entire line of poor credit, bad choices, substance abuse and felonies makes it nearly impossible for them to get jobs and basic debit/credit cards, who dug around in dumpsters for food during their childhood-- and you can bet they grew up incredibly fast, and incredibly hard. 

Biology plays a part in it to a degree too-Female brains tend to fully develop ages 16-25? (dont cite me on this, im just going off of memory) and for male brains I think they finish developing around like, 18/22-30??? I’d have to look it up again, but you get my point.

Theres a lot of factors that go into play- The maturity levels of the individuals themselves, and the actually Nature of the relationship itself, I think.

Lets take Sheith, for example. 

We have seen maturity and selflessness exhibited in both individuals; Both of them have had to go through very hard experiences; Keith being an orphan with abandonment issues, yet still carries some incredibly strong morals and a fierce love for people and a desire to protect others.; Shiro has been enslaved, amputated and experimented upon, and forced to perform in bloody, gruesome, arena’s. He’s been through Hell, and still he has retained a sense of calm, patience, and compassion. 

So we know from this that they’re both plenty mature enough-- But what about the nature of their relationship?

Honestly I think this one of the most healthy ships out there for the sheer amount of love and compassion and respect between the two, even without picking apart just how well they compliment each other. 

Again, starting with Keith; This is a highly individualized person that does not like authority. He’s not going to want to feel like he has to explain himself to anyone or meet anyones arbitrary standards; Does not like, and possibly feels threatened by rules and restrictions as that threatens his ability to do his own thing. He makes his own rules for himself and his own personal values to which he will adhere strictly. He’s intelligent, but it’s shown and seen through his actions-- Not explained through word of mouth, and most likely never will be. Trust and abandonment issues, as well as his orphaning, may lead him to difficulties communicating with others, being vulnerable, and expressing emotions or showing weakness, making him a very secretive, private person, that most likely finds both comfort and fear in Isolation. Comfort, because no one can hurt you, and you can sort everything out yourself and have complete control when you’re alone; Fear, because it’s very easy to keep isolating yourself and never stop, even though you want, like, and need people in your life, but may be hesitant to go to them for fear of getting hurt or abandoned, especially if you reveal your softer, more unprotected sides. Keith, as a character, may even be scared of his feelings. 

One of these belongs to every paladin okay, thats all I’m sayin’. 

In conclusion, Keith is a very private, lonely person with a history of trust issues stemming from abandonment and a dislike for authority, making him not the easiest person to get along with.  He needs someone who will have the patience and respect that will allow Keith to open himself up to them on his own highly secretive terms, someone who is open minded, patient, and understanding, in order to understand someone as rare and unconventional as Keith (He’s not exactly going to come with an owners manual or introductory pamphlet y’know?). He needs to feel safe, comfortable, and not judged by a person in order to place so much trust, value, safety and security with them. If someone tries inauthentic, underhanded, or forceful means of manipulating someone like Keith into anything, you know Keith won’t be having it. 

Shiro is kind of the epitome of all of these traits, and we don’t just see him using them to understand Keith, but we see him using them to understand other members of his team as well (like Pidge or Allura). Once Shiro has a good understanding of someone, he waits until an appropriate, non-threatening time arises in order to build his team members up, give them advice, solace, or whatever he thinks they may need that he can give them. He uses a very open, friendly, safe, respectful and non-threatening communication style in order to build up people around him; This is an incredibly rare and beautiful kind of person, imo, at least in Shiro’s case, because we can see how very dedicated he is to doing this, and that he makes it one of his biggest priorities. 

This makes him pretty great for Keith, but there are plenty of reasons why Keith is great for Shiro too.

From episode one, from Keiths very introductory sequence, we see him caring, for and sacrificing for Shiro-- Going out of his way to make sure Shiro is safe at all times, or backing him up; Whether it be in or out of Voltron, Keith is literally Shiro’s right hand man. Keiths love for Shiro is very similar for Shiros’ love for Keith;  It is a respectful, kind, and appreciative, thankful kind of love. It is built on and never runs out of trust, and only seeks to lift the other up, and make sure the other is okay, without breaching any boundaries. 

Shiro, from his iron devotion and love for others, strikes me as the type of person that forgets to take care of himself, in lieu of others and their importance, valuing it over his own. Keith, being a very confident, straight forward, and protective person, is perfect for Shiro in that he can and will make sure Shiro does get the self-care he needs, but without threatening or stomping upon Shiros virtues, or his mission. Shiro, for all his dad-jokes and stereotypes, honestly might need the child harness more than Keith does for his sheer scary-levels of willingness to sacrifice himself, like he means nothing- Or at the very least, nothing in comparison to others. Shiro, just like Keith, doesn’t know when to stop and take a break if others don’t make him/tell him too. And even then, Shiro might not understand or believe it, simply because war and soldier-trauma is like this. 

Shiro needs someone who is confident, straight forward, and strong enough to take care of Shiro as Shiro takes care of others. He needs someone who will be considerate and kind to him when no one thinks to be, or knows to be. He needs someone who will keep a close eye on him and watch and listen for when he’s breaking, when he needs help, whether he knows it or not-- He needs someone who will be aware of just how much Shiro himself may not know it too. And he needs someone who will do this genuinely, authentically, respectfully, and patiently. Issues like these are incredibly painful for both parties to go through, and they may never heal. A spouse who deals with this may have to come to accept this as never-changing, and to do that... Takes so much genuine love and self-sacrifice? It’s both heart-wrenching and beautiful, as it is a gruesome reality. It’s not sexy, cute, or fun-- It’ cold and it’s harsh and to persevere in your attentive care of someone in spite of such hard issues, especially when coupled with things like PTSD, is about as Real as you can get.

The reason Keith fits this bill perfectly? Is because we already see him doing this for Shiro in canon. 

We see it in anytime Keith flings himself into action in order to save shiro, whether it’s well-thought out or not. We see it in his respect, adherence, and boundaries. We see it in how he trusts Shiro to keep throwing himself into battle and come back to him, amidst a respectful but attentive observance of his person, his space, his wishes and his safety. In Keith we see he’s developed his own very deep and respectful understanding of Shiro and how he works, just as Shiro has developed an understanding of Keith-- they both know each others strengths and weaknesses, and give each other trust and patience. 

Like, I really can’t think of a more healthy relationship yo. Fuck ages man, these two are good for each other, these two honestly keep each other sane and safe, and uplift the other, they have a rock solid understanding of the other, and their wants, needs, strengths and weaknesses, and they communicate in succinct, blunt, non-threatening ways build on trust. Even if they disagree or say harsh things to each other (Like Shiro reprimanding Keith for reprimanding Pidge, “That’s not how a team works.”, or giving him criticism. Or Keith pleading with Shiro in his BOM-nightmares.), they do not stay mad or hold grudges, which tells me that they never assume bad intent of the other either, even though it would be very easy to. 

My god like theres so much healthy shit in this ship it’s actually hard to cover everything, they both exhibit so much. 

Overall I really think like the last thing I’m worried about with these two is fucking AGE y’know? Clearly theyre mature enough to take care of each other; Does anyone really think either of these people would abuse the other? Because I certainly don’t. It wouldn’t just be wrong, it’d be completely out of character. Keith and Shiro simply care, value, and love each other too much for that. 

Feel free to add to this, if you’d like.

[artificialqueens]

Katya (Trixya) pt 2/? - Skyline

AN: And we’re back with a new chapter! Thank you guys so much for the likes and asks, I really appreciate it :) Hope everyone had a fun NYE and New Years Day! For anyone asking about that Trixya NYE fic I wrote a month or so ago, Uhm I’m not sure If I should continue it? If anyone has any good ideas or suggestions for it let me know and hopefully I can come up with a few more chapters of it :P Anyways just a few clarifications before you read, the Dan in this chapter is not Danny from the First chapter. This Dan is Milk out of drag which is his real name so sorry for any confusion. And Katya’s husband will be none other than Bianca out of Drag (Roy) so there’s that too. Lots of drag queens will be mentioned in this Fic, most of them out of drag because theres only serveral woman roles in the movie. But if you know most of the Queens’ real names then you’ll be able to tell whose who. Also this might turn out a bit longer than expected because translating this movie into an actual piece of writing is taking a lot longer than I thought so yay for long chaptered fics! Any feedback will fuel my motivation to write so please leave some of your thoughts, crutiques and compliments if you like the fic :) Hope you all enjoy! Again feedback is loved and appreciated <3 - Skyline

Summary: Lesbian Trixya AU based off the incredible movie Carol, set in New York during the 50’s. Katya, a mother struggling through a messy divorce meets young, inexperienced Trixie at a department store and they hit it off.

             Trixie’s smile faded shortly after the older blonde was out of sight. Her gaze lingered as her mind swam with new thoughts and feelings she’d never experienced before. Attraction. To another woman? She suddenly felt almost wrong for having these very forward, risque thoughts. She immediately turned her attention to the store’s delivery reciept for her order. What was her name anyway? She thought, looking at the small slip of paper, scanning for the name. Hm. Katya. It was oddly fitting for the grand woman who grabbed ahold of her undivided attention just moments ago. She turned to place the reciept with all the others. Turning back towards all the chaos, her eyes honed in on the eccentric pair of red gloves Katya had left behind on the front counter. Oh no…                                                  ………………….

          Her shift was over. Boy had it been a long day. She headed towards the lockers as the alarm bells signifying the end of the work period rang powerfully through the store. She swung open her locker and stood there, eyes shut, waiting for the obnoxious blare of the ringing to stop. She opened her eyes as it stopped and snatched her santa hat off her now frizzy blonde hair and tossed it into the small square locker. At last she was free.                                                  …………………..

             Trixie sat on Matt’s lap, leaning her head on his shoulder as one of the newest films from hollywood played on the screen well a ways ahead of them. Jay, the reason they’re here in the projector room watching the film for free in the first place, glanced down at Dan with an annoyed expression on his face. Dan and Jay were brothers and Matt’s long-time Childhood friends. Jay worked at the Cinema, which was great for free unlimited movie watching. (If you liked watching movies from the small cramped projector room above the actual theater.) And Dan was an aspiring journalist who worked for the New York Times. He stared intently at the film, jotting down some notes, not noticing his head covering half the opening on the wall in front of them. “Move over! Nobody else can see the screen.” Jay nagged at Dan, cigarette hanging from his lips, to which Matt added, “Nobody else is watchin’!”

             He playfully squeezed Trixie’s sides causing a small gasp to escape her mouth along with a quick, “I’m watching!” She turned her attention back to the screen. Matt just laughed and snuggled closer into Trixie’s neck, placing small kisses to it through her hair. Dan spoke up, admitting it was his sixth time seeing the film. “Right now I’m charting the correlation between what the characters actually say and how they really feel.” Trixie just smiled and nodded pretending like she understood the words coming out of his mouth. Jay turned to them with an unamused stare, still puffing on his half-gone cigarette. “My kid brother, the movie jerk.” He smirked while Trixie and Matt chuckled, but stopped short not wanting to hurt Dan’s feelings. Behind her, Matt kept messing with her hair provoking Trixie to lightly elbow him in the arm. She could never pay attention when Matt was around distracting her. And as of late she couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.                                          ……………………..

                "I’m strictly a beer man, everything else makes me wanna vomit.“ Dan rambled on as the four of them sat at the bar in a dimly lit restaraunt down the street. Trixie giggled feeling the effects of the alcohol already, causing her to have little to no filter. "Well, wine makes me feel naughty, but in a good way.” She added not realizing her boldness before it left her red wine stained lips. Dan smiled widely at her as Matt went on about how he drinks to forget he has to get up for work in the morning. “Now see, thats your problem. You really oughta’ drink because you remember you have a job. Employments a curse.” Jay retorted, tilting his head back to down the rest of his beer. “You have a job, Jay.” Trixie recounted not really getting his point. “You call that a job? I call that an Illusion.” “You get paid.” Dan chimes in, “Is money an illusion?” he adds sarcasticly. “My kid brother, the jerk philosopher.” Everyone including Dan chuckle at Jays inside joke.

                "And Where do you work?“ Trixie asks Dan, it dawning on her that Matt never mentioned it. "Didn’t you know? Dannie here works at the New York Times.” Matt throws in realizing he never specified. “No Kidding!” Trixie loves that newspaper. It’s the best in the city. “Its a Job.” Dan says it with regret in his voice, but continues, “What I really wanna do is write. Thats why I watch movies.” It felt like the only person he was speaking to was Trixie considering he never took his eyes off her as he spoke. Trixie just smiled their gazes locked until Jay commented, “Everyone’s a writer.”

              "Say Trix, Before I get too drunk to remember…“ Jay handed her the small camera she had given him to fix a week or so ago. She gasped as she took her pride and joy into her hands. "You did it? Its fixed?” She grinned enthusiasticly turning it in her hands. “He said it was a cinch. No sweat.” Jay replied nonchalantly. “Oh, Thank you Jay. I was missing it.” Trixie continued to admire her camera when she felt Dans eyes on her. She peaked up at him and he remarked, “So you take pictures?” “Well..” she began when she was cut off by Matt. “She’s more excited about some chintzy camera than she is about sailing with me to Europe.” The boys shot in, “Women.” and “You said it, pal.” Trixie just glared at them and acted like she was going to snap candid photo’s of them to get revenge.

              The group walked out into the cold New York air. It was past midnight and all were wanting to get to their beds and pass out before another undoubtably long day at work. All walking in the same direction they passed a few friends, all drunk, and made small talk, Trixie promising to call her friend Dottie soon, before they were back on their route to home. Dan turned to Trixie, a small smile on his lips. “Say. You should come by the Times for dinner sometime. I work nights, so.. I got a pal whose a junior photo editor. He loves to Pontificate. I’ll introduce you.” “Really? Yeah. I’d like that.” She quickly looked over to her boyfriend and Jay who were messing around a few paces behind them. “Yeah?” she turns back to Dan. “Okay?” “Okay.” she replies. At her apartment, Trixie sits at the kitchen table while Matt snores the night away in her bed. With her head in her hands she looks down at the red gloves and delivery reciept she had swiped from work. If there was any possible way of seeing the vibrant Katya again, this would be it. She grabs an envelope from her kitchen drawer, slips the gloves inside and scrawls out Katya’s full name (What country is that last name from?) and address on the backside before sealing it up. She slips on her shoes and coat and scurries downstairs and across the street to the mailbox. Giving one last dwell on the situation she stops herself from thinking too hard and slips the envelope into the box. Jogging hurriedly across the street she makes her way back up to her apartment.                                              ……………………

               The mail truck stops right outside Katya and Roy’s luxurious suburb mansion in Long Island. Roy has his driver wait outside for him, promising he’ll be quick. He grabs the mail from the postman and thanks him quickly before entering their once shared home.

            Upstairs in her bedroom Katya and Violet are sitting in front of her Vanity, counting the brush strokes together as Katya combs out her daughters thick, long, black locks. “64…” Violet says in her sickenly sweet baby voice. “65” they say in unison and Violet contiues, “66, 67, 68..” They both hear Roy’s voice greeting the maid downstairs. “That must be your Daddy. Come on, better finish up.” She puts the brush down and combs through her baby’s hair wih her fingers, staring blankly out the window, waiting a bit anxiously for her husband to come upstairs. “Mommy, can you come skating, too?” Violet asks, her voice making Katya’s heart melt like a popsicle on the fourth of July. She looks at her baby’s pleading eyes and answers the only way she knows how to these days. “Oh I wish I could, sweet pea.” Her Four year old quick to respond asks, “Why not? Pretty Please?” Katya looks at the girl with sad eyes and kisses her forehead affectionately.

            "Hiya, Sunshine!“ Roy steps into the bedroom arms open ready to engulf his baby girl in a hug. Before he even gets close, Violet is blurting, "Daddy! I want mommy to come.” as she’s being picked up into Roys arms. “Oh, you do, do you?” He says as he swings Violet from side to side causing high pitched giggles to fill the room. Katya turns to look at the man she once loved so deeply. “You’re early.” she says simply, barely any expression on her symmetrical face. Roy just grins at her with their child in his arms then moves to throw the small pile of mail on the bed. “Mail came.” he says simply as well. And thats that.

        The three are sitting round the dining table, Violet on Roy’s lap scribbling away with her crayons on a coloring book. “Cy Harrison’s wife..” Roy begins but is quickly corrected by Katya, “Ginger.” Roy goes on, “Ginger asked about you.” “Did she?” nonchalant as can be. “I know she’d love to see you there..” He’s of course refering to the Christmas Party their friends host every year. This would be the first year Katya would not attend in over 6 years. She stares at him but his gaze is fixated on Violets coloring. “Well give her my best. I’ve always liked Ginger.” He looks up. Anger crosses his feature before he says a bit more sternly, “I’d like you to be there.” They stare at eachother challengingly for a few moments before Katya looks away. “Sorry, Roy. I have plans.” Violet stops her coloring upon hearing her parents speak. She sneakily adds, “Mommy wants to give Aunt Courtney some presents..” Roys face instantly hardens at the mention of Courtney’s name. He looks harshly at Katya before rubbing Violets back and softly says, “You’ve been seeing a lot of Aunt Courtney lately, haven’t you, Sunshine?” “Yes.” she repies sweetly. “With Mommy.”

          Katya shifts uncomfortably in her seat under his scrutinizing gaze. She looks up into his hurt eyes then back down quickly. “I’ll see if I can rearrange with Courtney.” Roy’s face immediately relaxes back to normal. “Thank you.” A small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She returns with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her bewitching green eyes.

                                                    ………………..

           Trixie’s back at work a few days later, stupid santa hat in place on top of her shining, curly head. She’s in the shipping department at Frankenbergs talking with the head manager about Katya’s order. “Well I told the customer it would arrive by Christmas Eve. According to what we’ve been told, three days should be plenty of time..” She’s cut off by the shipping manager. “It should have been delivered this afternoon.” she pauses caught off guard by his swift answer. “—Oh.. Right, so it arrived, she signed for it?” “It arrived.” he says an almost annoyed tone to his words. “Oh okay, great. Thank you, Thanks.” She calls as she walks rapidly back to her department.

             Hours later she’s back to work, helping a woman with wrapping a doll box for her child. “Miss Mattel. MISS MATTEL?!” she hears from across the department and looks right into the eyes of her dreaded supervisor. “Over here. Now.” She shouts snapping her long witch-like fingers at her. Trixie apologizes to the customer saying she’ll just be a moment and hastily walks over to where her supervisor is with a phone in her hand. She hands Trixie the phone without a word and walks toward the customer in need. “Hello?” the operator immediately asks Trixie to identify herself as employee 645-A. She does and she’s informed she will be patched through to whoever is trying to get ahold of her at work.

              Trixie leans against the counter top finally hearing the noise that indicates the lines are now joined. “Hello?” “So it was you.” Trixie immediately recognizes the suave voice over the line. “Oh hello, Mrs. Zamolodchikova. Did you recieve the train set all right?” she plays it cool, her heart pounding out of her chest would be the only thing giving her away. Katya is in her kitchen slaving away at the stove with the phone between her shoulder and ear. A true vision of a housewife. “I did. Yes. And the gloves! Thank you so much, you’re a gem for sending them. I just wanted to say— thank you, really..” “Of course.” a small pause on both ends but Katya picks it right back up again only slightly stammering over her words. “Well–What I wanted to say was… do you get a lunch hour there? Well, let me take you to lunch. It’s the least I can do.” Trixie is beside herself. Is this really happening? “Well, yes I…” she trys to answer the first part of the question but goes straight into the second question. “Of course, but you really don’t have to.” “I’m free tomorrow.” Katya says immediately not taking no for an answer. “Tomorrow?” “Do you know Scotty’s on Madison?” Trixie thinks for a second then replies, “No, I don’t know it. Hold on.” She turns to her supervisor who eyes her suspiciously before Trixie asks, “Could I borrow a pencil and paper?” The woman reluntantly puts down the paper she was reading and scowls at Trixie as she hands her the items. “Thank you.” she says a little to annoyed and gets back on the phone. “Um, Alright. Whats the address?”

[adambstingus]

A Feminist’s Guide to Critiquing Hillary Clinton

Fair warning: This blog is not going to be angry. It will not be written in all caps. There will be no vulgarity. And it probably wont go viral. I dont care.

What I do care about is the fact Ive read over 70+ articles in the past two weeks alone discussing the 2016 election and what I see is a total lack of nuance and a lot of critiques that overgeneralize or underplay the very real role gender plays when people talk about Clinton and/or any other women who dare to step into positions that for so long have only been held by men.

What I do care about is how on my Facebook feed and elsewhere, I see well meaning folks called out as sexist jerks for simply offering legitimate critiques of Clinton and what a Clinton presidency might look like.

I like nuance. I like messy. I dont like soundbites and simplicity. So, lets play the nuance game. For folks who love Clinton, realize that not every critique poised against her is based in sexism. For those who love Sanders, realize that sexism is very alive in 2016, and that you can love your candidate AND embrace the reality that politicking while female is an incredibly difficult thing to do. Imagine that. Both/and. For those who havent yet made up their minds, or dont fall into either of these categories, this is for you, too.

So, here is my attempt to create a list of productive ways to critique Hillary Clinton without being a sexist jerk.

1). Do not talk about her voice. Really. Just dont. Earlier this week (and pretty much throughout Clintons existence), weve seen pundits and others criticize her shrillness, her voice, and her masculine speaking style. Soraya Chemaly argues, Anger in a man doesnt make the world wonder out loud if his hormones have taken over his brain and rendered him an incoherent idiot who cant be trusted with Important Things. How many words for angry men are there? Ones that have the powerful and controlling cultural resonance of , and ,, ? Or, yep, . Karlyn Kohrs Campbell wrote an incredibly thoughtful piece discussing how our culture has negatively responded to Clintons inability to fit within the parameters set in terms of how one should act and speak as a woman in the political sphere. She says Clinton symbolizes the problems of public women writ large, the continuing demand that women who play public roles or function in the public sphere discursively enact their femininity, and that women who do not or who do so to only a limited degree, women whose training and personal history fit them for the roles of rhetor, lawyer, expert, and advocate, roles that are gender coded masculine, will arouse the intensely hostile responses that seem so baffling (15). Overall, what Campbell is arguing is that women in the political sphere, in order to be taken seriously, must enact just the right amount of femininity and masculinity, and that Clintons failure to be appropriately feminine has hindered her for decades.

She continues to thoughtfully lay out a masculine and feminine rhetorical style of speaking and discusses what that sounds like. In rhetorical terms, performing or enacting femininity has meant adopting a personal or self-disclosing tone (signifying nurturance, intimacy, and domesticity) and assuming a feminine persona, e.g., mother, or an ungendered persona, e.g., mediator or prophet, while speaking. It has meant preferring anecdotal evidence (reflecting womens experiential learning in contrast to mens expertise), developing ideas inductively (so the audience thinks that it, not this presumptuous woman, drew the conclusions), and appropriating strategies associated with womensuch as domestic metaphors, emotional appeals to motherhood, and the likeand avoiding such macho strategies as tough language, confrontation or direct refutation, and any appearance of debating ones opponents. Note, however, that feminine style does not preclude substantive depth and argumentative cogency (5).

Presidents Barack Obama, Ronald Reagan, and Bill Clinton use/used a feminine rhetorical style of speakingsomething which men can do and not be criticized for. Reagan was the great communicator. Both Clinton and Obama have been called some of the greatest orators in American history.

Hillary Clinton cannot perform femininity and her inability to play into this script Campbell argues reveals *our deficiencies*not Clintons. Campbell states, Our failure to appreciate the highly developed argumentative skills of an expert advocate, when the advocate is female, reveals our deficiencies, not hers. Legislation attendant on the second wave of feminism opened doors for able women who seek to exercise their skills in all areas of life, including the formation of public policy. If we reject all of those who lack the feminizing skills of Elizabeth Dole, we shall deprive ourselves of a vast array of talent (15).

2). Please dont talk about her likeability. As with the sound of her voice and her rhetorical speaking style, her likeability should have nothing to do with whether or not she would make a qualified president. Yes, I realize all candidates have to somewhat pass the likeability test, but for Clinton, because of the years long Hillary hating stemming from her time as first lady, this issue is in fact gendered, and to criticize her for not being likeable reeks of sexism. Henry Louis Gates Jr. argues, Hillary hating has become one of those national past times that unite the elite and the lumpen. Gary Wills notes, Hillary Hate is a large-scale psychic phenomenon. At the Republican convention there was a dismemberment doll on sale. For twenty dollars you could buy a rag-doll Hillary with arms and legs made to tear off and throw on the floor. .. . Talk shows are full of speculation about Hillarys purported lesbianism and drug use. Fine conspiratorial reasoning sifts whether she was Vince Fosters mistress or murderer or both. The Don Imus show plays a version of the song The Lady is a Tramp with new lyrics about the way the lady fornicates and menstruates and urinates, concluding, Thats why the First Lady is a tramp.’

As Nico Lang points out, She was a working woman and full political partner with (gasp) feminist tendencies. Among would-be first ladies in the early 1990s, these were exotic qualities. Clinton has continued to occupy thatsame space for the better part of three decades now, a one-woman culture war whoplays the political game the same way the men around her do. But unlike those men, Clinton is chided for being disingenuous and a political insider. Everyone else just gets to do their job. There are real reasons to have reservations about a Clinton presidency including her oft-cited ties to Wall Street and her hawkish foreign policy but how often are they the central force of the criticism lodged against her campaign? In an August poll, Quinnipac found that while political respondents felt that Hillary Clinton was strong and a candidate with experience, the words they most associated with her are liar, dishonest, and untrustworthy. These designations appear to be motivated by her Emailgate scandal and the ongoing questions about Benghazi but none of the myriad investigations into eitherhave turned up anything close to a smoking gun.

Rebecca Traister also notes, Recall the days following the 2008 Iowa caucus, when the media took advantage of Clintons defeat to let loose with their resentment and animosity toward her. That was when conservative Marc Rudov told Fox News that Clinton lost because When Barack Obama speaks, men hear Take off for the future! When Hillary Clinton speaks, men hear Take out the garbage! It was in the days after Iowa that Clinton infamously got asked about how voters believed her to be the most experienced and the most electable candidate but are hesitating on the likability issue. In late January, columnist Mike Barnicle told a laughing all-male panel on Morning Joe that Clintons challenge was that she looks like everyones first wife standing outside of probate court.’ In Diana B. Carlin and Kelly L. Winfreys analysis of the various ways Sarah Palin and Hillary Clinton were portrayed during the 2008 campaign, they note, Women who exhibited too many masculine traits are often ridiculed and lose trust because they are going against type or play into male political stereotypes that voters are rejecting (328).

More recently, Sady Doyle argues that, This plays out on the level of personal expression, too: Women are supposedly over-emotional, whereas men make stern, logical, intelligent judgments. So, if Hillary raises her voice, gets angry, cries, or (apparently) even makes a sarcastic joke at a mans expense, she will be seen as bitchy, crazy, cruel and dangerous. (Remember the NO WONDER BILLS AFRAID headlines after she raised her voice at a Benghazi hearing; remember the mass freak-out over her emotional meltdown when someone thought she might be crying during a concession speech.) She absolutely cannot express negative emotion in public. But people have emotions, and women are supposed to have more of them than men, so if Hillary avoids them if she speaks strictly in calm, logical, detached terms, to avoid being seen as crazy we find her cold, call her robotic and calculating, and wonder why she doesnt express her feminine side. Again, shes going to be faulted for feminine weakness or lack of femininity, and both are damaging. Okay, so she can never be sad, angry, or impatient. Thats not a ban on all emotion, right? Youd think the one clear path to avoiding the bitchy or cold descriptors would be to put on a happy face, and admit to emotions only when they are positive. Youd think that, and youd be wrong: It turns out, people hate it when Hillary Clinton smiles or laughs in public. Hillary Clintons laugh gets played in attack ads; it has routinely been called a cackle (like a witch, right? Because shes old, and female, like a witch); frozen stills of Hillary laughing are routinely used to make her look crazy in conservative media. She cant be sad or angry, but she also cant be happy or amused, and she also cant refrain from expressing any of those emotions. There is literally no way out of this one. Anything she does is wrong. Given these constraints, Doyle argues it is impossible for Clinton to be likeable.

Look at how shes tried to address this issue. Dancing like a fool, talking about fashion, laughing more. What has it gotten her? Nothing but backlash.

Dave Holmes writes in , Youre not fun. Stop trying to pretend youre fun. writes an entirefaux op-ed from Clinton entitled I am Fun painting her attempt at being fun as insincere and manufactured.

In the eyes of the American public, Hillary Clinton will be fun. Or likeable. Or someone youd want to have a beer with. And it shouldnt matter. Period. So quit it with the likeability stuff, already. Its stupid and petty. I dont care if my president knows how to dance or even knows how to dress well. And you shouldnt, either.

3). Do criticize her on substantive issues. As Kevin Young & Diana C. Sierra Becerra argue, Clinton is the embodiment of corporate feminism. In their piece, they cite many areas where Clinton could have been and could still be a better advocate for womens rights. Its a fair critique but one that falls under the radar when were so concerned with her voice, appearance, and dance skills.

4). Know your history, do some research, and when criticizing, be fair. One of the claims I often hear as to why some dont trust Clinton, or why some feel shes untrustworthy is because she sat on the board of Walmart. Ok. But lets dig a little deeper. Ann Klefstad notes, Not to take anything away from Bernie and Jane, but think what an advantage this is: to build a career in a location of your choosing, with the strong support of a highly qualified and intelligent person who is unconditionally loyal to you. This was also Bill Clintons situationafter Yale, finding Hillary, heading home to Arkansas, and building a brilliant career in politics. But heywhat about Hillary? After getting a law degree from Yale (an all-male institution a few years previously) she meets Bill. She dumps her career as a congressional aide to move to Arkansas with Bill. I can imagine her dilemma. This was the 1970s. If she wanted to be with Bill, she would be riding on the ship he was captain of. There were consequences to that. She would be a partner in creating a political career that would accomplish many of the goals she wanted to accomplish. Bill very much admired her superb intellect and political skills as well. So they embarked. Theyre in Arkansas. Vermont politics have a pretty clean record. Arkansas? Not so much. You do make your own choices, but the context youre in, well, it matters. The Arkansas economy was in the toilet. The only bright star was the Walton family and Walmart, which was on track to become the biggest retailer in the world. They provided (in Arkansas) an expanding number of well-paid jobs. Bill was governor. Should Hillary have dumped his political career for a chance to spit in Sam Waltons eye? Well, that wasnt going to happen. She sat on the Walmart board and did what she could to both ensure the prosperity of the state of which her husband was governor and to do the right thing. She has almost always chosen the path (sometimes not the one youd pick) that would enable her to accomplish some good actions, rather than the pure path that tends to lead to inaction, or to exile from the power than enables you to make change.

Still dont like the fact she sat on the board? Fine. Dont like her stances on foreign policy? Totally ok. But understand the choices Clinton made in the context in which she livednot in a vacuum. This goes for all of her political choices. Never assume anything about any candidate without doing a little research first. Its amazing how much you can find out on this magical thing called the interwebs.

5). Dont assume critiques against Clinton are automatically rooted in sexism, and when calling out someone for critiquing Clinton, dont assume they, are in fact, sexist either. Take the #BernieBro label, for example. According to Glenn Greenwald, Have pro-Clinton journalists and pundits been subjected to some vile, abusive, and misogynistic rhetoric from random, anonymous internetsupporters of Sanders who are angry over their Clinton support?. Does that reflect in any way on the Sanders campaign or which candidate should win the Democratic primary? . The reason pro-Clinton journalists are targeted with vile abuse online has nothing specifically to do with the Sanders campaign or its supporters. It has everything to do with the internet. There are literally no polarizing views one can advocateonline including criticizing Democratic Party leaders such as Clinton or Barack Obama that will not subject one to a torrent of intense anger and vile abuse. Its not remotely unique to supporting Hillary Clinton: Ask Megyn Kelly about that, or the Sanders-supporting Susan Sarandon and Cornel West, or anyone with a Twitter account or blog. Ive seen online TV and film critics get hauled before vicious internet mobs for expressing unpopular views about a TV program or a movie. Amanda Hess pushes further arguing as soon as the Bernie Bro materialized, the conversation around it deteriorated. As the meme gained momentum, some popularizers stopped bothering to marshal any kind of evidence that Sanders supporters were sexist … . This is a familiar online phenomenon. Just as mansplaining morphed from a useful descriptor of a real problem in contemporary gender dynamics to an increasingly vague catchall expression, ass Benjamin Hart put it in 2014,the Bernie Bro argument has been stretched beyond recognition by both its champions and its critics.What began as a necessary critique of leftist sexism has been replaced by a pair of straw men waving their arms in the wind.

If the label applies, absolutely use it. Call out sexism and misogyny-especially if its coming from someone who claims to be progressive. However, I worry the label is being thrown around loosely and being applied to many well meaning, non-sexist male critics of Clinton. And that only silences debate. I dont want anyone to feel as though they cannot legitimately critique Clinton for fear of being called sexist, a BernieBro, or other names.

Overall, as with most of my writing, this piece was for me. Every time I read an article about Clinton or Sanders or sexism or the fight for the soul of the Democratic Party I find myself wishing for more nuance, less click-bait, and sound and civil discourse. Im tired of seeing the same soundbites repeated on my Facebook wall, seeing good friends of mine unfriend each other or worse because theyre on Team Sanders or Team Clinton and cant find common ground to have a legitimate debate about what this election is really about. In the words of my good friend Greg Wright, If you can imagine a better opportunity to demand the world we want, Id like to hear when you think it will come. When will better circumstances reveal themselves again? What political climate are you relying on to thrust the most unlikely candidate into the realm of possible? You want to know what will make this all the more likely to happen again? Demanding that it happen now.

We are at a historic moment in American history, not unlike the 2nd wave feminist movement. Gloria Steinem once said of Betty Friedan I believe that she was looking to join society as it existed, and the slightly younger parts of the movement were trying to transform society. And those were kind of two different goals. Like Friedan, I would argue that Clinton wants to work within the structure we have, while Sanders wants to transform society. He wants a revolution. In the words of Robert Reich, Ive known Hillary Clinton since she was 19 years old, and have nothing but respect for her. In my view, shes the most qualified candidate for president of the political system we now have. ButBernie Sanders is the most qualified candidate to create the political system we should have, because hes leading a political movement for change.

Sexism is real, and I love the fact that we are even talking about the ugly face of sexism in politics. However, we must be able to criticize a female candidate without resorting to sexist tactics, or be called sexist for critiquing her in the first place.

Overall, as many have pointed out, both Sanders and Clinton would be undeniably better as our next commander in chief than anyone currently running in the Republican arena. So I would caution democrats to get too entrenched within their teams that they refuse to see the bigger picture of the need to elect a Democrat in this next election. There are ways to disagree with one another that dont need to devolve into name calling or soundbite repeating. On Facebook and elsewhere, engage with those on either side in mindful and productive ways. This is an incredibly important election for so many reasons, but that doesnt mean we cant have thoughtful debates. So keep reading. Keep posting. Keep fighting for your team. Just dont embrace the ugly. Theres enough of that out there already.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/a-feminists-guide-to-critiquing-hillary-clinton/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/169872294377

[allofbeercom]

A Feminist’s Guide to Critiquing Hillary Clinton

Fair warning: This blog is not going to be angry. It will not be written in all caps. There will be no vulgarity. And it probably wont go viral. I dont care.

What I do care about is the fact Ive read over 70+ articles in the past two weeks alone discussing the 2016 election and what I see is a total lack of nuance and a lot of critiques that overgeneralize or underplay the very real role gender plays when people talk about Clinton and/or any other women who dare to step into positions that for so long have only been held by men.

What I do care about is how on my Facebook feed and elsewhere, I see well meaning folks called out as sexist jerks for simply offering legitimate critiques of Clinton and what a Clinton presidency might look like.

I like nuance. I like messy. I dont like soundbites and simplicity. So, lets play the nuance game. For folks who love Clinton, realize that not every critique poised against her is based in sexism. For those who love Sanders, realize that sexism is very alive in 2016, and that you can love your candidate AND embrace the reality that politicking while female is an incredibly difficult thing to do. Imagine that. Both/and. For those who havent yet made up their minds, or dont fall into either of these categories, this is for you, too.

So, here is my attempt to create a list of productive ways to critique Hillary Clinton without being a sexist jerk.

1). Do not talk about her voice. Really. Just dont. Earlier this week (and pretty much throughout Clintons existence), weve seen pundits and others criticize her shrillness, her voice, and her masculine speaking style. Soraya Chemaly argues, Anger in a man doesnt make the world wonder out loud if his hormones have taken over his brain and rendered him an incoherent idiot who cant be trusted with Important Things. How many words for angry men are there? Ones that have the powerful and controlling cultural resonance of , and ,, ? Or, yep, . Karlyn Kohrs Campbell wrote an incredibly thoughtful piece discussing how our culture has negatively responded to Clintons inability to fit within the parameters set in terms of how one should act and speak as a woman in the political sphere. She says Clinton symbolizes the problems of public women writ large, the continuing demand that women who play public roles or function in the public sphere discursively enact their femininity, and that women who do not or who do so to only a limited degree, women whose training and personal history fit them for the roles of rhetor, lawyer, expert, and advocate, roles that are gender coded masculine, will arouse the intensely hostile responses that seem so baffling (15). Overall, what Campbell is arguing is that women in the political sphere, in order to be taken seriously, must enact just the right amount of femininity and masculinity, and that Clintons failure to be appropriately feminine has hindered her for decades.

She continues to thoughtfully lay out a masculine and feminine rhetorical style of speaking and discusses what that sounds like. In rhetorical terms, performing or enacting femininity has meant adopting a personal or self-disclosing tone (signifying nurturance, intimacy, and domesticity) and assuming a feminine persona, e.g., mother, or an ungendered persona, e.g., mediator or prophet, while speaking. It has meant preferring anecdotal evidence (reflecting womens experiential learning in contrast to mens expertise), developing ideas inductively (so the audience thinks that it, not this presumptuous woman, drew the conclusions), and appropriating strategies associated with womensuch as domestic metaphors, emotional appeals to motherhood, and the likeand avoiding such macho strategies as tough language, confrontation or direct refutation, and any appearance of debating ones opponents. Note, however, that feminine style does not preclude substantive depth and argumentative cogency (5).

Presidents Barack Obama, Ronald Reagan, and Bill Clinton use/used a feminine rhetorical style of speakingsomething which men can do and not be criticized for. Reagan was the great communicator. Both Clinton and Obama have been called some of the greatest orators in American history.

Hillary Clinton cannot perform femininity and her inability to play into this script Campbell argues reveals *our deficiencies*not Clintons. Campbell states, Our failure to appreciate the highly developed argumentative skills of an expert advocate, when the advocate is female, reveals our deficiencies, not hers. Legislation attendant on the second wave of feminism opened doors for able women who seek to exercise their skills in all areas of life, including the formation of public policy. If we reject all of those who lack the feminizing skills of Elizabeth Dole, we shall deprive ourselves of a vast array of talent (15).

2). Please dont talk about her likeability. As with the sound of her voice and her rhetorical speaking style, her likeability should have nothing to do with whether or not she would make a qualified president. Yes, I realize all candidates have to somewhat pass the likeability test, but for Clinton, because of the years long Hillary hating stemming from her time as first lady, this issue is in fact gendered, and to criticize her for not being likeable reeks of sexism. Henry Louis Gates Jr. argues, Hillary hating has become one of those national past times that unite the elite and the lumpen. Gary Wills notes, Hillary Hate is a large-scale psychic phenomenon. At the Republican convention there was a dismemberment doll on sale. For twenty dollars you could buy a rag-doll Hillary with arms and legs made to tear off and throw on the floor. .. . Talk shows are full of speculation about Hillarys purported lesbianism and drug use. Fine conspiratorial reasoning sifts whether she was Vince Fosters mistress or murderer or both. The Don Imus show plays a version of the song The Lady is a Tramp with new lyrics about the way the lady fornicates and menstruates and urinates, concluding, Thats why the First Lady is a tramp.’

As Nico Lang points out, She was a working woman and full political partner with (gasp) feminist tendencies. Among would-be first ladies in the early 1990s, these were exotic qualities. Clinton has continued to occupy thatsame space for the better part of three decades now, a one-woman culture war whoplays the political game the same way the men around her do. But unlike those men, Clinton is chided for being disingenuous and a political insider. Everyone else just gets to do their job. There are real reasons to have reservations about a Clinton presidency including her oft-cited ties to Wall Street and her hawkish foreign policy but how often are they the central force of the criticism lodged against her campaign? In an August poll, Quinnipac found that while political respondents felt that Hillary Clinton was strong and a candidate with experience, the words they most associated with her are liar, dishonest, and untrustworthy. These designations appear to be motivated by her Emailgate scandal and the ongoing questions about Benghazi but none of the myriad investigations into eitherhave turned up anything close to a smoking gun.

Rebecca Traister also notes, Recall the days following the 2008 Iowa caucus, when the media took advantage of Clintons defeat to let loose with their resentment and animosity toward her. That was when conservative Marc Rudov told Fox News that Clinton lost because When Barack Obama speaks, men hear Take off for the future! When Hillary Clinton speaks, men hear Take out the garbage! It was in the days after Iowa that Clinton infamously got asked about how voters believed her to be the most experienced and the most electable candidate but are hesitating on the likability issue. In late January, columnist Mike Barnicle told a laughing all-male panel on Morning Joe that Clintons challenge was that she looks like everyones first wife standing outside of probate court.’ In Diana B. Carlin and Kelly L. Winfreys analysis of the various ways Sarah Palin and Hillary Clinton were portrayed during the 2008 campaign, they note, Women who exhibited too many masculine traits are often ridiculed and lose trust because they are going against type or play into male political stereotypes that voters are rejecting (328).

More recently, Sady Doyle argues that, This plays out on the level of personal expression, too: Women are supposedly over-emotional, whereas men make stern, logical, intelligent judgments. So, if Hillary raises her voice, gets angry, cries, or (apparently) even makes a sarcastic joke at a mans expense, she will be seen as bitchy, crazy, cruel and dangerous. (Remember the NO WONDER BILLS AFRAID headlines after she raised her voice at a Benghazi hearing; remember the mass freak-out over her emotional meltdown when someone thought she might be crying during a concession speech.) She absolutely cannot express negative emotion in public. But people have emotions, and women are supposed to have more of them than men, so if Hillary avoids them if she speaks strictly in calm, logical, detached terms, to avoid being seen as crazy we find her cold, call her robotic and calculating, and wonder why she doesnt express her feminine side. Again, shes going to be faulted for feminine weakness or lack of femininity, and both are damaging. Okay, so she can never be sad, angry, or impatient. Thats not a ban on all emotion, right? Youd think the one clear path to avoiding the bitchy or cold descriptors would be to put on a happy face, and admit to emotions only when they are positive. Youd think that, and youd be wrong: It turns out, people hate it when Hillary Clinton smiles or laughs in public. Hillary Clintons laugh gets played in attack ads; it has routinely been called a cackle (like a witch, right? Because shes old, and female, like a witch); frozen stills of Hillary laughing are routinely used to make her look crazy in conservative media. She cant be sad or angry, but she also cant be happy or amused, and she also cant refrain from expressing any of those emotions. There is literally no way out of this one. Anything she does is wrong. Given these constraints, Doyle argues it is impossible for Clinton to be likeable.

Look at how shes tried to address this issue. Dancing like a fool, talking about fashion, laughing more. What has it gotten her? Nothing but backlash.

Dave Holmes writes in , Youre not fun. Stop trying to pretend youre fun. writes an entirefaux op-ed from Clinton entitled I am Fun painting her attempt at being fun as insincere and manufactured.

In the eyes of the American public, Hillary Clinton will be fun. Or likeable. Or someone youd want to have a beer with. And it shouldnt matter. Period. So quit it with the likeability stuff, already. Its stupid and petty. I dont care if my president knows how to dance or even knows how to dress well. And you shouldnt, either.

3). Do criticize her on substantive issues. As Kevin Young & Diana C. Sierra Becerra argue, Clinton is the embodiment of corporate feminism. In their piece, they cite many areas where Clinton could have been and could still be a better advocate for womens rights. Its a fair critique but one that falls under the radar when were so concerned with her voice, appearance, and dance skills.

4). Know your history, do some research, and when criticizing, be fair. One of the claims I often hear as to why some dont trust Clinton, or why some feel shes untrustworthy is because she sat on the board of Walmart. Ok. But lets dig a little deeper. Ann Klefstad notes, Not to take anything away from Bernie and Jane, but think what an advantage this is: to build a career in a location of your choosing, with the strong support of a highly qualified and intelligent person who is unconditionally loyal to you. This was also Bill Clintons situationafter Yale, finding Hillary, heading home to Arkansas, and building a brilliant career in politics. But heywhat about Hillary? After getting a law degree from Yale (an all-male institution a few years previously) she meets Bill. She dumps her career as a congressional aide to move to Arkansas with Bill. I can imagine her dilemma. This was the 1970s. If she wanted to be with Bill, she would be riding on the ship he was captain of. There were consequences to that. She would be a partner in creating a political career that would accomplish many of the goals she wanted to accomplish. Bill very much admired her superb intellect and political skills as well. So they embarked. Theyre in Arkansas. Vermont politics have a pretty clean record. Arkansas? Not so much. You do make your own choices, but the context youre in, well, it matters. The Arkansas economy was in the toilet. The only bright star was the Walton family and Walmart, which was on track to become the biggest retailer in the world. They provided (in Arkansas) an expanding number of well-paid jobs. Bill was governor. Should Hillary have dumped his political career for a chance to spit in Sam Waltons eye? Well, that wasnt going to happen. She sat on the Walmart board and did what she could to both ensure the prosperity of the state of which her husband was governor and to do the right thing. She has almost always chosen the path (sometimes not the one youd pick) that would enable her to accomplish some good actions, rather than the pure path that tends to lead to inaction, or to exile from the power than enables you to make change.

Still dont like the fact she sat on the board? Fine. Dont like her stances on foreign policy? Totally ok. But understand the choices Clinton made in the context in which she livednot in a vacuum. This goes for all of her political choices. Never assume anything about any candidate without doing a little research first. Its amazing how much you can find out on this magical thing called the interwebs.

5). Dont assume critiques against Clinton are automatically rooted in sexism, and when calling out someone for critiquing Clinton, dont assume they, are in fact, sexist either. Take the #BernieBro label, for example. According to Glenn Greenwald, Have pro-Clinton journalists and pundits been subjected to some vile, abusive, and misogynistic rhetoric from random, anonymous internetsupporters of Sanders who are angry over their Clinton support?. Does that reflect in any way on the Sanders campaign or which candidate should win the Democratic primary? . The reason pro-Clinton journalists are targeted with vile abuse online has nothing specifically to do with the Sanders campaign or its supporters. It has everything to do with the internet. There are literally no polarizing views one can advocateonline including criticizing Democratic Party leaders such as Clinton or Barack Obama that will not subject one to a torrent of intense anger and vile abuse. Its not remotely unique to supporting Hillary Clinton: Ask Megyn Kelly about that, or the Sanders-supporting Susan Sarandon and Cornel West, or anyone with a Twitter account or blog. Ive seen online TV and film critics get hauled before vicious internet mobs for expressing unpopular views about a TV program or a movie. Amanda Hess pushes further arguing as soon as the Bernie Bro materialized, the conversation around it deteriorated. As the meme gained momentum, some popularizers stopped bothering to marshal any kind of evidence that Sanders supporters were sexist . . . . This is a familiar online phenomenon. Just as mansplaining morphed from a useful descriptor of a real problem in contemporary gender dynamics to an increasingly vague catchall expression, ass Benjamin Hart put it in 2014,the Bernie Bro argument has been stretched beyond recognition by both its champions and its critics.What began as a necessary critique of leftist sexism has been replaced by a pair of straw men waving their arms in the wind.

If the label applies, absolutely use it. Call out sexism and misogyny-especially if its coming from someone who claims to be progressive. However, I worry the label is being thrown around loosely and being applied to many well meaning, non-sexist male critics of Clinton. And that only silences debate. I dont want anyone to feel as though they cannot legitimately critique Clinton for fear of being called sexist, a BernieBro, or other names.

Overall, as with most of my writing, this piece was for me. Every time I read an article about Clinton or Sanders or sexism or the fight for the soul of the Democratic Party I find myself wishing for more nuance, less click-bait, and sound and civil discourse. Im tired of seeing the same soundbites repeated on my Facebook wall, seeing good friends of mine unfriend each other or worse because theyre on Team Sanders or Team Clinton and cant find common ground to have a legitimate debate about what this election is really about. In the words of my good friend Greg Wright, If you can imagine a better opportunity to demand the world we want, Id like to hear when you think it will come. When will better circumstances reveal themselves again? What political climate are you relying on to thrust the most unlikely candidate into the realm of possible? You want to know what will make this all the more likely to happen again? Demanding that it happen now.

We are at a historic moment in American history, not unlike the 2nd wave feminist movement. Gloria Steinem once said of Betty Friedan I believe that she was looking to join society as it existed, and the slightly younger parts of the movement were trying to transform society. And those were kind of two different goals. Like Friedan, I would argue that Clinton wants to work within the structure we have, while Sanders wants to transform society. He wants a revolution. In the words of Robert Reich, Ive known Hillary Clinton since she was 19 years old, and have nothing but respect for her. In my view, shes the most qualified candidate for president of the political system we now have. ButBernie Sanders is the most qualified candidate to create the political system we should have, because hes leading a political movement for change.

Sexism is real, and I love the fact that we are even talking about the ugly face of sexism in politics. However, we must be able to criticize a female candidate without resorting to sexist tactics, or be called sexist for critiquing her in the first place.

Overall, as many have pointed out, both Sanders and Clinton would be undeniably better as our next commander in chief than anyone currently running in the Republican arena. So I would caution democrats to get too entrenched within their teams that they refuse to see the bigger picture of the need to elect a Democrat in this next election. There are ways to disagree with one another that dont need to devolve into name calling or soundbite repeating. On Facebook and elsewhere, engage with those on either side in mindful and productive ways. This is an incredibly important election for so many reasons, but that doesnt mean we cant have thoughtful debates. So keep reading. Keep posting. Keep fighting for your team. Just dont embrace the ugly. Theres enough of that out there already.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/a-feminists-guide-to-critiquing-hillary-clinton/