#american politics.... the gift that keeps on giving...

[tortured-griffith]

Furthermore, since we're on the topic, i am willing to do 9/11 as long as guts gets involved with the Taliban. Vote Tortured Griffith 2024!!

[lovezbrownies]

Mockingbird. (Fem!Yandere Pop Idol x GN!Reader.)

Masterlist

(Coudln't pick between making her an american pop idol or a k-pop idol so i made her both! She's half American and half Korean and makes variety solo music while in her band :))

Synopsis: While trying to earn your paycheck as a Audio Tech, you manage to catch the eyes of the magnetic, Grammy winning Yuna Claire.

Under the spotlight, Yuna Claire was perfection—every note, every glance choreographed for the adoration of thousands. But when her eyes landed on you, their fire softened into something sharper, something that burned with a dangerous kind of focus. You’d noticed her at first only because of Yuna's fame, the admiration people lavished on her so excessive it was hard to ignore. It was after a concert that she’d approached you, alone in the backstage crowd, moving with a deliberate pace that only you seemed oblivious to.

She’d started with a polite introduction, a charming laugh. Fans had parted around Yuna, gaping as if she were a goddess, while you gave her a casual nod, barely glancing her way. If anything, you’d appeared more captivated by the band posters on the walls. Yuna wasn’t deterred, though. Instead, she leaned in, her words silken, inviting you to a private after-party. Her words were sugar, her gaze hypnotic—but something didn’t feel quite right. And still, her allure was undeniable, almost magnetic.

But you had your own reasons for resisting. The world of flashing lights and obsessive fans didn’t appeal to you, and the drama of idol life felt exhausting just to observe. You'd given her a nonchalant smile, declining politely, leaving Yuna alone in a corridor of confused and shocked onlookers.

Yuna didn’t give up. For weeks after that, her messages appeared daily, each one a bit more intense than the last, though always wrapped in a veneer of politeness. She’d send short, casual notes about her day, like Yuna was trying to convince you of her “normal” side. Then came the carefully crafted photos, her smile dazzling, eyes dark with something unsettling. Still, Yuna knew just how to tread the line between flirty and forward, between coy and committed.

But you didn’t respond, letting your silence answer in your place.

The silence only seemed to make her bolder.

Soon, small “gifts” began appearing. They were subtle at first: a book you’d mentioned liking left anonymously on your doorstep, a handwritten letter slipped into your bag somehow, perfume lingering on the pages. Then, one day, your phone buzzed, and there was a photo attached—a candid shot of you in a coffee shop, reading. The angle was wrong, too close, taken without your notice. The caption beneath read, “I love how focused you look.”

By now, you’d pieced together Yuna's persistence and presence. She was relentless, yet subtle. You’d heard rumors that she had been known to ghost her managers, locking herself away from the world for weeks until she’d get what she wanted. Those who defied her had been known to face mysterious career setbacks, projects canceled without reason. And now, that ambition—obsession—had found its focus on you.

One evening, you returned home to find Yuna waiting at your door. Her smile was radiant as ever, but there was an edge to her eyes, a desperation swimming beneath her polished exterior. Yuna wore a hoodie, as though trying to blend into your world, her gloved hands hidden in her pockets.

“You haven’t answered me,” Yuna said, her voice soft yet unyielding. “I thought… maybe in person you’d give me a chance.”

Her gaze didn’t waver as you fumbled for your keys, blocking your way. She leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of her breath. “Please,” she murmured, her voice low and nearly pleading, though her eyes told a different story.

“I’m… really not interested,” you managed, keeping your tone polite but firm.

The smile on Yuna's face tightened, her fingers flexing slightly as she stood still, the air heavy with her scent and the weight of her expectations. The seconds stretched, her intense silence trapping you until she finally spoke again, her voice softer, almost disarmingly gentle.

“I can change your mind.” It wasn’t a question, more like a fact she’d already accepted. She shifted, a gleam flickering in her gaze as she stepped closer, her voice lowering to a whisper. “I just need a little more time to show you how much you mean to me. You wouldn’t turn me away if you knew how long I’ve waited to find someone like you.”

You could feel your pulse quicken, her intensity seeping into the air between you. The way Yuna looked at you—as though you were the one person in a world of facades—stirred something uncomfortable, something deeply unsettling. But behind that, a chill ran down your spine, the unease creeping in as her gaze lingered, too steady, too fixed, a promise hidden in the depths of her stare.

“I just… want to be left alone,” you said softly, pushing the words out, feeling the way they seemed to make her freeze for a moment, like she was memorizing the rejection, absorbing it before it sank into her.

And then, Yuna's smile widened, her voice tinged with an eerie, honeyed calm. “You’ll change your mind,” she murmured, pressing a soft hand to your arm. “I have all the time in the world for you. And don’t worry—I won’t be far.”

She let her fingers linger just a moment too long before stepping back, her gaze never leaving yours as she turned, leaving you in the dim hallway. And as she walked away, you felt a cold certainty that this was only the beginning.

A few days passed with nothing more than a tense silence and a faint scent of her perfume lingering in your mind. You tried to shake her memory, the look in her eyes that had lingered too long, the unwavering way Yuna had spoken as if her persistence was just a matter of inevitability. But Yuna had fallen quiet, her presence slipping back into the shadows. You told yourself that maybe she’d taken the hint, that perhaps her attention had finally shifted.

But soon, small traces of her began appearing everywhere. It started innocently enough: a coffee cup with Yuna's autograph on the sleeve sitting outside your door one morning, her signature sharp and elaborate. Then, one day, a bouquet of deep red roses appeared—delivered straight to your office, the envelope tucked inside holding only a single message in her elegant handwriting: You missed my last concert. I was thinking of you the whole time. You could almost hear her voice in the words, soft and unhurried, like a gentle reminder she would never let you go.

Still, you kept your distance, responding to her with only silence, the only reaction you could give that felt remotely safe. But Yuna's gifts continued, each more intimate than the last. One night, you found a plush blanket folded perfectly at your doorstep, the fabric woven with her initials stitched carefully into the corner. You left it there, untouched, but the next morning, it was gone, replaced by a small silver necklace, engraved with the words, Forever yours.

By now, you were beginning to feel Yuna's presence even when she wasn’t there. You couldn’t walk down the street without glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting her to step out from the shadows, her voice low and calm, as if she’d just been waiting for you to look her way. It made the world feel smaller, her influence extending far beyond the glossy photoshoots and stage lights. She wasn’t just a presence on screens or in songs; she was a shadow, creeping into every quiet corner of your life.

It was on a rainy night that she finally crossed the line. You were sitting at your kitchen table, half-awake and nursing a cup of coffee, trying to shake off the unease that had followed you home. There was a knock on your door, soft but unmissable. Your heart dropped, a part of you already knowing who it would be.

Reluctantly, you opened the door, and there she was—drenched from the rain, her hair clinging to her face, lips painted red but smudged slightly as though she’d been rushing. Her eyes were wide and focused, her gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made you want to step back, but she was faster, already inside before you could say anything.

“Why haven’t you answered me?” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, but the sharpness was unmistakable. “I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to give you time, but you’re making this so much harder than it has to be.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Yuna shook her head, her fingers curling into fists, her gaze brimming with something raw and desperate. “I’ve waited so long to find someone who doesn’t see me as just entertainment,” she continued, her voice wavering slightly. “Everyone else is obsessed with the idea of me, but you… You’re real. You’re the only real thing in my world, and I won’t let you ignore me.”

Her words were laced with a haunting vulnerability, but there was an edge there, a dark gleam in her eye that made your skin prickle. She took a step forward, and before you could react, her hands were on your arms, her grip surprisingly strong as she pulled you close.

“Do you know what it’s like to be worshipped by everyone but feel completely alone?” she murmured, her breath hot against your skin. “No one sees me like you do. You can’t understand what that means to me… what you mean to me.”

Her fingers traced along your arms, almost possessively, her gaze dropping to the floor before lifting again, filled with a sorrowful intensity that left you speechless. Her voice softened, barely above a whisper, but there was an unmistakable steel behind her words. “If I have to tear down every wall, break every distance between us, I will. You don’t understand how much I need you. You don’t know what it feels like to need someone the way I need you.”

You tried to pull away, but her grip tightened, her fingers pressing into your skin. There was a flicker of pain in her eyes, like she was fighting something darker, something she couldn’t control. Yuna's voice grew softer, almost pleading, a softness masking something much more intense. “I’ll be everything for you,” she whispered, her gaze dropping to her hands on your arms. “I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll leave the spotlight if I have to… if that’s what it takes.”

Her words hung in the air, filled with an eerie promise, a willingness to unravel her entire life just for a chance to stay by your side. You could feel her desperation, her obsession suffocating, seeping into the space between you until it felt like a cage.

“Please,” you finally said, managing to pry her hands off, your voice steady though your heart was pounding. “I don’t want this. I never asked for it, and you need to understand that.”

Her face fell, her expression wavering as though the weight of your rejection was physically painful. But after a moment, she smiled, a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You think you don’t want this now,” she said softly, her voice gentle, yet chilling. “But you just haven’t given me a chance to show you. I’ll change your mind… I know I will.”

With that, she took a step back, her gaze lingering as she brushed a strand of wet hair from her face. Her voice was soft, affectionate, but there was something almost dangerous in it now, something unyielding. “I’ll be seeing you,” she whispered, almost like a promise, before turning and slipping out into the rain.

As the door clicked shut behind her, you felt a shiver run down your spine. You knew, with an unsettling certainty, that this wasn’t over. And somehow, a part of you wondered if it ever would be.

You sank into a chair, heart pounding as you tried to shake off the echo of her words. But her presence lingered, curling around you like smoke, insistent and inescapable. Every shadow in your apartment seemed to hold her gaze, every sound just outside the door felt like her footsteps waiting to step back into your world.

In the days that followed, it was as if she’d slipped into your life like a shadow cast just beyond reach. It started small again—your phone buzzing with her messages, her number somehow bypassing the blocks you’d put in place. A photo of the view from her hotel room, sent late at night with a message below: This would look better if you were here. Each time you saw her name appear, a tightness grew in your chest, the constant reminder that she was watching, waiting.

When you went out, she was there, always just out of sight but close enough that you could feel her, as if her gaze was a constant weight on the back of your neck. She lingered at cafes, always alone at a distant table, her eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses, never taking them off until you’d met her stare for just a moment too long. She’d nod, that half-smile twisting into something more when she saw the flicker of discomfort on your face.

One evening, you arrived home to find a package waiting for you—an expensive leather-bound journal, its cover engraved with your initials. Inside, she’d filled pages with a mix of her own thoughts, scrawled lyrics, and snapshots of herself, each one accompanied by a handwritten note. Some were simple—Thinking of you—while others were bolder: You belong in my life. The scent of her perfume clung to every page, making it feel as though she’d marked each one as her own. The effect was suffocating.

You tried to shake it off, tried to return to normal. You avoided places she’d visited, tried to take different routes, anything to break free of the feeling of being watched. But no matter where you went, she was always one step ahead, a quiet but relentless shadow. And then one night, as you sat in a dimly lit bar, she slipped into the seat across from you, her presence as bold and unyielding as ever.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you murmured, your voice betraying the surprise and unease that flooded your senses.

She simply tilted her head, a knowing smile curling her lips. “I told you, didn’t I? I’d be seeing you again.” Her fingers drummed on the table, her gaze never leaving yours. “You keep avoiding me, but I know what you really need, what you’re afraid to admit.” Her words were soft, intimate, as though she were whispering them just for you.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you replied, keeping your tone even, though it felt like you were trying to steady yourself on a tightrope. “This obsession… it’s not what you think it is.”

She laughed quietly, shaking her head. “That’s where you’re wrong.” Her eyes gleamed with a chilling certainty. “You’ve made me wait, given me time to understand what you really need. I know what it’s like to be surrounded by people who don’t see you… but I see everything about you.” She leaned closer, her voice low and steady, her gaze intense enough to hold you in place. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not until you realize that we belong together.”

She pulled out a silver key, placing it on the table between you, a soft clink breaking the heavy silence. “I had a spare made,” she murmured, her voice a ghost of a whisper, as though confessing a secret. “I didn’t want to intrude too much, but… it’s better this way. I don’t have to wait for you to come to me—I can just find you when you’re ready.”

A chill swept through you, and the faint smile on her lips made it clear she knew exactly the effect she was having on you. She reached out, her fingers grazing the back of your hand, her touch soft yet possessive. “You’re afraid now,” she murmured, her eyes softening just enough to mimic tenderness. “But I’m willing to wait. I’m patient. I’ll give you all the time you need… because in the end, you’ll see that I’m the only one who truly understands you.”

Before you could respond, she rose, leaving the key glinting in the dim light between you, a symbol of the door she had already opened, the boundary she’d so carefully, and deliberately, crossed. And as she walked away, you realized, with a sinking certainty, that there was no escaping her.

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Disgusting comments of a sexual nature. Let me know if I missed any!

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Your mother rushes into your room, followed by her many assistants. "It's today," she tells you. You give her a confused look and she rolls her eyes. "The marriage. It's happening today so you'd best dress up. My ladies will do your hair and makeup so you can look somewhat decent for your new husband."

"Yes, mother," is all you can say. Any attempts at pointing out you'd had no notice would be futile. And should you dare try to state a preference in your looks it would be immediately dismissed, paired with an insult. Best to just comply and do as she says. You make sure to follow the instructions of the hair and makeup team. They have to put up with your mother, too, so you always try to be polite to them.

As soon as they finish your mother shoves you in front of a mirror. "There," she coos. "Don't you look so lovely?"

You think you look like a clown. Like a lesser copy of her. "Yes, mother. Thank you."

"Would have gotten you a better dress but you refused to lose weight," she sighs. You bite your tongue. The doctor said you were healthy, that should be enough. But not for her.

"Now," she continues, "we will be meeting your father and brother at the Jensen estate. Apparently they've already go the paperwork and notary crap sorted out. Remember to walk gracefully, be polite, and for the love of everything, smile. I don't need my daughter's wedding photos to look like a funeral had happened!"

"Yes, mother."

Jake is really trying to keep calm. His father, father-in-law and brother-in-law are all drinking to the "marriage" happening this afternoon. Apparently they're just waiting for the bride and her mother to finish getting ready. Jake is scared she's going to be just like his own mother: power hungry, demanding, backstabbing, cold. Meeting the bride's family has not helped assuage his concerns. If anything, it only further drives his conviction that he did the right thing, breaking his sister's engagement. The only thing keeping Jake calm is Clay's presence. Having an ally makes a world of difference.

Montgomery, his father-in-law, is already three drinks in. "And as a wedding gift to the happy couple, your father and I have purchased a penthouse and a car that you won't be embarrassed to be seen in."

"Are you ashamed to be seen in an American classic?" Clay raises an eyebrow.

"It's a pinto," Travis, the brother-in-law, scoffs.

"Exactly," Clay calmly says. "An American classic."

Travis rolls his eyes before turning to Jake, "I'm kinda disappointed you agreed to this thing. I was kinda hoping for that niece of yours. You know, once she turns 18. The young ones are so much easier to train."

Jake's gripping his glass so tightly his knuckles are white. He has to behave, it's in the contract. And punching his brother-in-law would not be behaving.

Thankfully Clay has his back. "Young man, you've got problems. I'm specifically talking in the bedroom, but I'm sure you've got plenty of problems outside as well. If you need some lessons on how to please a woman, I'm happy to give you some pointers."

Travis glowers at him but Clay just smirks.

A knock at the door breaks the tension in the room. An attendant comes in, "the bride is here."

The first time you see Jake, your heart falls. He looks angry, mean. You didn't have much hope about being treated well to begin with but this just solidified it.

The first time Jake sees you, his own heart does the same. You're the spitting image of your mother. He mentally prepares himself for a life of being scolded for never being enough, a life of being cheated on, a life without love.

The documents are signed and notarized. The fake smiles are pasted on for the photos. Jake is given the keys to both the penthouse and the car. Clay promises to meet them there, driving his pinto.

You and Jake sit silently in the car. Both wanting to cry.

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness;@ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[coochellati]

Living With Bruno - Headcanons

Hi guys. I hope you are all doing okay. These past 24 hours have been rough for those affected by American politics.

In the name of comfort and escapism, I’ve been imagining what living with Bruno would look like. For instance—What does Bruno do in his spare time? What does his house look like? Is he a neat person? (spoiler alert: he definitely is.) And what is he like behind closed doors?

I’ll be diving into these questions (and more!) under the break!

Bruno lives in his modest childhood home by the sea, and he hasn’t changed much of the furniture or decor since his parents decorated it. Almost everything is as it was when he was a kid—it gives him a sense of comfort.

During the day, he loves to let the salty sea breeze in through open windows. At night, the lighting feels warm and inviting. Bruno is mindful of energy costs; he only uses lights when needed. Candlelight often fills the home after dark, adding a cozy ambiance. Bruno Bucciarati is a neat person, so his home is impeccably kept.

Bruno spends most of his time in his living room, partly because it’s where his record player lives. It sits between two speakers on top of a waist-high bookshelf in his living room that holds his impressive record collection, including genres such as jazz, prog rock, classical, and more. (He has a whole section dedicated to Miles Davis.) He’s added a desk to the room so he can work while listening to his vinyls. On the wall hangs one of his father’s old fishing nets, a reminder of the vow he made to his father to fight against drugs.

His childhood bedroom is mostly unchanged, having the same furniture and arrangement as when he was young. A small bookshelf holds the stories his mother used to read to him, and pictures of his parents rest on his nightstand.

His parents’ bedroom remains as it was when his father passed. Besides keeping it clean, Bruno hasn’t altered a thing in there, finding something almost sacred in its preservation.

Bruno’s also got a pretty decent wine collection stashed in the cellar, with some expensive, rare bottles. Being careful with money, he rarely splurges on high-end wine, so most of these rare bottles were gifts.

(I headcanon that Bruno is passionate about wine. If you’re interested in hearing about why I believe this, here’s a link to this post.)

Bruno Bucciarati definitely uses his walls for storage.

Before moving in, Bruno will chat with you about your needs. For instance, do you have any allergies? Do you have sensitive skin and need to use special laundry detergent? Are there certain foods you won’t eat? His home is now your home—he wants to make sure you’re comfortable.

Bruno may not be a fan of PDA, but behind closed doors, he isn’t shy about showing affection. Whether it be a peck on the cheek, warm smiles, hand-holding, cuddling to Miles Davis, etc., Bruno is always happy to be close to you. (This goes without saying, but he loves when you reciprocate!)

You might often catch Bruno watching you with quiet admiration. For example, he lets you get ready for bed first so he can just observe you—it’s his way of reminding himself that he now has someone to come home to. For him, it’s like gazing at a winning lottery ticket.

However, like many people, there are moments when Bruno needs his personal space. (Especially if he’s very stressed or it’s work-related.) After all, everyone needs some alone time now and then, and he’ll do his best to let you know ahead of time. Don’t worry about upsetting him if you need to see him during this time—Bruno would never be mad about it. He’ll also reassure you there’s nothing wrong with your relationship if it’s something you need to hear.

Everyone has their flaws, and communication isn’t something Bruno is always the best about. He tends to keep stressful things to himself, to “shoulder the burden,” so to speak. In his mind, he believes he’s protecting you, but this can lead to him acting in unpredictable ways that only make sense if you have the full story.

For instance—remember when Trish asked Narancia why Bruno was such a cold person?

Bruno had a reason for his behavior, as he was close to death. But without knowing the entire story, Trish saw him as cold and uncaring. This is exactly the kind of misunderstanding I’m talking about—without context, Bruno’s actions can give the wrong impression.

Afterward, Narancia told to Trish that this was just how Bruno behaved, and she would understand if she got to know him better. While this dynamic of unexplained behavior may work in a subordinate-leader relationship, this isn’t the type of relationship you and Bruno have. Seeing you happy and safe is what matters most to him, but he doesn’t always go about it in the best way.

Communication is something the two of you may have to work through together.

As noted, Bruno is a neat person. Keeping everything clean and organized helps him stay focused and level-headed. On his days off, he keeps up with chores so his place stays in top shape—he also finds it calming.

Laundry and Ironing are two chores he doesn’t mind doing. Bruno takes great pride in the way he dresses so taking care of his clothes is very important to him. He also happens to be very good at removing stains. (Wearing white clothes regularly will force you to get good at it.) Like many Italians, Bruno doesn’t own a washer or dryer. This means everything gets washed by hand and hung outside to dry. (No need to splurge when you can do your laundry yourself.) Because clothes get stiff when air dried, Bruno irons everything, including socks, underwear, and towels. (This isn’t uncommon in Italy either.)

Bruno is quite skilled at cooking, a talent he developed while caring for his father. (He’s also picked up tips from Polpo’s unsolicited rants about food.) On the topic of cooking, Bruno tends to be big on meal prep, given that he doesn’t always have the time or energy to cook after a long day at work. Therefore, I can see him making a comical amount of food at once to store for later. You’ll walk in and the kitchen table looks like this:

If there’s one chore Bruno doesn’t enjoy, it’s taking out the trash. At first, I thought he’d have it easy because of the fact he could “zipper” it away inside the ground, but as stated to Trish inside Coco Jumbo, he has no idea where things go when he does that—probably best not to risk littering underground.

Bruno is very good about keeping clean. Every morning starts with a cold shower, which he enjoys for the mental clarity and alertness it brings. He’s happy to let you join him if he isn’t in a time constraint, and upon doing so, he’ll adjust the water temperature to something more suited to your preference. (Since he takes cold showers, he’s fine with pretty much any temperature as long as it isn’t scalding.)

If you end up showering with him, expect it to take a while. ;) (Especially if he has nothing going on that day.) His hands gently grazing your sides, he’ll likely start by asking if he can wash you. If you say yes, he’ll begin to gently and meticulously wash every part of you with an awestruck expression gracing his face. (“How did I get so lucky?” He’ll wonder.)

Araki designed Bruno with shiny, meticulously styled hair, which suggests to me that Bruno puts effort into caring for his hair. Healthy hair isn’t just good genes—Bruno goes a little further than just using shampoo and conditioner to maintain it. For instance, he definitely uses leave-in conditioner and hair oil. I can also see him using a hairdryer to blow out his hair and give it that perfect bob shape.

It’s impressive how fast Bruno can get ready for the day, considering all that goes into his daily styling. (You should see how fast he can braid his hair.) It takes him about 16-17 minutes to get ready, 10 more if he has to dry his hair.

Bruno finishes his routine with a few spritzes of cologne.

Around the house, Bruno dresses casually—no need for a fancy suit if no one’s around to see it. However, he will dress up if he’s expecting a visitor.

Sleeping next to you makes Bruno realize how fucking stressed he is all the time. His lifestyle/career has turned him into someone who is constantly hyper-vigilant, so it’s no wonder that Bruno is a very light sleeper. (That, plus the trauma from the night two intruders tried to kill Bruno’s dad while his dad was asleep. ) On his own, he tends to wake up multiple times in the middle of the night, but when he sleeps next to you, he usually stays asleep.

The best part about sleeping next to Bruno? He doesn’t really snore, possibly thanks to being a side sleeper. He also sleeps in pajamas, just in case he has to get up quickly. (Imagine being caught naked as intruders walk into your bedroom.)

I imagine Bruno uses the same bed he did as a kid. Therefore, I bet it is the Italian equivalent of a full-sized bed. This bed size has always worked for him, though he’d likely get a larger one if a partner moved in.

(You really can’t tell the size of the bed from the photo. It could very well be a twin instead of a full.)

Bruno typically starts his mornings bright and early at 6:30 am. He usually aims for about seven hours of sleep, going to bed around 11 p.m. or midnight, though it’s not unusual to see him working until 1 or 2 a.m. (So yeah… he never really gets enough sleep.)

In his downtime, Bruno likes to unwind with a book or by listening to records with a glass of wine—though these moments don’t happen as often as they should since he’s a bit of a workaholic.

Sometimes, he’ll take a walk to the shore where his dad used to dock and sit for a while. He finds it comforting—this is one way he feels he can stay connected to his dad.

Thank you for reading!!! this was super fun to write! I hope this post was able to provide you some comfort 💕

[darylas]

Chapter 2 - It’s Only a Paper Moon

John “Bucky” Egan x singer!fem!reader previous ♫ next ♫ ao3

Bucky is realizing that your performance doesn't end when you leave the stage, but he's determined to see what lies under the mask.

1.8k words

Warnings: Language, Smoking, Bucky being a little shit

Disclaimer: Most of the characters mentioned are based on the dramatic portrayal featured in the Masters of the Air limited series, not the actual historical figures they represent.

You stood outside the officers' club, slouching against the back wall and using one hand to massage your cheeks. Before joining the American Red Cross and moving overseas, you’d never realized just how sore one’s face could get from smiling all day long. How tired one could become of the sound of their own false laughter. Never appreciated just how valuable a quiet moment alone could really be. 

Your days at Thorpe Abbotts had quickly grown monotonous, though you supposed that rehearsing and performing with the band multiple days a week made your experience a bit more unique than the other volunteers’. 

For you, the most difficult part of the job was not waking up before dawn to prepare doughnuts and coffee for the airmen, though you were counting down the days until your next morning off.

It also wasn’t the fact that you and your fellow ARC girls were nothing less than amateur psychiatrists, offering a comforting and listening ear to soldiers who were fresh out of combat to process their violent experiences. You felt that you had become quite adept at keeping your attitude from being too bright, thus seeming uncaring, or too sympathetic, which might evoke even darker emotions from the soldier. Thanks to these revealing conversations, you came to know a lot more than you anticipated about the horrors of war.

It certainly wasn’t performing in front of large crowds; you had always been good at that. 

No, for you the most draining aspect of your job was moments like this one, the moments between musical numbers. Making small talk, smiling at all times, laughing at the same joke you’d already been told at least thirty times as if it were the funniest thing you’d ever heard. Truthfully, it felt like a much grander performance than anything you’d ever done on stage. Ever since you were a child, you cherished your alone time and preferred genuine, intellectual conversation to what felt like pointless small talk. At this point, the mask you wore during these moments seemed to be plastered to your face at all times. You would never reveal this to the men, of course. This was why you were here, to give these brave men a piece of home and to raise morale. 

Of course, while ARC girls were expected to attend parties and socialize, they were not required to accept every invitation. While most of the men were harmless and polite, there were some who you would prefer to avoid interaction with altogether. Major Egan being one of them. 

You had always been one to trust your instincts about a person, and something about the major kept you at a distance. For one, he was full of himself, or at least he seemed to be. You supposed that was not uncommon in young officers with higher ranks. For another thing, word spread among the women fast enough for you to know that a dance with John Egan often didn’t end once the music stopped. You had no interest in being anyone’s conquest of the month. 

Right now, you knew you had a few minutes before your next number. You had been able to sneak out for a moment with the rather poor excuse of needing some fresh air to boost your lung volume and vocal control. You took out your sad little lighter and a cigarette from one of the packs of four rationed to each soldier. This pack was gifted to you by a young private who said he didn’t smoke. Fresh air, indeed. 

You flipped open the lid and thumbed the wheel once, twice, three times with no flame. You kept trying, but the damn thing still wouldn’t light. “Oh for crying out loud, you goddamn son of a b-”

“Need a light?”

═════ ♫ ═════

Bucky watched you transform before his eyes. Your posture went from slouched to straight-backed; your expression from one of annoyance and frustration to unnervingly neutral. You could certainly teach a thing or two about standing at attention to many of the airmen under his command. He had to stop himself from saying “At ease, soldier.” While it was impressive, it was not the reception he had been hoping for. 

“Major Egan,” you said. “I’m sorry, I thought I was alone out here.” 

“Yeah, I gathered that,” he replied, pulling his Zippo out of his pocket. “And you can call me Bucky.” He ignited the lighter. 

You glanced at the flame and then back at him gratefully before lighting your cigarette. “Thank you for the light, but if you don’t mind I would prefer to continue addressing you professionally.” 

“Oh, well in that case, you can call me John. Mind if I have a smoke with you?” he asked, already taking out a cigarette and putting it in his mouth. 

Bucky noticed a slight pause before you replied, “Of course not, but wouldn’t you rather join everyone else in the club? From what I gather, you’re often the life of the party.” You looked toward the door. 

Bucky grinned. “I don’t know about that. Since you started singing here, I’d say you’ve earned that title yourself.” He leaned against the wall next to you, though you were now standing straight. “‘Sides, I see too much of those guys as it is. Trust me, you’re much better company.” He winked. 

You exhaled a cloud of smoke and said “You’re too kind,” then gave him a close-mouthed smile. You looked away and tapped your foot absent-mindedly to the muted sound of the lively music coming from inside. Bucky took a drag of his own cigarette. You remained quiet, the tapping of your foot on the gravel and the muted jazz tune being the only sounds for several seconds. Bucky frowned. Every other Red Cross girl he interacted with made small talk, asking him questions about his home town, listening excitedly as he talked about baseball. Hell, you had more to say to your dead lighter than you did to him. 

It appeared that flattery was not the key to unlocking your clearly well-protected personality. It didn’t convince you to dance with him the other night, and it certainly wasn’t working now. He scoffed to himself. Buck would smirk and say that he should’ve asked Bubbles for advice before making another attempt with you. 

He could give up. Accept the fact that you clearly didn’t like him, go inside, and have a drink with the boys. 

Or he could try something else. Something Buck would call him a loony for even thinking.

Looking straight ahead, he said, “Don’t, uh, don’t they interview you Red Cross girls? Before you can come overseas? I thought the ones that got sent over here had to have killer personalities or somethin’.” He glanced toward you while taking another drag. 

Your brow furrowed and you turned your head toward him. “I beg your pardon?”

There you are.

“Aww, you don’t gotta beg me, sweetheart. It’s okay, I get that not everybody is cut out for this.” He gestured with the hand holding his cigarette. “I just find it odd that you made the cut. I was under the impression that the competition to get this position was pretty fierce, but maybe there are fewer girls gunnin’ for it than I thought.” He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, keeping a serious expression on his face.

You narrowed your eyes and slightly cocked your head to the side. “I expect you to apologize for that, Major.” 

Bucky nodded quickly and tossed his cigarette on the ground before crushing the butt beneath his heel. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry about that.” He leaned against the wall once again, this time facing you. “I’m sure you’re doing the best you can. You do seem a little tired.” He looked at you sympathetically, then glanced down to watch you bite your bottom lip. Miraculously, he was able to tear his gaze away to look you in the eyes again, not wanting to miss your reaction.

After a few more seconds of tense silence, you looked away and disposed of your cigarette. “Thank you again for the light. I’m going inside.” You walked toward the door. 

What the hell was that?

He must have inadvertently spoken the question aloud, because you abruptly turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. He started to apologize for cursing at you, but instead he said, “You’re not gonna say anything? Not a ‘how dare you?’ Not gonna call me a goddamn son of a bitch? Or do you just save that fire for your lighter?” You continued to watch him silently. “I guess you also save all the laughs and dances for every other guy here.” He pointed hard with both index fingers to his chest. “But me? Oh, lucky me, I get nothin’.” He stopped talking and looked at you with anticipation, both of his brows raised.

You finally shrugged and said, “I suppose I’m just too tired,” then started again for the door. Bucky forced himself to unclench his jaw and pry his feet from their current spot. He hurried to beat you to the door and hold it open for you. 

You muttered a quiet “thank you” as you walked through, but before you could get far into the crowded room, Bucky was once again by your side. 

“You know, I got a theory,” he said, his voice a little brighter than it had been just moments ago.

Whether you had meant for him to or not, he heard you let out a huff from your nose. “Oh, please,” you said under your breath.

“I told you, you don’t have to beg me, sweetheart.” He continued. “I think you know that if you dance with me, you’ll realize I’m not such a bad guy,” he said, leaning in quite close to you but giving you enough space to back away. You didn’t. “I think you’re scared you’ll like it.” 

You didn’t blush or move away. Instead, you maintained eye contact as the band began playing It’s Only a Paper Moon. You responded with that polite, cryptic smile that was beginning to drive him nuts, and said softly, “I guess we’ll never know.” 

You didn’t wait for him to reply before making your way toward the microphone. The crowd cheered eagerly as they saw you approach. You beamed at the crowd and began to sing. 

Say it’s only a paper moon

Sailing over a cardboard sea

You motioned to the crowd to sing along with you for the next line, a silent command that everyone except Bucky obeyed wholeheartedly. For once, he was the only person in the room not singing. 

But it wouldn’t be make-believe

If you believed in me

As the band played a brief interlude, you said into the microphone, “Wow, you all sound fabulous. I’m not sure why they’ve got me up here. Heck, they aren’t even paying me.” The crowd laughed and remained enraptured with your performance. As burnt up as he was feeling, Bucky couldn’t help hanging onto every note. As he watched you sing and smile and joke, he had one thought run continuously through his mind.

Just who the hell is this woman?

A/N: This one's for my fellow masking introverts. Yeah so Bucky decided to use kindergarten tactics on reader. Next chapter, he pushes her off the swings. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!

[see-arcane]

Cards with the Count

Thinking about how Jonathan is trying to pass the time during Vampire Hell Staycation with all the books in the library (a guaranteed Dracula Zone), no stationery (bastard), and a finite amount of secret pen ink and secret diary pages left at his disposal (shit). Reading and writing and art are all out. What’s left?

I like to think, in this order:

1)    He remembers that he has a pack of playing cards in the general luggage Dracula didn’t snatch. A gift Lucy had bestowed on him and Mina, a pack apiece, as she insisted that it was the best way to pass an hour in dreary company that wasn’t to do with gossip or politics.

2)    He doesn’t normally play, if only because he doesn’t have the coin to meet any real gambling stranger at a table. Just a ‘for fun’ thing.

3)    Fuck it. Solitaire. Card towers. It’s something to keep his mind off the…everything.

4)    He gets exactly one (1) day/evening of peace with this. Then:

5)    “Whatever are you up to, my friend?” 

(He didn’t even use the door to give Jonathan time to hide the pack. Misted in. No shadow to give him away. Fantastic.) Jonathan staples his smile back in place and rattles off something apologetic, so sorry, was he keeping the Count waiting? Let him just put this away, he wouldn’t be interested—

6)    Smash cut to the library. The cards are now unofficially confiscated/a staple of the Dracula Zone, alongside the fancy crystal chessboard the Count loves to crush him with on a semi-regular basis. Jonathan is walking him through the rules of sundry card games. Unsurprisingly, he latches onto the concept of American poker readily. The game is a soup of similar European predecessors that light up his eyes with recognition—primero, poque, brelan—sewn together with England’s game of brag into a medley of the initial rules, both written and unwritten.

7)    “A game of skill, then?”

“Skill, acting, and luck.”

Dracula grins as he produces a ransom of gold coins to use as chips. Jonathan deals. 

(What are the extra rules here? Does he throw every hand? Does he play in earnest and inevitably lose anyway? Does it even matter? It isn’t chess, after all. Not a proper strategy game. Cards happen. Guesswork happens. A winner and loser every turn. What does it matter?)

8)    Jonathan realizes two dozen hands later that what matters is, apparently, his face. One that, likewise apparently, cannot be read by the Count in this game. Out of those two dozen hands, Jonathan has won eighteen. Of those eighteen, his hand was the clear dud for nine. Through it all, Dracula’s eyes keep jumping from his own hand to Jonathan’s tired gaze. When Jonathan wins the twenty-fifth hand and the mountain of gold on his side of the table risks toppling off the edge, Dracula bites out a word Jonathan is sure is too caustic to have a spot in the lost polyglot dictionary.

9)    “You have a gift for schooling your face, my friend.” Every word is an icicle; each as sharp as the canines jutting out of the rictus grin.

“I don’t,” Jonathan says. 

And it’s true. Now he’s schooling his face—first lesson of anyone destined for the realm of serving others—but in the game, he’s barely thinking of anything else beyond the ticking of the clock. To punctuate this, he slides the heap of gold back to Dracula’s side of the table. 

“This is only a game for the fun of it. In a game with stakes, there would be something worth playing and worrying for. When you get to England,” his face is very, very schooled as he says this, “you’ll find a much more varied competition at gambling tables. The players who really train their expressions can do so with fortunes at stake, while novices reveal every victory or loss plainly on their face.”

10) Dracula considers this. And smiles.

11) “Ah, then there must be stakes before we can play the game properly. Still, you have won the bulk of these rounds, my friend—” his hand seems like it wants to be strangling something when it drums atop the gold heap, “—and done me the charity of not taking your rightful winnings.” He throws down his cards. Ace and deuce of spades. “I shall have to speak with the kitchen about producing a stand-in prize.” 

He leaves. Jonathan doesn’t blink when he hears the door lock behind him. A card pyramid is erected.

12) Paprika hendl for supper. As excellent as he remembers. Huzzah.

13) The next time he’s herded into the library, he sees what looks suspiciously like his travel paraphernalia flimsily hidden behind a bit of drapery. Dracula is shuffling the deck.

14) “A true prize on the table this time, my friend. I know you are one to appreciate the splendor of our beautiful country, just as I know it is, for your own safety, quite impossible to go exploring alone in the wild. Too many wolves about. But if you win the majority tonight, I shall see to it that my driver takes a leave from his own many errands to escort you beyond the castle for a time, if you so wish.”

“…And if I lose the majority?” He can’t help it: “I’m sure there’s little from me you’d be interested in.”

Dracula grins.

“We shall think of something, I’m certain. Here. Deal.”

15) As expected, Jonathan’s face isn’t effortlessly unreadable in its misery anymore. He has something to play for, even if his trust in Dracula’s dangling carrot on the stick is nigh nonexistent. He loses more. He struggles more. He worries more…

16) …But the wins and losses remain surprisingly even. On into the dawn they play, matching victory for victory. Even the Count seems puzzled. Jonathan is just tired. He was never going to win. The ‘driver’ will fall to some mysterious ailment, his possessions will disappear the moment he’s sent out of the room ahead of the Count. To Hell with it.

17) “I forfeit. We remain tied, so neither has to lose.” A sour smile curls. “Besides, I have kept you up too late again.”

“One more.”

“We can say you won—,”

Dracula gives him a Look.

Jonathan sits again. Plays again.

Wins again.

Dracula hisses several words the polyglot dictionary would be scandalized to translate. Jonathan feels the first genuine smile he’s wanted to make in a month and a half try to creep up on his lips, and stifles it.

18) Dracula turns over his cards and thumbs though the deck as if looking for a conspirator. He even scowls at Jonathan’s forearms, both bare through the whole game as he’d rolled up his sleeves. Still grumbling, his thumbnail finally hooks a card that makes a cloud pass over his face.

19) “What. Is this?”

Jonathan looks.

“Oh, that’s just a Joker.”

“Joker?”

“Yes, I thought I’d taken him out. He’s not a usable card in this game, but he’s sometimes used as a trump or wild card in others. That is, he’s there to turn the tide for whoever gets to play him.”

Jonathan reaches for the card to tuck it back in the box. Dracula pulls it out of reach, walks to the fireplace, and flicks it into the flames.

“Say what you will, but I recognize a symbol of sabotage when I see it. It should not be in the deck at all!” Still watching the little harlequin turn to cinders, he flaps his other hand at Jonathan. “Go rest, my friend. Take that infernal game with you. It is not a respectable pastime for men of our like.”

20) Jonathan gathers up the deck, gives his travel kit a last mournful look, and leaves for his bedroom, knowing not to ask after the walk in the forest as he goes. In his bed, he empties the deck into his hand again and thinks on four things.

Skill.

Acting.

Luck.

And…

21) He turns the deck’s neglected second Joker over in his fingers, the impish face seeming to hold a secret in its grin.

22) When he wakes next, he isn’t surprised to find the deck has been stolen. It doesn’t trouble him. Somehow, it even produces a tired grin on his face. It nearly matches the painted thing hidden, wild and powerful, in the pages of his journal.

[transformation4life]

Peak Musclenity

Josh was your average skinny american blonde. Average grades and average life. There was nothing remarkable about this guy... besides maybe one thing.

Josh was gay. Very very gay and was trying to get big like the men he admires over the internet waves. And against all odds he managed to make a friend at the gym! A czech bodybuilder named Alois. Unlike Josh, Alois was as straight as can be and understanding gay people was the least of his problems, but Josh was failing at using a workout machine so bad it led to the two to meeting and becoming workout buddies.

Josh was never one to give up and despite his currently lacking frame he continued to workout even after weeks of no results. Alois noticed this and was starting to get worried Josh's body just wasn't able to get big like his. Alois wanted to do something so do something he did and it was going to be drastic...

"Hey Alois! My man, my big burly man! How's it going?" Josh ran up to Alois mid-flexing routine.

"Oh hey kid, what's up?" Alois replied back.

"Nothing much! Just excited to work out with you!" Josh smiled.

"Great, great...." Alois frowned.

"Is... something wrong?"

"Be honest with me Josh, I've noticed you haven't been gaining muscle for weeks now and you keep that damn smile like nothing's wrong. Your lack of muscle has to be bothering you!" Alois put his hand on Josh's shoulder

"I'm just concerned for ya-" Josh politely removed Alois's hand.

"Don't worry about me! I've noticed this myself actually... and I don't mind at all! I'm just glad to be doing with you!" Josh smiled again.

Alois looked down to his pockets. Alois knew that he had to do this. He needed to give Josh what he DESERVES.

"Look Josh, you deserve to get big like me so I got this supplement for you." Alois grabs a bottle from one of his shorts pockets.

"Don't worry. It ain't no steroid. Just lather it on your face and the effect should spread to your body." Alois put the bottle in Josh's right hand.

"Please, for me." Alois said sweetly.

Alois's deep voice was always something Josh adored so despite his reluctance to accept the gift he did keep it.

"Alright then... uh... are we going to work out now or-"

"Nah. Let's go to your apartment. Just us two."

"Oh! Ohohohohohohoh!" Josh started to blush a beet red.

"A-Alright let's go then!!" Josh quickly turned around as Josh led the way to his apartment.

After a 30 minute drive for both of the men they both arrived at Josh's apartment. Josh unlocked the door with his keys and put his arms towards the apartment living room as if to showcase it.

"Here it is!!! It's not great, but it works!" Josh said with confidence.

Just looking at the place tightened Alois's resolve to go through with his plan.

"Yes... very. Say Josh, how about you apply that supplement now?" Alois gestured to the bottle in his pocket

"Hm? Why now? We're not even at the gym plus I don't think we're gonna be at the gym again until-"

"Just apply it for me please." Alois interrupted Josh again.

Josh was getting really confused at this point, but if the bulging man is asking you to do something you might as well. At least that was Josh's reasoning. So Josh unsealed the lid to the bottle and removed the foil covering the liquid inside and dipped his fingers in and out of the bottle before applying it to his face all over. The substance was a bit thick and a very dark black and it made Josh's skin crawl, but somehow Josh could feel the liquid seeping into his skin leave his face clean again.

"Woah... that was weird! Hopefully it actually works..." Josh looked at Alois for some affirmation only for Alois to be deep in thought.

"Alois? you good?" Alois jumped at the mention of his name.

"Yes, yes! I'm fine!!"

"Okay then, so now that we're at my apartment do you want to do anything?" Josh asked a bit nervous.

"Oh, sure! Though there's something I've been meaning to ask you, Josh,"

"Yeah?" Josh gave a really curious look this time.

Alois opened his mouth only to pause for a second... only for Alois to shake his head before speaking again.

"Josh, when did you have such a beautiful manly beard?" Alois knew there was no going back from this.

"A m-manly what?!?" Alois implying Josh had a beard certainly wasn't something that Josh was expecting.

"Yeah, that beard of yours is thick like mine. a real item," As Alois spoke little by little hairs began to grow on Josh's clean shaven face.

The growing didn't stop for a long while and before long a beard that looks to have been growing for years was now on Josh. Unexpectedly though the facial hair was a deep black and Josh's blonde hair was now black to match the beard. A quick pain went through Josh's head before Josh's confusion turned into confidence.

"Oh thanks, I did always pride myself on not ever shaving it! Doesn't really fit my frame but my genetics blessed me!" Josh smiled as he caressed his beard.

"Of course! Can't forget that almost shaved head of yours too!" Alois continued his trek across Josh's body.

"What are you talking about Alois? I love my curly locks!" Alois stopped messing with his beard and grabbed his hair to show Alois that he did have the locks he said he did.

"No need to lie to yourself, Josh. That shaved hair is a good look with your beard!" And just like Alois planned Josh's hair began to fall off and melt into the floor like it wasn't even there until there was barely any hair on Josh's head.

Josh was still grabbing his hair but his mind caught up with the new reality and smiled again.

"Silly me! You're right! I love the kind of masculine look it gives me! Still no muscle though haha..." Alois knew that last comment wouldn't last long.

"That masculine look really suits you, Josh. Especially with those big muscles and tattoo of yours," Now Alois was the one to smirk.

This absolutely flabbergasted Josh. There's no way Alois was telling the truth. Wasn't it just an hour ago Alois was worried about his muscle gain. Josh was a stick!

"Alois I appreciate your compliment but it's simply untrue... I'm a twig and I definitely have no tattoos. I hate tattoos!!"

"That was what you thought years ago, but look at you now! Gruff and tough and just as old as me!" This was the big one and Alois was ecstatic to see Josh's frail body begin to grow.

Before the growth could start, all of Josh's clothes evaporated off his body. The growth now began in Josh's chest as he developed two large pecs that were dying to be popped. Next was Josh's stomach as it became a strong gut and slight hint of abs being there. Josh's back expanded like a large map meanwhile his stick arms were sticks no more as they were now more like tree trunks and his hands grew into sausage like fingers with very rough texture after years of lifting weights. Josh's legs weren't far behind in growing until they were two thick rocks of pure muscle. Josh's flat ass ballooned up into the perfect bubble butt and his feet grew a couple sizes too. Josh's face was next up to bat when it began to physically age and become much more gruff and masculine. Josh's neck thickened as his adam's apple became more prominent. Josh already looked like a completely different person at this point and Josh was none the wiser, but the show still wasn't done. Out of nowhere ink began to surface on Josh's skin with various patterns running all over his arms, back, fingers, pecs, and chest. The most unique one being one that was just "5%" etched on his left pec. While this was happening Josh's dick became quite the well endowed one with a generous 9 inch schlong. The final change wasn't too major with Josh's body being flourished with body hair all over his now huge frame. Josh didn't speak through the whole ordeal, but with a quick change of Josh's memories he just smiled.

"Yeah... you're right. I am BIG and I am a true man!!" Josh flexed his bulging arms and with a shiny gleam a ring appeared on his ring finger.

Alois was quick to notice the accent and deep voice Josh now had. Alois supposed the "just like me" comment changed his birthplace. He also noticed Josh's face being more like his own as well. Alois couldn't believe the black liquid worked. That purchase from the black market was worth all the money he spent. Alois just wasn't sure what to do now-

"Hey Alois, do you see this ring on my ring finger? I don't remember putting this on... Did you pull a prank on me? Pretend we're married? Haha!" Ah right, Josh was still as gay as ever.

Alois thought for a moment. Should a gruff and tough guy like the new Josh be gay? Alois was straight as an arrow and didn't feel like he had the right to change Josh's sexuality.

But... imagining Josh in his current state as gay didn't seem right to Alois. This Josh belongs with marrying a woman! Atleast that's what Alois reasoned. So Alois readied his response and spoke.

"Oh come on, Josh you know full that-"

"Wait we're actually married? I thought you were straight," It was time for Josh to do a little bit of rearranging.

A wedding ring appeared on Alois's ring finger and memories were injected into both men. Memories of meeting way earlier than they actually did. Memories of falling in love through the power of bodybuilding. Memories of their wedding as they kissed under the altar. It wasn't before long after the memories of their lived changed as they passionately kissed right in Josh's apartment which slowly changed into their joint home.

"Babe, у тебя скоро фотосессия..." (Babe, you have that photoshoot soon…) Alois spoke after the kiss ended.

"I know... I have to take a shower.." Josh spoke back.

Josh was still naked and wasted no time hopping in the shower. Josh turned on the showerhead and hopped in letting the cold water lay waste on his large muscular body. Alois while watching his beloved get in the shower realized they were no clean towels in there oh no! Alois quickly grabbed one and rushed to the shower.

"You forgot a towel!" Alois slammed the door open right as Josh finished his shower. Guess it was a quick one.

"Thanks babe, but I can get my own damn towel next time alright" Josh grabbed the towel and started to dry himself.

Before he continued drying himself off he flexed to his husband just to make sure he knows that he loves his man. Josh even did a little pout with his lip!

After Josh finished drying, Alois handed his husband the clothes for the photo shoot later today. Josh quickly put on one of the American flag branded shorts and underwear then went straight to grooming his beard for the shoot.

"Удачи в фотосессии. Я тебя люблю!" (Good luck with the photo shoot. I love you!) Alois said to Josh as he started to leave.

"Тоже тебя люблю!" (Love you too!) Josh left his house completely different than when he entered it moments ago.

Josh became the man of his dreams and Alois was along for the ride as his husband. Josh's photo shoot showed off the new Josh in a glorious way.

First picture by the pool...

Second picture with a cat...

Third picture lifting some mad iron...

And the final picture by the local beach...

As the shoot finished Josh couldn't help but flex in triumph. This was the life! a huge husband, a huge him, and a promoter for products! Josh was a true man. Always has been and always will be with a muscular husband by his side.

[jhoneybees]

I love your writing and the effort you put into it, and I was wondering if you'd be willing to share one shot of (Any year) Elvis with a Mexican reader. Specifically, one of him and his mama being invited to a party (birthday, reunion, or any type of party with family). This would be the first time Elvis gets to meet the readers. 

Also, I just genuinely think Gladys would enjoy the little chisme that goes on in the kitchen as the grandma's and tías cook.  Just a bunch of wholesome fluff!

Oh thank you! Yes I'm willing to share! This one was quite a challenge to do because I know nothing about Mexicans so please forgive me if I used the wrong Spanish words and this is more of a blurb so...please forgive me on that too😭

Fiesta

Characters: 50s!Elvis X Mexican!reader

Warnings/triggers: Probably nothing!

Author's note: Pétalo means petal, Tía means aunty, Tío means uncle, Sobrina means niece, Sobrino means nephew, Hermana means sister, Hijo means son, Feliz Cumpleaños means Happy birthday 🤧

_____________________________________________

Elvis has always been so polite and caring towards your family and when you first introduced him to your parents in ‘56 he instantly became the favourite. Out of all your brothers and sisters’ partners, Elvis won the spot of definite future son in law.

Your parents absolutely adore him, it’s not because he’s the upcoming celebrity but because of how well he treats you. Elvis would pick you up from your house for dates with a massive bouquet of flowers in his hand every single time and as much as you love the gifts, you tried to tell him to not spend so much on you but he kept insisting. He just loves watching you and your parents' reaction to the expensive things he would give you. Flowers, jewellery, clothes, anything.

Elvis would never forget to give your mamá something either, no, no, no, he’d give her the most beautiful things which you thought your papá would feel somewhat jealous of but no, he absolutely loves it!

Today is one of those days, Elvis has a lovely gift and he and his mama are dressed up to attend your mamá’s birthday party.

Your parents haven’t met Elvis’ parents yet and you weren’t going to lie, you’re a little nervous. Your family is very loving and welcoming when it comes to new members and Elvis’ parents are wonderful but you just can’t help it.

What if it’s not like that at all when he arrives?

“That must be your boyfriend!” Your aunty gasps in delight at the sound of the front door bell, you bite your bottom lip preparing yourself for some sort of disaster as you put down a plate of Chilaquiles.

“Quickly, you have to come and introduce us!” stumbling a little when your aunty drags you out of the kitchen into the living room. “Todas! Y/n’s boyfriend’s here!” She shouts, calling all the tías, tíos, sobrinas and sobrinos from all corners of the house. Holding onto your arm tightly with an excited smile on her face as your papá opens the front door.

“Hello.” Elvis grins, leaning to one side to peek inside of the house as your cousins scrabble around you to see who’s arrived.

“Ah! Pétalo, he’s handsome!” Your other aunty cheers.

Then in a blink, all of your family usher Elvis and his mama inside, the tios happily shaking hands and the tias greeting and complimenting Gladys. Your heart smiles at the delighted cheers and laughs.

“Hermana, look how tall he is! He must be really strong.”

“Could easily lift two of us up onto his shoulders!” The tias giggle.

“He reminds me of my late husband!”

“How could you think that? Your late husband wasn’t this handsome.”

“What do you mean? He was american!”

“Hermana, how long have you been living in America? 20 years? Not all Americans look like that!” The others argue.

You groan in embarrassment, hiding your face in your hands at how your aunties are all over Elvis and Gladys.

“Todas! Todas! You’re going to scare them if you keep latching onto them like that!” Your mamá clicks her tongue with an amused smile on her face. Walking calmly through the sea of people to gasp and squeal seeing Gladys. “Hello, you must be Gladys!” Excitedly grabbing her hands and admiring her hair and skin. “Oh mi, you’re beautiful!”

Gladys smiles shyly, thanking your mother politely before her eyes turn to look at Elvis. “Oh, my hijo!”

You smile gently, watching Elvis chuckle and laugh as he bends down to hug. “Hello mamá.” He replies, carefully putting a nicely wrapped up jewellery box in her hands, grinning at how her eyes soften. “Feliz cumpleaños to the birthday girl.”

You’re quite surprised how well Elvis pronounced happy birthday in spanish, you would often teach him a few words whenever he wants to impress your parents.

“Aww my son…Come! Come! I made Camote, your favourite!”

Elvis nods with a laugh and with a delicate push, he says to take his mama to the kitchen and show her.

“Hi baby.” He turns to you, his eyes sparkling with joy at the sight of you. Slowly sliding his arms around your waist to be closer to you and seeing out of the corner of his eye, he sees your cousins watch with open mouths and he smirks, suddenly attacks your neck with playful kisses and growls.

“Ai! Elvis! Stop that!” You gasp in a hushed tone, hearing the little kids snicker. You start to laugh too, pushing him away you shake your head in disbelief. Kissing him a little when he hums for one you scrunch your nose at the youngest ones watching. “All of you, go away. This is adult stuff.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so!”

“OooOoo Pétalo’s going to give her boyfriend kisses!” One jokes with a cute giggle.

“Go!” You order again and this time they all begin to pile out.

“How’s my baby, hm?” Elvis asks with a cheeky deep voice, his hands sliding up your waist to the sides of your breasts. Chuckling as you rest your arms around his neck.

“Good, how was your trip here?”

“It was good-”

“Lunch is ready, lovebirds! Come and eat before it’s all gone!” Your Tía calls making both of you laugh.

“Yes, Tía!” Elvis answers back with a big smile.

You really do wish Elvis would become your family's son in law, he's perfect to you.

“C’mon, Pétalo. Let's go.”

[robertreich]

How to Fix a Broken Supreme Court

The Supreme Court is off the rails — and it’s only going to get worse unless we fight to reform it.

Trust levels and job approval ratings for the Court have hit historic lows due in large part to a growing number of ethics scandals.

Here are THREE key reforms Congress should enact to restore legitimacy to our nation’s highest court:

1) Establish a code of ethics

Every other federal judge has to sign on to a code of ethics — except for Supreme Court justices.

This makes no sense. Judges on the highest Court should be held to the highest ethical standards.

Congress should impose a code of ethics on Supreme Court justices. At the very least, any ethical code should ban justices from receiving personal gifts from political donors and anyone with business before the Court, clarify when justices with conflicts of interest should remove themselves from cases, prohibit justices from trading individual stocks, and establish a formal process for investigating misconduct.

2) Enact term limits

Article III of the Constitution says judges may “hold their office during good behavior,” but it does not explicitly give Supreme Court Justices lifetime tenure on the highest court — even though that’s become the norm.  

Term limits would prevent unelected justices from accumulating too much power over the course of their tenure — and would help defuse what has become an increasingly divisive confirmation process.

Congress should limit Supreme Court terms to 18-years, after which justices move to lower courts.

3) Expand the Court

The Constitution does not limit the Supreme Court to nine justices. In fact, Congress has changed the size of the Court seven times. It should do so again in order to remedy the extreme imbalance of today’s Supreme Court.    

Now some may decry this as “radical court packing.” That’s pure rubbish. The real court-packing occurred when Senate Republicans refused to even consider a Democratic nominee to the Supreme Court on the fake pretext that it was too close to the 2016 election, but then confirmed a Republican nominee just days before the 2020 election.

Rather than allow Republicans to continue exploiting the system, expanding the Supreme Court would actually UN-pack the court. This isn’t radical. It’s essential.

Now, I won’t sugar-coat this. Making these reforms happen won’t be easy. We’re up against big monied interests who will fight to keep their control of our nation’s most important Court.

But these key reforms have significant support from the American people, who have lost trust in the court.

The Supreme Court derives its strength not from the use of force or political power, but from the trust of the people. With neither the sword nor the purse, trust is all it has.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Ruth Ben-Ghiat at Lucid:

While the Fascist focus on growing the population was linked to Italy's perennially low birthrates, Mussolini's quote, which reflects his immersion in what we now know as Great Replacement Theory, reminds us that concerns with "childlessness" never occur in a vacuum, but are linked to concerns about race and "civilization."

Among today's far-right in Europe and America, Fascist ideas are finding new life. Misogynistic impulses to link women's societal value to their roles as mothers and limit or abolish their bodily autonomy find justification in the belief that populations must increase in response to fears of White extinction by non-White births.

In the United States, Vice-Presidential candidate J.D. Vance's offensive pronouncements about women echo Fascist notions of women as a tool of demographic growth, starting with his seeming belief that motherhood is the metric of a woman's worth to society. Anything that gives greater agency or independence to women in terms of their reproductive capacities and choices is seen by Vance as dangerous, from in vitro fertilization to abortion rights.  Vance's apparent agreement with the comment made by extremist Eric Weinstein on a 2020 podcast episode that the main purpose of the "postmenopausal female" is to raise grandchildren is also in this vein. While exposing children to grandparents is a great gift, Weinstein's clinical assessment of the "postmenopausal female" as having no other societal value is chilling. Keeping women in the home occupied with children throughout their lives means women are not out of the home, leading in politics, culture, finance and other sectors.

The same fear of female autonomy, and the same misogynist sentiments, lies behind Vance's apparent feeling that women should be forced to stay in abusive marriages. Vance is well suited to be the political partner of Donald Trump, who partly decriminalized domestic violence during his presidency: economic impoverishment, psychological and emotional harassment, and other forms of non-physical abuse could no longer be prosecuted. Vance's blaming of childless women for the supposed increased decadence of society and decline of civilization also has Fascist roots. The regime constantly juxtaposed childless women as morally unhealthy and representative of degradation (they were known as "the crisis-woman") with robust mothers of many children, who represented the best of Italian tradition and had shown their investment in the national future by giving birth multiple times.

And what to say about Vance's idea that childless people don't have a stake in society and thus deserve a downgrading of their rights based on their procreational status? In 2021 he made a remark that Americans with children should be able to vote more times in an election than their childless compatriots. That someone with Vance's opinions is now a possible vice president of the United States says so much about how far to the right the needle has moved and how extreme the GOP has become. The kindred spirits of Vance and the GOP on such subjects are not the leaders of democracies, but the heads of illiberal parties and states and the private sector actors who boost their causes. Vance would be right at home at this gathering of neo-fascist Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni of Italy, former Hungarian President Katalin Novák, and extremist billionaire Elon Musk, this last also obsessed with demography and prolific procreation by people with the right genes.

The far-right fascists have an obsession with fertility rates.

[alexanderwales]

My son is apparently learning about civics at his school, and he wants to share his knowledge with me, which I try my best to indulge, because I like sharing knowledge with people too.

Son: I have a fun fact for you. Me: Okay, go ahead. Son: Kamala Harris is running for President and her running mate is actually from Minnesota, where we live. Me (waiting for the fun fact and slowly realizing that was it): Oh, interesting. Tim Walz, right? Son (with relief): Yeah. He's our ... governor.

I made the mistake of telling him that we could go to a rally, and he was so gung ho about it that I felt sad about telling him that political rallies are actually really boring. But he still wants to go, I think because he thinks I'm hiding something cool from him, or just because he doesn't trust my tastes.

He did have one other fun fact, which is that one of our presidents had two tiger cubs that were confiscated by Congress. He couldn't remember which president, and I guessed that it was Teddy Roosevelt, but we looked it up later that night and it was actually Martin Van Buren.

Except I looked it up more once he'd gone to bed, and apparently this is just a persistent and oft-repeated myth. Van Buren got horses as gifts from Oman and had to decline them due to the emoluments clause, but they arrived anyway, and had to be "disposed of" which in this case meant put up for auction. Separately, the Sultan of Morocco wanted to gift Van Buren with a male and female lion, because gift-giving was culturally important, but the consulate said no, so the officer trying to deliver these lions said that instead they would go to Congress, which is also not allowed, and finally the lions ended up living in the Moroccan consulate for three months before being sent over.

Personally, I love the (untrue) story about Van Buren getting some tiger cubs as a gift, saying "yay, big kitties!", and then getting into a fight with Congress about it. It's also a simple story to tell, and it's got a happyish ending, where the tiger cubs end up living in a zoo, nevermind that American didn't really have zoos, and that I wouldn't want to be a tiger in a 1830s zoo.

But I also love the story of a consulate having to keep lions for three months because there's a cultural misunderstanding about gifts and a clash between the early American ideals about their political institutions meeting the diplomatic reality of a tradition of gift-giving. Van Buren certainly didn't want them, and not only because they're a dangerous and expensive animal to maintain, but because foreign powers giving gifts to the President was bad precedent.

So anyway, I have to explain this to my son, who assuredly read the tiger cub fact in a book somewhere. Maybe it's a good lesson about not trusting everything you read, but he seemed excited to share this fun fact about history, and I have to imagine that he's going to be a little bit sad that it's not true.

(The Omani horses and Moroccan lions both made it to America, and were then auctioned off. It's unclear what their fates were, but I like to imagine that they had happy, healthy lives, and that the lions would go on to fight on the side of the Union in the Civil War.)

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Efforts to alert Americans to the danger of Trump's fascism are beginning to gain traction

Efforts to raise the alarm about Trump's explicit threats of a fascist government are beginning to gain traction. On Sunday, the NYTimes published a powerful editorial entitled “Donald Trump says he will Order Mass Deportations, Prosecute His Enemies, Use Soldiers Against Citizens, Play Politics with Disasters, and Abandon Allies. Believe Him. (Click on the photo on top. Gift link to NYT.)

The editorial is a full-throated condemnation of Donald Trump. The article says, in part,

The record shows that Mr. Trump often pursues his stated goals, regardless of how plainly they lack legal or moral grounding. The record further shows that many of his most reckless efforts in his first administration were stymied only because of others in his administration who blocked, delayed or watered down his aims to ensure that he could not put himself above the law or the country. Mr. Trump has learned from that experience to surround himself with supplicants who would instead obey his wishes and bring his words and ideas to life even if they contradict facts, the public interest or the Constitution.

The Times Editorial Board is correct in its description of the threat posed by Trump. The question is whether it is too little, too late.

After reporting on Trump for two years as if he were a normal candidate for the presidency, the Times and other major media created a permission structure for otherwise rational, upstanding Americans to say they were voting for Trump because issues like “the economy” or “immigration,” while skipping over the attempted coup, insurrection, sexual abuse, attempted bribery of Ukraine, obstruction of justice in the Mueller investigation, and the withholding and disclosure of national defense documents.

It is never too late to start doing the right thing. But the Times deserves no special praise or credit for choosing nine days before the election to run this op-ed. It should have been running something similar every day for the last two years.

I acknowledge that this is not the first such article run by the Times; but articles of this type have been few and far between—and were overwhelmed articles about Joe Biden’s age and inflation—neither of which pose the existential danger to democracy presented by a second Trump term.

Let’s hope that it is not “too little, too late” and that the Times keeps up its attack on the real danger of a fascist second Trump term.

Many readers shared Saturday’s post by Heather Cox Richardson, Letters from an American, October 26, 2024. HCR reviews a 1943 pamphlet from the US War Department with the headline, “FACISM.” The pamphlet is a sobering description of fascism that maps neatly onto the MAGA movement of today. I highly recommend the article to your attention.

The closing paragraph of HCR’s newsletter is this:

“Fascism thrives on indifference and ignorance,” [the pamphlet] warned. Freedom requires “being alert and on guard against the infringement not only of our own freedom but the freedom of every American. If we permit discrimination, prejudice, or hate to rob anyone of his democratic rights, our own freedom and all democracy is threatened.”

The Trump rally in Madison Square Garden was the very model of “discrimination, prejudice, and hate” that the War Department warned against in 1943.

Also relevant on Sunday was JD Vance’s efforts to defend Trump's threat to use the military against American citizens. Incredibly, Vance argued that Trump did not threaten to use force against Americans but instead threatened to use the military against “lunatic members of the radical left”—who are Americans. See YouTube, JD Vance tries to defend Trump’s ‘enemy’ rhetoric.

Finally, Jonathan V. Last writing in The Bulwark gives the best explanation yet of why Jeff Bezos’s decision to not make an endorsement in the presidential race fits into the fascist playbook of forcing leaders of industry to “obey in advance.” See The Bulwark, Bezos, Trump, and the Failure of Democracy, by Jonathan V. Last

Jonathan Last writes,

When Bezos decreed that the newspaper he owned could not endorse Trump’s opponent, it was a transparent act of submission borne of an intuitive understanding of the differences between the candidates. Bezos understood that if he antagonized Kamala Harris and Harris became president, he would face no consequences. A Harris administration would not target his businesses because the Harris administration would—like all presidential administrations not headed by Trump—adhere to the rule of law. Bezos likewise understood that the inverse was not true. If he continued to antagonize Trump and Trump became president, his businesses very much would be targeted. So bending the knee to Trump was the smart play. All upside, no downside.

Bezos’s action was doubly cynical. He refused to do the right thing because he knows that Kamala Harris will abide by the rule of law. Having hedged that bet, he changed the Post’s policy at the last minute in a way that advantaged Trump—and Bezos if Trump wins.

At a time when our democracy faces the threat of fascism, those who seek to defend the rule of law do not have the luxury of hedging their bets in the way Bezos did. We need the rule of law to continue to enjoy the fruits of democracy. Bezos doesn’t, so he abandoned us. That is why Bezos is a coward. He is granting Trump obedience in advance—which is how fascists come to power.  

Three final notes about the fascist threat posed by Trump. They don’t quite fit into the narrative of this article but they are important and I need to bring the newsletter to a close.

First, the New York Times reported that Trump intends to “outsource” security clearances to a private firm in order to cut out the FBI from the process. During Trump's first term, the FBI refused to grant clearance to Trump's son-in-law, Jared Kushner. Trump ultimately over-ruled the FBI and granted Kushner a security clearance. See NYTimes, Advisers Propose That Trump Give Security Clearances Without F.B.I. Vetting.

By privatizing a federal function—security clearances—Trump is eradicating the dividing line between himself and the state. The private firms will be beholden to him—rather than to the Constitution.

Speaking of privatizing government functions, Elon Musk boasted at the Madison Square Garden rally that he believes he can cut “one-third” of the federal budget. See Business Insider, Elon Musk says at a New York Trump rally that he could save the country $2 trillion through a department of efficiency.

Musk has no idea how the Constitution or the federal budgeting process works. Nor does he have the emotion intelligence or lateral thinking skills to understand the havoc on personal and national security that cutting the federal budget by one-third would cause. Even suggesting such cuts would likely undermine the stability of markets, interest rates, and investments in the US. But when fascists erase the distinction between themselves and the state, their hair-brained ideas become the policy of the state.

Finally, Trump said at the rally on Sunday that he would appoint Robert F. Kennedy Jr. to a position in charge of federal health care policy. Trump said,

I'm gonna let him go wild on health. I'm gonna let him go wild on the foods. I'm gonna let him go wild on the medicines.

The last time Trump promised something would be wild, we had an insurrection. Putting RFK Jr. in charge of healthcare and medicine in the US would cause human suffering and death on a grand scale—assuming Kennedy could get anything done. But Kennedy, like Trump, has no idea of what it takes to create policy, write legislation, and fund programs. So, is Trump simply planning to override federal law for the appropriations process?

The above facts should arm us with the knowledge we need to persuade the few remaining voters who are undecided about voting. Use the information to generate turnout. That is the key to victory. Anyone who is on the fence about voting shoud be concerned about the hate, authoritarianism, and recklessness highlighted in Trump's rally at Madison Square Garden on Sunday—and at all of his other appearances.

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Need You Tonight

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Black!girlfriend!reader

Summary: You’re trying to give your boyfriend his Christmas present. If only he didn’t have company.

Warnings: minors dni, smut, oral, missionary sex

A/N: ngl the endings a little rushed cuz I really wanted to put this out. Titled after Need You Tonight by American Would have been out sooner but work was a lot this season. Anyway. Merry Christmas and happy holidays. This is unedited 🫣 Please like, follow, and reblog with a comment 💜✌🏾)

——————————————————

Your friends had been right. What the hell was wrong with you. Here you were seeing a great guy like Steve and sure the two of you had agreed to take things slow but your vibrator was not cutting it now.

Besides you had no idea what to get him and your friends had talked you into this red lingerie set. About what a great gift it’d be for him while you were out Christmas shopping. And then you ended up spilling it all that it hadn’t happened yet.

And they looked at you like you were crazy.

You get it, but with Steve things didn’t need to be about sex. He wanted to take it as slow as you needed.

He’d been the perfect gentleman. Never asking you for too much. Willing to wait until the right time to take things to next levels. Honestly it was kind of nice to take all that pressure off, but you had needs. And you knew he could fulfill them.

So why keep beating around the bush.

Honestly this was something you’d always wanted to do. Steve was the kind of guy that deserved this energy. Was definitely the kind of guy you could see yourself settling down with. The kinda man that you could take him to mom and even she’d swoon. The kinda man you saved the big piece of chicken for.

And your pussy was tired of you pretending like you didn’t want him to touch you.

Maybe you shouldn’t have given into it. On one hand scared that you’d embarrassed yourself. Then on the other you were so horny that all you could think was fuck it. You’d gone slow enough by now.

Besides there was snow on the ground and all you wanted was for him to hold you as soon as the snow touched the ground. Then you kept thinking about him going from being his sweet self to something else entirely and now you couldn’t get it out of your head.

So now you were swallowing as you worked up the nerve to knock on his door. Dressed in way too little for the kind of weather that was outside telling yourself that you could so do this even if it meant freezing your nipples off. You could so seduce Captain America. No big deal.

You looked around making sure no one else could see you. Butterflies doing tricks in your stomach as you waited for him. Not like you didn’t know he was home.

“Y/N?” He asked. Surprised to see you when he opened the door. Especially to be standing in front of him wearing a trench coat. Stilettos on your feet. Makeup and hair done to perfection.

Obviously his first instinct was to think that maybe he forgot about something. Not helping it as he looked you up from head to toe. A girl like you standing on his doorstep at a time like this. He wanted to make sure he hadn’t gotten his schedule mixed up.

“Hey,” you replied, with a smile. “Sorry to drop by unannounced, but-,”

Steve relaxed a little when he realized it wasn’t that he’d missed anything. So he cut you off to say, “No, no. You’re always welcome here. You know that,” he said. Still not able to tear his eyes away from how fucking stunning you looked.

No he had to have missed something.

But honestly you were feeling kind of weird because yeah Steve was a really attractive man. Always well-groomed and polite, but also you could smell his cologne which was intoxicating.

If he wasn’t expecting you why did he look so good.

No. Steve wasn’t like that. By now he’d asked you to be his girlfriend and everything. You were official. He wouldn’t just do that. Right? Not when you’d been gushing to all your friends about him. Not when he’d been the first guy you’d ever gotten comfortable with. Shit this was not a good idea.

Well that was until he pulled you into a hug. Leaning down to press a quick kiss onto your lips. Like he was trying to be careful to not get your lipstick on him.

“You look really fucking pretty,” he leaned down to whisper into your ear. “I didn’t miss a date or anything, right?” He asked.

“No,” you replied looking up at him with your chin on his chest his arms snuggly around you. “I just wanted to see you,” you said. “I’m sorry if this is a bad time.”

Steve furrowed his brow before kissing your forehead. “I mean… it’s not the best time,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Oh,” you said. “Well, I’m sorry to interrupt.”

Once again looking to make sure none of his neighbors could see you.

“Baby, it’s ok. I’m always happy to see you.”

He was just acting so normal even if anxiety was taking it’s course. It was now or never either way. “I just… I was thinking about some stuff and I…” you were trying to sound all husky and sexy and holy fuck you were hoping you were selling it, “wanted to give you your Christmas present early.”

Getting ready to undo the tie around your waist. Now or never. Now or never. Now or never.

“Wait, Babe, I-,” he started, stopping as the coat fell open. Exposing the lingerie you were wearing underneath. Steve not able to stop his jaw from dropping as he got a good look at you. Breasts confined to a red bra with a matching thong. Garter belt around your thighs.

He’d never seen that much of you. So to be seeing it like this… goddamn. Almost made him forget what he was going to say, which was a shame as he heard Tony says, “Well, damn, Cap, I didn’t know it was going to be that kind of party.”

——————————————————-

Tony was way too giddy for someone whose eyes almost got plucked out by a super solider a minute ago. Telling him to fuck off before stepping outside so he could close to door behind him.

Especially when you turned to cover yourself. A gasp leaving your lips from the shock. Putting your hand to your mouth as the embarrassment seeped in.

At first Steve just wrapped his arms around you. Hugging you from behind. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he cooed into your ear. “It’s okay. You didn’t know, Sweetheart.”

As if that made it any better.

“Look at me,” he told you after a few moments even though you really didn’t want to. Not with your eyes probably looking all hazy now. “I’m serious it’s okay. Tony knows I’ll fuck him up if he says anything.”

“But he saw… everything,” you groaned, crinkling your nose. Not feeling any less mortified.

Steve chuckled. “At least you look good?”

“Really?” You asked, biting your lip. Finally turning around in his arms.

“Oh, you look really good. Can’t believe you got all dressed up like this for me.” He put his hand under your chin so you have to look up at him. “What brought this on?” He asked.

“I’m just… tired of waiting,” you said.

Steve tilted his head to the side and smiled. “Yeah? Don’t worry, Baby. I’ve been feeling the same way.”

“Really?” You asked.

“Of course,” he replied. “All I’ve been thinking about lately, but I didn’t wanna push you.”

“It’s okay,” you replied. “You could’ve I wouldn’t have been mad.”

“Don’t worry, Baby. We’ve got time to make up for it.” He sighed, a content smile spreading onto his lips. “You wanna join us?”

Honestly you weren’t sure if you could face Tony. Fucking Iron Man of all people had just seen you half naked trying to surprise his teammate.

“Don’t worry about Tony,” he tried to assure you once again. “Besides, you’ll finally be able to meet everyone. Well almost everyone.”

Not that this is the way you’d imagined it. And while you’d rather crawl into a hole and die than face them, you really did wanna be close to Steve right now.

“Well… okay,” you replied.

Steve kissed the side of your head, grabbing your hand.

The apartment had been decorated by the two of you. Steve happy to let you decide what went there. At your place you were sharing with your roommates and couldn’t just take it all over, but he didn’t give a shit. He was happy to have you do whatever you desired.

Tony had even commented on it when he walked in. Surprise to see his friend’s home so festive.

As soon as you got in, there was Tony with a smirk on his face. Ready to toss out some smart remark. Steve cutting his eyes at him like he was dating him to open his mouth.

“Guys, this is Y/N. My girlfriend. Y/N, this is everyone.”

“Oh my gosh! Finally! We’ve been asking when he was gonna bring around the girl that’s been stealing him away from us,” Natasha shot up so she could pull you into a hug.

“I can see why,” Tony remarked with a snort.

If looks could kill he’d definitely be six feet under with the way Steve looked at him. ‘Shut the fuck up,’ he mouthed.

Tony’s jaw dropped because it wasn’t often he could push Cap this hard. On one hand not wanting to make this any worse, but who was he kidding. He was Tony Stark of course he wanted to make it worse.

He’d just never seen Rogers so possessive. Not that he could really blame him. Tony would have been ready to fight someone too if he had a girl like you showing up like that ready to keep him warm in the middle of winter.

Could see the whole good girl thing going on despite what he had seen previously. Of course the golden boy would be into that. Sweet on the outside but only an inside he was allowed to have.

Besides Natasha was absolutely gushing over you. Had been trying to set him up for how long? And then he finally gets with someone and she’s had to wait to meet you. Of course she was going to gush.

“Hi, Sam. Bucky,” you greeted them as the two got up to say hello.

Natasha gasped. “Wait! You guys got to meet her before me? Steve!”

“They were with me when we met!” He protested.

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. We so need more girls around. Wanda, Pepper, and I can only take so much,” she said.

“We’re not that bad,” Sam protested. “Just Tony,” he added, who’d started ignoring them to pay attention to the fight again. “And, Bucky can be a handful.”

“At least I’m not going around harassing people with my metal bird,” Bucky retorted.

“Redwing is family! The sooner everyone understands that the better off we’ll all be.”

“See what I have to put up with,” Natasha said.

——————————————————

It was pretty fun hanging out with them. Watching Steve get all hyped up with them. Something was kind of sexy about watching him like this.

But still you just wanted to spend time with him. Alone. And this trench coat was not ideal for this kind of setting.

“You okay, Baby?” He asked into your ear after awhile seeing the way you kept trying to make sure your tie was fully closed.

“Yeah,” you answered looking up at him with a smile. While comfortable still a little nervous since you were just sitting here in a trench coat with barely anything underneath.

“Are you cold?” He asked into your ear.

“A little,” you replied.

“Sorry,” he whispered, before kissing your cheek. “Too bad I can’t be warming you up right now.”

You found yourself biting your lip at that. Look up at him through your lashes before he swiped his lips across yours really quick. “Hey, hey, hey, other people are around,” Tony said, snapping his fingers. “Put your hands where we can see ‘em.”

You raised your hands up, but Steve just rolled his eyes before standing up. “Be right back,” he replied, grabbing your hand.

“Hurry back, it’s almost the main event,” Natasha said.

Okay good. It was almost over. Then you could get to the part you’d come over for.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Sam remarked.

Steve was blushing as he grabbed you be your hips so he could lead you away. Down the hall towards his bedroom. “Sorry about them,” he said when they were out of earshot.

“No it’s sweet,” you replied. Steve put his hand on the small of your back. Trying to keep himself from going further down to your ass.

It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t messed around. You’d gotten close to having sex but it was like… he doesn’t know. Something always stopped them. Like they were waiting to savor it. No wonder you’d gotten so sick of it and just came over here like this.

His poor girl had wanted to surprise him. Had wanted him to take care of you fully. Instead you got a room full of his friends ragging on him when he could have been kissing you all over.

Now you were sitting on his bed as he dug through the drawer to find a sweatshirt for you to wear.

“Here, Baby,” he replied, handing it to you.

You stood up to tug at the tie around your waist. Letting it fall from your body. Steve’s jaw dropped as he looked up and down your body.

Would he be a bad host if he told everyone to get the fuck out.

Before you could fully shrug off your coat, Steve grabbed you by your waist. Wrapped his arms around you in a snug embrace. Your lingerie covered breasts pressing into his chest. “Fuck. I almost want you to keep it on,” he said. “Maybe we can have a do over.”

“Mhm,” you replied. “I’ll just make sure to warn you next time.”

“But then it wouldn’t be a surprise,” he said.

“I just didn’t know what to get you and then my friends freaked when I told them we’ve never had sex.” You laughed.

“Ohhh so you’re my present?” He asked with a smirk. “Damn. Maybe I should just open you up.”

Steve was ready to kiss you again, except as soon as his lips touched yours there was a knock on the door. “Fights on!” Bucky said through the door. Steve able to hear Sam snickering through the door.

“We’ll be right out,” he replied with a sigh. Fucking cockblocks.

You giggled and it only made him want to say fuck it even more. Throw you on the bed and devour you. “Come on,” you said wrapping your arms around his neck. “Really want me to keep it on?” You asked him.

“I want you to be comfortable,” he said. “Besides. I like seeing you in my clothes.” Then his eyes went down to your boobs. “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

“We better get back out there,” you said.

Ugh he couldn’t wait for everyone to be gone.

——————————————————-

“No! What the fuck!” Tony groaned, throwing his head back as his guy went down. “You’re fucking kidding me!”

Sam on the other hand was positively giddy. Happy as hell to take home a bet against the billionaire.

“We’re going to see you at Christmas dinner, right?” Natasha said as they all said their goodbyes.

You looked up at Steve who smiled down at you. Wrapping an arm around your shoulder. He’d already been asking you if you wanted to join them. Had wanted to spend your first Christmas as a couple together of course, but you’d been on the fence having been nervous to meet everybody.

“Yeah I think it’ll be fun,” you answered.

Steve didn’t want to make it obvious that he was trying to hurry them out. Because as soon as the door closed he was right there. Picking you up so you had to wrap your legs around his waist. Not even saying a word as he kissed you. Large hands coming to grip at your ass.

Your lips worked against his. Hands clawing at those broad shoulders. Moaning into his mouth. Only pulling away so he could pull his shirt off.

There was this hunger that the two of you never got to have before that was definitely there now. Finding yourself unable to stop now that you’d started. Wanted him to touch you all over. Can’t believe you’d waited this long in the first place.

Something about you taking the initiative. He’d been trying to take it slow. Protect your honor and shit. Wait until you were ready.

Had been picturing rose petals and shit. Maybe he’d take you somewhere nice. Wine and dine you first. You probably would have gotten all dressed up.

That’s okay. They could do that another time. Right now he just didn’t wanna stop putting his lips all over you. “Fuck, Steve,” you gasped as he kissed along your thighs.

Was down on his knees ready to worship you. Something about you being the one to initiate it was making him want to.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Can’t believe you dressed all up for me,” he groaned. “Look so beautiful. Can’t wait to finally make love to you, Baby. Can I taste you?”

“Yes,” you cried.

Fuck he was in heaven with his face between your thighs. Couldn’t get enough. Especially as his tongue touched your clit. Was addicted to all the sounds you were making as his tongue worked it.

For all the time he thought about doing this to you, doing it was so much better. The fucking noises you were making. The way you tried to grind your tight little hole against his face only for him to pin you down by your hips to stop you.

“It’s too much,” you ended up whining.

Steve laughed into you. Seeing your desperation. The way your eyes had started to glaze over. The way your bottom lip poked out. Fuck you looked so fucking pretty.

“Come on. I know you can take me. It’s okay,” he said, pulling away for a second. He put his lips on your stomach this time. Fingers gripping your hips still. Your chest heaving up and down.

“Too much,” you repeated as your chest heaved up and down.

Steve just chuckled before leaning up so he could peck your lips. “Come on, Baby. You can take it. How are you gonna take my dick if you can’t even take my mouth.”

Fuck. He was right. You’d felt him through his pants before. It’s why you were aching to just let it happen. Wanted to feel his thick cock inside of you so bad. But fuck the way he’d been touching you, you were a mess.

“You got this, Babe,” he whispered into the side of your mouth. “Come on I know you didn’t come all the way over here for me to not fuck you. You know how bad I’ve been wanting this pussy? Think I’m gonna let you go without giving it to you?”

Who even was this man. One minute he was being sweet and holding your hand in front of his friends. Next he was talking all dirty into you. Fuck. He was definitely trying to be the death of you.

And you didn’t wanna let him down. Had shown up half naked and sat politely while him and his friends finished up. Had been trying real hard to be good. It was all you wanted after all. For him to have his way with you and fuck-

Steve had started kissing on the nape of your neck knocking you out of your thoughts. It made you let out a loud gasp as he also gripped your thigh.

“Drive me crazy,” he said into your ear pulling you on top so you were straddling him.

“Fuck, Daddy I need you,” you moaned.

“Yeah, Baby?” He whispered, hands moving to your ass so he could grind you against his length.

Fuck he was just so big. And your pussy was leaking. Leaving a wet spot against his crotch. You wanted him so bad. Why was he still wearing clothes.

Finally you tugged at his belt. Hands franticly grabbing at him as if you were trying to paw them off. “It’s okay, Baby. I got it. Got you too fucked out already. Can’t even get it right.”

You let out a moan at the way he was talking to you. Pussy feeling like you could not wait any longer. You needed him so bad. It wasn’t even fair.

“Please.” Fuck it sounded so whiney the way that came from you, but you couldn’t help it.

Steve put his lips back on your as he pulled himself from his pants. Dick now on display. Ready for you to sink down onto.

You put your hand on him. Wrist moving up and down as you moaned because fuck he was big. How were you supposed to take it. Even in your hand it felt perfect. Fuck you needed him so bad.

Steve twisted you around so you could lay back. Pushing you into the cushions as he climbed on top of you. Arms going on either side of your head as he just couldn’t stop kissing you.

This was the problem. Every time the two of you tried to fuck you’d end up getting so caught up in kissing that you didn’t even do the rest.

Then he’d pull away to say something really sweet and you’d end up getting distracted. You’d end up talking and giggling. Then you’d end up cuddling. Getting really nice and cozy but for Christmas you wanted all of him and you didn’t feel like waiting anymore.

“Please, Steve I-,” you pulled away to say only to need to catch your breath. “Just need you.”

One side of Steve’s mouths curled up as he realized just how bad off you were. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your dick. I need your dick. Please I need you inside me. I can’t wait anymore.”

It all came out as a plea. Way more than what you meant for it to be. “You sure? Couldn’t even handle my tongue a minute go. Think I’m gonna have to stretch your little pussy out.”

“Do whatever you want I just- I don’t even care anymore,” you sobbed.

Steve chuckled and for some reason that made your pussy twitch. “Such a mess for me,” he said, into your ear again.

Then he was off you and you were making grabby hands trying to get him to hurry up and come back. Except now you could see his dick up close as he started taking his pants all the way off. Sitting up as your mouth salivated because fuck it was just as pretty as you’d thought it would be.

“Fuck, Steve.” You just couldn’t help yourself as you grabbed it again. Needing to feel him. Fuck you needed to…

Steve groaned as you licked a strip up and down his dick. Coming to the head so you could swirl your tongue around the tip. “Fuck, Y/N, Baby.”

Putting his hand on your head as you took him into your mouth. Letting out a grunt from how fucking good it felt to have his dick inch into your mouth.

Here Steve had been thinking that you were this sweet girl. Someone he would have been able to take home to mom if she’d been alive, but here you were getting on your knees so you could suck him off properly. Trying to see how far you could get in your throat before gagging around him.

“Shit,” he groaned. “Feel so fucking- goddamn.”

Can’t believe you hadn’t tasted him sooner. Especially as your mouth was stuffed full. Feeling him through his pants a few times had nothing on taking him down your throat. Trying to be a good girl who just wanted to be good for her super boyfriend.

“That’s it,” he hissed, trying to stop himself from rocking his hips but fuck he was so ready to start fucking your mouth. Barely stopping himself because as bad as he wanted you to keep doing he couldn’t wait anymore.

Steve snatched you up grabbing you so he could throw you over his shoulder making you squeal. “Steve!”

His hands pawed at your ass as he walked with you down the hall to his bedroom. Could barely fucking wait but he at least wanted to get you in his bed first.

Didn’t even give you a second to get situated on the mattress as he climbed on top of you. Not that you cared as you wrapped your legs around his waist. Hands going to his shoulders so you could claw at them. Nails digging into his skin.

Lips meeting your once again as he spread you open. Hand going to your pussy after so he could rub his thumb on your clit. “Holy fuck,” you pulled away to mewl.

“That’s my girl,” he cooed into your ear. “This what you wanted for Christmas, huh?”

As the same time he lined himself up with your entrance. Ready to just say fuck it. Had been waiting too long anyway and didn’t feel like waiting any longer. Steve needed you.

Your mouth split open as he inched in. Going slow so he didn’t hurt you. Wanting to give you a time to adjust. He knew he could be a little much.

You laid back with a gasp when he was halfway through. “Fuck. I’m so-,” you stopped to throw your head back, “I’m so full. It’s- fuck. It’s- it’s too- Stevie,” you whimpered. “Please. Make me- I can… I can take it I promise, please.”

Steve kissed you again as he went to the hilt. Balls slapping against your ass. You were just so tight it was making his head spin. Couldn’t believe how good you felt. Had definitely been worth the wait.

“Harder,” you pulled away to cry out.

“You sure?” He asked. “I don’t- I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please?” Fuck you didn’t intend to sound like you were begging but you couldn’t help it.

Who the hell was he to deny you. Fuck you clearly wanted him bad. Of course he wanted to give it to you.

Besides the noise you made when he did as you asked made him want to give you whatever you wanted.

“Just like that!” You cried as he fucked into you.

“Yeah?” He asked. “Like this?” Then he did whatever move that was that was making you react like that.

“Yes,” you sobbed out. Scratching his back. It was like he was getting all these spots no one else had ever been able to reach. Probably why you could feel yourself so close.

It only worsened when he put his mouth on your tits. The sensations making you want him to never stop. Something about watching his sweet face suckling your nipples like he was trying to mark them was what did it. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as your body tightened. Orgasm making you scream.

“Steve- fu- fuck. Oh my god. That’s it. It’s yours. You can- please. My pussy it’s yours!”

“I know, Baby. I know.” His face mocking concern as if he wasn’t the one making you feel like this. “It’s been mine. That’s why you needed me to fuck if as soon as possible, huh?”

“Yes!”

“Showed up like a little slut in your lingerie. If only I got to rip it off of you as soon as you got in. Bet you would have liked that.”

“Yes!”

It was all you could say. Not even sure how you could still even speak with the orgasm he’d given you.

“Gonna let me play with you all fucking night, huh? Might fuck you until Christmas morning. Make you spend Christmas Eve on my dick.”

“Okay,” you cried. “I’ll- oh my-,” you put your hands against his shoulders like you were trying to brace yourself. Eyes rolling back once again. Fuck there was just this spot that he kept hitting and making you cum all over him.

“That’s my girl,” he groaned. “That’s my fucking girl.”

——————————————————

You’d sincerely lost track of time since last night. All you knew was that even when the morning fell he was behind you. Holding onto your hips as he fucked you from behind.

Steve was serious about fucking you into Christmas Day. Had only pulled away for bathroom breaks and food.

At some point it was like your brain had shut off and all you could think about was how good he felt inside of you. All you could think about was Steve and how you wanted to make him cum inside you.

And he did. Multiple times. That super solider stamina keeping him going even when you thought you’d definitely had enough. But what was enough with him around.

If anything he was the one that had been turned into an addict. Of course he wasn’t going to pull out. You were his.

Sure it may not have started out the way you wanted it to, but hell at least it had ended up being exactly what you’d needed.

Finally he’d let you go to sleep seeing just how worn out he’d gotten you even if he could have kept going. Wanted to give you a little time because he was still working up the nerve to give you your present.

“Steve?” You softly said making his head snap towards you.

He’d been keeping you naked but right now you were bundled up in his robe. He was only in a pair of boxer briefs himself. Freshly wrapped gift sitting neatly on the coffee table.

“Baby, what are you doing up?” He asked.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” you said with a pout. Coming to settle onto his lap. “I was cold. Need you to warm me up.”

He couldn’t wait to wrap his arms around you. Kissing your cheek and then behind your ear. “Ah, I’m sorry, Babe. Don’t worry I’ll warm you up.”

“Ohhh whose that for?” You asked looking at the present.

Steve leaned forward to grab it. “Yours. Wanna open it?”

“Ohhh you’re saying I don’t have to wait until morning?”

“Nah,” he said. “I already got my gift. Wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t give you yours.”

You smiled up at Steve before kissing underneath his jaw. Fuck he was so cozy.

Your heart thumped as you’d ripped off the wrapping paper and took the top off the box to see a tiny key. Eyes meeting his again. “Steve, wait what… what is this…”

“A key,” he said with a chuckle. “Look I know we haven’t been together that long, but… I don’t know. Especially after tonight I want you around all the time. When I wake up. When I go to bed. I love you and I want you to move in with me.”

“Really?” Your eyes were all watery.

“Yeah, Baby,” he replied. “What do you say?”

“Of course I’ll move in with you, Steve.” You threw your arms around him. “I love you, too.”

That was all Steve needed to hear. The two of you starting to kiss again. Robe quickly coming off. His boxers ending up on the floor. The two of you had to christen this place. And he wasn’t going to stop until he fucked you in every room.

[walmarttrashbag]

Hurt - Mike Wheeler Tw: bitchy, rude Mike. It was an extremely hot day in the summer of '82, and you had just moved into Hawkins, Indiana. The day was full of unpacking and decoration, and you had made your bedroom just as you wanted.

Your mom had told you to try and explore the neighborhood and make friends, which you happily obliged.

You decided to go to your new neighbor's house, and you politely knocked on the door, expecting an adult, but your expectations were too low, because what opened the door rocked your world even with just a look.

It was an extremely cute boy, with fluffy-seeming dark, burgundy-like hair, and his brown eyes stared into yours with some kind of emotion you couldn't read.

"Who are you?" The cute boy asked almost coldly.

You smiled innocently and sweetly "My name is Y/n! I'm your new neighbor! I live in that house, right there!" You pointed to your house that stood still.

The boy looked over and his eyebrows furrowed "I don't really care..." He replied, and shut the door.

That hit you like a book, but you wouldn't give up, not ever! For the last days of the summer, you decided to ask the boy to come play or to share his name while you'd ask to play, but all you got was a harsh "No" and a door slam.

But you weren't giving up at all, besides, he was just across the lawn!

It was now the start of 6th grade, and Mike was keeping a low go, in case you were in Hawkins Middle School, but his eyes widened at the fact of you walking into his classroom all giddy.

Mike's teacher smiled "Class, we have a new student joining us today. This is y/n l/n, and she will be sitting next to Mike Wheeler. Mike, could you raise your hand for us?" The teacher asked.

You quietly gasped in excitement "So that's what the cute boy's name is!" You thought happily. Mike hesitantly raised up his hand and you skipped along, sitting beside him.

During reading time, you noticed Mike was leaning far away from you, but just enough to keep balance on his chair, so you decided to rip a piece of paper and wrote down "Hi!" And slid it toward Mike, who glanced at it but ignored it, and throwing it away after class.

During lunch, you saw Mike hang out with three other boys, one with curly hair and tan skin, one with a bowl cut and pale complexion, and one boy who was African-American.

You smiled and walked over to the table with your lunch tray, but Mike quickly said "This table's full!", Making his friends looked at him confused, and you frown but nod. "I understand" You replied, deciding to go to a different table, but nobody would wanna sit by the weird new kid... So you had to sit alone, and that went on for the rest of the year.

Nobody liked to be near you. Usually, the teacher had to pair you up with someone because even the last kid wouldn't want to. You didn't get why no one liked you, but maybe it's because you were just still the new kid.

Your crush on Mike hadn't gone away, but in the second year you were there you finally made some friends, they were fun and cool to you.

By the time you got to middle school, Mike had straight up told you to leave him alone, but you were determined to make him love you, so you left cute little stuff in his locker like notes and gifts, but in the corner of your eye, you'd see Mike grumble angrily and throw it away.

You felt hurt, but nothing came close to what you were at the park. You hid behind a tree and listened to what Mike and his friends would say about you.

"She's fucking obsessed with me! She won't leave me alone!" Mike yelled angrily. "Have you told her to stop?" Will asked. Mike nodded and Lucas tilted his head "Well be more assertive" Dustin shook his head "She's gonna want you more, man. Just ignore her." Mike laughed "Yeah, nobody likes that freak anyways."

You felt tears in your eyes, and you ran home, your loving heart shattered. Once at home, you fell on your bed "I didn't know he hated me like that..." You whispered, you felt horrible.

Seventh grade rolled around and you had completely given up. You felt destroyed and you didn't talk to anyone. You didn't start wearing black or slitting your wrists, you weren't like that, you were just quiet now.

Mike noticed that his locker was always empty beside his backpack. There were no happy notes or small gifts you had slipped inside. There was nothing to throw away.

Mike also noticed that you'd sit by yourself and do your projects alone, which he thought was weird. At least you weren't bothering him anymore.

During lunch, Mike would watch you walk passed him with tired, sad eyes, and he'd watch you eat all alone. It was like you didn't even care anymore... But you did. Mike never knew how many sleepless nights you've cried over him.

Dustin, Lucas, and Will saw, too, but they didn't address it to Mike, who watched you eat while talking to his friends every day at lunch.

You were no longer your happy, loving self, you were just a depressed girl trying to get over a heartbreaking crush. You sometimes never even went to school because you were just too tired to get up.

Mike would sometimes wait behind the front door, waiting for you to ring his doorbell, waiting for you to ask him to play, but that you didn't exist anymore... And Mike felt sad that you wouldn't bother to ask anymore.

Eventually, Mike went against every fiber of his being and got outside, walked across the lawn, and knocked on your door. You opened up with tear-strained eyes.

"What do you want, Wheeler?" You asked Mike coldly, and that kind of shocked him.

"Hey, Y/n! My friends and I are gonna play this cool fantasy game called Dungeons and Dragons and I just wanna ask if you would like to play with us." Mike said, cracking a fake smile that you could see right through. "I don't wanna play with you, Mike. Just go away." You scoffed, trying to shut the door on Mike. Mike kept the door open and whined "Come on! It'll be fun! It's a game about-"

You groaned "I said I don't wanna play with you, Michael Wheeler! Leave me alone!" And you shut the door on Mike's face.

Mike felt Hurt but he wasn't gonna give up, as his crush on you has only just begun.

[celeste444spacey]

Celebrity sp scenarios politician edition (good one ofc)

Okay is this officially MY series cause i know u guys are eating these scenarios up

So ya girl has been obsessed with scandal lately (as i should be) and this shit has me thinking about the president and shit (not even american here like it's insane, plus the show is super fictional soooo)

Anyways i know there's some of you are probably wanting to go into law and politics and want to have an SP who is too.

SO HAVE FUN!!!! HOPE U LIKE THESE

also shoutout to miss @fayelilye for this idea

You and him are one of the most loved people in the political field in the country, (heck even the world) everybody has so much respect for you, even the opposition party cannot say bad things about you guys.

Your man keeps you on his side throughout his political campaign and just cannot be seen in the public without you

He keeps saying how grateful he is that you exist and that he wouldn't even run for office or get this far if it weren't for you

He wins the election and he mentions you in his speech

"Thank you so much to the public for believing in me, the people over at <party> and most specifically the love of my life <you> who has been the backbone of this campaign and without her i don't think i would have won."

5. He makes a groundbreaking policy that changes millions of lives and all cause you suggested it and he names the act after you (i don't know is this even legal?? law students lemme know lmao 😭)

6. During his office, he writes a bunch of love letters for you later releasing the book which becomes a bestseller and all of the chapters are just essays on how much he loves you and thinks about you. He could name it "Letters to <nickname he calls you>".

7. Always seen doing charity everywhere, helping millions of people.

8. Let say he's president, he plans out detailed security for you everywhere he goes, even more than his own just so you can be safe and secure and protected.

9. You are the nation's first couple. That's what people call you, the first couple.

10. Your home is THE home of your country. You guys are lifestyle goals

11. You guys even though super super public and needing maximum security wherever you go, get caught going on ice cream runs late at night with the security surrounding you, but you guys lost in each other like you're kids having fun.

12. You are his personal and political advisor, he comes to you with every issue first and discusses it with you before moving forward.

13. You guys go all out on festivals calling people to the office (for eg the president's place and stuff) for giving gifts, candies and stuff to children and families.

Sooo, do we love these?

[leupagus]

Gonna call this "All This Life" and it's just gonna be 5K of Jade being an embarrassing wife guy about Nate

It's July, which means she's about to lose him. She loses him every year around this point — either he's really gone, off to Barcelona or Milan, muttering imprecations at whatever interpreter they've lined up for him; or he's off in his own head, locked in his office and scowling down at the various football Lego sets that were the parting gift from that off-putting American Nate still has an inexplicable fondness for.

She never really liked Ted Lasso, but she loves Nathan Shelley, and so when they meet at the odd social function or sporting event she'll bestow a smile and a polite interest until he goes away. It never takes very long, which is nice.

"I've almost forgot how terrifying you are when you do that, love," Nate says to her after the Richmond 'do, half-asleep already. He'd smiled broad and warm and surprised when she'd come downstairs in that blue dress she hadn't been quite sure of at the store, worried it might be too tight, worried she hadn't kept the weight off like she'd promised herself. That smile had carried her out the door with a half-hearted "bye" to the babysitter and wrapped round her in the back of the limousine (he's still so weird, always insisting on limos for these stupid things, but he wants to keep his attention on her and not the road). And at the clubhouse, through seventeen variations of "So do you think you can keep Richmond's place in the rankings, what ho?" he'd turn to her and share that smile with her again, and then give a pleasant, twisting answer.

"Mm. Do what," she asks, rereading the last paragraph. She doesn't think much of Croft's translation, if she's honest — Polish is silkier than this, without the porridge lumps of English, but there are better words, better turns to evoke what Tokarczuk means. Still, it's not bad. There's something to learn from, here. Nate likes to say they're both in fields that let them learn from other people's mistakes.

"Give people that 'I'm just waiting for you to go away' look," Nate says, settling and resettling and re-resettling. He'll do this for another hour, trying to find the perfect angle so he can watch her until he falls asleep. He's never yet admitted that that's what he does; she's never yet admitted that that's why she stays up. So she can be watched — can hold onto his attention for those last moments.

(In July and August, though, he falls asleep almost as soon as he's in bed; he's taken to snoring, which she's saving up to tell him until the moment it will make him sputter the most. The beginning of a new season takes him away into new plans, different strategies, hunting for that millimetre of advantage amongst the pack of whatever league he's up against this year. And it's always him up against them; he's not the youngest anymore, but he still stands out in those anodyne pictures they put up of all the head managers. He'll never not have something to prove.)

"You used to give me that look," Nate mumbles, face half-mashed into the pillow. "S'one reason I fell in love with you."

"Your fetish for people who are mean to you is well-established," she says, turning the pages on both copies of Bieguni, even though she isn't really paying attention to the book anymore. Even though he knows she's not paying attention. Theirs is a marriage of hiding in plain sight, of pretending badly not to love each other as much as they do and holding secret and smug the knowledge that they've seen through the other's terrible facade.