#and gave himself an ulcer

[segretecose]

i love the theory that rudolph valentino gave himself the ulcer that would lead to his untimely death after receiving 1920s hate mail saying you are GAY and ITALIAN

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Can I get sunflower for Frank, reader gives Frank a massage?

Frank Castle was one stubborn bastard. You were starting to think he might be playing it up, giving you an ulcer just for the hell of it. Usually, you’d force him to sit the fuck down and shut his big mouth until you’d treated whatever ailment he refused to admit to. But you’d had a long week, and Frank had been monumentally grouchy the past few days, brushing off all of your questions and refusing to obey your commands–so it hadn’t quite happened that way. 

Instead, the bastard kept groaning when he thought you weren’t listening; releasing this barely audible rumble from the back of his throat, a cross between a hiss and a growl, while he rolled his right shoulder three times. Always three times. 

About a week ago, Frank had disappeared for two days–returning with blood-covered clothes, an obviously strained muscle, and a contagiously bad attitude. Since then, he’d been favoring that same shoulder, and driving you crazy while doing it. 

Currently, you were sitting on the couch, curled beneath a blanket while you did sudoku puzzles in a well-worn booklet. Frank was seated in an armchair across the room, clearly annoyed that you had been cold to him today, yet unwilling to go back to his own place. Ridiculous man. The TV buzzed quietly, the dialogue of some single camera sitcom rasping through the speakers. It was calming..but not enough to cover the aggravating noise Frank made when he raised his arm to stretch it again. 

“Alright, that’s it!” You snapped, tossing your book to the edge of the couch and lurching toward him, accusing finger outstretched. “You have two options, Frank. You can let me see what the fuck is going on with your shoulder, or you can get out of my goddamn apartment so I don’t have to listen to you moan about it. What’s it gonna be?”

Frank’s dark eyes widened, his mouth falling agape at your icy tone. His arm was frozen an inch from his head, slightly bent so he could roll the irritated joint. Scoffing as you crossed your arms expectantly, Frank scowled at you. 

“I’m–”

You squawked out a laugh. “Don’t you fucking start.” Rounding the armchair and taking the hand attached to his good arm, you yanked him toward the couch. “The decision has been made for you, tough guy. Shirt off. Get your ass over here.” 

“You ain’t givin’ me a say anymore?” He snorted, tugging his shirt off with one hand as he trailing after you–finally finally letting you force him onto his stomach on the couch. 

“Nope! Honestly, you should’ve lost that right three ‘I’m fines’ ago.” Kneeling before his torso, you gently placed your hands around his bicep, straightening his bulky limb so you could take a proper look. As you pulled at his arm, Frank grimaced, drawing a breath through his teeth. “Sorry, Frankie.”

He gave a shrug with his other shoulder, eyes drifting down as you worked. Your fingertips brushed over his tan skin, admiring the faint splash of freckles dotting his skin. “No bruising, that’s good. Does it hurt if I put pressure on it?”

As you asked, you let the pads of your fingers dive into his skin with a touch more force, ready to withdraw if it caused him pain. Thankfully, he shook his head. “Nah, feels nice.” 

“Probably a strained muscle then. I’ll grab you an ice pack in a second, I have something else I want to try first.” 

“What’s that?” Frank asked, slowly peeling himself off the cushions and into a seated position as you bustled about the apartment. 

“I’m not telling you, because you’d fight me.” You called from the bedroom, between the clatter of you looking through drawers for some unknown item. 

Staring at your ceiling with a knowing smirk, Frank shook his head noiselessly, fighting the urge to mess with his sore muscle. Rolling his head from side to side, he mustered all the patience he had in his body, lingering on the couch until you returned…with a bottle of lotion?

With a smug grin, you slid behind him, slipping your leg into the curve of his waist bordering the back of the couch. Lotion squelched through the pump and into your hand as you wriggled your way around Frank, tilting him forward slightly. “If it starts to hurt, tell me and I’ll stop. But you’re getting a massage, Castle.”

Before he could protest, cool hands dug into his aching shoulder, drawing a relieved moan from his lips as they worked at the giant knot beneath his skin. He could practically hear your self-satisfied smile. “Yah, feels nice, doesn’t it? Could’ve done this for you days ago if you’d admitted to the pain, tough guy.” 

“Didn’t hurt then.” He retorted, lips twitching with amusement when you huffed in annoyance. In retaliation, you kneaded at the junction of his neck and shoulder, humming pridefully when his chin dropped to his chest with relief. 

The motions were soothing, repetitive. Your warm fingers circling the various points of tension along the corner of his upper back, slowly unraveling them with short, sharp movements. His body was becoming more pliable by the minute, melting into your lap as you lovingly rubbed at his injured arm. Once he was fully slumped against you, eyes closed and breaths heavy, you set the lotion aside, tangling your fingers in his hair. 

“Feeling better?” You murmured, brushing your nose over the shell of his ear. 

“If that helps ya sleep at night,” Frank teased, unable to hide the immense gratitude from his voice. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

“Anytime, love.” Planting a gentle kiss on his left shoulder, you resumed carding through his hair, leaning back against the arm of the couch with Frank supported by your torso.

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

The Bear and The Baker: Chapter Five - REPEAT (NSFW)

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five

Summary: She’s relatable and willing to help him figure out how to stop spiraling down a dark hole of anxiety, but she’s pretty and sweet and knows what to say and do… and Carmy just can’t help himself.

(big thanks to @novemberbluesky for beta reading this last chapter <3)

Tags: friends to lovers, UST, RST, pining, wet dreams, masturbation, lots of food talk, reader used to be a pastry chef, mental health, panic attacks, anxiety, meditation, oral sex, cunnilingus, premature ejaculation, handjob, desk sex, first times, virginity, mild dom/sub undertones, kitchen sex, love confessions, blowjobs

Words: 4k

TW: panic attacks

"Christ-" you whine, digging one hand into Carmy's greasy curls on the crown of his head, the other gripping the edge of his desk as his tongue swirls around your areola. Short, sandpaper stubble abrades the bottom swell of your breast as his face presses in, lips open and cheeks caving against your nipple. It's agonizingly good. Each suck and insulated lick's all gummy, sweet, and marvelous like he's molding burnt sugar with his tongue or… or something like that… 

It's a little difficult to think when you're tipped backward, seesawing in Carmy's lap, lower spine against the desk's edge, trembling beneath his hungry attention that switches aimlessly between both bare breasts. Somewhere on the floor lays your bra and maybe your sweater… soon to be home to the rest of your clothes because if Carmen Berzatto doesn't fuck you in the next ten minutes, you're gonna do it for him. 

"Carmy," you hiss, lashes tangled shut and fingers yanking at his scalp, "... teeth. T-too sensitive." 

He pulls away with a moist pop. His upper lip hooked over your swollen nipple, throbbing from a single overzealous bite.

"Sorry," he swallows, slick lips worrying over the tender bud, "… sorry, baby." 

His hot breath fans away the ache, and a wet kiss to the peak dribbles dolce pleasure down your belly, straight between your thighs. Beneath you—against your pelvis—his cock is a dense rod that fogs your senses. 

It's a thicker feeling than it had been even in your mouth. 

Carmy isn't small… which, to be honest, surprised you slightly at first. You've never had anything larger than average, and his approach to flirting and intimacy didn't warn you of anything daunting… though, over the years working in the service industry, food and further niche pockets of upper-class culinary gave you an appreciation for how wrong first impressions could be, as well as a few ulcers and a pesky panic disorder…

Carmy stretches his fingers against your naked spine and presses his hips forward, thighs up, forcing you further into his lap, harder against his sucking lips and branding erection.

"F-fuck," you whimper, squeezing your eyes shut, every draw of his lips sending a throb through your middle.

While a little bit of that time-old anxiety resides in your chest as Carmy kisses and licks all across it, the thrill of something a little scary and unknown is, for once, exciting and not terrifying. But, you grow itchy with each reverent caress Carmy bestows upon your breasts; sweet pecks over their tops, beneath the swell of curvy fat, sweeps of hot tongue across your nipples. He closes his lips around the left to suck it like he had the right, adding moisture to the oven broil that is his mouth. It's slow and lazy, not hurried at all, which only builds up the layers of anticipation until you're rocking against his cock, moaning as he moans… and tugging his hair by the roots, whining as he sucks even harder… those teeth returning in delicate nips. More pleasure oozes through you, dense as caramel toffee, and-

"Taste," he murmurs into your nipple, "so…" an easy bite, "excellent."

Carmy's palm slides across your ribs, then sweep the expanse of smooth skin to your other breast, holding its weight with prickly super glued cuts and fabric bandages. His fingers dent, and a thumb flicks your saliva-slick nipple while the other receives a slash of the tongue. 

"Do you-" you swallow a strained noise and gasp, "Do you want to… fuck me now? W-want you to cum inside me this time."

"Already did…" he murmurs, thumbing your lip with care.

You laugh deliriously, ending the sound with a sigh as Carmy returns to his sweet abuse on your nipples. 

"You know what I mn-mean…." you whimper, fisting the desk's edge a little harder as your fingers release his messy hair to move between your bodies, groping blindly until your thumb bumps across the slippery tip of Carmy's cock, quickly grasping its hot girth for an awkwardly angled stroke, "You're already hard again…"

Carmy's lips slacken, moaning hot over well-loved nerves.

"I want it—want you to fuck me with it this time."

"Ffffuck. Fuck-"Silenced by a squeeze to his dick, you only get a string of stutters as a warning before Carmy picks you up, urging your legs to wrap around his waist before he starts sweeping everything off the surface of his desk. 

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

A part of his brain is sullen over the mess of paper he's just swept to the floor. An empty plastic pint container clicks to the tile; some Sharpies and that mug that says 'How about a cup of shut the fuck up' goes to the floor too, shattering. Carmy pays it no more time than it takes him to give his desk another wide sweep, sending his calendar desktop flopping to his feet as he hauls her up on the edge. The old metal creaks, but the sound is swallowed by an ambrosial moan, dripping with a vanilla glaze as it smothers her lips with his. She still has a lick of brine deep inside from his orgasm, a realization that sends a shiver down his spine—a pulse to his cock.

Her teeth pinch his lower lip, and Carmy shudders anew, hips rocking up to press his dick against the seam of her jeans. She's wearing too much—too many layers between his bare dick and her heated core. 

"Your mug-"she starts, lips sliding off his for a second to glance at the floor, but he's pinching her chin between his fingers and drawing her mouth back to his, eyes off the stupid fucking mess and back to him. A whimper. Another wet kiss, then a bite to his lip, the upper one this time, and Carmy's fingers smooth around her hips, shoving his thumbs in between denim and warm, soft skin.

"Take 'em," a kiss and lick and, "off," then another, deeper slant against his mouth has Carmy trembling with desire. Same shakes he gets on the line when everything's fucked, but nothing about this makes him want to hide in the lock-in and heave through panic and palpitations. Everything about this, right here… it's good—great—and he's gonna do his best to make her feel the same. Replace all that shit about beating hearts signaling their ends and all about it triggering the start of everything .  

"Now," she nips his lip hard enough to snap him into motion.

"Shit," he curses, ripping his swollen mouth away to plant wet kisses across her cheek, down her neck, fumbling with the button beneath her navel. A creeping ache of anxiety fills his throat as his heart pounds rhythmically in his chest, worried he's gonna need help to undress her—worried he's gonna fuck this up, but then he gets lucky as the front clasp comes free, and her zipper slides down easy. Her bottom lifts and Carmy shoves four fingers under denim and cotton, gripping hard and yanking it down her ass and thighs off her calves and ankles. Shoes and socks hit the floor, and ankles return to lock around his bare ass, drawing him and his throbbing dick against the softest, wettest promise he's ever been given. 

It doesn't even register that she's pulling his shirt up his stomach until she gives his chin a peck and asks him to take it off. 'Please, Carmy… wanna see you.' And he's tugging it over his head, sweaty curls falling over his forehead, more exposed than he's ever been… with anyone… 

She kisses him over his pounding heart just above the triangle of ink from his youth. The act causes a palpitation, and a swoop in his stomach, watching her lean back against the desk, spread open and smiling. 

"Fuck," Carmy puffs out, taking in the contours of softness—the peaks and sweat-shined skin perfectly imperfect and deliciously real. That decadent swell of emotion sticks in his throat; it's the same one he felt back when he finally felt like he had a purpose, standing in his toque blanche while the Chef de Cuisine praised his braciole. But it's better now. Refined. Pure.

"Don't keep me waiting," she's smiling, awkwardly sensual, but a beckoning finger above her glistening folds makes his cock bounce. Her gaze drops, staring at it, and Carmy's eyes follow, widening as her heels drag him in, pressed flush—wet and hot. 

Carmy whimpers, licking his lips at the golden-lit sheen of his cock pinned to his stomach by her pussy—the unflagging mass denting her soft mons… dripping precum down between them where it catches the light and the little, stiff bud of her fleshy clit, snug and engorged against a winding vein hugging his shaft. He swallows, holds her hips in both hands, and looks back up, finding her lazy, smiling eyes and hot cheeks. 

"You're sure?" He asks, needing reassurance.

"Very sure.” She smiles until her eyes crinkle, and then gives him a kiss as soft as hand-beaten whipped cream, and Carmy smiles back.

They both shift, her fist wrapping warmly around his shaft, wetting his dick by rubbing his leaky head through her folds. Carmy presses his hips forward when it pops across her clit and grinds a little… just a bit until she's making circles with his cockhead over the tender bud. Carmy could easily cum like this… try as he might, this won't last long, and that's no more apparent than right now… right as she slips his dick down and deep, pulling him in by the heels in his ass. He steps forward, wraps his arms around her, and moans into her mouth.

And Jesus Christ… this isn't just popping his cherry, but emulsifying it into rich, hot syrup, sticky and sweet. The feeling that punctures his spine as Carmy gives in and thrusts, bottoming out with a great, shaky exhale, is without definition… just sensation without a name…

"God," he wheezes into her mouth, trying to kiss her through the steady pulsing around his cock—the whooshing of blood in his ears—the exceptional everything he finds buried inside her for the first time.

First, of many times, he hopes, almost prays. 

"Carmy…" she moans, and he can feel the impatience, another decadent whimper translating into 'move' and 'move fast and fucking hard' so he grabs onto her back and shoulder—arms almost crossed behind her—and dents his fingers in before smacking his hips at a relentless depth. 

She yelps and digs her nails into his scalp. It stings, much like when he was eating her out in his kitchen, and that had been good… she loved that, so Carmy figures 'to hell with it' and picks up the pace, pounding her soaked pussy until she's hiccuping against his lips, whining and groaning and…

… and pushing against his chest, telling him to 'hold on' and 'take it easy' and 'stop…'

"What-what'd I do?" For a second, he gets that flutter in his chest, but not butterflies, just a pause and thick beat that throws cold water down his spine. Did he fuck it up already?

"You okay??" 

" Uh-huh, just— fuck , Carmy."

He stills, carding his fingers through her hair, musing her hot cheeks, trying to get a good look at the damage: watery eyes, a pained creased between her brows, pouty… moist lips so kissable and raw it makes him wanna do anything, and everything to make them curl into a smile. 

"… did I… hurt you or— shit, what'd I do? "

"Cool your jets, Chef," and there is a shaky smile, but something else, "G-give me a second… slower—slow down a little. Please... "

He swallows the sudden urge to ignore everything she's just asked and just… fuck her until the desk dents the wall—until he's stuffing cum inside her like some selfish asshole, but Carmy takes a deep breath against her lips and leans in to kiss her sweaty neck. Acidic brine and umami hit his tongue; it's sex and something even better.

Gradually, the urge to rail her passes, and he just listens, basking in the slick vice wrapped around him. After a few long, drawn-out seconds, her fingers tug at the damp curls on his nape.

"O-okay. Keep going," she sighs, "… just not so rough. Just… just for now."

Carmy nods. Yeah, he can do slow and steady. It's all about patience; he's got that; he just needs to use it for this and not only for stirring jalapeno jelly for six hours straight. Ever so gently, his hips begin to rock slowly and shallowly. Just four or so inches, just a little over half his length, rubbing the delicate outer ring of her pussy. 

"So good," he pants, "… so tight. How— fuck —how much longer?" Carmy doesn't wanna sound too eager or presumptuous, all traits he despises in himself and others, but… fuck… so good. His thrusts start going choppy as she shudders against him.

“I mean… is this…” Carmy gulps and tries to word that last bit better, "Is this okay?"

"Little more… you're, uh , a little too… big… and girthy."

Carmy halts with the swollen bulb of his cockhead held thickly inside her as a rush swoops into his balls, pulling them taut to his body, ready to burst. He blinks lazily against the crook of her neck, heart hammering, so fucking close to losing it. A bead of sweat runs from his hairline to the edge of his nose as his joints lock, fending off the rip of a climax by replaying whispered verbal abuse from CDCs in his ear…

'You're worthless.'

"Cah-Carmy?"

'Say you're scum. Tell me you're nothing. You deserve to be dead.'

"… you're okay," she says against his temple, planting a kiss over beads of sweat while his cock twitches meanly. He's okay. He's got this… like everything else, Carmy can white knuckle his way through it. And, after a few breaths, the edging of his orgasm fades away. 

"Yeah," Carmy almost chuckles, almost cries, but her palms flatten across his bare back, fingers eroding stoney knots of anxiety with gentle rubbing motions of love and heat. With a nasal sigh, Carmy lets go of the trauma and the expectations and kisses her thrumming pulse point beneath her ear.

"Almost came," he admits, muffled against her throat as he noses her clammy skin. It's so fucking hot in his office—that his mind briefly lands on installing a fan when and if this happens again.

"... hey," she whispers, squeezing him in a tight embrace, "if you cum, you cum. It's more than okay."

He licks his lips and rubs his damp forehead over her collarbone. He can see down her body, between her heaving breasts, at his glistening cock held halfway inside her. No, he's not ready to cum just yet…

With a swallow that clicks in the tiny room, Carmy starts to move in and out of her slick pussy. No more than the first three inches delves through her gummy, vice-like heat. She's so much tighter than he remembers from finger fucking her on his kitchen counter—so much sweeter and mind-melting.

"... ffffuck ," he sighs, "I wanna… gonna make you cum, baby." And again, she makes him want more than good food, sanity, and loneliness. He wants to make her feel good. So… so fucking good. So Carmy slows his roll even more, leaving behind shallow and rhythmic for lethargic and deep. It's almost worse—better—this way since he can feel everything. Each inner ridge plump around his dick, contouring to his girth… sucking him in until his tip is lodged against her cervix. 

Carmy gasps as her pussy flutters around him. Her breath sweats across his hairline.

"... like that," she sighs, clinging to him with hands, thighs, and softness. 

"Right. Good… just," Carmy nods, swallowing, "tell me if—fuck—if you…"

She shushes him softly and rubs down his spine, "Just like this, baby."

He nods again and kisses her pulse, running wet lips up with each slow drag of cock, finding her slack mouth with a great, heavy swell of heat that spreads from his chest out into the very tips of his fingers, toes, and outward. She's a full-body sensation, and while Carmy's never been a sommelier—not even close—he thinks this is what they mean by rounded. Perfect notes that end in words like ambrosia, mellow and rich. Carmy breathes her in with a hard thrust that's still achingly slow, feeling everything.

Her breathing grows ragged, puffing against his lips between wet kisses, her mouth hanging open on a moan so sweet his stomach tightens, and a bolt of pleasure tugs his balls. 

"... god damnit. Hah-hang on," Carmy grunts, grabbing the upper heft of her ass, trying to still the gentle rocking of her lower body as he fights off another urge to cum. She giggles—a din of noise like cooling glass candy—but it's not mean; it's breathless and awe-struck. He knows 'cause that's how his laugh sounds when she pinches the meat of his own ass, filling his office with heavy, happy breaths and her hot whispers of 'cum inside me, baby… I know you want to.'

"You're mean, you know," he pants out, smirking with loose lips when she hums in agreement, squeezing the tight muscles in his back as he shifts on his feet.

He wants to cum, and he will, but it's the same devotion that got him Chef of the Year, which makes him hold off, wanting to prove he can make her feel the same bliss she brings him. There's always his tongue, he thinks, almost giving into that primal urge, but this is different. Carmy wants to feel her cum around his dick, so he sucks down his pounding heart, stabilizes his feet shoulder-width apart, his posture precise, then swiftly pulls her to the edge of the desk, hands sweeping to the backs of her thighs with a squeeze. He tilts her beneath the cabinets spilling with unfiled paperwork, knees up against her glistening breasts, and fucks forward. 

" Haaah-ah… fuck, " her fist grips the desk's edge, the other shoved flat under the cabinetry, "D-do that again," she hisses, then softer… sweeter, begs, "... please."

Carmy does it again, just as hard and swift, getting a sound out of her that's pornographic. He does it three more times, just until he feels her thighs trembling in his palms, then lets his cock slip completely out.

"Wha… what are you-"

He grabs his wet dick and smears the head through her folds, nudging the plump bulb of her clit, ignoring how good it feels to tap and rub it with his plush cockhead, focusing instead on the quiet puffing moans… the way her hips grind forward, swirling herself against the raw contact.

"Jesus Christ, Carmy. If you… keep doing that," she pauses to whimper, "I'm gonna cum."

"I'm gonna make you—fuck—gonna fuck you until your too fuckin' weak to walk out of here," he promises, giving her clit a final, sticky smack before pressing down and back in with a hard thrust. It's effortless this time. She's so impossibly wet.

He fucks her just like she wants, giving unforgiving, precise thrusts, bottoming out at an angle that combs over her thickened sweet spot. With every slap of his hips, he can feel it firming up. Each meticulous, well-angled motion dials her moans up higher. Her hands are suddenly around his waist, holding on tight. That flutter he felt before becomes a wet, noisy slurp, getting wetter and louder… tighter and hotter. Carmy repeats his method several times: thrusting, pulling out, rubbing and tapping, back inside… fucking… and pounding until his heart's in his throat and sweat running down his temples, stinging his eyes. She's just as wrecked, perspiring under his hands on the backs of her knees, licking it off her upper lip and cheeks, hot and shiny.

"... oh, fuck—I'm… yes," she rips a hand off his side to lay flat on his desk. Her hips start to meet his in a messy, slippery mash. 

Carmy watches, hypnotized. The jiggle of her breasts is only one of many mouth-watering delights like she's some feast prepared just for him, by him… steaming, boiling, cooking him alive. Fuck, he's not gonna last… and she's so close… 

Just a little more—just another minute or more.

“I-I-fuck, fuck… I got this…”

He's chewing on his lower lip, watching the rapid blur of his cock as it pistons and slaps, disappearing and emerging, covered in shiny arousal. Her pussy is raw and swollen, her inner lips hugging him. She's sobbing, tears in her eyes, and, for a second, Carmy thinks he's done something wrong. Maybe he's hurt her… perhaps she's been pretending all along, or maybe he's been too selfish to take her hiccuping moans for what they really are, but then she's pressing up and forward, clawing at his back, leaving red welts through sweaty skin, shivering and trembling. 

She yelps like someone spilled boiling water over her lap, then clenches down on his dick in a way that throws him into the back of his own body. It's all auto-pilot now…

“... fff’uh-fuck!”

Grunts rush between his teeth, his lips pressed into a white, pulsing line as the office fills with the rapid, wet slap of skin meeting skin; it claps with her 'uh' and 'ah's and his hot gushing exhales. He feels a fever wash over him. 

Carmy winces with nails in his back, feeling everything all at once until the pressure in his lower back doubles, gripping his pelvis, balls, and upper thighs… until… it just… snaps…

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

A dim flicker of sapphire catches in his left eye from the lamp light. It glitters and gleams. Melted ice. 

Deep lines grin beneath his eyes, trapped emotions spilling free. It would be odd coming from anyone else, but you think it's beautiful with Carmy. 

Popping your cherry or lancing a wound, you think only partially consciously; sometimes , the difference is slim to none.

His dick twitches inside you, deep and thick, almost parallel to the soft, vulnerable line of his lips, their downward hook on either side and the tremble in the lower plush. Your hand finds his jawline, the scratchy five o'clock grating. His shoulders tense and shake, but he takes a great breath and lets it out as your palm moves upwards, a thumb sweeping away the tear before it can fall. It all feels terribly romantic until his right eye brims with moisture, and a drop escapes, leaving a line of shine behind. 

"Oh, Carmy…" you murmur without thinking, "Should we have laid you out on a feather bed your first time?"

Judging by the silence, your poor attempt at a joke goes over poorly. A sick prick of anxiety settles in your chest as another tear breaches his lashes. Quickly, you shift despite your sore back, midway to wrapping both arms around him when his lips twitch. Carmy smiles—a snort of hot breath and then a smirk.

"I don't know, blowing my load in Mikey's office feels pretty good," Carmy's smile lifts tight on one end, "I mean, I loved the asshole, but this is…" a whistling sigh, "pretty sure he deserves this. Sorta payback."

"Could say it's also a comeback, " you grin, relishing the surprised cough of laughter from Carmy, lashes fluttering when the both of you feel his dick jostling softly inside you.

"Hey," he whispers, the vibe dropping to somber, "you're okay, though? Right?"

"M'hm," you smile, leaning in, fingers teasing the sweaty curls at his nape, "are you… okay? "

Your lips press in, brows up and open to reassure him you won't judge his answer. When he stays mute, you thumb the slick spot behind his ear, "Seriously, I mean… first times should be a bit… nicer than this. Not that it wasn't nice—it was great—the best—I just… I, uh, hope it lived up to your expectations." 

Jesus, you think you sound like an executive apology video. 

Carmy's smile drops for a second, eyes lazy and large, looking into you like he sees each stutter, each heartbeat, and flaw, loving it all. Tentatively, he closes the distance, kissing you as if it's the first time… like, after everything, there's a chance you'll pull away... 

"It's perfect," another kiss, "it's fucking perfect." His voice breaks a bit with a whisper, "Thank you…."

You swipe a cool tear from beneath his soggy lashes and whisper, "What about these?"

Carmy huffs, good-humored, "Just got something in my eyes, is all."

You snort, then blush, about to apologize for your awkwardness, but Carmy just grins, showing some teeth with that love in his eyes again, and gives you another soft kiss. The aftermath of fucking on his desk is not magical—that's not how reality works—but it's relaxed. There's something like butterflies in your tummy when Carmy fails to bite down a whimper as your bodies disconnect, releasing a hot trickle of cum between your crushed globes.

Paper wings flap harder when he excuses himself with a stutter, begging you to 'stay right there' using his hands to coo you into stillness before rushing on weak knees out of the office, black jeans still sagging around his bare ass. He returns with a wet cloth, muttering 'shit' under his breath as he hesitates at the mess dripping off the desk. 

"Bet you wish I made a mad dash to the bathroom now, hm?" He blinks, looking a little hungry. You chuckle, feeling your muscles tighten and cum ooze. Carmy just gulps and finally slips the rag between your splayed thighs.

"Naw," he smirks, nose against yours as the pressure of the damp cloth, his hand, and your swollen folds brings your heat beat south, "it's a good look on you."

"You're filthy."

It might be far more awkward to share this vulnerable moment with him, where his shaky palm wipes away your combined fluids from your sore pussy, your hips tilted out, and his other hand raising one leg. The kiss he presses to the cap of your knee? That should be corny and sickly, but it makes your heart skip happily… happy skipping… as if you'd forgotten it could do that.

"Thanks," you whisper, lower lip between your teeth.

"Sorry-" he winces, trying to dab away a dollop on your inner thigh, "-sorry, there's uh, there's a lot. Jesus. I really made a mess, huh?"

Something about the quiver of awe in his voice makes your pussy contract again, more cum heating out, only for Carmy to wipe it up with a groan of, "Fuck me… kinda looks like a" He stops, but you know exactly what's going through his mind because he thinks in food and sauces like you feel in flour and candied orange peels.

"A creampie? A twinkie? Bavarian Cream Donut?"

Carmy's lower lip droops, his face ruddy red. You think he will flounder for words like a fish for air, but he drops his head, shoulders limp, and shakes with a quiet laugh. He rubs at his nose and smirks, thumb and forefinger pinching the tacky fat of your inner thigh, right where that stray drop of jizz had been a moment ago. Cheeky and happy, you think, liking the look on him so much that you lean forward and plant a peck on his blotchy jaw. 

You both help each other dress in comfortable silence, nothing but the howl of the wind outside the restaurant and distant car horns.

As Carmy tugs the hem of your sweater around your hips, he swallows—the sound of a bomb in the quiet, "Do you… wanna maybe get some coffee?"

"Thought you didn't fuck with caffeine?" You smirk, watching his hooded eyes open up a bit more as his gaze lifts from your chest to your lips, then your eyes. He matches your look, then drops his sweaty face into the crook of your neck and mumbles, "Yeah, but…" followed by three little words. They're a whisper, more like, but they feel loud and real… more real than anything—more real than the sex, panic attacks, or kneading the dough with a head chef screaming in your ear…

"I might…" you pause, sliding your arms around his shoulders, fingers threading over the back of his greasy scalp, "… feel the same way."

His response is a hug hotter than the heat rattling in the walls, tighter than the choke of fear, but soft, sweet, sugared, and spiced. 

"Heard, Chef."

And you love him, fierce and suddenly, yet not so sudden as it suddenly feels.

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

Carmy doesn't mess with caffeine like she said, and he must have said at some point, but he's sipping on a cup of black because it's midnight, and he's not done just yet. Somehow, against all odds, he made her cum on his cock less than an hour ago, but it's still two to one in his favor, and he wants to study how her brows lift and crease when she orgasms at least once more tonight. 

"You're being pretty quiet for someone who just got laid, ya know?"

He looks up to find the woman he wants to spend the rest of his shitty life with, looking just as flushed as she did when she came.

"We're not having an existential crisis, are we?" She says it with some humor, but it's dusted in insecurities and quickly covered by a sip of tea. Carmy can sniff that shit out faster than she can hide it cause he understands that shit all too well, but it's nothing like she thinks. If anything, he's almost more nervous to admit how wrapped in his thoughts she is—how soaked into his skin she feels. After what they did an hour ago… as if getting his dick wet has made him some fucking horn dog, she's all he wants to do. Kinda like trying to make up for lost time, maybe.

"Another one? Naw. No, I'm just…" he looks around the coffee shop; it's quiet—it's late—but there are still a couple occupied tables, "I was just-did you wanna… I dunno," he shrugs, looking into his coffee, "come back to my place tonight?"

Her cheeks are blushing near swollen when he glances up, but the smile on her face bolsters his confidence. All that fragrant affection and sweetness makes Carmy feel warm despite the chill the old coffee shop's heater just can't shake. 

"Sure. Did you, umm… " her thumbs brush the lip of her cup, "what-what did you wanna do?"

"Fuck you again," it's an exhale laced with self-deprecating humor to mask his nerves.

"Oh," her lips form a puffy little circle, reminding him how it felt to have them wrapped around his cock earlier. The light rush of blood to his groin almost makes him laugh, like his body waking up for the first time. Carmy needs to reign it in… doesn't wanna come across as desperate or greedy, but then again…

"Sorry, that was… I just-just wanna keep doing whatever this is." He tries to emphasize whatever 'this is' with a palm waving against his chest, gesturing between them, "Been awhile since I've felt like…" 

The word escapes him, though a quick glance at her soft smile says she gets it.

"This. Yeah," she whispers, grin growing.

"Yea, this." Carmy agrees and takes a sip of black coffee, bitter and nutty; the roast over-brewed but rich. 

"And, yes, by the way… I'm up for round two if you are."

"Good," he breathes out, a mixture of relief and palpitations.

"Good."

After a minute of comfortable silence, an older Italian man sets a ceramic dish of cheese and raspberry danishes on the table, sparing a fleeting glance between them before dropping a few napkins by the pastries and ambling back behind the counter.

Carmy watches over thin steam trails as she slides the dish between them and breaks off a corner heaped with sweetened mascarpone. She pops it between her lips and sighs, "These things are always better a little stale."

Carmy's brows lift even as his lashes lower, "Didn't think you'd be the type."

She throws him a smart look and takes a sip of tea before snapping the Danish in half and shoving the flaky, sticky thing in her mouth. It's adorable—cute and sweet, and Carmy's heart beats a little faster… or is that the caffeine?

"Don't be such a purist, Carmy," she says after swallowing, brushing away crumbs, and licking her lips clean. He thinks of cum and blowjobs and kisses in the dim office back at the shop and nervous habits in the rain beneath the car park… and his breathing stalls for a second. Then she takes another bite and hums at the look on his face like she knows—fucking knows—exactly what's on his mind. 

Like he's become some fuckin' horn dog overnight. Wild to think about. Cousin would probably bark at the moon knowing his baby bitch got laid.

Thank fuck it's Sunday tomorrow.

Carmy's shoulders laugh, lips twisted, "Look, don't for a second think I've never eaten three-day-old pasta out the fridge in the middle of the night… cause I've done even worse than that. Not even ashamed," a pause, "... well, maybe a bit."

"Ah, so your standards are finally called into question, Chef of the Year, " she jokes and gestures for him to finish the cheese danish while she breaks the raspberry one in half. "Seriously, I could never understand why my old pâtissier wanted these batched fresh every few hours… something about the filling solidifying, gunking up the filo… just tastes better the next day."

Nostalgic patina coats her words, her cheeks, and her eyes. It looks sad but full, and Carmy swallows before sinking back into his chair. They've talked about childhoods and pasts a few times, but it feels different now. Things are different, so Carmy scrubs his palm across his lips and settles in.

"When I was a kid, my brother and… we'd make pizzas on the weekend, right? Just the two of us. Every Monday morning for breakfast, we'd eat the leftovers cold," he says, licking his lips and tasting salt, "but it wasn't just cold pizza, like, it was homemade, so not so bad. But the thing is, we'd end up ladling these huge globs of jelly and peanut butter on them, fold 'em in half, and have these cold pizza peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch."

"That sounds…" pausing, then her nose scrunches with a smile, "super gross."

Carmy laughs silently, "Not as gross as congealed sweet cheeses."

The sadness melts away, and her eyes twinkle with mirth. 

" Mmm, same level of heresy, but… that's the power of nostalgia, yeah? As kids, we eat what's there or easy, and it sticks with us…"

"Guess you could say food's good at that."

"Hm?" It's a mindless sound as she stares intently ahead, right into his own sleepy, dreamy gaze mixed with gap-toothed times of old and love-drunk highs of now.

"Memories," Carmy clarifies, "You know, making us feel shit when we're—fuck, I dunno—when we're struggling… like a stale danish can make us just fucking forget about everything for a while."

"… yeah. Or like, not just forget but feel."

"Yeah." He likes that. Feeling instead of forgetting or reliving bullshit that leaves him full of grief and bitterness. If he squints, looking for those feelings, they're far away, replaced by syrupy sweetness and sex hormones.

"Heh, yeah." She muses with a blush, fingers pitter-pattering against her cup of tea, eyes trained through the dark window pane on her right and then back at him with an even deeper color, "So, umm… think I'm ready to go—go back to yours I mean."

"Bake some fresh danishes, right? Or?" Carmy smirks, feeling oddly confident.

A coy little smile hitches up on one side of her face, "Or, maybe danishes if you're lucky."

"First time… starting to think I might be."

Lucky… yeah.

AO3 Link: HERE

[batwynn]

Stiles is on his hands and knees—not praying, but maybe begging for a break. It’s been so much nonstop, and he’s no longer tired. No. He’s something else completely. It’s transformed him so much that the back of his hands look unfamiliar. The dirt under his nails is at least a week old. The blood older. Stained. He’s long since given up trying to wash his hands clean of it. And why should he? There’s always more. It’s always his fault.

That something else twists under his skin and asks, “why?”

Stiles doesn’t know anymore. It’s something Scott said when it all began. That taking responsibility was important, because no one else would or could. But he was also, like, nineteen so maybe that depth Stiles felt in statement was a little naive.

“Why?” It chitters, twisting its way from the pit that is his empty stomach.

He hasn’t eaten in… days? Maybe? He’d been raw dogging his ADHD meds with barely a sip of water between them. Same with the ibuprofen. Stiles knows he has an ulcer, but who the fuck has the time for that? Who has the time to pat them on the back anymore. Responsibly implied appreciation, at some point. Big Damn Heroes. Is that what they did it for? Christ, they were naive.

His left ring finger is a little crooked—nail bed broken. The skin looks inflamed around it like infection is kicking off and Jesus Christ, who has the time?

He hears someone breathing nearby and he knows it’s the only sign of life he’ll get for a while. Derek’s been out for an hour at least. Once again riddled with holes, all silent pain and loud anger. And Stiles is still on his knees, begging.

Begging.

The something else clicks its claws in his ears now. The question remains. Why?

Why is it their responsibility? Because no one else could? That’s not exactly true, though is it? Adults around the world live with supernatural things in their lives. A whole shit ton of them took on the responsibility of shooting the fuck out of them when they got spicy. So why, again, was it them? Why teenagers? Why didn’t Stiles tell his dad right away? Let some of that burden off of his shoulders when Scott got bitten?

Oh, right. Wait. That was his fault Scott got bit. His responsibility. Is that where it started?

And then—and then years later it was his fault all over again. The thing wearing his face, anyway. His face, though.

A sudden, ugly cough bursts out of him. It sounds so bad, but luckily it doesn’t wake up Derek. Stiles sits up properly and looks over at him. They’d both collapsed on the floor of his loft after the battle, already beyond thinking about bed or couch or anything soft. Derek’s blood is smeared across the floor and soaked into the carpet. The brand new carpet. Something about it fills Stiles with unbridled rage. It was one of those rare Derek smiles—something soft and private that he felt so lucky to see. A dusty blue pattern on white. A little fancy, a little foolish, maybe. Who gets a white carpet when their lives are… this?

Still.

Derek deserves a white carpet. He deserves to smile when he gets something for himself. He deserves to decorate, and like things, and have a life, and think about the future. Not whatever this is.

Stiles looks back down at his hands again, resting on his thighs. They’re shaking now that the weight is off of them, like the pressure removed gave them permission to show weakness. He doesn’t bother to stop them. No one’s looking, anyway. He doesn’t need to be strong, and smart, and all together. He can be a little untethered. A little something else.

Derek’s breathing shifts, and Stiles knows he has only a few minutes before the man is awake again. He knows that it will be minutes after that where Derek will shove the weakness down again, and pick himself up off the floor. He’ll check Stiles over. He’ll listen to his heart, his rattling breath. Check the air for the scent of sepsis. And then, satisfied that he’s not in immediate danger, go fetch a bucket and a mop. Stiles will try to save the carpet when Derek doesn’t allow himself to.

Stiles picks at his non-fashionably sliced up jeans.

“Why?”

Because he’s the only one who will and the only one who can.

[rabiesofficial]

A band recently fired their vocalist cause the dude was secretly dosing another band mate with estrogen bro 🥶

“We have decided to part ways with our vocalist Diego due to admission of very disturbing and concerning behavior towards one of our band members and their partner. He has admitted to being obsessed with said partner, and has been attempting to sabotage their relationship by cutting pre workout he frequently gifts from his job with high amounts of estrogen in them.

He has been attempting to force a transition onto him for the last 5 months, in hopes that would give him the opportunity to ‘swoop in’ once he looked stronger and more manly in comparison. (Stupid cave man mindset that makes zero sense) This tampering has caused confusion and thousands of dollars in medical bills the past months trying to figure out whats wrong.

We would not know any of this unless Diego had gotten way too intoxicated and ousted himself, and then stated an admission to all of this via text. There are many more disgusting details that have been left out for the sake of privacy and general censorship.”

“As for Diego’s response, it cannot be further from the truth on the supplement side of things. The only sealed products he would provide were proteins, but the other products were always unsealed because they were tossed at his job if they couldn’t sell it hence why it was free.

He also has easy access to steroids and hormones because of his gym practices. I am going to be seeing an endocrinologist over the next few months to track my hormonal fluctuations to see if my estrogen levels are extremely heightened and go back to normal over time. I have had physical changes from the hormones besides stomach ulcers, weight loss, and muscle fatigue that I will not get into, as well as notable mental changes.

I will also be getting the last batch of pre workout he gave me tested for estrogen, I have about 2-3 full cups of it left. He will not pass off what he admitted to as a joke or confusion even in his state of drunkenness. What he did is disgusting and has had an immense negative effect on my life.”

[diioonysus]

creepy/messed-up history facts

the man in the booth across from lincoln was named major henry rathbone, and after booth fired the shot, rathbone tried to tackle him to the ground, but booth sliced rathbone in the arm with a dagger. after that night, rathbone was never free of guilt. he suffered from stomach ailments to heart palpitations, and on december 23rd 1883, he attacked and killed his wife clara, and attempted to kill himself. he spent the rest of his life in a mental institution.

in 1494, sailors returning from the new world brought with them massive outbreak of syphilis, which spread through an entire french army, and with no antibiotics to counteract it, the disease spread unchecked. the skin on victims' faces would essentially rot away from the grisly ulcers. in some cases, the noses, lips and other body parts of the affected people were essentially gone.

in 1890, thomas edison, using wax cylinder, produced a line of baby dolls. they had wooden bodies, procelain heads, and miniature phonographs in their chests. the phonographs would play back recordings of young women reciting nursery rhymes like "hictory dickory dock," and "now i lay me down to sleep." (here's the audio of them x)

dentures used to be made from the teeth of dead soldiers. they were ivory base plates with real human teeth attached, a lot of these were sold to dentists by scavengers looting corpses from the battle of waterloo. the dentists would boil the them down, cut off the roots, attach them to ivory plates, and sell them.

in 1929, a pair of scientists at princeton university wanted to test and understand how the auditory nerve percieves sound, and their test subject was an alive cat. they cut out part of its brain and attached one end of a telephone wire to its auditory nerve and the other end to a reciever. weirdly enough, many researchers think this helped lead to the development of cochlear implants. but the cat was killed after the scientists wanted to see if it worked on a dead cat.

in 1726, mary toft told doctors that she gave birth to rabbits, and doctors were fully convinced until they found pieces of corn inside the stomach of one of the rabbits, proving that it hadn't developed inside her womb. she instead was manually inserting the rabbits to make the delivery look as realistic as possible.

it was believed that babies under the age of 15 months couldn't feel pain, so doctors would instead use muscle relaxers that had a paralytic effect to stop the baby from moving. this essentially meant they couldn't move or cry but they could still hear, see, and feel everything that was done to them. this was accepted up until 1980s

there was a tiger in india named man-eater of champawat who became dependent on human flesh, which at the turn of the 20th century inflicted a seven-year reign, killing 436 men, women, and children. she was eventually killed in 1907.

there was a book called "how the mail steamer went down in mid atlantic, by a survivor," which tells the story of an unnamed ocean liner that sinks in the atlantic. the protagonist is a sailor named thompson, who grows concerned over the lifeboat shortage, and sure enough the liners collides with a small sailing ship in a fog. as the ship sinks, only 200 of the 700 people on board survive. the second novella "the wreck of the titan: or, futility" by morgan robertson, follows the fictional ocean liner titan, which hits an iceberg in the north atlantic and sinks. like the titanic, the titan was described as the largest ship afloat at the time, both ships had a shortage of lifeboats, and the titan was dubbed "unsinkable." when the accident occurred, roberston simply said he was knowledgabe about maritime operations, saying "i know what i'm writing about, that's all."

some books created in the 18th and 19th century were bound in real human skin which was called anthropodermic bibliopegy. most of these books that were bound with human skin instead of animal skin were mostly based on anatomy or erotica.

during the battle of ramree island, which was fought between january and february 1945, japanese soldiers were cornered by english troops seeking to conquer burmese island of ramree, forcing japanese troops to cross 10 miles of swamp. the japanese soon began to suffer the effects of tropical diseases, but the presence of large numbers of scorpions, tropical mosquitoes and thousands of saltwater crocodiles, the world's largest reptiles, was even worse. In its genre. very aggressive beasts that can reach 8 meters in length and weigh more than a ton. according to some survivors, during the night, they were hunted one by one, in which the crocodiles would ambush them from underneath. and the survivors said the worst part was hearing the screams and the breaking of bones in the dark.

there is a cocodile named gustave (or was if you believe he's dead), a large nile crocodile in burundi who has been rumored to have killed 200-300 people. he's never been captured, but it has been stated that he could be "easily more than 20 feet, and weigh more than 2,000 pounds." he was/is estimated to be over 100 years old, and was/is described as having bullet wounds over his body, and his right shoulder blade was found to be deeply wounded, but they don't know what could have caused it. it's been rumored that he would leave the corpses he killed behind. in 2019, an article revealed he was killed, but there's no photographic evidence which leaves people doubting it's true.

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep3 Musings - Loumand

Last post, I promise; I needed another nap; this ep's a freaking rollercoaster. And these two queens nearly gave me a stress ulcer!

DEBATABLE, Louis. I can think of FAR worse vamps than you, love.

Why're y'all having this whole conversation where anyone can hear?

They got Sartre's wall-eyes down; good makeup this season, team! 👌

DreamStat's a Loumand bed-death truther, jfc. 😭

I wanna know EXACTLY what Armand sees--or "feels"--whenever DreamStat pops up in Lou's head. Cuz he clearly knows precisely where Les is; he looks right in his direction. But does he HEAR Les too? (God I hope not, this song would've had me SEETHING--Back to Hell with you! 😅)

"Oh dear" indeed; I was HOLLERING.

SAM WAS DEVOURING THIS SCENE HOLY GOD GO AWAY DEMON

Armand looked PISSED, I was scared for Louis' life! And he DOES know, actually, yes Lou. I can almost GUARANTEE that he knows PRECISELY where Lestat is AT THIS VERY MOMENT, yes Lou.

If only you knew.... 😬

Claudia's suffered more than Christ. And nice cut to Daniel sneaking around with Raglan James as Armand talks about Furies punishing "human wrongdoing." It's really interesting that Armand told the lawyer that LOUIS is the owner of the paintings. Is he the owner of the penthouse too? HOW MANY DEEDS DOES HE HAVE, ROLIN?

I wonder what AMC might be saying about Loumand's art collection, not just wrt what we know about art heist!Armand (which we'll likely see a nod to in Ep4 at the Louvre); but also wrt what we know about Dubai's godawful neocapitalist hellscape economy, and Loumand's "moralizing" about Parisian black markets in S01E02.

I wonder if that's the excuse Armand'll give the coven when Louis shows up for dinner in Ep4--very much NOT dead; and rips out Santiago's tongue.

WILD voice-over, cuz you KNOW that's what Santiago was thinking, too, LOL. (You wish, Francis.) But yes: Louis' finna end your whole career. XD

Another TERRIFYING jumpscare from the coven, like in Ep2 with Annika. Louis, I am shocked & appalled--can you not HEAR all these vamps planning your bloody murder around you? CLAUDIA! WTF!?

But this is how you know Armand's true personality--he hates getting his hands dirty. He kills all the time, but he makes his victims' deaths pretty. He'd rather sit back & let Lestat/Louis come in and wreck his whole coven, even though he has the power to just light those mofos up all on his own! I wish AMC emphasized a bit more that Armand not only writes/directs the plays--he's an ACTOR, too. And istg he's an expert at PRETENDING to be helpless, meanwhile he's the strongest vamp that's NOT one of the Children of the Millennia (thanks to how well Marius made him).

Armand, that is LOW; waiting until Claudia's stuck under the oaths b4 you tell her she's guilty of breaking Great Laws she doesn't even know about yet. WTF?

How TF you gon' hold Louis accountable for following the Laws when he wasn't even allowed to be in the effing room when they were read!? He's not even a member! WTF! (I get it--any rogue vampires are subject to death, yadayada; we know it's a stupid policy.)

I love how he plans to leave by himself here--it had nothing to do with picking "another one" over Claudia. He just didn't want to hold her back anymore. And his presence was causing problems. 😭 It's so cute that Louis' stipulation about London was that if it's "too large" he'd leave and go to Ireland (?!?)--he's become agoraphobic or something? He just wants to be alone in his hermit hole--MOOD. 😭

Good to get confirmation that the Fire Gift here is Armand and blessedly NOT Santiago--so why's he zooming around in the sewers?

Look, sometimes folks make terrible first impressions--Lestat was being hella racist, Louis' always playing defense, Armand was finna kill Louis in a gay public park. It happens.

Foreshadowing like crazy, as usual.

WILD thing to say. I'm gonna cry, please stop.

(What kinda hypocrisy is that, when you were made young your dang self!?) She's already 30+ years old--maybe she'll last a little longer if y'all (read: sexist, racist, ageist, ableist, etc society) don't eff around tryna make her life even harder! But AMC's deliberately cutting Claudia's life in half, compared to the books, cuz misogynoir's real and Claudia gets NOTHING out of vampirism, not even a fair chance. And y'all let her into the coven KNOWING how much she loves y'all, and KNOWING y'all were gonna kill her. EFF THIS WHOLE COVEN, ARMAND INCLUDED. (Lemme calm down--this kind of betrayal is exactly how Lestat must've felt in S01E07; I get it; they're getting a taste of their own medicine. But LESTAT EFFING HAD IT COMING. The coven should've just told them: y'all got til sunrise to GTFO our territory, you're not welcome here. This whole bit's unnecessary.)

THE PARALLELS ARE PARALLELING

SKILL ISSUE. Cuz Louis' got the least power, and he's finna clear that whole bish out in just a couple episodes. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Louis, love, ARMAND DON'T GIVE A EFF ABOUT RAISING SOME OTHER MAN'S OFFSPRING. This is the call of the wild, as Alphas KILL the children their stolen Omega brides had for other Alphas/Betas, so he can restart the gene pool with HIS DNA instead. I know y'all had National Geographic back then already--READ A BOOK, Louis, it's what you're best at.

Incredible. After all of that Louis said Lestat never broke him. BENT BUT NEVER BROKEN, that's right! 💪😤

Boy, we're not talking about some little (unrequited) CRUSH over a man you only knew for a few months (which you've CLEARLY not gotten over yet). Louis was MARRIED to the man for 30 YEARS. This is his MAKER. Lestat knew his whole family; went to the Black cookouts and everything! They literally built a home AND business together! They raised a child together! WHATCHU KNOW ABOUT THAT!?

And that's LESTAT'S DAUGHTER TOO--how much can you possibly love EITHER of them while planning to knock her off!? I can't listen to too much more of this. *hands Louis the torch and scythe*

Beautiful end of this STACKED episode. Incredible work, AMC! Jacob acted his PANTS off; he excels at the trembling voice, agonized facial expressions, and utter mental breakdowns. He's pulling DEEP within him, holy god; it's so raw, it's almost hard to watch. EMMY WHEN?!

[happiness-of-the-pursuit]

Six Sentence Sunday

Hi everyone, thank you for the tags!

My brain just keeps cooking up WIPs (don't worry, none of the others have gone on hiatus), so the snippet I'm sharing here is from one that I came up with this past week: Shades of Bougainvillea, a chapter-by-chapter retelling of RWRB through the eyes of the ensemble. I'm going to be posting as I go for this one, because it's kind of a side project amidst my other works, and Chapter One (Martha) is now up, as of today!

This snippet is from Chapter Two (Shaan):

When Shaan Srivastava was reassigned to Henry in the wake of Arthur’s passing, he felt a small sense of relief. He avoided Philip, and the added pressures of being the equerry to the heir, and honestly, the mere idea of dealing with Bea’s recent tendency to sneak out and get up to all sorts of trouble at underground concerts gave him an ulcer. Henry, he’d thought, was the easy child—bookish, mild, and clearly having little desire to step into the limelight. Surely, the hardest part of his role would be providing comfort to a young man who recently lost his father, the man who Shaan himself was still mourning. After a brief time spent with Henry, Shaan was rather quickly reminded of the stupidity of making assumptions. Yet, even with the benefit of hindsight, he would elect to stand by Henry’s side—he now understands it’s where he’s meant to be.

Tags and thanks below the cut :)

Thank you for tagging @kiwiana-writes (beginning to feel like you with all the WIPs), @indomitable-love (funny you tagged me today because when describing the concept for this I was like "Imagine 'Lifelines' but spread out across the whole book"), @littlemisskittentoes (beta & cheerleader!!!) @getmehighonmagic @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @ssmtskw @nocoastposts @leojfitz @songliili @wordsofhoneydew @matherines @14carrotghoul @heybuddy-drabbles!!!!

I am tagging @affectionatelyrs @firenati0n @anincompletelist @anchoredarchangel @inexplicablymine @read-and-write- @everwitch-magiks @rockyroadkylers @rmd-writes @whimsymanaged @bidoofenergy @gayrootvegetable @gay-flyboys @cultofsappho @leaves-of-laurelin @msmarvelouswinchester @tintagel-or-cockleshells @xthelastknownsurvivorx and anyone else I am forgetting :) tag me :)

[spicedrobot]

what was lost, what was gained Ch. 2

A continuation of my amnesia maul fic. I'm also posting this on ao3 if any would prefer to read there! thanks @bluedaddysgirl for the original ask and @withercrown for the beta. 💕

-

Cody left the medbay. The general had the situation under control, and there was always another fire to put out in the 212th. By the time he made the long trip back to central command, he had only managed to loosen his jaw. 

Shake it off. Focus.

He acknowledged the troopers on duty and got to work. There was a small mountain of reports to get to, so he handled the most egregious ones first. Then he signed off on some requisition orders, adjusted the schedules of a few troopers, beefing up security. They hadn’t planned for a Sith prisoner, after all. If General Kenobi mentioned it later, Cody would be sure to press the issue.

Even if the general trusted Maul’s supposed amnesia, change of heart— whatever—it didn’t mean that it would last. They needed to be smart about this, and Cody didn’t have the Force to guide him. He only had his training and, barring that, his gut, which still hadn’t settled.

If this was the final straw that gave him an ulcer and he got reassigned to security detail like Commander Fox, he would throw himself out of the nearest airlock.

He surveyed the rations and supplies for the voyage to Coruscant. The trip wasn’t planned, but it was also the only good thing that had come out of the Sith’s presence. It gave the 212th a welcome reprieve from battle. The deployments had only grown in length and intensity these last few months, and though he and his men were proud and battle-hardened, they wore down the same as any soldier. 

As he finished his review, his wrist comm pinged. Even through the hazy banding of the holo, the general still managed to look exhausted.

“Commander Cody, please send someone to fetch my datapads and bring them to cell 202 in block two. I will be rooming here for the remainder of our voyage to Coruscant.”

Two-oh-two. The cell across from Maul’s. Cody frowned under his helmet. 

“General. If I may speak plainly…” General Kenobi nodded.  “You’re exhausted, sir. Surely you would sleep better in your own quarters.” He saw fight in the general’s expression and pressed on anyway. “I’ve added a few troopers to security detail, and I’ll personally oversee the prisoner while you rest.” 

The general ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. It was a mess. All of him was a mess, actually. 

“I would be asking too much—”

“—you wouldn’t.” And even if you did, I would do it anyway. “Would I lie to you, sir?” 

General Kenobi seemed to perk up at that, smiled a small, unguarded smile, short-lived though it was. 

“No, you wouldn’t,” the general replied. Against his better judgment, Cody felt his own lips twitch upward. 

“I’ll be there in five, general.”

“Of course. Thank you, Cody.” 

-

Cody pulled up a chair in front of cell 203. He wasn’t planning on relinquishing his post until the general had gotten proper rest. That meant letting him sleep past the beginning of his next shift. For all that General Kenobi stretched and skirted rules… Well, two could play that game. It would be good for him. Besides, the Sith was more or less inert—as much as that was even possible.

In the cell, secured behind two levels of ray shield, Maul was lounging on his cot. He dragged a clawed forefinger along the metal band on his neck. So the general wasn’t as trusting as Cody had thought… or maybe the Force-nullifying collar was for everyone else’s peace of mind, rather than his own.

Sssrk. Sssrk. Sssrk. Keratin on metal, just loud enough to hear over the hum of the shields. It was, of course, irritating. Cody almost adjusted his helmet’s adaptive sound parameters, but decided against it. He didn’t want the Sith to know that it bothered him. 

Even without the Force, Maul still looked as relaxed as he did when the general had handled him. Half-reclined on his cot, metal legs splayed, head propped against the durasteel wall. He didn’t acknowledge Cody in the slightest. His eyes were cast downward, a dark gaze through darker lashes. 

Cody pulled up Maul’s medical report on his datapad. It wasn’t as useful as he had hoped. A few blaster burns, several lightsaber wounds… including a stab through the shoulder. The general had checked that injury so fastidiously during his examination. Why? Had he felt guilty? The Sith wouldn’t have thought twice about killing him… or his entire squadron, for that matter.

The headache that had begun in the medbay bloomed behind Cody’s eyes. He continued to read.

Sssrk. Sssrk. Sssrk. There was slight cranial trauma, but it didn’t seem like the kind of injury that would cause amnesia. Though their knowledge on this race of zabrak was limited. Few of them ever left Dathomir, and their people were a secretive bunch.

Sssssrk. Sssssrk. Sssssrk. Cody looked up without raising his head, watching the Sith through his visor. The scratching had slowed, elongated, dragging from one side of his neck to the other. The motion looked unnervingly like cutting a throat. Just how sharp were his claws?

“If you break your collar, I’ll be forced to sedate you. Or worse,” Cody warned.

Maul didn’t stop immediately, finishing the motion before the block fell silent. He looked up at Cody then. Cody stared back. The Sith was a frightening figure, even in repose. Cody couldn’t imagine what he looked like normally, yellow eyes drowned in red and black, saberstaff arcing and blazing, singing for blood. The general could kill as easily as breathing. If a Jedi could do that, what was a Sith’s capacity for violence?

“Commander… Cody, was it?” Maul asked. He drew himself up, sitting back against the wall. “I hope you will excuse my… hesitance during your medic’s initial examination attempts. As you know, I was not in my right mind.”

Cody wanted to laugh. “And are you in it now? Your right mind?”

The man’s frown was slight, soft. “No, I suppose not. But I am no longer acutely disoriented.” Maul touched his own face, a seemingly absent gesture. Thumb followed forefinger over chin. He blinked. Caught Cody’s gaze again. The shift was abrupt, the attention intense.

“Would you remove your helmet, Commander?”

Cody bristled. “Why?”

“Let’s call it curiosity.” The way he dragged out the last word, rolling it along his tongue, made Cody’s skin crawl. 

Fear. It was a healthy response, but it angered Cody anyway. He took a long breath. Focused. Maul couldn’t hurt him. He also had to watch the Sith for several more hours. What was the harm in humoring his request?

Cody took off his helmet. He met Maul’s gaze head on.

“Hm. Another clone,” Maul said. He looked away, as if he’d seen everything there was to see. “Though you have a fine scar. Attractive, among my people."

The insult was expected. The compliment was not. What was Maul playing at?

“Thanks,” Cody murmured, wary. “It’s attractive to humans, too.”

Maul smirked. A sharp, mean expression. “Is it now…” he trailed off, as if lost in thought. But his lips remained upturned, as if he was enjoying some amusing joke all to himself. Cody wasn’t about to ask after it.

Exhaustion, when it caught up to the Sith, was sudden. Cody had only just returned his attention to his datapad when he noticed Maul had fallen asleep. The Sith didn’t even have the chance to lay down. It looked like an uncomfortable position.

Cody didn’t wake him.

-

“Commander,” General Kenobi said. His voice was carefully pleasant. He was annoyed. 

Cody kept his own expression neutral. “Sir?” 

The general approached. His inner robe was neatly tucked, but the collar of his outer was folded under itself on one side. His hair was still a mess. His complexion was ruddier than normal.

“It seems I’ve overslept…” He ran his fingers through his hair, as if only realizing its current state. “I was so tired, in fact, I seemed to have forgotten to set my alarms.”

Cody fought the urge to smile. “It was no problem, general. Nothing unusual to report in your absence.”

General Kenobi sighed. “I know it was you, Cody.” The ire in his voice softened. “I appreciate your concern, but there are schedules for a reason.”

“Of course, sir. I won’t adjust your chronos again.” 

I’ll just have Gregor do it. 

“You know I can tell when you’re being facetious. You’re very bad at hiding it.” The general crossed his arms, but his own facade was broken. He shook his head, and then he smiled. It was one of those looks that made Cody feel like he was watching the sun break through the clouds on Kamino. “Thank you, Cody. It was nice getting a full night’s sleep for once.”

He touched Cody’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. Cody could hardly feel it through the armor, but that didn’t matter.

“Of course, sir. Anytime,” Cody replied. They both smiled, sharing that small, short-lived peace. No enemy to fight, no problem to fix. Not in that moment.

Maul watched them through his eyelashes, feigning sleep. He did not smile, but he did experience a sort of strange pleasure from the sight before him, knowing not where the cruel glee from within had manifested.

Next chapter ->

[lilmissnatcat24]

i need to know more abt this shakarian regency au!!

hehe thank you! regency au's are my guilty pleasure lol

“I fear I am nearing the title of spinster more and more each day, precariously so,” Shepard said. “Most notably after the disastrous failures to court her grace, Princess T’Soni, it seems the queue of suitors I possess dwindles by the hour.” 

Garrus, placing his elbow on the table in front of him, leaned in, his monocle twinkling in the candlelight. “You know, an observation I have often made of humans--” 

“Oh, please, my lord. I am simply ravenous at the thought of hearing your well-researched and perfectly sound opinions of my race,” Shepard said sarcastically, placing a condescendingly light hand on the bare skin of her chest. 

Garrus gave a snorting little half chuckle, barely even enough to actually quantify as a laugh, as if emotion was something that needed to be censored before it graced his face. “As I was saying, for how confident you humans portray yourselves to be, it is often muddled with the cripple of deprecating dubiety. No doubt you could find a suitor, there is still time before the season is over.” 

“Could I now?” Shepard asked with an all-too cynical glance at Garrus. “And who might you suggest, my lord?” 

“I don't know!” Garrus said, in mock offense. “It’s your suitor after all, isn’t it? Come now, Miss Shepard, you can’t honestly tell me that not one eligible spouse has caught your attention this entire season?” 

“Well…” Shepard said, her eyes searching up at the frescos on the ceiling, as if they held all of the answers for her. “Perhaps the Viscount, Lord Taylor, would not be a horrible prospect.” 

Garrus made a twisted sort of face at that. It was hard to pinpoint the emotion exactly. But it looked as though someone had wafted a pile of varren dung underneath his nose, yet he was attempting to be polite about it. It almost made Shepard laugh, had it not been Vakarian, who was still in her mind’s eye to be her sanctimonious mortal nemesis. 

“You disapprove, my lord?” Shepard asked, not attempting to cover up the sarcasm oozing from her tone. 

“I shall not comment on whomever has caught your eye as a suitor,” Garrus said, awfully pompous and polite. It was as if someone had trained him on exactly what a gentleman should say in exactly every conversation-- which was about as charming as talking to an elcor about international politics. “However… I will say… has the Viscount not struck you… as…?” His words hung in the air, struggling to find a logical adjective that was both biting and horribly civil.

“Careful now, my lord. You risk an ulcer with all of that thought.” 

“Dull,” Garrus finished, looking awfully pleased with himself. 

“Yes,” Shepard said after some careful consideration. “Yes, I suppose the Viscount is not the most rousing of gentlemen, particularly in social settings. Although, I will not deny that, at the bare minimum, he is not unpleasant to gaze upon.” 

“Why, Miss Shepard,” Garrus said, looking terribly offended. Yet his voice trembled with the lightness of humor. “I never knew you to be so shallow.” 

“Then you do not know me well at all, my lord, for I am nothing more than a vain, vapid creature,” Shepard said. “Perhaps then, Miss Chambers may be better suited for me, would you agree?” 

That same, pained expression flitted across Garrus’s face, but this time he did not seem to struggle as much to be polite. “And she, you don’t find awfully eager?”

“Is it a bad thing to be eager?” 

“Pardon the assumption, but you do not strike me as the type of person that needs to talk in length about your ever-confounding feelings each waning hour of the day.” 

Shepard paused. No, she was not that person. Although, she would not give Garrus the satisfaction of making the correct assumption, so she remained silent. That seemed to please him well enough, as a soft, trilling noise came from deep in his chest. 

“Well then, what of Lord Krios? He is a friend of yours, is he not? Surely you could not find fault in his character as my future husband?” 

“You would risk scandal yet again to marry a widower, fifteen years your senior?” Garrus said, this time sounding genuinely offended. “Come now, Miss Shepard, surely you do not have such a harsh opinion of yourself.” 

“Then who shall I marry?” Shepard asked, throwing her hands up in the air. “Seeing as you shot down every eligible prospect that still may look my way after my failure with Princess T’Soni?” 

“I suppose you could find yourself a true myriad of suitors,” Garrus said, gesturing at the rest of the party carrying on behind the two of them. “Once they find your true, stimulating nature--?” 

“Stimulating?” Shepard repeated with a laugh. 

Garrus’s neck seemed to turn slightly blue. He adjusted the tassel around his carapace, which looked to be an awfully itchy garment he wore. “I mean to say you can carry a conversation better than half the people in the ton. And-- I fear to admit this, seeing as it would go straight to your head-- but your quick wit is sure to charm the odd suitor or two. Although, I will say that it is often sullied with sarcasm and offensive remarks, so I would advise you to watch your tongue.” 

“My lord, that may be the kindest thing I’ve ever heard uttered from your lips,” Shepard said, oozing with all of that offensive sarcasm that so sullies her speech. 

“And, well, if I’m being perfectly honest, you are not a wholly unappealing person upon the eyes--” 

“You flatter me so.” Except Garrus, for some reason, was seeming to look everywhere but her at the moment. At his silver cutlery in front of him, at the porcelain plates with food gone yet untouched, at the silver wine goblets that certainly were touched. “If you are so keen to sing my praises, then why is it that you do not marry me yourself?” 

Shepard knew as soon as she said it that it was not the right thing to say. Garrus, who was already peaky, seemed to turn positively gray at the comment. He opened his mouth several times as if to say something, then closed it, giving the distinct impression of a fish that had been taken out of the water only to flounder helplessly on land. Shepard felt a blush rise in her cheeks. She was acutely aware of the corset that was digging in her ribs, and the complete lack of cool air around her, thick and claggy and threatened to suffocate her.

[enhafilthandfiction]

oh, im ok! thank you🥰(its a stomach ulcer but its healing now)

can i request a txt reaction where their fat!gf loses too much weight too fast because she literally cant eat anything so now she cant look at herself naked without crying?

TXT's Reaction to when you feel Insecure about your Body

A/N : That's good, I'm glad it's healing 💖 Thankyou for requesting, I hope I understood this request correctly and that I don't upset anyone in any way. If you're struggling with eating disorders my inbox is always open if you want to talk :)) And if you can, please eat, eating doesn't effect appearance or weight, remember that your gorgeous, pretty, beautiful, handsome and bombastic 😍

Check out my latest fic!

Pairing : bf!txt X Fem!reader

Warnings : Mentions of body image, food, reader not liking their appearance, lots of crying, slight angst, (not) eating, txt being very supportive and taking care of reader, Slightly suggestive in soobin's reaction!! Some cursing here and there.

Word count : 2,471 (about 500 words each)

Masterlist

★ Choi Yeonjun ★

"Y/n! Dinner is ready!" he yelled from downstairs, setting the table and waiting for you to come eat. He had been cooking himself lately, spending more time in the kitchen since he noticed you weren't eating as much.

He thought maybe you were finding it difficult to cook or maybe you just didn't know what to eat. This evening he made your favourite, in hopes that you would eat something. But when you gave no response and didn't show up at the table, he got worried.

He rushed upstairs and knocked softly on you bedroom door, not wanting to startle you. "Y/n, baby, are you okay?" he asked through the door, waiting for your answer.

"Y-yeah, I'm not hungry" you mumbled back weakly, making him pout, he could hear the sadness in your voice. Were you crying?

He opened the door worriedly, inhaling sharply and hoping you don't snap at him. Once he was inside, his eyes landed on your half-naked figure, leaning against the full body mirror, eyes closed as you quietly sobbed.

"Hey, hey baby" he called out, running at you and taking you in his arms "Shh, It's okay, it's alright" he assured, lightly running his hands through your hair, trying to calm you down.

You sobbed rapidly in his chest, hiding your face in his shirt, wetting the thin fabric. He could feel your cold tears against his skin, breaking his heart even further. "Y-you weren't supposed to-" you sob "-to see me like this" your lips quiver, feeling ashamed.

"Shh, calm down baby" he shushes "Wanna tell me what's wrong?" he pulls away, holding your face in his hands as his thumbs swipe away your tears. He smiles sadly at your red eyes and wet lashes.

You were only in your underwear, bra and panties being the only fabrics covering your body. "I -don't like the w-way I look" you sniff, looking at everything but his face, trying to avoid his worried eyes.

"You shouldn't say that baby, you're the prettiest person I've even seen in my whole existence" he compliments honestly.

"But I don't like my body" fresh tears roll down your cheeks "I've gotten so thin suddenly and, and this-, I'm n-not used to this" you explain, stuttering.

"Well I love your body and I don't care about thin or thick, I'd love you just the same" he explains back, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips "I love you Y/n"

You offer him a little smile, "I love you too Junnie" you sigh and hug him back, feeling his arms hug you tight against his body.

"Now I know you can't quite eat at the moment, but please do try" he pleads "And I don't want you staining your pretty face with tears anymore" he scolds, kissing your soft lips once again.

★ Choi Soobin ★

Things were getting heated between you two. You sat on his lap, his big hands holding your waist, lightly grinding you against him. His plush lips were on yours, his tongue exploring your mouth. His hands were wandering down to the hem of your hoodie, tugging at it gently.

"Can I take it off?" he asks, breathing heavily below you. You think about it for a second. Your body has changed a lot recently and you worry about what he would think if he saw you naked.

"Y/n? Baby you alright?" he asked you, noticing you zoning out in your thoughts.

"Ughh- yeah, sure" you reply, letting him take off the hoodie, leaving you in your bra. His hands hesitantly pulled of the fabric, noticing the way you dodged his question at the beginning. He payed close attention to your expression once he did, making sure you weren't uncomfortable or anything.

He looked at your unsure expression. "Here, I'll take mine off too" he offers, pulling his tee off his head. He wondered why you were behaving like this since you've did this quite a couple of times already. Did he do something wrong?

He pushed his thoughts away as you lean back in, kissing him a little harder this time. When he places his hands on your bare hips, you audibly whimper, your body squirming, trying to get away from his touch.

Just as his hands are about to reach your thighs, he feels a wet tear against his cheek, immediately pulling away when he notices you crying. "S-shit Y/n, what's the matter baby?" he asks, worried that he did something wrong "Did I make you feel uncomfortable?"

You shake your head no and he visibly relaxes, relief washing over him. "Than what is it sweetheart?" he questions, his hands coming up to stroke your cheek.

"Do I look ugly?" you ask, your hands covering your face, attempting to hide from him.

"What?" he asks back, completely dumbfounded "Why would you say that?"

"My body is u-ugly" you sniff, breathing shakily as your body shudders "I'm sorry Soob, I've lost s-so much weight and it's j-just not me anymore"

He sighs sadly, his arms wrap around your torso as he brings you down onto his larger body, hugging you close as you sob into his bare shoulder. "You don't need to apologize love, it's not your fault you can't eat properly at the moment" he assured, gently petting your hair "I don't mind if you lose weight or gain weight, its just a number anyway"

You breathe deeply as relief washes over you, trying to calm down and stop your tears. You pull away and sniff, his thumbs wiping away your tears. You nod and breathe shakily. "I'm sorry for ruining the moment" you apologize, sniffing once again "I just didn't know how you'd react since my form changed a little" you explain.

"No need to apologize sweetie" he reassures "It's totally fine, actually, do you want to watch a movie instead?" he asks sweetly, rubbing your sides gently.

You nod happily, getting dressed once again and settling under the covers with him as he puts on your favourite movie.

"I love you Y/n"

"I love you too Soobs, thankyou"

★ Choi Beomgyu ★

It was a nice afternoon and you and Beomgyu decided to go to the mall and get some new clothes for you, since he's been complaining about you stealing his shirts.

You went around the whole store, finally picking out some nice-looking shirts that matched your vibe or the he randomly picked out for you because he thought would look good on you.

He grabbed your hand, pulling you to the changing rooms, so you could try them on before buying them. Once you were both in the little cube, his hands were on your hips, his lips on your lips, kissing you deeply.

"Ugh, I missed you so much baby" he whined dramatically after he pulling away, making you playfully roll your eyes at him. You've literally been with him the whole day. "Can I watch you change?" he asked you all of a sudden.

"Woah, that totally didn't sound perverted" you scoff sarcastically. You were starting to feel anxious. You didn't want him to see you like this; half naked, when you couldn't even look at yourself half naked.

"Does that mean I could stay?" he asks hopefully, waiting for your answer.

"Uhh, I don't know Beommie" you admit, suddenly looking down, hoping he wouldn't ask why.

"Why? Do I make you nervous?" he asks joking, poking your sides and flicking his eyebrows up and down. You giggle at his actions but still don't give him an answer.

He suddenly gets serious. "Seriously Y/n, why? Did I do something wrong?" he asks, paying close attention this time.

"No Beommie, it's not that" you trail off, but he looks at you expectantly, encouraging you to continue "It's just that my body changed a l-lot and you might not like what you see"

His eyes widen in disbelief, eyebrows not visible in his fringe. "W-what?" he questions in disbelief "That's so silly Y/n, you know I'd always like you no matter what" he assures, sitting down on the little stool in the fitting room.

"Come here" he pats his thighs, making you sit in his lap. "Hey, I know you weren't able to eat that much lately which is why you've noticed a change in your body, but just know that whatever body type you have, I'll still love you the same, okay?" he assured, placing his hands on your hips and smiling up at you lovingly.

You nodded at him, leaning down to hug him, breathing in his comforting scent in the process. "Now get off me and try on these shirts for me" he ordered "Can you do that for me honey?" he batted his eyelashes at you, pressing s kiss to your forehead before you got up.

He couldn't stop throwing heart-felt compliments at you after every top you tried on, wolf whistling when you took off a top to try on another. "Fuck, I have the sexiest girlfriend"

★ Kang Taehyun ★

It was already about dinner time and you and Taehyun had just arrived home after a whole day at the gym. He loved working out, but especially when you were there; either watching him or working out with him.

You entered the bathroom, ready to take a quick shower when he opened the door, not knowing you were already in there. "Tae!" you quickly grab a towel and cover up your naked body, making him furrow his brows in confusion.

"What's the matter babe?" he asks you "You know this isn't the first time I'm seeing you naked right?" he says rather cockily, smirking at you.

You breathe out shakily. How were you going to tell him? You had changed so much recently, how would he react? Your heart sank at his question.

"Can we shower together?" he questions hopefully. You had already showered quite a couple of times before so it shouldn't be a big deal right??

"Umm" you think about it for a second, watching him as he takes off his top, showing off his ripped body. He was so confident with his body that it made you self conscious. "I don't know" your voice is unsure.

"Oh come on Y/n" he encourages "I won't get soap in your eyes I promise" he's taking his pants off, waiting for your answer.

"You can shower first, it's fine I can wait" you smile, already making your way out the door.

"But I wanna shower with you" He whines, trying his best to convince you. "Showering without you is cold and boring" he complains with a pout. He notices you dodging the action and wonders why.

Your face suddenly turns down into a frown, your eyes welling slightly as you try not to cry in front of him and embarrass yourself. You breathe out shakily, holding back your tears.

"Hey Y/n, it's okay, we don't have to shower together" he assures, giving you some space. "If you want to shower alone it's fine, but please tell me why. Did I do something wrong?" he asks, wanting to know why you've gotten so upset suddenly.

"No Tae, not at all" you mumble "It's just that I'm not as confident with my body" you say, voice laced with sadness and disappointment at yourself.

His heart sinks when he hears you say that. "What do you mean Y/n? You know I love you and your body no matter what" he comforts, now coming closer and embracing you.

"Y-yeah but now my body has changed a little" you explain, burying your face in his firm chest. You breathe in deeply, blocking away the tears.

"I don't care if your body changes or not, it's still your body and I'll always love it" he admits "Plus, I don't love you for your body Y/n"

"But you have such a nice body compared to me" you whine, feeling him hug you closer.

"You know I only work out so I can carry heavy things for you right? The muscles are only a bonus" he explains, making you giggle.

"Ew, you're so sweaty Tyun. You need a shower" you say suddenly.

"I won't shower unless you shower with me" he clarifies stubbornly.

He ends up praising you endlessly, making you blush whilst he gently lathers your gorgeous body up in soap, complimenting each part he washes.

★ Huening Kai ★

The day was finally here. You were seeing Kai after a few months since he's been on tour. You were feeling quite nervous, your body has changed a lot of and you worried about what he'd think. Would he even recognise you?

You were getting ready, when you hear the front door open. You run downstairs in shock, only to be more shocked when you see him at the door, already here.

"Surprise!" he announces, a big smile plastered on his adorable face.

"You're home early" you say, running up to him and giving him a big hug. He can't help but notice a change in your body. You seemed shorter, or perhaps smaller??

He doesn't say anything not wanting to upset you or ruin the mood, being happy to finally see you.

You were glad he hasn't said anything about your appearance. Maybe it was more unnoticeable than you though which is why he hasn't noticed anything yet.

Its only until dinner time when he confronts you about it. He's happy to see you trying to eat, but he wonders if you ate while he was away or if you have been forgetting to eat. He felt upset that he didn't remind you to eat over text.

"Uhh Y/n, have you been eating while I was away?" he asks, making you inhale sharply. You knew he would ask sooner or later.

"Uhh yeah. Well I tried to eat" you admit, watching him frown.

"What do you mean? Were you skipping meals?" he questions again, this time slightly worried than before.

"No no, I wasn't skipping meals, it's just that I wasn't really able to eat these past weeks that's it" you explain, giving him valid reasons to why you weren't eating as much.

He knew you were being truthful, relief taking over him since he was already starting to blame himself.

"I was actually a little worried" you admit "You know, about what you'd think when you saw me again" you explain.

He sighs "Y/n I hope you know that I don't mind your body. You could be short, tall, chubby, thin, I don't really care" he assures "I'm just trying to look out for you, as long as you're healthy it's okay" he smiles again, reaching over the table to hold your hand.

"I love you Y/n. And not just for your body"

"I love you too Kai"

Thankyou for reading!! I really tried to keep with the ask but i think it differed a little 😭 I hope it's still okay tho!

Inbox is open for small, short requests! It is also open if you just want to talk :)

Have a nice day and remember that ily <333

If you enjoyed this post, you can help support my blog by tipping me here! Anything is highly appreciated! <3

[olympic-paris]

THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more …

September 10

1487 – Julius III (d.1555), pope from 1550 to 1555, created one of the most notorious homosexual scandals in the history of the papacy. He was the protégé of Julius II (pope from 1503 to 1513), himself a "sodomite covered with shameful ulcers," according to the schismatic Council of Pisa convened by his enemies, the Holy Roman Emperor and the French king, in 1511.

Julius III was born Giovanni Maria Ciocchi del Monte in 1487. He studied law in Perugia and Bologna before taking religious orders. After holding numerous offices in the Papal States, he was made a cardinal in 1536. A skilled expert in canon law, del Monte served as governor of Rome. As cardinal-bishop of Palestrina, he was one of the three co-presidents who opened the celebrated Counter Reformation Council of Trent in 1545. He achieved the papacy five years later only because the respective candidates of France and the emperor were hopelessly deadlocked in one of the longest conclaves in papal history. Far from being a man of the Counter Reformation, however, Julius fit the earlier pattern of a pleasure-loving Renaissance pope fond of banquets, theater, and hunting. He did, however, effect some minor reforms, and he backed the newly formed Society of Jesus in its missions to India, China, and Japan. More notably, he supported Michelangelo as architect of St. Peter's and discovered the genius of Palestrina, whom he put in charge of the papal choir. Nevertheless, his leadership of the church was largely frustrated when political difficulties with Charles V caused him to suspend the Council of Trent indefinitely.

Julius III caused a major scandal by becoming infatuated with a fifteen-year-old beggar boy named Innocenzo whom he first saw fighting off an attack by a pet ape in 1548. He appointed this unprepossessing, rude, ill-mannered street urchin to the post of cathedral provost, which won him the soubriquet, il provestino. Two years later, in 1550, when Julius became pope, he had his brother adopt Innocenzo, and over the vehement protests from other church leaders he not only named him a cardinal but gave him a responsible administrative position as his "chief diplomatic and political agent," a task for which he was entirely incompetent.

Roman satire called the ill-favored boy Julius's "Ganymede," and the Venetian ambassador reported that Innocenzo shared the pope's bedroom and bed. As may be imagined, Protestant partisans seized on this succulent scandal, which became a staple of anti-papal polemics for over a century. It was said that Julius, awaiting Innocenzo's arrival in Rome to receive his cardinal's hat, showed the impatience of a lover awaiting a mistress and that he boasted of the boy's prowess in bed. No doubt such tales gained color in the telling.

A recent biography has argued that the relation was not sexual, but the outrageous extravagance of Julius's dotage suggests otherwise: Julius bestowed benefices on Innocenzo that gave him one of the highest incomes in Europe—beyond even that of the Medicis. After Julius's death in 1555, Innocenzo's status as a prince of the church was an extreme embarrassment to succeeding popes, who tried to curb the "voluptuous and indecent" lifestyle of the "Cardinal-Monkey." His murder of two servants—a father and the son who tried to defend him—led to his being imprisoned for several years in various monasteries. He was also tried for the rape of two woman "of low estate," but on this charge he escaped punishment. He died in 1577, aged 46.

The bodies of both Julius III and Innocenzo repose in the del Monte chapel in the church of San Pietro in Montorio, Rome.

1933 – Karl Lagerfeld (d.2019) was a German fashion designer, artist, and photographer based in Paris. He was the head designer and creative director of the fashion house Chanel as well as the Italian house Fendi and his own eponymous fashion label. Over the decades, he collaborated on a variety of fashion and art-related projects. He was well recognized around the world for his trademark white hair, black sunglasses, and high starched collars.

In 1993, he caused U.S. Vogue editor-in-chief Anna Wintour to walk out of his Milan Fashion Week runway show, when he employed strippers and adult-film star Moana Pozzi to model his black-and-white collection for Fendi.

There was much controversy from Lagerfeld's use of a verse from the Qur'an in his spring 1994 couture collection for Chanel, despite apologies from the designer and the fashion house. The controversy erupted after the 1994 couture show in Paris, when the Indonesian Muslim Scholars Council in Jakarta called for a boycott of Chanel and threatened to file formal protests with the government of Mr. Lagerfeld's homeland, Germany. The designer apologized, explaining that he had taken the design from a book about the Taj Mahal, thinking the words came from a love poem.

Lagerfeld was the target of a pieing by People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) in 2001 at a fashion premiere at Lincoln Center in New York City. However, the tofu pies hurled by animal rights activists in protest of his use of fur within his collections went astray, instead hitting Calvin Klein. A PETA spokesperson described the hit on Klein as "friendly fire," calling Klein, who doesn't use fur, "a great friend to the animals" and Lagerfeld a "designer dinosaur," who continues to use fur in his collections.

Lagerfeld had a long-term relationship from the early 1970s with socialite Jacques de Bascher until his death in 1989.

1937 – Daniel Defert is a prominent French AIDS activist and the founding president (1984-1991) of the first AIDS awareness organization in France, AIDES. He started the organization after the death of his partner, the French philosopher Michel Foucault.

Daniel Defert met Foucault while he was a philosophy student at the University of Clermont-Ferrand in France and their relationship lasted from 1963 until Foucault's death in 1984. They described their relationship as a "state of passion". It was Foucault's death from AIDS, a disease about which little was known at the time, that led Defert to enter the field of AIDS activism. He also co-edited with François Ewald volume 4 of Dits et Ecrits of Michel Foucault (1994), a posthumous collection of Foucault's thought.

1960 – Cartoonist Alison Bechdel is best known for her long-running comic strip Dykes to Watch Out For, which has run in alternative gay and lesbian newspapers for nearly two decades.

Bechdel was born on September 10, 1960 in Lock Haven, Pennsyvlania, one of three children of high school English teachers. She grew up in rural Pennsylvania and graduated from Oberlin College in 1981, after which she moved to New York City.

Having been rejected by all the art schools to which she had applied for graduate study, Bechdel was working several publishing jobs when she included in a letter to a friend a drawing of a woman titled "Marianne, dissatisfied with the morning brew." She labeled the drawing "Dykes to Watch Out For, plate no. 27," as if it were another installment of a long-running series. More sketches of increasing detail followed, and a friend encouraged her to send them to the feminist monthly newspaper Womannews. It published the first comic in 1983, and Dykes To Watch Out For began appearing in every issue.

The first four years of Dykes To Watch Out For consisted of single strips of unrelated plots and characters, published in Wommannews and other newspapers. During this time, Nancy Boreano, founder of Firebrand Books, approached Bechdel about publishing a book of her strips. This first book, Dykes To Watch Out For, appeared in 1986, and nine others have since ensued. Three of the Dykes To Watch Out For books have won Lambda Literary Awards, as has Bechdel's memoir The Indelible Alison Bechdel (1998).

Following the publication of the first book, Bechdel made two important changes: first, she began drawing the strip biweekly and, second, in 1987 she introduced a regular cast of characters that continues from strip to strip. Bechdel describes her strip as "half op-ed column and half endless, serialized Victorian novel." At its center is Mo (Monica), who embodies the values that Bechdel assumed were what being a lesbian meant when she came out. Mo is "an antiracist, anticlassist, anti-big business, anticonsumerist feminist socialist"; and much of the strip's humor is derived from her and her friends' struggles to live out their politics.

The strip's appeal lies in its reflection of both its characters' complex history and of the larger culture as well. Its characters have gone to the marches on Washington and to the Michigan Womyn's Festival, for example, and they have commented on a myriad of contemporary news events. However, Dykes To Watch Out For particularly shines at dealing with an enormous number of lesbian issues: relationships, race and ethnicity, adoption and marriage, transgenderism, assimilation and separatism, bisexuality, coming out to family, women's health issues, and aging, among others. For its passionately devoted readers, Dykes To Watch Out For is more real than actual life; Bechdel has thus made a lasting contribution to literature, popular culture, and social history.

In February 2004, Bechdel married her partner since 1992, Amy Rubin, in a civil ceremony in San Francisco. However, all same-sex marriage licenses given by the city at that time were subsequently voided by the California Supreme Court. Bechdel and Rubin separated in 2006

In 2006, Bechdel published a "graphic memoir" entitled Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic in which she details the the pains and joys of growing up, coming out, and discovering that her father was also gay. Haunted by her father's apparent suicide after being accused of molesting a teenager, the book, Bechdel has said, is really "about my creative apprenticeship to my father; it [is] about becoming an artist." Highly praised in the mainstream as well as the glbtq press, Fun Home is likely to bring Bechdel to a wider audience.

1965 – Paul Burston is a Welsh journalist and author. He worked for the London gay policing group GALOP and was an activist with ACT UP before moving into journalism. He edited, for some years, the LGBT section of Time Out and founded the Polari Prize.

Born in York and raised in South Wales, Burston attended Brynteg School and studied English, Drama and Film Studies at university. He worked for the London gay policing group GALOP and was an activist with ACT UP before moving into journalism. He edited, for some years, the gay and lesbian (later LGBT) section of Time Out magazine and was a founding editor of Attitude magazine. He has also written for publications including The Guardian, The Independent, The Times and The Sunday Times.

His first novel Shameless, published in 2001, was praised by The New York Times and shortlisted for the State of Britain Award. His third novel Lovers & Losers, published in 2007, was shortlisted for a Stonewall Award.

In 2007, Burston became the founder and host of award-winning LGBT literary salon Polari, which began in a bar in Soho before moving to the Southbank Centre. He was also the founder, in 2011, of The Polari Book Prize for new and established LGBTQ+ writing, which is now based at the British Library. In 2016, he was featured in the British Council's Five Films 4 Freedom Global List of 33 "inspiring people who use culture to promote freedom and equality and provoke debate, or who are risking their lives to promote the rights of LGBT communities".

Burston's novel The Black Path was published by Accent Press in September 2016 and was long-listed for The Guardian's "Not The Booker Prize".

By October 2018, five novels and two short story collections by Burston had been published. In that month, The Bookseller reported that his sixth novel The Closer I Get was published by Orenda Books as part of a two-book deal. The Closer I Get, published in July 2019, was partly inspired by the author's experience of online harassment.

In December 2021, The Bookseller announced that his memoir We Can Be Heroes would be published by Amazon imprint Little A in June 2023.

1981 – Filippo "Pippo" Pozzato is an Italian road racing cyclist with UCI Professional Continental team Wilier Triestina–Selle Italia.

A northern classics specialist, Pozzato has finished 13th (2006), 14th (2007), 6th (2008), 2nd (2012) and 8th (2017) at the Tour of Flanders. His best finish at the Paris–Roubaix was 2nd in 2009. (He also delivered a respectable 15th in 2006). At the Gent–Wevelgem Pozzato finished 13th (2008) and 4th (2006). In the Omloop Het Volk he finished 6th (2003) and 1st (2007). Pozzato also won the 2006 Milan–San Remo, and has won stages in all three Grand Tours.

Born in Sandrigo, Veneto, Pozzato turned professional in 2000 with the Mapei–Quick-Step cycling team, part of the famous classe di '81 a group of emerging young riders born in 1981 who were part of the Mapei TT3 development team. Other alumni include Fabian Cancellara and Bernhard Eisel, Alexandr Kolobnev and Gryschenko.

In 2012, Pozzato was banned from cycling for three months by the Italian National Olympic Committee (CONI) after it was found that he had worked with infamous doctor Michele Ferrari from 2005 to 2008. CONI had looked to ban him for a year but were forced to reduce it to a three months thanks to a technicality.

In May 2016 during the 2016 Giro d'Italia, Pozzato disclosed via his Twitter account that he was 'coming out'. Although he did not specify that he was coming out as gay, the tweet included an image of Pozzato in bed with another man.

Pozzo's Coming Out pic

1982 – Bret Iwan is an American voice actor and illustrator. He has been the fourth official voice of Mickey Mouse following the death of Wayne Allwine in May 2009.Iwan was born and raised in Pasadena.

He attended LeRoy High School in LeRoy, Illinois from 1996–2000. He graduated from the Ringling College of Art and Design in Sarasota, Florida, in 2004. Iwan was previously an illustrator at Hallmark.

Iwan was hired to voice Mickey Mouse and replace Wayne Allwine, after the latter died on May 18, 2009. They never had the chance to meet each other.

Iwan first recorded Mickey Mouse dialogue for the Disney's Animal Kingdom theme park as well as the 2009 shows Disney On Ice: Celebrations and Disney Live: Rockin' Road Show. He voiced Mickey Mouse in Have a Laugh! He gave his first full performance as Mickey Mouse for the English version of the PlayStation Portable game Kingdom Hearts Birth by Sleep.

His first voice-over work in a Disney Park could be heard in the Animal Kingdom closing show "Adventurers' Celebration Gathering" as well as on the Tomorrowland Transit Authority PeopleMover attraction at the Magic Kingdom, in which upon passing through Mickey's Star Traders, Mickey responds with his signature laugh and says "That's right, it's outta this world!"

Iwan is gay and married his partner Douglas Hoffman, an art director, in July 2021.

[justawanderer]

The Mage’s Keep

A Magical Sanctuary for those Burnt Out on Life

Alec slams the car door a little too aggressively. He takes a deep breath and pinches his nose bridge to center himself. He takes a sip of the surprisingly delicious gas station coffee and refuses to feel guilty. He ignores the voices in his head of his doctors, his siblings, and his parents and enjoys the warm cup in his hands.

The coffee is Not what gave him an ulcer that presented as a cardiac event at the tender age of 27. No, he’s been drinking coffee since high school without issue….okay, maybe middle school…no one’s counting.

Anyway, point is, it wasn’t the coffee, it was the fault of the twenty people in Alec’s unit of the law firm who fucked up the County’s jump start to school initiative that Alec had spent all of the previous summer fighting to take lead on. His team fucked the paperwork up so grandly that the contract had to be pushed back a whole fucking year and now an entire grade of elementary schoolers in the city will be without the free laptops they were promised. And thinking about it is raising Alec’s blood pressure and he has to take a few more breaths to calm down.

The problem had been half of his team being freshly graduated lawyers from Harvard who only got there through daddy’s money and therefore having not a winks worth of intelligence in any of them. And the other half of his team being a group of raging racist bigots who intentionally sunk the program. He rubs his temples and tries to remember that his partner Lydia and his manager Jia both assured him that the problem would be fixed when he got back from his doctor recommended time off. The discovery of the sabotage and the people behind it-on the day it was to be sent to back to the county for official signing had lead to Alec keeling over in pain and waking up in the ER. Every single person in his life then took it upon themselves to ensure he’d make the most of the mandatory 2 weeks relaxation the doctor prescribed.

Which is how he found himself in this godforsakenly small car with no phone and an address preplugged into his gps. Izzy had been insistent that the retreat she had found was exactly what Alec needed and her and Jace and even his mom had all chipped in to pack him up and get him shipped out. If it wasn’t for all of them insisting that they had prepaid and max giving him the biggest sad eye in history-Alec would have turned around and checked into a hotel by the shore like he originally planned-with good WiFi and his work computer-but Lydia had taken his gear, and jia banned him from the premises for the foreseeable future and his dad packed the car and they all sent him off.

He just wishes they would have asked him about it. He hates the out doors-except the beach-but a two week stay at ranch upstate is not the beach vacation he would have preferred. Besides, don’t those ranchers hate gay people? Okay-he recognizes that that in itself is prejudiced but still-why should be be shipped 5 hours upstate to shovel horseshit when he’s in recovery? His doctor had the fucking nerve to nod vehemently in agreement to the retreat Izzy had presented him with on Alec’s behalf. So Alec is pissed about work, pissed about this retreat, and pissed that everyone in his life, including his parents have teamed up to send him away. He’s also a little pissed that they had the nerve to find him a retreat for and run by queer people. By a doctor who had had too much city life and opened a health retreat upstate.

It would be brilliantly diabolical if it wasn’t happening to him.

So instead of being impressed, he’s rage drinking his stupidly good trucker coffee and driving to the middle of bumfuck nowhere and going to have to pretend to not be terrified of horses, and horse shit, and who he is assuming are tough as nails butch lesbians taking care of said horses.

He angrily rakes a hand through his hair and calls himself out for his misogyny and assumptions. Anger turns him into his father and even his father has turned around. His new wife Annamarie is definitely the reason. His dad even paid for this retreat. Alec just likes to find reasons to hate things that don’t go his way. Which is right out of the Robert Lightwood playbook and whole turning into his father thing is not helping his blood pressure or his nerves.

The drive is mostly quiet, Alec not quite able to listen to anything and only just managing to abate his own feelings. He looks at the picturesque farmland around him and sighs. It’s beautiful….if you’re into it. He allows himself that he’s here voluntarily, if anything goes south or he really just can’t, then he’ll hop back in the car and drop down to the shore. And try to call Underhill and guilt the guy into faxing him work.

He nods at his improvised plan as he reaches the Mage’s Keep Ranch and rolls his eyes at the arcane symbols carved into the ranch sign that is also decorated with numerous pride flags and rainbows. He is pleasantly surprised by the polished look of the ranch and the numerous buildings on the grounds. Signs point him to a main building off set from what appears to be a large stable. He can see people riding horses and being coached by ranchers on the ground.

The clean earth smell that greets him when he steps out of the car is a surprise and he grudgingly admits to himself that he likes the fresh air. A beautiful woman with deep dark skin and long white braids smiles at him and waives him up the main building’s stair.

“Welcome to the Keep. I am Cat, I run the lodge for our guests. I am assuming your Mr. Lightwood?” Her smile is warm and welcoming and Alec smiles back, following her into the lodge.

“Your room is on the second floor, just up those stairs and down the hall on the right. Go ahead and get settled, your family paid for a suite so all of your towels and such will be in the bathroom. We serve dinner from 5-7 and you’re welcome at anytime. You can even take your food to your room or on the grounds if you wish. Your itinerary isn’t set in stone, but your sister I believe? Isabel? Informed me of some of the activities you may want to try so I curated a list for you. I have you set for archery tomorrow morning at our spring side range and a cooking class before lunch here at the main hall, then a few hours to rest and then a sunset ride for you. After that, you can pick and choose your activities for the rest of your stay.”

Alec is speechless, he had been terrified of force labor and group talking therapy but this really just sounds like a vacation. Not wanting to jinx anything, he takes his bags to his rooms, showers and then promptly crashes onto his bed.

He wakes up once, around midnight, groggy and alarmed by his unfamiliar surroundings. It all comes back to him as he turns on the bedside lamp.

Curious, he sees through the open bedroom door that a tray has been left on his sitting room table. He ambles out, sees a charcuterie board filled with heart healthy snack foods and what was once cold juice, but now room temp. There is card on the tray:

Alexander,

Welcome to the Mage’s Keep. I am sorry to have missed you at dinner, fear not, many of our guests sleep through their first night with us. This keep has healing magic if you let it. You will get all of the rest that you need here. I have left you a sampling of hand foods following your sister’s guidance, if you require anything else feel free to look around the kitchens.

I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.

Sleep well,

M

The letter is written it beautiful script on a piece of stationary with an embossed Dr. Bane at the top. Alec rolls his eyes at the pretension but does nibble on the food. After eating his fill and guiding himself through a stretch, he falls back asleep and dreams of demons and battles and magic and cat eyes.

The following day is one of the most relaxing yet invigorating days Alex can remember having. He wakes with the sun, runs around the whole of the perimeter of the ranch, enjoys the best whole wheat pancakes he’s ever had courtesy of Cat and hits every bullseye at the archery range under the watchful eye of a curmudgeonly Dr Fell who ensures he doesn’t over do it. He is walked through a delicious cooking class by a witty and charming Tessa and then spends the afternoon reading a book he had bought years before and never gotten around too. The other guest weren’t even as annoying as he thought they’d be. It seems as if everyone was healing from burnout or extreme work stress. Some of them had even had serious health incidents like Alec. But his first day had truly relaxed him.

Well, at the least the first part had. He was doing his very best to not think of the sunset ride and was trying to think of all of the logical reason he had for not needing to be on horse back. He’s arguing quietly with himself as he ambles down to the stable, surprised that he’s alone apparently for this activity. He comes to the open doors and sees empty stalls. They put him at ease as he cautiously walks through. Maybe the other people riding were already out. Which is a relief because he would not want the snarky teen punk Gretel-who was sent here by her parents after having a meltdown over college admissions packets- to see him fall off a horse.

A soft snicker brings his attention to the roan head sticking out at the end of the row. The horse is eyeing him and even if he doesn’t have any desire to ride her, he can appreciate her gentle beauty. He inches as close as he dares and exhales. “Hi beautiful” the horse lets out a whinny and tosses her head back.

“She’s asking if you have any apples to spare.” Says possibly the most alluring melodic voice Alec has ever heard. He turns as see a man hunched over a phone. He’s in jeans and a white tank with a large cowboy hat covering his face. Alec has to swallow three times to get moisture back in his throat at the sight of the man’s arms.

The man in question tips his hat with long delicate fingers calloused from hard work. He pulls his hat off and Alec has to touch his chest for the violent hard beat his heart skips at the sight of the most beautiful man he’s ever encountered. He feels his face drop into a dopey smile as the man smirks at him and stands up, almost to Alec’s own height.

“Delilah is a fiend for apples, she now thinks you have one.” The man moves closer to palm the horses noses. He fishes a green apple out of a side bag and hands it to Alec. Enchanted by why can only be a demo god before him, Alex reaches out for the apple. The man smiles, turns Alec’s hand palm up and places the apple there. He continues to hold Alec’s palm still as Delilah leans down to snatch it softly out of Alec’s hand. Her soft lips tickling his palm. Alec has too many emotions and sensations warring inside of him to panic.

He smiles, first at Delilah, and then at the mystery man still holding his wrist. The man speaks.

“Your sister Isabelle, was very thorough not only in the parameters for your menu, but also about how inspite of her belief that this place was for you, that you are scared of horses.”

Alec can feel the blush rush all over his face and neck. Made worse by the apparent appraisal of the man before him. The cowboy twists Alec’s hand around to be able to cup it in both of his calloused hands. Alec’s blush deepens at the wildly inappropriate intrusive thought his brain sends him about what those hands would feel like elsewhere. He clears his throat.

“Ah, not so much scared,” he says trying in vain to save face. “But uh, just not interested in getting on one.”

The man smiles. “Well, I’m sure we can find a ride for you. This place has a way of helping us all bend in the ways we need to.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Magnus, Magnus Bane. The founder of the Keep.”

Alec would blush even further at the fact that they never let go of each other in the first place, to be able to facilitate at handshake. If it weren’t for the appreciative up and down look the Doctor was giving him. The man’s warm hands in his had him convinced he could actually feel magic all around him, and Alec wondered if two weeks here would be enough.

@just-add-butter 🤷🏼‍♀️ this is your fault, your welcome.

[apomaro-mellow]

Argyle listened while Steve jotted off all the Dos and Don’ts of the evening. He nodded, but in his heart he knew he had this. Argyle had babysat a couple of times. Even though this particular gaggle included a girl with super powers and the rest who had a part in a government cover up, they were still kids. In fact they were old enough to not need a babysitter but there was no telling Steve that apparently.

But he seemed satisfied with his run down of the rules with Argyle, so he then turned to the children in question and went over them again, much to the younger teens’ annoyance.

Jonathan gave him that look. The ‘I’m gonna have an ulcer before 20 look’ and he pulled Argyle aside.

“Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this. But this is a test”, Jonathan whispered.

“A test? Dude, it’s summer vacation.”

“It’s for you. Steve and Nancy are seeing how well you can handle the kids.”

Argyle looked to the group that was settling in for a night at the Byers’ residence.

“I don’t think they need much handling, dude.”

Jonathan gave him a meaningful look. “Do you remember how my mom left us to go to Alaska? And before the day was over, dudes were shooting at us?”

Argyle nodded. He still didn’t think they had anything to worry about.

Steve clapped his hands. “Alright, if I hear anything about some trouble-”

“You’ll have our asses”, the kids recited.

“Glad to know we’re on the same page. That goes double for you, Cali”, Steve said. “You’re the adult here.”

Steve didn’t scare Argyle normally. But there was something in his eyes today. Like if a single hair was out of place, his ass WOULD be on a mantle.

So when two hours later, Argyle found himself, having to distract some guy he didn’t know while the kids were in the process of breaking and entering, he felt his ass tingle a little. They had less than ten minutes to get back to the house and pretend everything was fine.

Somehow they had convinced him that sneaking into some guy named Tommy’s house was the more important thing. Argyle was pretty sure he had disagreed but somehow found himself in a car with Will behind the wheel. Mike had been barking out orders as usual. Max had been yelling right back at him.

Lucas was trying to be the voice of reason while Dustin spouted off directions for Will and how to get into the house through the window. El had been silent until they arrived and then she became a breaking and entering machine. 

Meanwhile, Argyle was at the front door, trying to keep this Tommy guy from leaving it. He had to distract from the sound of movement upstairs and the definite thump of someone falling to the ground outside. These were the same kids that snuck around a Russian base?

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

“I know those kids are like, your precious gifts from above”, Eddie said. “But they’re practically adults by now.”

“That’s really rich coming from you.”

“I don’t know if that’s a ‘super-senior’ joke or a jab at my maturity.”

“Why not both?”, Robin teased.

“Was this a fair test?”, Jonathan asked. “None of us have ever had to deal with all of them alone.”

“That’s why we didn’t unleash Erica on him”, Nancy said.

“And I had to take care of most of them when Billy came for Max. He’s got the advantage of no one actively searching out the kids right now”, Steve added.

“I just think it could be a little more balanced”, Jonathan continued as they made their way back to the house.

When they arrived, they were met with what they left. Everyone was in the living room, eyes glued to the screen, as if they didn’t wanna be caught doing anything else. Which clearly meant they had been doing something else. Both Nancy and Steve crossed their arms.

“Sooo? How was it?”, Steve asked.

“Real chill man”, Argyle said.

“Yeah”, Will added. “It was real chill.”

“Just a boring night”, Max gave a fake yawn.

“We didn’t do anything that was against your rules”, Dustin smirked.

They all knew that smirk said he had found a loop hole. But the point was they were all here and all safe.

“Okay then, make some room for us!”, Eddie exclaimed, pulling Steve over. Despite his words, he plopped down right on Argyle’s lap, then pulled Steve onto his. Argyle was high enough that the weight of two grown men on him felt comforting. 

The others came to join in and finish out the night and the movie here. And if Steve later heard that vandals had ransacked Tommy H’s room, well everyone he knew had an alibi for the night.

[vodika-vibes]

I love your Griffyn Industries AU! It’s so cool and I think it’s all really cute. The clones get a shot at a happy ending. ^_^

But I imagine Anakin is slowly losing his mind (well, he already is, but put that aside) as more and more of the clones of 501st end up MIA, allegedly killed, or willingly look at the industries and are like “yeah this is a better deal.” And then you have Ahsoka who gets hired too.

Anakin: “You’re taking all my associates away from me! I’ve had my suspicions ever since this company prevented me from catching the clone suspected in the assassination attempt against Palpatine. What kind of evil schemes are you planning?! I demand you give me back my men and let me investigate!”

Employee, messaging to Ahsoka to go hide Rex, Fives, and Dogma: “Sir, this is a Wendy’s.”

Anakin: “. . . What?”

Employee, giving Anakin the good ole customer service smile when Ahsoka texts a thumbs up: “Sorry. It’s an old meme from my home planet, Earth. I apologize, but we don’t have to submit to an investigation without substantial evidence against us. You are not allowed to search the premises until you have a warrant.”

Anakin: “I’m a General-!”

Employee: “I am aware, sir, but your status does not nullify the fact you are on the brink of getting banned from the premises. Now, I must ask you to leave before I am forced to call the Corusant Guard and report this infraction to the Jedi Council.”

Thank you! It's one of my favorite AUs, tbh

But this. This is exactly it.

Like, canonically, Anakin cares less about the clones than the droid his wife gave him, so you can't even really call him friends. So Anakin sees this company taking the clones, and taking Ahsoka, and barring him from investigating and he loses his shit.

And he can't do anything about it, because in the grand scheme of things, keeping Gryffin Industries happy is better for the Republic than one Jedi, and even the Chancellor knows it.

Plus big expensive companies tend to come with big expensive lawyers who can smell blood in the water and have been slowly circling the Jedi and the Senate since the war started. They're really just waiting for someone to make a mistake so they can swoop in.

Anakin has been warned away from the company not only by the Jedi (poor Mace has a ulcer and his hands haven't stopped shaking since his first meeting with Dre Gryffin), but also by the Chancellor (who thinks he's playing chess with the company, but Gryffin Industries has switched out the gameboard and keeps adding more and more Queens to the board and he hasn't noticed-).

But Anakin can't keep himself away, and in the end is barred from Gryffin Industries, and even ends up slapped with an Order of Protection keeping him away from anyone who works for Gryffin Industries.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan is considering applying for a job (he never wanted to be on the Council, but there's the war and he's the famed Negotiator and it wasn't so much a choice as an arm-twisting-) and Cody has already sent his, and Obi-Wan's, applications to Gryffin Industries and is just waiting for the first interview-

Wolffe didn't even wait that long. He's already dragged Plo, and the Wolfpack, to Gryffin Industries and camped out in the lobby until they were all hired.

[scotianostra]

The Scottish physician and inventor Neil Arnott was born on May 15th 1788.

Arnott, was born in the town of Arbroath, he  would become a very highly-regarded physician and show an inventiveness unusual for his era.

Misfortunes compelled the father, Alexander, to give up his farm and settle first at Blair and afterwards in Aberdeen. Neil was taught by his mother Ann, and at the parish school of Lunan, and in November 1798 entered Aberdeen grammar school. In 1801 he was entered as a student in the Marischal College, with a small bursary, where he remained during four sessions, and was especially interested by the lectures of Patrick Copland on natural philosophy. He graduated M.A. in 1805, and at once commenced the study of medicine in Aberdeen. He supported himself partly by acting as shop-assistant to a chemist.

By the age of 19 young Neil was a fully fledged surgeon and made two visits to China as surgeon for the British East India Company and then settled in London where his reputation would grow and grow.

He gave lectures at the Philomathic Institution and published these as Elements of physics. Arnott was one of the founders of the University of London, 1836. Within a few years he was made physician to the French and Spanish embassies, and in 1837 he became physician extraordinary to the Queen. He was elected to the Fellow of the Royal Society in 1838. He was a strong advocate of scientific, as opposed to purely classical, education.

Doctor Arnott gifted 2,000 pounds to each of the four universities of Scotland and to the University of London, to promote its study in the experimental and practical form.Of his inventions they included, a  Smokeless Fire-place, Chimney-valves, and “Other Means, Old and New of obtaining Healthful warmth and ventilation”  But is the final invention I find most interesting, he gave us the first form of waterbed. Dr Arnott’s Hydrostatic Bed, as it was known, had been created to help invalids avoid bedsores. A bath of water covered with rubber-impregnated canvas, and a lighter bedding on top, it worked a treat. The modest Arnott, however, didn’t choose to patent the idea, amazingly the waterbed was not actually patented until 1968 by an American furniture designer Charles Prior Hall, but oor Dr Arnott definitely came up with the idea first.

The water bed was first used in aid of medicine. In 1873, when Sir James Paget at St Bartholomew’s Hospital presented a waterbed designed by Arnott as a treatment and prevention of pressure ulcers (bed sores); a condition that was quite common in this era. Paget found that waterbeds allowed mattress pressure to be evenly distributed over the body. Unfortunately, this invention lacked the ability to regulate the temperature of the water.

And so we have another first from a Scot, the waterbed!

Neil Arnott died in London in 1874 but is buried with his mother in Dean Cemetery in Edinburgh.